“You skim through the pages of the book, looking for anything of importance. On the last page you discover what appears to be frantic scribbling:
Necrolords. At least a dozen by my count.
Farms to west being used as some sort of horrible spawning glade for Scourge.
Row upon row of victims.
I think they're on to me. Made a dash for the hold. I won't be captured alive.
Dreadvenom hemotoxin. If they decide to bite into me, they'll be in for a surprise.
Take this information back to Barthus.”
