As I write this, we are still within the walls of Castle Rivenroar. I think writing these letters while we are in here is comforting. It helps me find peace between the horrible battles we face. The last battle in particular was horrible. I believe the undead she-devil we just fought was once part of the noble family that lived here. It is hard to say of course, but the command she held over the other undead in her presence makes me suspect she might have once been the Lady of the house.
At this point we have rescued three of the missing townsfolk. Mirtala, Zerriksa, and Adronsius are all safe. Unfortunately, the two named Kartenix and Pete had already been violently slain by the vile, twisted souls occupying this dark place. We are resting for a few moments before heading upstairs to try and save a priestess named Jalissa and a boy named Thurann, who is the son of Kartenix.
Master, I do not know how much battle you have seen outside the walls of the temple, but I must say, I am bewildered by the fighting techniques of my compatriots. The one among us who remains quiet most of the time, and hides himself within his suit of armor, has the ability to burst apart into a vortex of chunks of light. He can move about like this freely and of his own will. And they tell me that while I was recovering from my wounds, Tzolek hurled his sword through the air and somehow managed to strike the undead mistress in the head.
They have little grace, Master, and yet they are effective. Madmartigan is perhaps most perplexing of them all. To look at him, you would suspect him nothing but a drunk lout with a quick temper. And while he IS a drunk lout with a quick temper, he is actually a very capable warrior as well.
I hope to be able to send this letter to you, Master. I must admit, the last battle has rattled me a bit. I will not forget my training, though: “Strength of the mountain, focus of the mind. My will is like stone.”