Mark not my skribbels with kritikill eye. I am no full, yet righting was not my best subject in the Golushkin edukashon I recieved. But I right these words lest I forget.
We are on a trale. Me and a groop of humans and wun nome with a big weezil.
They pretend to kare about justiss much more than the hunting parties of the dwarves, but they deliver deth just as kwick.
We sloo many wolvs, wargs and deadly horrid dog-thing I saw before we fell.
Fell, yes, but risen. By a lord of Deth Nights. Kasimir – Lord of The Golden Hand. He is our new master, for with the rizing, we now owe him much and are on his kwest with his pursor in toe.
We saved a which and I was kommishined by our paladin to despach the offender. His hed came of as easily as any human hed.
We are repairing rodes, but we are also reparing harts as we make our way through this derelikt land. Nuff sed by Finbar for now.