"I'm aware of that dreadful disease, and being the skillful skin weaver you are, you were the reason the sickness stopped."
"What if I told you it wasn't entirely my doing?" Orric stepped closer, like the next thing he was about to say was discreet.
"There I was, in the midst of death and decay, the bodies all lined up as disease ravaged us. Only a few Skin weavers were immune, and the rest of the population met a fate worse than death." He reminisced as that dreadful day unfolded before his eyes.
It was almost as if he was teleported back in time. Chills gripped him, and goosebumps rose on his skin.
"Some say it was the demoness of the ocean getting back at us for polluting the waters, or the gods had smitten us with their wrath. Everything was lost, and everyone was dying. The Grim Isle, a haven for outlaws to seek peace, was coming to an end."
Logi gulped as he listened all through; he knew the disease was bad, but he didn't know it was a point of near extinction.
