“I missed the kidney by that much. They’re alive-ish.”
“They’re on their way to the Necromancy class.”
“Crochetmail?”
“I’m going to do what I do best, which is not do the thinking myself.”
“You’ve had intimate sessions more painful than this.”
“Morgan?”
“He’s taken all the classes! It was an elective!”
“The pain returns, but the paralysis subsides.”
“…I think there are goth songs about that.”
“It’s academia. They can’t afford to hire adventurers; they have to grow their own.”
“I hate these people so bad. Once we come out of the dungeon, I’m going to spend the next hundred years chopping down the tower.”
“Also, you’re a graduate. People almost, almost remember who you are now.”
“How many?”
“Four is the number of scrolls.”
“The number of the scrolls is four.”
“Oh yeahh. Advantage on charm and magic can’t put you to sleep. Elven bullshit.”
“We have all had those days. Weeks.”
“Years. Lives.”
“Past lives.”