
Oh, mum!
I’ve got ichor in my beard! I’ve got ichor in my nose! I’ve got bits of demon stuck in my chainmail shirt! HOW DO YOU CLEAN CHAINMAIL? Calm down, calm, calm. I’m lucky to be alive; I don’t mean to worry you, but when the demon fizzed and exploded I was standing right next to it. If it hadn’t been for Fishy Heinrich grabbing my fingers as I went over the cliff edge I’d be food for the sparrows. Starlings? Whatever eats flattened dwarf anyway. Around here, it’s probably flying beastmen.