The ACVault has chronicled my, at times, debaucherous tales herein to warn and sometimes strangely amuse other travelers of the latest events and gossip straight from the underbelly of Dereth. The Crafters I lay on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching my new pauldrons and waiting for my lacerations on my back to heal. The squeals and screams of the drudge begin to die down and fade away. The sounds of rain on the straw roof of the leather crafter's cottage sooth me into slumber. I'm standing in the middle of Arwic's largest pub guzzling stout, pint after pint.
People whisper and point.
I hear snickers intertwined with the whisper. I set down my empty pint glass and look down. Damn I'm naked. I turn to the door leading out into the warm summer air and run as fast as my bad knee will carry me. I'm not moving however, running in place with my ass and genitalia exposed for all to gawk at.