Delius Thyme’s Diary Pg. 74
Today was an especially cold day. Never stay in Halas again. The only bright point was I met a Master Brewer named Garsen who agreed to join our group and help us explore the uncharted depths of Permafrost. He seems to speak only in rhyme which is a bit annoying but his skill with weapons makes up for it. He said he has to keep practicing because he is writing countless books of Brewing Limericks.
Everfrost Mountains must be the coldest place on Norrath, and to make matters worse we were almost killed by a Mammoth that appeared over a peak. Tolan was almost slain but Garsen saved him.
We discovered underground caverns. The only thing more frightening than monsters is Garsen opening his mouth. I’d say, ” I need to sit and rest”. He’d follow with; “Do you really think that’s best?” Tolan said, “We could really use a Cleric”. Garsen replied, “Don’t be a hysteric”. I can’t take it, can’t take it.
Delius Thyme’s Diary Pg. 75
Garsen was quite offended by Tolan’s outburst today. Tolan said that our food tasted like it came from the sewer and Garsen, as usual, replied with a rhyme, “It could taste better with a skewer.” Tolan made him realize how irritating his voice is. One more rhyme, ONE more damn rhyme, and I’ll kill him myself.
Garsen was quiet all day today and didn’t mutter a word even when he was almost killed and needed help.
However, when we stopped to camp we had to sleep right next to each other because of our location. Garsen was murmuring rhymes in his sleep. Every damn word out of his mouth rang in my ears. Each syllable lingered just long enough to drive me crazy. I kept praying that the next word would not rhyme. Satisfaction never came.
Tolan and I talked and decided to help him sleep a bit better.
We rifled through our departed friends things and found the unfinished limericks and component charts on the brewing trade. After destroying many Tolan suggested someone might want to buy the rest. We’ll try to sell them in Halas.
Delius Thyme’s Diary Pg. 76
Just got out of prison and finally received my possessions back. I arrived back in Halas on the 9th and sold the limericks to a Barbarian who paid a hefty amount of silver for the work. As I was walking down the street a Blacksmith said, “I’ll have to charge my usual fee of 12 copper.” His patron replied, “If I pay you that much I’ll be a pauper.” I had no idea if the rhyme was intentional or not but uncontrollable rage swept over me. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned, grabbed the patron by the throat and squeezed. It took six guards to free him. One guard gave me a strong warning and said, “You must now leave our city”. Which was fine but another guard said right afterward, “Do this again and face the committee.” Before I could realize it, my hands were wrapped around the guard’s throat. Jail wasn’t that bad save the rats, bats, mildew, and stench. Unusually, the jail served rat sandwiches everyday. At least no one has said a rhyme to me since. The end to the horror seems far from sight. Rhyming winter nightmares have sadly impaled me. Writhing with nightly havoc, sanity eludes me.