Yes, I’m alive.

This is Tarakan. My brother told me to write something here to make sure I’m still alive. Yeah, I keep wandering off, I’m a hunter. He keeps getting worried if something happens to me. Look, brother, I’m nearly 70 years old, if I survived in the wild for so long, I’m not going to die now. Unless some crazy goblin takes me for poultry. That is not going to happen, okay?

I’m in this Duskwood now, sleeping in a tent in the north-western corner. I had to fight off some grave robbers. No, I’m fine. I didn’t disappear either. What is that alternate timeline nonsense anyway? Like I’m gonna believe you killed Kel’thuzad. Are you sure you took all your meds, Ver?

There are actual people reading this, right? Verroak is kinda crazy. When he was younger he got into some Old God cult stuff. He was never the same after that. Now he’s talking about some kind of “bikers”, tanks, star sectors… It makes no sense at all to me. Of course, the magic he actually uses doesn’t make much sense either, but… Look, I don’t know. This stuff is beyond crazy. He is actually friends with a pacifist ogre, and I didn’t even know these exist, so yeah… Maybe it did happen, at least in part.

I’m rambling on. I’m fine, I’m as healthy as a sexagenarian can be. I’m in no immediate danger. Can I stop talking now?

Letter from Kirrik the Awakened

This is Kirrik the Awakened writing. I asked your friend Verroak for a permission to use his account to send an important message on behalf of the Skettis Exiles.