I can't think or sleep for worries. When'd I get like this, Bryll? Terrible visions of the future plague me: you, begging for gold in the alleys of Varrock; Thok's wound, cankerous and rotten, opening to reveal a giant eye; and me, tongue rolled to the back of my throat, as I am prepared to be eaten by the warped creatures of this place. I... I can barely walk forward anymore now Bryll, and Thok will not look at me any more. He says that I am not myself and won't talk to me until 'his Marm' comes back. Bless the brute - imagine being so empty of any concerns or doubts.
We are down one floor shy of sixty (I have notches on my primal sword hilt), and a huge hulking beast awaits us in the next room. That's nothing remarkable, but the thought of another battle seems to ebb all energy from me. It's like my hope and will-to-survive has been devoured. I...I think I just want to say goodbye, Bryll.