Transcript of M. and thok letter (part 8)

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Little sister,

Thok's wound is festering, be damned! I could have...should have... noticed and cleaned it earlier, but I got distracted by my own wounds: and so here we are, in dungeons that are fetid and rank with corruption; sores have welted on the side of the wound, and it's in a bad temper, giving off a rotten aroma.

It gets worse, little sister. The wound is like catnip to the undead on this occultish floor, and they stagger after us in their hundreds. With Thok flagging and more enemies than ever coming for us - even as we sleep - I worry that we have reached our limit, as I've certainly reached mine. My concern is that Thok will not turn back until he has reached the end of this place, like a pebble striking the bottom of a well. Is there glory to be found in that?

M. and Thok