Deadmines, As Best I Could Tell

I spent my free time in Deadmines, which I'd recommend to anyone who finds holidays too relaxing. People complain about how gloomy Deadmines is. I found it homely. The Warrior set a pace that suggested a dinner reservation somewhere nicer. I had to curse things on the move, which is not how curses are meant to be applied.

Seven bosses, each a little more pleased with itself than the last, and each one solved like a sum: find the bit that carries the weight, and remove it. I came out of Deadmines at level 21, one step nearer the power I so clearly already deserve.

Edwin VanCleef fell on the deck of his ship with his letter in his pocket. The Defias wanted to be paid. They were, in a manner of speaking.

Four of my quests are done, and every one of them sent me somewhere dark to fetch something nasty. I came out twenty-seven silver the richer. Gold is just stored effort, and I've stored a fair bit.

Gakmir complained about gunpowder and wet rope from the door to the end. He lives in the Twisting Nether. He's smelled worse. He just likes complaining. I Life Tapped all day, turning my own health into mana, which only sounds like a bad idea if you aren't a warlock.

Would I give the Deadmines a rating? Two stars. One for the loot. One for the way out.