Marmaros and Thok

Marmaros and Thok is one of the many journal entries that can be found within Daemonheim while training Dungeoneering. These are letter are directed at Marmaros and Thok's young sister Bryll.

Part 1
Little sister,

Cheating, blastes, cheap magic! I've said it before, but I mean it more than ever. Out paranoid seers have waved their magic wands across the dungeon entrance and made every item that crosses it, save our undercrackers and overclothes, too heavy to bear. Thok lasted a few steps, of course, but even he had to make his excuses and ditch the battleaxe.

Still, it's only our seer who think we're at the source of the wave of power: Thok's shackles have raised too. Strike me if I don't believe 'em all: we're a few floors beneath an ancient castle in a dungeon that's soaked in magic and lively with beasts. Got me thinking: if something is here, you can be sure that Thok'll find it first. I'm going to find a moment to break from the clan and go it alone with just Thok. Where there's power there's money, and I plan to carry away armfuls of the stuff.

Your older brothers,

M. and Thok

Part 2
Little sister,

Hell, I miss you. I know that doesn't sound much like me, but I have good reason. Since we split from the rest of the clan, we've been getting by with out plain clothes and fists, but there's been one close call too many. Time has come to arm us, dress us and feed us, and you do that better than any I know.

So, I'm scribbling this on an anvil, having made a battleaxe, sword and a couple of platebodied. Thie workmanship I've ever seen, but I get a buzz from looking at them!

It's the materials, though, Bryll; there's stuff here that you've never seen: metals strong and completely alien, and strange plants that can be spun to make boots. Since you're what keeps us moving, we've named the boot material after you. I ain't told Thok yet, but he's wearing Marmaros armour' couldn't resist giving my name to the metal.

Your older brothers,

M and Thok

Part 3
Little sister,

Thok has gone beserk. The lughole won't wait for me now, and I'm following a trail of ash and creature bones.

Only yesterday, I'd been slipping out of Thok's shadow to carve into the bats, shades and warriors that would try to flank them, and he'd been spraying the wall with their innards. But today, we came across something out of a hellish fairy tale. Hanging from the ceiling was an eyeball, swaying on its stalk and dripping goo on the floor. Thok was on it from the start, but the eyeball secreted some terrible spittle that kept me rooted. I would have retched if I could have moved any muscle in my body; instead I could only watch as Thok wrestled it from its stalk.

Problem is, Thok reckons I'm in over my head, so he's blitzing a clear path for me to follow. Only thing that stops the sentimental, thuggish fool is the keys, puzzles and locked doors. If they didn't slow him down, I swear he would be at the bottom of this dungeon by now.

Your older brothers

M. and Thok

Part 4
Little sister,

We met someone today. That's 'met' in the talking sense, rather than the stabbing, crushing and gouging way that we've gotten used to over the past week. (Has it really been a week? Damn, what a place this is.)

That someone was a she, and, in her own way, she was pretty. Said she was a gorajo, and she wasn't new to seeing humans like us. We parted on good terms and she handed Thok some 'primal gloves', given to any gorajo who braved the 'warped pits'. Looks like fancy-pants gauntlets, but Thok's wearing them with a gormless smile on his face. The hairy fool is in love.

The good news is that I held my own. Thok had to rein in his huge swing, for fear of hitting 'his lass' with the battleaxe, so I was able to nip in and do most of the work. Who knows, perhaps Thok is happier about fighting by my side now?

Your older brothers,

M. and Thok.

Part 5
Little sister,

Honestly, who would be crazy enough to use a book as a weapon? Mad Melzar maybe, but there's no telling if he's even alive any more. Just our luck, then, that we stumble on a crazy libraromancer, or whatever you want to call him, who pelts us with books rather than, I don't know, rocks, weapons or the bones of the dead. This place must have a hell of a grip on the mind.

The books got me thinking about why I write these letters. There's the obvious reason: it takes my mind off this endless dungeon, but I think that's missing the point. Even with Thok, the human shield, I can't help but feel that we won't make it. These letters are little scraps of our story, and I naively hold onto a hope that you'll get them, or someone else will find them useful. With the rest of my illiterate clan above us (hell, they make a lot of noise) that hope seems misplaced, but you never can tell,

M. and Thok

Part 6
Littul sister,

Marm got stomped, but not so bad that he dead. I protected him best as I could, so please don't get mad at me. The big stomp creature so strong and fast, faster than Thok, but not as strong. I mashed up eels for Marm as they made me upchuk anyway. I hope Marm will live and will write to you again. That always makes him feel better. I can't hear the noisy feet of my friends above us anymore. Whoever at bottom of the dungeon is Thok's now.

Your older brother,

Thok