mewtagen-mau

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 15

We had another of those dreams. The one where the four of us share a vision of a strange golden gambling hall.

Once again we found ourselves at a card table, with a dealer who we couldn’t properly look at. This time he said we were going to play a game called Werewolf. It was to test the bonds of our trust.

I was ‘killed’ first, and told by the dealer that I could watch the rest of the game if I didn’t interfere.

During the next round, the votes on who was the murderer were spread out, and no one was voted out.

The second time everyone closed their eyes, I watched the others, to learn who the game’s killer was. When the dealer called for the murderer to open their eyes…none of the others did. Then I looked to the dealer, and found he was holding up the card Nanel had suggested as the one we had to draw in secret to choose the murderer. When he called for the murderer to point to the next victim, he pointed at Nanel himself.

It was all a sneaky trick. To see if we would turn on each other, when none of us were actually the culprit.

Once Nanel was out of the game, Tabot refused to vote, saying he believed it was the dealer who was the murderer. Quite astute of him. Unfortunately, Krysa did not join Tabot in accusing the dealer, and instead voted for Tabot. So another round went on with no one voted off, and when the dealer called for the murderer to choose their victim, he eliminated Tabot.

Once Krysa opened their eyes, the dealer revealed the truth to them. He said we wanted to know how we would act if we believed there were not options but to accuse one another. Sometimes the truth is masked, and he wanted to see how our bonds would hold up to such a thing.

Then he sent us away, with the promise we would meet like this one more time, sometime in the near future. And he told us he hoped we had a good time in Turtleback Ferry. He very pointedly noted that it would be a homecoming for me.

I did not feel very refreshed when I woke up the next morning. I was feeling more anxious by the moment.

We began our trek to Turtleback Ferry that day with an unexpected companion. I forgot to mention last entry, but we met Shalelu after we talked to the Lord-Mayor. She wanted to travel with us to Turtleback Ferry. It sounded personal. We, of course, agreed to have her along. A skilled archer with years of experience fighting monsters was hardly a road companion to pass up, even if we didn’t already know and like the elven ranger.

We’re almost to Turtleback Ferry now. We’ve been travelling for close to a week. I am feeling more anxious by the day.

The journey has been mostly uneventful.

Well…mostly, but not entirely.

On the first night we camped out, we were all awoken by sickening noises and pained sounds from Nanel. When I rushed outside as fast as my leg would allow, I saw a rather horrifying sight. Nanel had a bloody hole in his chest where Donyoku’s flower had been poking out like a lapel. And vines were pulling themselves out of his body, falling in a heap on the group before him.

Once the vines had completely pulled themselves free of Nanel’s body, they twisted and formed themselves into that tall plant creature Nanel became in battle. Then it twisted and changed further, becoming what appeared to be a half-orc. Only he had no eyes, just empty sockets where eyes should have been.

Nanel looked pale, in pain, and devastated. Tabot went to his side and used his healing touch to close the hole in Nanel’s chest.

Donyoku told us he’d be travelling with us like this from now on. He claimed that Nanel didn’t need him anymore.

I don’t think Nanel agrees.

I…don’t know what to make of it. I suppose I’m glad that Donyoku is no longer a parasite inside of Nanel. It is easier to accept his presence when he is actually physically standing there, a separate person, rather than using Nanel’s body for anything he might need. But also…how long has Nanel had Donyoku as a part of him? The amount of plant matter that pulled itself out of him implies it’s been a very long time. I think…Nanel probably will need time to process this change. As do we all, to different degrees.

We continued travelling together after that night. Shelalu confided in us that she wanted to go to Fort Rannick, and that there was a man amongst the Black Arrows who were stationed there that she wanted to see. He was her mother’s former lover, basically her step-father, and he had abandoned her when her mother was slain by a dragon attack. She wanted answers. And seeing as we were also going to Fort Rannick, as the letter had indicated a plot to take hold of it, travelling together was her best shot.

This morning we ran into some travelers on the road. Tabot nearly trampled them with his horse in an attempt to avoid Donyoku, who had been messing with him. The travelers gave us news from Turtleback Ferry. None of it sounded good. People were disappearing in the woods—possibly the work of the vile Graul family that live in the forest and are said to…well, keep to themselves, let’s say. It’s rumored that the family has ogre-blood in their veins, and given the trouble we have with giants in the area, ogre-kin are hardly a welcome sight, even if they weren’t said to be so violent and…deformed.

Another of the travelers claimed the constant stormy weather they’d been having was being caused by a witch who would turn them all into toads. And a third claimed that fishermen had been disappearing, and that the Black Magga had been spotted. So I think I will take all these travelers’ claims with a grain of salt. Those are all just old stories to scare children in town into behaving.

…I sure hope that is all those stories are…

When we parted ways, the others had things to say to Tabot, about him nearly trampling those people just to avoid Donyoku, about him hating Donyoku for no clear reason, and…a clear undercurrent of whether he was jealous of Donyoku because of his relationship with Nanel.

I hadn’t planned to get involved. I did think Tabot was taking mistrusting Donyoku to a rather extreme level, but I didn’t believe adding another voice to the argument would be productive. Nanel quietly asked me to please speak up, though, apparently under the impression Tabot might listen to me. So I tried to approach the subject gently, noting that Donyoku was a new presence that would take some getting used to, but that we did need to at least be open to working together with him. Tabot made it clear he just needed some time. I think that is reasonable, so long as he really does just take some time to process, rather than having a chip on his shoulder for the foreseeable future with no intention of even trying to give Donyoku a chance.

In the meantime, I hope that Donyoku also cools it with messing with Tabot. It’s clear that getting a reaction from Tabot eggs him on, but Donyoku bullying Tabot for a laugh will only cause Tabot to continue to resent him.

…

I’m starting to recognize the area we’re in, despite the rather consistent storm we’ve been trekking through over the past day or so. I have never been more eager to be home.

[mewtagen-mau]

Ignore that I posted Entry 15 if you saw it, I forgot something extremely important regarding Nanel and Donyoku which will have to be remedied.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 14

We headed back to the Rusty Dragon to sleep off our haunted house venture. It was…an uneasy sleep, at least for me.

Forgive my wording, but I felt like absolute dogshit when I woke up this morning. If I’d had any doubt that I’d contracted the disease that infected Misgivings, I certainly did not doubt it then. Tabot had tried to heal me the evening prior, but his holy magic didn’t seem to really…take. He’d promised to try again as we began our journey to Magnimar.

Thankfully, on the road, Tabot seemed to have much better luck in cleansing my system of the fungal disease. I feel much better, and look less like a half-dead stray.

We made it to Magnimar in good time with our horses, and decided to first check in at the store where the rat cages in Misgivings had been from.

The gentleman who owned the shop didn’t know anything of use about the cages Aldern had purchased, but he did indicate that Aldern and his wife were ‘back from vacation’ and could be found at their estate.

Seeing as we’d seen Aldern Foxglove die not 24 hours prior, and knew that Iesha had been dead for far longer, this obviously raised some red flags in our minds. We decided to look into Foxglove’s estate.

When we arrived, the door was answered by what appeared to be Aldern Foxglove. He greeted us and asked to what he owed this unexpected visit to. The others did a good job playing it off as though he was a friend we’d met in Sandpoint, who had invited us to his estate at some future time. The false Foxglove took the bait, and ushered us inside with the promise of a delicious homecooked meal from Iesha. He led us into the dining room, then left us to go talk to ‘Iesha’ in the kitchen.

We discussed our plan while they were out of the room. This was so obviously not the two Foxgloves—more likely who or whatever they were had been sent here to keep up appearances while Aldern was in Sandpoint committing horrible murders. Including the real Iesha.

The imposters returned to the room with plates of food. We were, understandably, suspicious that the meal likely contained poison.

They didn’t give us long, before the fake Iesha tried to stab Tabot. Then her form seemed to warp, the flesh stretching before snapping back into place like a rubber band. The creature suddenly didn’t resemble Iesha—or any human—in the slightest. The creature was tall, with long limbs, and a face with no eyes, nose, or mouth. Instead it looked like the flesh of its face had been grabbed and wrung into a spiral before being pressed back into place, giving it a disturbing fleshy spiral texture.

The false Aldern followed suit, warping into another identical creature.

We fought the doppelgängers, and came out victorious despite the small space they’d cornered us in.

We took the time afterwards to search the home for any more clues. There was a secret cache we were able to open using a key we’d found in the real Aldern’s possession. There we found a stash of coins and the deed to Misgivings, which noted that after a century of ownership, it would return to the possession of “The Brothers of Seven”—including anything around and below the manor. So clearly whoever these “brothers” were, they knew what Vorel Foxglove had been up to in the basement. They probably hadn’t expected it to become a haunted diseased ruin in the next century, or perhaps they would have changed their demands a bit.

We didn’t have another good lead, as we didn’t know where we might find this Brotherhood. So we decided the next logical step was to go speak with the local head of law here, Justice Ironbriar, whom Sheriff Hemlock had written to with all the pertinent information about the Skinsaw murders and its possible connection to a murder cult in Magnimar.

Ironbriar was…not a personable man. He took the information we had stoically, and when we mentioned we suspected the Brothers of Seven, he pointed us in the direction of their meeting place in a lumber mill. He seemed like he wanted this to be done as quickly and quietly as possible, but he otherwise came off as…indifferent.

Still, regardless of how I felt about him at the time, he had given us our next lead.

As we left the courthouse, someone shouldered Tabot hard. Tabot initially took offense to him, believing he’d just stolen something off his person. But then it was noticed there was a little halfling who had been using the larger man as a cover, and he was the actual culprit.

Gutsy, stealing in broad daylight right outside the courthouse.

Krysa used Hold Person to freeze the thief in place, and Tabot got his stuff back. Threats were made that he should think twice before trying that again.

After the halfling scampered off, Krysa informed us that they’d seen a strange bird flying overhead. It had looked like it was carrying a scrap of paper. Possibly a messenger bird. We had no idea where it had come from, but it seemed to be flying in the direction of the mill that was our own destination. Which put us on guard and caused us to hurry our travel to the mill.

At the mill, we saw an open window up top. A prime spot for a messenger bird, although we didn’t hear any bird calls.

We decided to enter from above, and catch them off guard.

Between a rope, a fly spell, and my spider climb potion, we all made it safely to the upper floor.

Once inside, we realized why there had been no bird noises. There were birds in cages, to be sure, but the entire room had a Silence spell place on it. The good news was that this would keep us from making any noises that might alert the people below. The bad news was, we couldn’t communicate or cast spells.

The other bad news was that we couldn’t hear anyone else moving about in the area either. Especially not someone invisible.

We made our way down the stairs, and Krysa turned themself invisible to scamper ahead and scout.

Unfortunately, once they’d slipped into the room down the hall, a signal was given, and all of the murder cultists in the building were alerted to our presence. A number were in the room with Krysa, more appeared from down the hall, and we heard footsteps behind us on the stairs—invisible assailants who had kept their presence concealed while we were in the bubble of silence, so they could box us in from behind.

We made our stand in the hall, with stab-happy murderers swarming us.

Then a door opened on the far end of the hall, some words were spoken by a familiar voice, and I felt my body seize up as a Hold Person spell froze me in place.

I couldn’t look to see, but I heard the others react—Justice Ironbriar was one of the cultists, and had set us up to be killed by his little murder band.

I could see a man step in my direction from around the doorway. He was going to go for the kill. I could do nothing to move or defend myself. There was no chance he wouldn’t strike somewhere fatal.

His blade froze centimeters from my chest, as Nanel (Donyoku?) skewered him.

A moment later I was able to will my body to move again, avoiding any more near-death experiences for the day.

We cornered Justice Ironbriar in the closet he’d been hiding in. Donyoku was forced to retreat after Nanel went unconscious from stab wounds and blood loss. But the rest of us dogpiled the treacherous Justice, and left his corpse to rot in the closet.

Seeing as we’d just stopped a major conspiracy (and with the desire to not be deemed murderers ourselves for killing one of the city’s highest authorities and a bunch of asshole nobles), we went to the Lord-Mayor about what we’d found. It helped that a few of us had spotted him ‘hiding’ a paper that seemed to incriminate the Lord-Mayor himself—something we worked out was a purposeful move, to get us to suspect his superior rather than him.

The Lord-Mayor was incredibly grateful that we’d stopped the cult who had been murdering citizens of Magnimar, and whose corruption had even worked its way into the house of law. We showed him some of Ironbriar’s writings, which was plenty incriminating on its own. We also asked about a place called The Shadow Clock, which his writings indicated were where someone by the name of Xanesha stayed. We’d seen the name before, in letters to Sheyless. This Xanesha seemed to be the mastermind behind all of the recent atrocities in both Sandpoint and Magnimar.

We were pointed in the direction of an ancient crumbling old clocktower, which locals had a betting pool on when it would collapse. So that was reassuring about how safe it would be to confront Xanesha there. Still, it was the only place we could face her, since we knew little else about the puppet master of this sick game.

We decided against trying to climb the outside—the stone that made up the exterior wall looked like it could give way at any moment. Instead we went inside and made our way up from there. Krysa flew, while Tabot and Nanel took the stairs, and I spiderclimbed up the wall.

As we reached roughly the halfway point, there was a loud clanging metal noise. And suddenly one of the bells from the top of the tower fell, hit Tabot and Krysa, and dragged them down together. Nanel went running down the stairs, and I slid back down the wall.

On the ground floor, a monstrous creature rose from the dust, releasing the bell it had ridden down on. It was a golem made of stitched together flesh, wearing an equally patchy cloak, and wielding an oversized scythe.

The monstrosity spotted Nanel first, and lunged for him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Scythe cut through flesh and bone with a sickening sound.

We leapt into action, Krysa and I setting the lump of living flesh ablaze while Tabot sliced it with his blade.

We didn’t give it a chance to try to finish the job with Nanel.

We had to patch ourselves up a bit before we dared try to climb the staircase again. But we did try again—we had to, if we were going to put this grisly chapter to rest.

At the peak of the belltower, we stopped before entering the only room. Given how we’d already been ambushed once, I drank a potion to See Invisibility, while Krysa used a Greater Invisibility spell on themself. Then we entered the room.

I saw what the others didn’t—within the room was a large half-snake-half-woman, who was invisible and silently waiting to strike. The others only saw three more of those shapeshifting Faceless Stalkers, which moved in to strike. I warned the others of the lamia, then slipped around the other enemies to throw an explosive at the snake woman. Krysa followed suit—also invisible, and it seemed unnoticed by the enemies despite them using the same tactic. They dropped a Flaming Sphere, immolating one of the vicious shapeshifters.

The lamia tried to skewer Tabot, but missed, and revealed herself to the others as her invisibility fell.

Nanel took care of the other stalkers, seemingly unaffected by their attempts to find a weak-spot to stab. I assisted him, tossing a bomb at the two creatures he was fighting, and watched as they went up in flames. A moment later, so did the lamia, as Krysa’s Flaming Sphere rolled over her, and Kyrsa finished the job with one last spell, dropping her smoldering corpse to the ground.

We found a note which confirmed that this lamia was indeed Xanesha, the one we’d thought was the mastermind behind the murders. But the note indicated that someone else was pulling the strings. Someone else was marking ‘sacrifices’ with the Sihedron Rune—in a ‘more elegant manner’ according to the letter. The note indicated that this person was Xanesha’s sister, and that both Xanesha and she served some ‘lord’, whose rise they were setting the stage for with all these sacrifices. The letter also specifically indicated that they were sacrificing those with greedy souls, and that the Lord-Mayor had been singled out as a prime sacrifice.

Obviously, when we showed the Lord-Major this he was shellshocked to learn there had been an assassination planned for him, but also ecstatic that it was already derailed. He invited us to have a party with him, although we politely declined, as we had to leave immediately for the area the letter had indicated.

Turtleback Ferry. My hometown.

I am terrified what we might find when we get there. If this letter was any indication, the handful of murders we’ve already witnessed was only the beginning.

I…need to sleep. I need to calm my mind. Worrying is pointless. I need to be ready for our travel tomorrow. One thing at a time. The better shape we’re in leaving, the faster we’ll get there.

I do not think I will sleep easy, no matter what logic I try to convince myself of.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 13

Aldern proved to be a slippery little snake. When we got back to the farmhouse this morning, he had managed to slip out from his bindings and was sitting there making breakfast. I almost wish I hadn’t sold the masterwork manacles we’d recently found—I doubt he could have so easily slipped the leash then. He told us, however, that him remaining here was a show of good faith. I wasn’t going to take the bait so easily—this man was perhaps one of the least trustworthy people we’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Still, we had to bring him along if we wanted to find out who was pulling the strings on these murders. It seemed it might be the same person who had manipulated Nualia, as Aldern made reference to Shayless being spoken to in her dreams, much as Nualia had been. I don’t know if it was the same Stone Giant face that had ordered Nualia to have my house destroyed in the goblin raid, but it’s certainly more than a mere coincidence that both benefactors used the same method of communication.

We made our way to The Misgivings. And it most certainly lived up to its name. The entire manor seemed rotten. Both literally and metaphorically. It was covered in strange fungus and mold, and the wood was so warped and bloated that every door took us throwing our entire body weight against it to force it open. Sometimes it took multiple tries and more than one person to finally force a door to creak open.

As we approached the manor, we found ourselves being eyed by a disconcerting number of ravens. Foxglove said when he left he usually had to run to get through the violently pecking and squawking flock. Tabot told us something even more worrisome—the birds were undead, the direct result of a bird feeding on ghoul flesh, letting its disease warp and kill their bodies, leaving a flock of violent mindless monstrosities where birds had once been. As if I didn’t dislike birds enough. Being disease carrying carrion eaters only made them that much worse.

They didn’t hassle us as we approached the manor, however. We predicted they would instead try to swarm us if we left.

We approached one of the front doors, which Aldern indicated would lead to a piano room. We forced the door open and piled inside.

The entire place smelled of decay and disuse. Krysa suddenly reacted as if they’d heard something. They asked who had lived here, and if one of the former residents had played piano. Aldern recalled after a moment that his mother had. Tabot went to inspect the piano, lifting up its cover to try to get a look inside. The moment Tabot’s hand touched the grand piano, however, Krysa was flung into the air. Above us our rat friend seemed to dance a waltz with no partner.

A moment later Krysa seemed to struggle free of whatever hold the spirit had on them. As they did, we could all see the haunting visage of a spectral woman who set Krysa back on the floor before floating above us. She appeared to be about to shriek, but was cut short when both Tabot and Nanel hit her with positive energy. She still remained, seeming to just barely hold her form together. Krysa shouted for me to throw a potion. I grabbed out a cure light wounds potion, and hurled it as if it were one of my explosives. It had the desired effect, the latent positive energy imbued in the potion burnt away the last of the Haunt.

We decided to retreat from this room quickly, piling through the door into a washroom. As we got our bearings, we could hear a squeaking and scrabbling noise. In the washtub was a single rat. Its fur was clumped, matted, and streaked with mold and decay. Tabot didn’t know what exactly it was, but warned it was undead like the birds outside. It seemed to take notice of us and began trying to drag itself out of the washtub. Tabot grabbed the rat and channeled positive energy into it with his paladin abilities, forcing the life—or unlife—from its body.

Outside of the washroom was a long hallway. We pushed our way through the nearest door, and found ourselves in a sitting room. As we investigated, I was suddenly overcome by intense feelings of worry and fear. From the perception of a former member of the house, I found myself believing for a moment that I needed to escape with my children because my husband was doing something horrible. I shook off the feeling after a moment, resisting the urge to grab one of my companions and flee. It seems Krysa had similar visions, as we discussed what we’d just seen and felt. There was nothing else of note in this room, so we retreated back down the hall and out into the dining room.

The rear wall, looking out towards the sea, was completely filled with four stained glass windows. They each depicted a magnificent magical creature being drawn into a seven-sided box. The box had necromantic symbols, which clued me in to what this was actually depicting. The creation of a phylactery. Part of the ritual for a mortal man to become a lich. Krysa was able to confirm my suspicions with their own knowledge.

There was something more going on with this manor than just ghouls and ghosts. Something deeply sinister had happened, scarring this building with hatred and terror.

We left down the hall to the front foyer. We took note of a strange spiral shaped patch of mold on the ground that almost looked like a spiral staircase. We also took note of a rather disturbing monkey head with a rope having from it. The others took it down and told Foxglove to carry it. He begrudgingly did, but not before pulling the chord and causing the monkey head to shriek. Apparently it was a magical item. And its magic was screaming like a bloody banshee.

When the sound was no longer echoing through my skull, I heard a different sound. Muffled, coming from upstairs. It was the sound of a woman crying. It was different from the haunts, which seemed to whisper in our ears and cause phantasmal visions. This was real, the sound had a sort of substance to it that the haunts lacked. There was an actual person crying upstairs.

We demanded Aldern to tell us what was upstairs. The only information he would give us is that when his wife choaked to death in the library, he had some allies help in disposing of her body. He added that it seemed they had done a poor job.

As we passed into the foyer, I smelled the strong scent of burning fur. A familiar scent, from many burnt fingers while perfecting my alchemical arts. I asked if anyone else noticed it, but the others didn’t know what I was talking about, and even suggested it was my own fur. I assured them I had not scorched myself today.

I went to take a look in the fireplace, thinking perhaps the smell was coming from there. As I did, I passed by a large stuffed manticore that filled the center of the room. The smell became stronger, and I turned around just in time to see the burning visage of a minotaur made entirely of flames. I tried to leap out of the way of the flames, but my efforts were in vain as the fire engulfed me. I yowled in pain, drawing the others’ attention to me again. They did not see the spectral fiery manticore as it burned itself out and vanished, but they certainly saw my scorched fur that had been pristine a moment prior.

We decided to move on quickly. We entered a drawing room, with curtains pulled shut. Tabot went to push them aside and look out the window, then leapt back in surprise. There had been a reflection of a woman with bulging bloodshot eyes in the place of his own reflection. We quickly retreated to the next room, wary of falling victim to another haunt.

Aldern became cagey about this next room. The library. Where he’d said his wife had choaked to death. He seemed particularly shaken by this room, especially when he saw a red scarf draped over a broken chair. He started muttering ‘no no no’, and looking around fearfully. When Krysa touched the scarf, the length of crimson cloth seemed to spring to life. It shot for Aldern, who ducked away in trembling terror.

So instead it latched onto the next closest person. Nanel.

Nanel seemed to be frozen in place by the ghostly strip of fabric. And it started to squeeze. It was immediately clear that the scarf was trying to choak the air from his lungs.

Before any of the rest of us could react, vines began growing around Nanel’s neck, trying to force to scarf to loosen its grip. The green plant matter grew over Nanel’s mouth as Donyoku began speaking, telling Nanel to snap out of it in an almost panicked tone. That seemed to be enough, as Nanel brought his vine-covered hand up and ripped the scarf off of himself, gasping for air.

I’m not entirely sure what to make of it. I’m grateful that Donyoku saved Nanel, don’t get me wrong. But just because he helped to protect his host doesn’t mean he’s any more benevolent or trustworthy than he was before. There’s every chance he did it entirely so he wouldn’t lose the body he’s planted himself within. But after that there’s no chance any of us are going to convince Nanel of that. He is already so wrapped up in Donyoku’s claims to care for him and protect him, this will only strengthen his resolve that the parasitic plant has his best interests at heart. I’m afraid for what will happen if Donyoku decides we’re not beneficial to it, if he whispers to Nanel that *we* don’t have his best interests in mind, and that we need to be removed from the picture.

I certainly don’t relish the idea of being plant food.

But for now, he did save Nanel. None of the rest of us would have likely been able to loosen the possessed scarf and snap Nanel out of his sudden stupor the way Donyoku did. So I have to begrudgingly admit that his presence was…beneficial this time.

After Nanel had gotten his bearings, he lunged for Foxglove. He demanded to know what that had been. He said he’d had a vision. A vision out of Aldern’s wife, Iesha’s, eyes. A vision of Aldern murdering her with that same strip of red fabric. ‘Choaked in the library’ indeed. More like strangled to death.

Aldern made excuses, that she had been cheating on him with some carpenter, that he’d acted in the heat of the moment, etc etc. Nanel told him that Iesha hadn’t even been cheating on him—it was just his own paranoia and jealously that had driven him to add his own wife to the ghosts already haunting this decrepit manor.

With new purpose, we made our way upstairs, ignoring Aldern’s pleas to leave the upstairs be. The crying was louder on the second floor, but still seemed to be coming from further above.

There was another set of stained glass windows in the back of a music gallery. This one depicted necromantic spell components—ones specifically rumored to be of use in a lichdom transformation. Surprise surprise.

There were more haunts on the second floor as well. And they seemed to be getting more and more dangerous. In a personal art gallery, we brushed away cobwebs coating paintings of the different members of the Foxglove family that had previously lived in this manor. When the images were clear to see, they began to twist and warp and rot. Each figure became a disfigured corpse. Except for an image labelled as ‘Vorel Foxglove’. That image exploded in a cloud of fungus and decay. When the diseased cloud cleared, I felt…unwell. And I could see bits of fungus caught in my fur, although no one else seemed to take notice.

It looked unsettlingly like that undead rat Tabot had cleared out.

And that was only the start of the second floor. In the next room, Nanel was nearly possessed by a haunt into slitting his own throat. In another room, I became convinced that there was fungus growing from my eyes, and tried to claw them out. I do not think the wounds left from that one will heal nicely.

As we neared the stairs to the attic, Aldern went into a blind panic and ran for it. We tried to catch up with him, but he launched himself from a bedroom window before we could stop him. Down below we saw him limp away on an injured leg. To where, we weren’t immediately sure. Still, he’d been more of a hinderance than a help, so it wasn’t much of a loss, really. Far worse, the room we’d followed him into compelled Nanel to attack me, and me to attack Tabot. The compulsion passed quickly, and I apologized profusely to our holy friend.

Despite all these setbacks, we managed to make our way upstairs into the attic. The crying and screaming was much louder now, clearly coming from a room at the end of the hall. We still checked each room as we went, ever vigilant for something that might sneak up behind us.

I fear our caution about living threats may have blinded us to the far more pressing danger the dead posed.

Another room of necromantic stained glass caused me to believe I was on fire, and that I needed to fling myself through the colorful glass and down to the ocean below. It…would not have been a fall I could have survived. Thankfully Nanel and Tabot held me back until I was in my right mind again.

We stopped before the room where the screaming and crying was emanating. Krysa got the door unlocked for us, and silently slid open the door.

Within was what remained of Iesha Foxglove after Aldern murdered her. A sobbing and howling undead that Tabot identified as a revenant sat crumpled before a mirror, unable to tear her tearful gaze away from her own reflection. We spoke to her, and although her gaze never left the reflection of her own face, Iesha did respond to us. She wanted to be put to rest—and to do so she needed to be allowed to leave this room and hunt down her murderer. To avenge herself. We agreed—Aldern had been nothing but a scumbag since we’d met him, and a murderer to top it off. It was well deserved, if his betrayed and murdered wife returned the favor tenfold.

So we knocked over the mirror, letting it shatter on the floor. Unbound by the sight of her reflection, Iesha let out a howl of sorrow and rage, and pushed past us to leave the room, making a beeline for the stairs. We followed as we heard a hammering sound that felt like it shook the foundations of the rotten building. Back on the first floor, we found the source. Iesha had stopped where that strange spiral of fungus was on the floor, and was punching it down, down, shaping the fungal growth into a spiral staircase. She told us that we wouldn’t be able to follow her, but if we wanted a piece of the action we could find our way down to Aldern’s hiding spot through the basement.

We took her advice, and made for the basement.

There was one final set of stained glass windows in the basement, in what appeared to be a necromantic workshop. The windows depicted exactly what we might have expected—a decaying man standing triumphantly, having conquered death in his own twisted way. In this room we had another haunting vision—this time of moving stained glass, depicting the stages of lichdom that Vorel Foxglove had gone through. Before being interrupted by his wife, Kasanda, who had broken into his workshop when she suspected what he was doing, and interrupted the final stages of his ritual.

The vision overtook me, and for a moment I believed I was the one who had just discovered how far gone Vorel was, and I felt the need to run upstairs to try to collect the children, and usher them to safety. I came to my senses once I made it to the second floor, and was disgruntled with having to walk those stairs again. It would seem haunts have no consideration for a poor crippled cat.

Upon returning to the basement, I found the others examining a handful of intricate cages with dead rats inside. The cages had a name—Pug’s Contraptions—that pointed towards them being procured in Magnimar. It was a lead for what to look into next, once we’d dealt with Sheyless and Aldern.

We found a spiral staircase that plunged deep into the ground, coming out in a small cave system. The caves were far from uninhabited. A giant bat-creature tried to make us its lunch. And lurking the natural cavern halls were a handful of undead goblins—more ghasts. Because more goblins and more super-ghouls were exactly what we needed.

We found Aldern with Sheyless and four more ghouls. Sheyless was…looking worse for the wear. It appeared she had succumbed to Ghoul Fever, and that she really was the serial killer we’d been tracking down. She tried once more to convince Tabot to join her in her undeath, but of course Tabot rebuked her. She went into a rage, telling Aldern to assist her in cutting our lives short. Aldern tried to blame our treatment of him for him joining Sheyless again—but given everything we’ve learned about his past actions, I don’t think any of us felt particularly remorseful even assuming he was being honest. More likely, even if we’d treated him with the utmost and undeserved respect, he still would have stabbed us in the back.

Iesha burst in from behind Sheyless and Aldern, her eyes fixed on her soon-to-be late husband. Aldern began panicking, but Sheyless told him to just kill like he’s supposed to.

Krysa started the fight off with a bang, immolating all of the ghoul minions with a single Fireball. Aldern was clearly terrified at this point, stuck between us and Iesha, and maybe, just maybe, realizing he made some really shitty life choices that led him here.

Sheyless went down first, as she seemed to be the greater threat. Then a knocked Aldern back and into Iesha’s waiting arms—so that she could rip him apart herself.

With the Skinsaw Man and Iesha’s murderer soundly dead, Iesha thanked us, and then the final ties holding her in this world unraveled, and she passed on. I pray she finds peace beyond the Boneyard.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 12

We made our way to the farmland, wary of what we might find in the farmhouse where Aldern Foxglove was supposedly captured by these ‘scarecrows’.

The first scarecrow we came across Krysa set ablaze—but as far as we could tell afterwards it had just been an ordinary straw man. Further up the road, however, we came across two more, which we noted were moving unusually. We destroyed them before they could ambush us. We found exactly what we expected to beneath the scarecrow guise: more ghouls.

At the next crossroads we saw another suspiciously moving scarecrow. Thankfully, before we attacked it, we heard a voice from it, muffled and begging for help. We discussed what to do with the captive—would it be safe to save him or would he turn into a ghoul in moments? We determined his wounds were fresh, and while carrying Ghoul Fever, he was not yet in the advanced stages and could still be saved. So we cut him down and led him back to wait outside the farmland where our horses were tied. But not before another ghoul tried to jump us from behind. Unsuccessfully, as Krysa burned it to death with a single spell.

As we made our way up the hill leading towards the farmhouse, we took note of another scarecrow with drag marks in the ground leading to it, implying another innocent had been tied to a post a little ways away. We also noted four scarecrows down one road, placed suspiciously close together. We decided we would take care of them on the way back, however. For now, we went to help the other victim—the wife of the first man we’d saved—and led her to wait with her husband.

Then we made it to the farmhouse. Inside was ransacked, but there was nothing living or undead waiting within. So we decided to check the barn. We heard the telltale groans of the undead, as well as a familiar voice—or more precisely a familiar pathetic whimpering. There was no doubt Foxglove was within and being held captive by the ghouls. Which meant we needed to save him…if only to clear out the danger to the people and farm animals living here.

We decided to take a pincer formation, Nanel and Krysa stationed at the front entrance while myself and Tabot went through the back door. Nanel made some noise at the front door to grab the undeads’ attention, so that they would all be focused on one side and be caught by surprise when Tabot and I came up behind.

The plan went off perfectly. Nanel and Krysa killed the leader, a ghast, in a split second. The rest followed quickly. One up in the loft even tried to leap at me from above—but must not have noticed Tabot between us until it was sailing over him, its stomach getting split by Tabot’s sword. He’d merely held it up to let the thing impale itself on.

When the fighting was done with we released Aldern. More out of obligation to learn what he might know than out of any love for the man. It seemed he’d only gotten more conceited and rude since the last time we spoke. He made frequent comments that clearly showed he only respected Nanel—or at least the version of Nanel he’d built in his head. He had this weird fixation on how strong and wrathful our companion was, claiming he was everything a hero should be.

I mean no offense to Nanel, as he’s done a lot to keep me alive in the past few days. But I don’t think ‘the pinnacle of heroism’ is what I would call him, especially knowing about Donyoku whispering in his ear. I don’t think any of us really fits the ‘heroic’ archetype. Krysa is chaotic and destructive—not necessarily a bad thing given it’s generally aimed at our enemies—and Tabot is naïve and judgmental, with a clear preference to not try to save those he deems irredeemable. And I’m just an alchemist with a bad leg and a few useful tricks, I neither seek nor embody the title of ‘hero’, despite the events since my house was burned down.

Regardless, Aldern was clearly only going to defer to Nanel. Despite Nanel making no effort to hide his distain for the man, even going so far as to violently lift him off the ground and threaten him when he refused to tell us everything he knew about the ghoul situation.

What we finally got out of him was that he had, in fact, helped with the recent murders. But he was not the Skinshaw Man. His ‘girlfriend’ was. I noted immediately that this must have been Sheyless Vinder, the younger daughter of Ven Vinder and the sister of one of the victims. Aldern confirmed, Sheyless was holed up in his manor and was the source of the ghouls and murders. He insisted he come with us to rectify the situation and get his home back. We were, obviously, less than thrilled at the prospect of him coming along. However he insisted, telling us that he could give us information about the manor and its ‘five ghosts’. He would not give us that information unless we brought him along, and he laughed off threats to his life from Nanel and Tabot, telling us he had worse to fear than mere death. Whoever was pulling the strings would apparently do worse, making him live in agony instead of the relief of a quick death. He would not devolve who this was, saying he only would once he had his house back.

I called a group huddle to discuss, out of Aldern’s earshot. I told the others that I thought it would be in our best interest to keep him nearby, even though I didn’t relish the thought of him traveling with us either. We could get whatever information we needed from him, and if he did anything to hinder us that made him more of a threat than a benefactor, we could get rid of him then and there. I’m not generally one to suggest cold blooded murder, I assure you. But Foxglove was a vile little man who was as likely to stab us in the back as he was to actually be of any use. At best he would likely be dead weight.

The others agreed with my assessment, and after some back and forth we agreed to return his armor and rapier—with the promise that if he proved to be useless in combat we would take the incredibly fine rapier back and make him stay out of the way.

I think, given the circumstances, we were being exceedingly kind. He’d had his hand in the multiple gruesome murders we’d seen in town, and the fact we even gave him a chance instead of turning him in to Sheriff Hemlock immediately was more than he deserved. A Sarenrite saint could not have had more patience and grace than we managed to muster.

That being said, we did tie him back up and leave him on the farmhouse bed while we returned to town for the night. Because none of us trusted him in the slightest, and we were not taking him back to town or letting him wander on his own.

I sincerely hope we do not come to regret this decision.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 11

There is a murderer loose in Sandpoint.

We had a few peaceful days to recover from our ordeals at Thistletop. Sandpoint felt almost like everything had gone back to normal, as if the goblin attack and all that followed were a bad dream. But it wasn’t—the ashes of what was once my home make that abundantly clear.

Still, a little rest is good for the mind, even if you know dark clouds are still on the horizon.

So I spent the week crafting potions and other alchemical creations, and in my spare time kept Nualia company. She opened up to us all a bit one day, when we were all together. The full story of what she’s been through…it is heartbreaking. I hope that now, without a temple stifling her or Lamashtu whispering in her ear, she will finally get a chance to heal, and maybe even build a normal life for herself beyond the ashes of her past.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. And our rest came to an abrupt halt when Sheriff Hemlock returned to town this morning.

We told him the good news, that we had cleared out Thistletop and their leadership, but that we still didn’t ultimately know who the actual mastermind behind the plot was. We also confided in him that we’d brought Nualia back to town, and we once again explained the circumstances of her change of heart. The sheriff took it in stride, agreeing to keep her presence a secret so long as she doesn’t do anything to make herself a danger to the town. We assured him she was in no state to do so, even if she wanted to.

Then the sheriff asked if she’d been in our sights the entire week. We told him truthfully that we didn’t exactly keep tabs on her at all hours of the day, but each of us had been spending time with her at random intervals, and Ameiko hadn’t said anything about Nualia leaving the inn at any point, so we were fairly confident she had remained inside the entire time. Hemlock said he would take our word for it, but it was almost disappointing, because it would have solved a lot of problems for him if Nualia were guilty of something in the last week.

We asked for him to expound on that, and he told us that there had been a string of murders over the last few days. Grotesquely like the serial murders that had happened years ago. He asked us if we would be willing to investigate farther, as we seemed to have a knack for sniffing out the perpetrators of such crimes. We agreed, and got information from him on all the leads he had.

One thing he gave us were two scraps of paper found at the scene of the crime. One was what seemed to be a twisted confession of love to Tabot, the other was some kind of declaration of loyalty to Nanel. Both were signed ‘Your Lordship’. This did nothing to shine a light on who might have committed the murders. Not yet, anyways.

Our first stop was the sawmill, where the most recent victims had been found. It was…gruesome. Incredibly gruesome. There was a young man and woman. The woman was Ven Vinder’s daughter, Katrine, who had apparently been meeting with one of the mill’s operators, the other victim.

Katrine’s body was…horribly mangled. She did not die a peaceful death.

The miller, Banny, was in even worse shape. While Katrine’s body was ripped apart by the log splitter in an instant act of violence, Banny was brutalized. And across his chest was that same Thassalonian rune from Nualia’s amulet. Carved in his flesh.

Nanel also took note of a sickening smell of rot—but the murder victims were still fresh, certainly not rotting away yet. He also found an axe with blood and rot splattered on it. I took note of some barefoot footprints that suggested the murderer had entered from the pier, tracking mud from the marsh below.

Taking that into note, Nanel and I decided to investigate the marsh for any signs of where the murderer came from or went. We found more footprints leading into the marsh, and that same horrible rotting smell.

When we returned with this information, Tabot came to a conclusion none of us had considered yet. The murderer was an undead creature. With the clues we’d found, he believed what we were dealing with was either a ghoul—or far worse, a ghast. We discussed whether this meant it was not one of the townsfolk after all—or if it meant there was a disguised undead walking amongst us. It would take powerful magic for an undead to create such a disguise, however. And if it had that kind of power at its disposal, why brutalize the victims using mundane means?

We needed more information. Especially now that we’d seen that Thassalonian rune again. I…had an idea of where we could get more information. Unfortunately.

Brodert Quink is a…frustrating man, to say the least. He thinks himself the most knowledgeable on the subject of Ancient Thassalon. And he is very…patronizing about it to anyone else studied in the subject. We…don’t get along. Well, at the very least I cannot stand him. He seems either utterly oblivious, or he continues on as if he doesn’t notice to get under my skin even more.

I don’t know which is worse.

Still, where my knowledge fails on this rune, I knew it was possible he’d come across it in his studies. So I swallowed my pride and lead the others to his abode. He was very pleased with himself that he had knowledge that could help with the murder investigations. He referred to teaching me about the subject if I was ever so inclined. As if I am a young kitten who needs guidance in my study!

…Regardless, I must begrudgingly admit, he had valuable information on the rune. He called it the Sihedron Rune. Apparently it originally represented the Seven Virtues of Rule and the seven schools of magic that Thassalonian society considered relevant (so everything except divination). However Quink posited that by the end of their reigns, the leaders of Thassalon were anything but virtuous, and he believed that the star’s meaning was eventually corrupted into representing the Seven Deadly Sins.

That last part seemed relevant, although we don’t quite know how. We went to talk to Ibor Thorn—the other surviving miller who worked with the victim— and he was able to reveal to us that his partner had been skimming money off the top. And that the money he took may have caused him to run afoul of the local Scarnetti family. Some rather nasty nobles who are known for being ruthless. And who happen to own the lumber mill. That gave us an idea of another possible culprit, and also directly linked the miller to the sin of greed. Or lust, considering he was having a tryst with Katarina.

The previous victims had been con men who were not local. Their bodyguard had survived but was in a delicate mental state. Them being con men also linked them to being sinful individuals as well.

We spoke to Vin Vender there as well. Both Thorn and Vender were being held as the only current suspects, although the Sheriff had confided in us that he didn’t believe either man did it, and he was mostly holding Vin there to give him some time to cool off after he’d learned the news of what happened to his eldest daughter.

We spoke to Vin first. He was a wreck. He’s always been a bit…high strung. Quick to anger or offense. I’ve never really been on the receiving end of it, all of our interactions had been cordial and business-like, but it’s known around town that he has a bit of a temper. The fact there are all sorts of rumors swirling around about his daughters surely does not help.

It took some finessing, but we were able to convince Vin to tell us that it wasn’t just Katarina who was gone. Sheyless—the young woman who had tried to seduce Tabot—had left earlier in the week. She’d left a note indicating that she had decided to run away with a foreign nobleman, and that she would never be returning home.

This bit of information caught our attention. Krysa was the first to suggest what I think we were all thinking. That perhaps Aldern Foxglove should be suspect in this investigation. We brought our thoughts to Sheriff Hemlock, and left the notes we’d been given with the sheriff so that he could compare the handwriting on them to receipts for The Rusty Dragon he would have written on.

In the meantime, we went to speak to the lone survivor of the first murder. The bodyguard of the dead conmen.

We spoke to a man at the front desk, and convinced him to bring the bodyguard—Grayst Sevilla—out for us to speak to.

The man who was brought down looked feverish and frantic. He was definitely extremely sick—both mentally and physically. Tabot suddenly told the men leading Sevilla to get back. He informed us all that this man had Ghoul Fever—and he was in the late stages, he could transform at any moment.

As if on cue, the man began ranting at us. He had a message for Tabot alone—it was an invitation to ‘his Misgivings’, and a promise to end the killing if he joined ‘the pack’ there.

He stumbled strangely over some of the words, as if he was trying to say one thing but then quickly changing to a different word. There was no time to puzzle over it, however, as the man collapsed. Then he rose again, bursting out of his straight jacket. His eyes no longer had life behind them.

There was a howl from the rooms above and a crash. And someone from in the basements below called upstairs, asking Habe what, exactly, was going on.

Things burst into chaos. We fought the newly-formed ghoul, trying to keep the now blood-crazed man from killing and infecting any others.

But an instant later, a wererat with a knife darted in, and immediately started yelling about stabby pointy objects while proceeding to stab the nearest person. The nearest person was, quite typically, myself.

Not a second later, a door to the basement swung open, and a bunch of zombies darted out with killing intent. A voice ordered Habe to kill anyone who had witnessed this. The doctor and his three tiefling orderlies turned on us. I was, unfortunately, also quite close to one of the tieflings, and was made a pincushion between him and the wererat.

I was barely hanging on by the time the necromancer who had been controlling the zombies entered the room. He mostly hung back and channeled negative energy, sapping our strength and lifeforce without hardly lifting a finger.

I think Nanel ate him. I kind of lost track, everything was so hectic, it all happened so fast, and I was bleeding quite profusely.

Once I was a bit more stable, I identified ‘Misgivings’ as the name for a manor a little ways out of town. Aldern Foxglove’s manor.

It seemed that our suspicions had been proven, and we went to inform Sheriff Hemlock. We met him at the Rusty Dragon, where he informed us that strangely enough, one of the messages we’d received was in Foxglove’s handwriting, but the other was not. He also had a quite terrified farmer sitting there with him, and he asked the man to explain to us what he’d been telling the sheriff before we arrived.

The man was frantic, talking about moving scarecrows attacking a farmhouse. We theorized that he’d mistaken some shambling ghouls as scarecrows. We noted that the farm was on the way to Misgivings, and that we could investigate Foxglove once the farmland was cleared out and safe.

And that’s when the farmer informed us that Aldern Foxglove was one of the people trapped in the farmhouse by these ‘scarecrows’.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 10

I had…a very unusual dream last night. No. That’s not quite right. I mean, it is. It was very much a dream. But I think in a way it was also real. The other three shared this unusual dream, and Shelalu also noted we all seemed restless in the night. Neither Shelalu nor Nualia had the dream.

In the dream, I was pulled from my sleeping arrangements by the web of a giant spider, which dragged me up into the sky. Instead of a web to ensnare me at the top, I found myself stepping out into somewhere bright and loud and impossible to wrap my head around. Everything was gold or had flashing lights. There were other people at what appeared to be various gambling games, but none seemed to draw my eye at the time—except for a large man made of stone, an aptly named Stone Giant. However, whatever business I had in this dream, it was not with him.

I arrived at this gambling hall with the other three, and although we went our separate ways to look around this unusual place, we all found ourselves meeting again at a large table, set up for playing cards. There was a man there. I couldn’t seem to bring myself to meet his eyes, but I saw his hands. There were golden hooked rings on them. I feel like I’d seen those rings somewhere before—somewhere recently—but I’ve been unable to determine where I’d seen them. I certainly didn’t mention them in my journal. I checked.

The man wanted to play cards with us, to get to know us. He said something about the way a person gambles showing so much about them. He dealt us each a Poker hand. I had a straight flush, so I felt quite confident, and chose to stay in. Krysa and Nanel did the same.

When we revealed our hands, Krysa also had a flush, while Nanel had three of a kind. The man said something to Nanel about how he can’t win if his partner is cheating. Then he produced another hand of cards which was apparently meant to represent Donyoku’s hand. It was all jokers.

Finally, the man revealed his own hand. A royal flush.

The man told us that we would meet like this again, twice more. Then the strange dreamscape faded away, and I awoke the next morning.

While we were preparing to return to the ruins, Nanel said he wanted to come clean about something. He explained that he hadn’t been entirely straightforward with us about what Donyoku is. Nanel had originally claimed Donyoku was his god. However now he revealed the truth—Donyoku was a parasitic plant, using Nanel as his host. Nanel showed us the vines growing through his flesh, and even manifested a second head made entirely of vines for Donyoku to speak to us through directly.

Donyoku claimed he only had Nanel’s best interests at heart. That he was here to protect him. That he cared for him. That this relationship was symbiotic, not parasitic.

I am…not sure I believe him. I was already feeling wary of him when I thought he was some manifestation of a celestial being. Knowing he is a parasite, protecting Nanel out of necessity for his own existence, does not help me feel generous towards him. Nanel trusts him wholeheartedly, however. I asked some questions to clarify my understanding of their relationship and what Donyoku is, and I felt like Donyoku was dripping with manipulation the entire time. But Nanel is too close to notice—quite literally, unfortunately.

I was not the only one who felt this way. Krysa was clearly guarded and slightly aggressive towards the plant creature, while Tabot was outright hostile. Although we all eventually agreed to continue working together even knowing this new information, it was clear that there was tension under the surface. But for now, Donyoku had promised he was trying to do better about not hurting his own allies, and I don’t think any of us wanted to alienate Nanel by pushing the argument any farther.

Nanel will have to see for himself that Donyoku doesn’t have his best interests at heart. Until then, there is no chance he will be convinced. Some things people just have to realize on their own, as painful as it is to see this and feel like he needs to be separated from this creature for his own good (and likely his own health), and wanting to help push him in the right direction. That would end poorly, I am certain.

So, once all our morning preparations were complete, we made our way back to the Thessalonian ruins. It was somehow more harrowing than Nualia, a demonic bugbear, and a greater bargheist combined.

What awaited us in the vault were Shadows. Horrible undead wraiths that could draw out your very lifeforce with but a touch.

They appeared all around the room—still close enough together for Krysa to light them up, but too far for me to do the same with my explosives. My sword was ineffective against them, as well, as it passed right through them doing minimal actual damage.

Tabot, on the other hand, proved exceptionally adept in this fight. He was able to channel positive energy to burn away the negative energy holding the spirits together, and by channeling his holy power into his blade he made it able to cut through spirits as a sword normally cuts through flesh.

We found a secret passage after the shadows were cleared away. It led even further down below the ruins. To a small underground bay. There was an enormous golden helmet in the middle of the water, looking for all the world like some giant warrior had fallen in battle and decayed to nothing but dust, leaving only their helm to mark where they had passed.

More likely, it was just decorative.

Far more intriguing was the wall art. It was a fresco of a glittering golden city nestled amongst mountains. Given the context of the rest of the ruins, I theorized that this was a depiction of the legendary city of Xin’Shalast, which is said to have been a Thassalonian city made entirely of gold. No one has ever found evidence of such a city. No ruins like these. But Varisia is a big place. Maybe it is out there somewhere. It would certainly be a historical marvel.

While I was admiring the wall art, the giant helmet sprang to life. Well, more precisely, the creature beneath it sprang from hiding. The giant golden helmet was being used as a shell for an equally giant crab.

We dispatched the crab, and the others began discussing how we could get the helmet out, so we could sell it. I couldn’t deny that so much gold would be worth a small fortune. But I dismissed myself from the conversation when the others decided the best course of action would be to swim beneath it, using the helmet to trap a bubble of air above them so they could breath as they maneuvered it in the water. I am less than fond of swimming, especially in an ocean we’ve already seen houses bunyips, giant crabs, and all manner of nasty aquatic beasts. So while the others swam their find out, I took the long way back, up the stairs and back through the ruins.

Once we reconvened with Shelalu and Nualia, we made our preparations to head back to Sandpoint. And figured out our plan for what to do about secreting Nualia into town.

The sun was setting as we made it to the outskirts of town. We had two ideas of where to leave Nualia—Nanel’s place or The Rusty Dragon. Nanel’s home would be easier, but he talked about it like it was just a hole in the ground somewhere rather than a real house.

And to be perfectly honest, when we took her there initially, that description is not entirely far off. It was small, and kind of damp and musty. We decided not to leave Nualia there for long, just for long enough for us to talk to Ameiko and get her approval to hide Nualia there.

Seeing as Nualia was a big part of what got both her father and brother killed…I was admittedly worried about how she would take the request.

Still, we returned to the Rusty Dragon to speak with her. She was skeptical at first, of course. But we explained everything, including that she’d been manipulated by the literal goddess of monsters, and when she chose to act in a way antithetical to Lamashtu, she lost her arm as the price. So she was very clearly in a state where she’s open to working on doing better, and she is very much not in the state to kill anyone or lead another goblin raid, or what-have-you.

Ameiko agreed, on the condition that if Nualia did anything to harm anyone, she would kill the woman herself. We agreed that those were acceptable terms—Ameiko isn’t the sort of person to abuse it to take revenge on Nualia. She’ll probably just have her scrub dishes and wait tables as her early penance. Some regular work would probably do her good.

The other thing Ameiko asked of us was that we provide some kind of distraction so no one would see her enter the tavern. We brainstormed, and Tabot floated the idea of doing a live performance. Specifically, Tabot wanted to do a stand up comedy act.

Tabot does not know the first thing about stand up comedy. This was a recipe for disaster. Which actually meant it was the perfect distraction. We all agreed. Nanel said he would stay behind and keep an eye on things incase anything went wrong, while Krysa and I would return to Nanel’s home and retrieve Nualia. I also got her a inconspicuous travelling cloak, so that she could throw a hood up and obscure her face a bit. It had been years since she was last in Sandpoint, but her features are rather…conspicuous.

It's interesting, I’d never met an aasimar besides Morri. What is interesting is how their features have a sort of similarity but they also look wholly different. Nualia is beautiful, with long white hair, but completely white eyes that seem to have a bit of a glow to them. Morri is Morri. You couldn’t mistake her for human, with her almost unnaturally perfect face and golden eyes that seem like they hold the sun. I suppose it’s always struck me as a bit novel, how they look so incredibly human but also so incredibly not. I am obviously not human, being a catfolk, there is virtually no overlap. Morri and Nualia, though. The differences are so slight that I’m surprised I would even see them, and yet they are somehow both subtle and obvious.

I am so glad that Morri never went through the things Nualia did. I…cannot imagine. All that pressure on a little girl. The way she was othered. And then all that venom at the sort of mistake so many other teens make. She wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, to have bad judgement, or to be in any way a regular child or teen. People saw her as a symbol instead of as a person. And symbols don’t have feelings, don’t get angry or sad, don’t fight back.

It is no wonder things turned out the way they did.

Anyways…where was I? My mind wandered a bit. Right. Getting Nualia into the Rusty Dragon.

So Krysa and I went and retrieved Nualia, and snuck her in through the back entrance. I didn’t get the pleasure of seeing Tabot’s performance, but I could hear the crowd heckling him as we took Nualia upstairs.

And then a bar fight broke out.

It would seem Tabot’s act was so bad it drove the tipsy patrons to violence. Not against him, thank goodness. But it sounded like a good few people were thrown out of the Rusty Dragon.

I am now safely in my own room of the inn. I plan on sleeping soon. But…I am hesitant. What was that dream last night, really? Nualia had said a stone man had sent her instructions in her dreams. Could the stone giant I saw in that gambling hall be the one who’d ordered my house burnt down? What will happen if we continue indulging this mysterious card dealer? He seems to be expecting us to meet again, which I assume means more strange dreams. I wonder if I should just throw the amulet with that Thassalonian rune into the ocean.

But it is my only lead. I can’t discard it until I understand where these dreams are coming from, and who is it that has it out for me.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 9

We did, indeed, find Nualia. We did not, however, get many more answers than we had before. I certainly feel like I have more questions than answers, and she doesn’t seem to actually know all that much in the grand scheme of things. Someone else was pulling the strings here.

After we camped out with Shalelu, we returned to Thistletop to continue our investigation. We ventured down to the second floor—at first we smacked face-first into a locked door, but using a different staircase we were able to make our way down eventually.

The second floor seemed to mostly be living quarters. We found a room that belonged to Bruthasmus, the bugbear with whom Shalelu shares a mutual hatred. He was not present, however. Only his consorts were. We decided we really didn’t want to have to fight these ladies if they heard anything amiss, so we maneuvered one of the heavy pickle barrels from the floor above in front of the door to temporarily barricade it.

A little more exploring revealed living quarters for Nualia, Tsuto, and two unfamiliar names: Orik and Lyrie. There were noises indicating a person was occupying “Orik’s” room. So Tabot knocked.

Orik was a fairly genial man, albeit a bit drunk. Tabot offered my jug of Ameiko’s punch to him. Which I didn’t really want to give away, but if it got us into this guy’s good books and meant one less person we had to fight and kill down here, then I’ll live. I’m sure Ameiko will have another concoction to share another day.

It turns out Orik was not terribly loyal to Nualia—he mostly just hung around because he was infatuated with a wizard also on Nualia’s payroll, that Lyrie whose name was on the other door. The problem was that Lyrie only had eyes for Tsuto—who in turn only had eyes for Nualia. You could make a bad romance novel out of this.

Orik warmed up to us significantly when we implied that Tsuto ‘had an accident’ and died—and that we may or may not have been said accident. Orik decided this was the perfect opportunity to convince Lyrie to quit, since she didn’t like Nualia, so there was no reason left to stay. He warned us not to let on that we’d caused Tsuto’s death if we ran into them, and that Lyrie was ‘a bit grumpy’.

Before he scampered off, we were able to get a little information out of him about what else we could expect on this floor. There was apparently a temple that had ‘an invisible presence’ inside. He sometimes saw the door open and close on its own, so that implied whatever it was, it wasn’t bound to stay in the temple. Which meant we’d need to deal with it somehow.

The only other thing he could warn us about was that there was an open cliff face a ways off, and there was a thing with tentacles roaming around there—although there was also some treasure scattered around there, too.

We decided we were going to clear out the temple to avoid any nasty surprises, then see about going downstairs—which Orik told us was past where Lyrie would be doing her work. So if he needed our help to back up his argument for leaving, we could do that along the way.

We found an entrance into the temple, and Tabot managed to somehow discern where the invisible creatures were lurking. He pointed them out to me, and I threw my ink well at the nearest one, covering it in black smears that clearly indicated where it was.

The other one came up behind me, digging razor sharp teeth into my bad leg and ripping my feet out from beneath me, sending me falling to the ground.

At the same time, the other Yeth Hound began baying like it had cornered prey in a hunt and it was time for the pack to move in. I felt a primordial fear try to cloud my senses, but I clamped down on my rational thought and forced my way through.

The others stood their ground as well—clearly we’d honed our willpower since the fight with the little demon who sent half of us running.

The four of us managed to clear out the twisted hounds, despite them being unnaturally hardy—many weapon attacks barely scratched them.

Satisfied that the biggest threat that might come up behind us was dispatched, we went to see how Orik was doing convincing Lyrie to leave.

I was a little distracted during this particular conversation but will record it to the best of my memory. As you may recall, Lyrie was mentioned to be a wizard. As a wizard, she had a familiar. That familiar was a cat.

I realize how this is going to sound…but I am allergic to cats. Not to fellow catfolk, mind you. Only to actual cats.

So I was distracted trying not to distract everyone else with sneezing and sniffling.

Anyways, the basics of the conversation to my recollection were this: Lyrie didn’t believe Orik that Tsuto was dead. Nanel confirmed he was very much dead and it was very much not our fault, we just happened to learn that the local guards had caught him in the glassworks and killed him. Lyrie floated the suggestion of avenging Tsuto by continuing to help Nualia with her plans to crush Sandpoint. Orik told her to let it go, that she didn’t even like Nualia, and she could start fresh somewhere else. Some more back and forth was had, and eventually Lyrie agreed to leave with Orik to wherever he was going for their fresh start. As she was getting her stuff together, Lyrie warned us that Bruthasmus had been through, and was probably holed up with Nualia. Then they left.

And she took the cat with her.

Although the entire room was covered in its fur so it’s not like it helped much.

I think Krysa found a spell book. I don’t remember if we talked any about what to do about Bruthasmus. But then we went down the stairs, to the final floor of Thistletop.

As we reached the bottom and my sinuses were already clearing up a bit, I heard something coming down the stairs behind us. Fast. It sounded wet, and like it had tentacles.

We’d been worried about the invisible hounds, but apparently it was the other thing we’d discounted as just a beast that was now coming up behind us.

We barreled down the stairs and into the room beyond, turning to face what was coming up from behind.

The horror that shambled down the stairs after us was like a land-squid, all slimy tentacles and eyes. Unfortunately for it, since we heard it coming, we were able to counter its ambush with one of our own. It didn’t stand a chance, sliced to bits as it pushed its way into the room. I was tempted to take a sample to see if monster-squid could be made into calamari, but we had more pressing issues than fish-experiments. We knew Nualia and Burthazmus were just ahead.

We didn’t press forward much more before Nanel and Krysa stopped us, pointing out an exceedingly deadly trap set up in the narrow hallway. Two ancient looking statues of a man wielding a glaive were set in enclaves to the sides of the hall. If their analysis of the trap was correct, the statues were set up to stab anyone who passed by multiple times, before the floor would fall out from under and deposit the victim into the ocean below.

Whoever built these ancient ruins sure didn’t want people snooping around.

We managed to bypass the trap safely, and gathered just beyond it. Before we bypassed the trap, however, we took a moment to really discuss our plan. Most of us were of the opinion that Nualia could be saved—that she had been dealt a bad hand, and she just needed someone to acknowledge her hurt and try to guide her away from Lamashtu’s manipulations. Tabot, however, disagreed. He believed that for the things she had done she was unforgivable, and that we should administer justice upon her. Nanel and Krysa argued against Tabot’s rather rigid position. I tried to reason with him that we should at least try to get through to her, and if she proves impossible to talk down, then we could talk about ‘justice’. One of us asked Tabot if someone was unforgivable for doing harmful things because you were suffering and someone took advantage of their fragile state of mind. Tabot replied without any hesitation or consideration, that yes, that made the person evil and they had to be dealt with.

I am…concerned by Tabot’s stance on this. If every mistake is taken as a show of a person��s inner moral failings, then no one is truly good. I don’t think there’s a person in the world who has never lashed out in anger, or lied in desperation, or stolen because they are starving, or what-have-you. I believe the circumstances of a person’s choices should be considered just as much as the choice itself.

Regardless, while we were in disagreement about how to handle Nualia, we were in agreement that something had to be done. And that meant pressing forward.

Beyond the trap there was a hall to our right, and a closed door to our left. We could hear sounds from the doorway, and knew it was likely we were going to face down Nualia now.

In the room beyond the door, we were proven correct. Nualia awaited us, along with the bugbear Bruthazmus, and another demonic hound.

They flew immediately into the offensive. However, Nanel and I tried to talk Nualia down. Nualia recognized Nanel, and his words seemed to affect her most deeply. She was faltering, but she hadn’t quite made up her mind.

Then, to my surprise, Tabot spoke up. He told her quite frankly that he didn’t think she could be saved—but that we did, and he trusted us. It sounded like maybe he wanted her to prove him wrong. Or maybe I’m just interpreting it that way because that’s what I’d like. Regardless…our words reached Nualia. She agreed to parlay.

She wasn’t given the chance.

The moment she stood down, she cried out in pain as her demonic looking arm shattered like so much stained glass, leaving her with only a stump where it had been. The shards of demonic energy that had been released swirled around the ceiling for a moment before entering Bruthazmus. The bugbear twitched and bloated out into a horrific demonic form.

We slayed the Yeth Hound, and went toe-to-toe with the inheritor of Lamashtu’s corrupt powers. The demonic bugbear focused on Tabot, nearly forcing our friend to his knees with his vicious attacks.

Even with only one arm, Nualia grabbed her blade from the floor and joined the battle on our side, laying into Bruthazmus as much as she could in her current state.

Together we bested the demonic monster. The room was quiet as the bugbear fell, only the sound of his body hitting the ground and the drip of blood from what was left of Nualia’s arm.

We did what healing we could. As we did, we asked Nualia some questions. Unfortunately, she didn’t have many answers. She apologized to me for my house, and told me she didn’t actually know who had ordered her to have it burnt down. She had a strange amulet with a Thassalonian rune on it, and she said she’d had dreams since putting it on, of a large stone face who directed her in the plans against Sandpoint. She gave me the amulet, incase it might prove useful in learning anything else. I am…admittedly at a loss.

Unfortunately, we still weren’t done for the day. Nualia told us that there was something far worse waiting to be unleashed in these ruins. The creature the goblins believed to be a god. Nualia confirmed that it did exist, although it was more a creature of abyssal nature than a god of any kind. It was powerful, though, and dangerous. If it was unsealed from its cage further in the ruins, it would be a blight on the world. And likely its first target would be nearby Sandpoint.

Nualia rested in the chambers where we’d fought while the rest of us went looking for this ‘Malfeshnekor’.

We ventured down the hall we’d seen, and came upon what at first appeared to be a pile of golden coins. Closer examination proved them to be an illusion, and to either side in the wall were small coin-shaped divots. We placed a gold piece in each divot. The coins vanished, and a secret passage opened. We decided to explore beyond the secret passage first rather than continuing to follow the hall—if the passage was so cleverly disguised, it was likely something important was beyond. Possibly a caged ‘goblin god’.

We explored the rooms beyond. One was locked, with a strangely shaped keyhole. We suspected this to be the demon’s cage. Further exploration led me into a room with a phantasmal image of that same man with the book and glaive. He was talking, speaking in Thassalonian. The message was only a small snippet of some sort of speech, which kept looping. Between how the man spoke, and having a better visual of him than the statues, was enough for me to surmise this man may have been one of the fabled Runelords who ruled Thassalon all those millennia ago. This ruin was an anthropological treasure trove. Hidden beneath a goblin den of all places…

The others found what appeared to be the key to Malfeshnakor’s cell. We prepared ourselves, and then opened the door and entered.

At first the cell appeared to be empty. It was only so until Tabot and Nanel had entered the chamber—with Krysa and I remaining just outside the door. The demonic creature—a greater barghest—appeared, striking Tabot. Nanel and Tabot teamed up against him, managing to do just as much damage to him as he did to them. Malfeshnakor was smarter than the goblins and beasts we’d fought before, though. He retreated across the room, then cast a mass Enlarge Person spell on all of us. Krysa and I resisted, avoiding being crushed by the walls of the small hall we stood in. Nanel was less fortunate, and became too large to retreat back out the door.

Then the barghest disappeared again—not invisible, but teleported out into the hallway beyond the door. Behind myself and Krysa.

Malfeshnakor cast another spell as we scrambled to face him. He attempted to overwhelm Krysa’s willpower and turn them against us. Krysa played along, pretending to listen as they cast a spell—then unleashed a flaming sphere on the barghast. Tabot charged in from the other room, slipping past me and Krysa, and struck Malfeshnakor with the full force of his smiting power. I assisted from afar with my explosives, before switching in to impale the infernal creature with my blade.

We managed to prevail, ending the demonic creature’s life and saving the oblivious world above from his freedom.

We were utterly spent. We’ve returned to camp with Shelalu, Nualia in tow. We kind of half explained the situation to Shelalu, and she accepted our explanations for the time being. Which means all there is left to do is rest, and then do one final sweep of those ruins in the morning. Just incase any other dangers are still hiding down there, waiting for the chance to return to the surface and wreak havoc.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 8

It has been…quite the day. And we have not even finished our venture into the depths of the goblins’ den, although we did manage to cull their chief. Nualia is still nowhere to be seen.

We had a tangle with some guards before entering the goblin fortress, but it wasn’t of much note—four goblins on their goblin dog mounts, easily dispatched now that we’ve grown accustomed to fighting the little menaces.

Tabot stumbled into the first room of the fortress first, while fighting the guards. It was a gruesome trophy room with the stuffed heads of beasts the goblins had conquered on the walls—mainly horse and dog heads, given their hatred of both. There was also a harpy’s wing on display, which was a surprising and more impressive kill for a bunch of goblins than the rest of the ‘trophies’ implied they were capable of.

We chose a door and went deeper into the fortress, finding ourselves in a courtyard where I had heard the noises of goblin dogs and, strangely enough, a horse. We dispatched the four monstrous hounds, then looked to the shed where the horse sounds were coming from. When we opened the door we found a terrified and half-starved (but otherwise quite beautiful) warhorse. We decided Tabot had the most calming presence of the four of us, and I gave him some rations to try to entice the starving horse with. It seemed to work. The horse—whose saddle indicated his name was Shadowmist—calmed significantly. Enough for us to safely leave him alone and trust he would not get himself hurt.

In a nearby storage room we also found the goblin dogs’ food source—live rabbits. Later, when we made our way out with Shadowmist, Tabot also calmed the rabbits and carried them out by the armful.

With the animals sorted out, we continued our investigation of the fortress. We heard some arguing up ahead, coming from a tower above us. It seemed a pair of goblins had stolen some pickles and were trying to eat as many as they could and hide the evidence.

Krysa and Nanel snuck into the room to try to get the drop on them. I didn’t see what happened next, but a moment later there was shouting, and Tabot and I had to run in and help finish the fight.

We found beyond the tower that we’d gone in a circle, returning to the trophy room. We began listening around the other doors to try to determine where to check next. One room clearly had a large number of creatures within, and sounded like a very large room—we had a feeling we should wait until we’d cleared out anyone that might run in behind us first before looking into it.

There was a door in which it sounded like some goblins were just getting ready for an attack, but were still in the middle of preparing. I had the idea that I could throw open the door and lob a bomb at them—hopefully catching them off guard and catching a large number of them, as it sounded like they might be crowded together.

Unfortunately, I flung the door open right as a goblin was at the door, catching us both off guard.

Things got a bit chaotic from there. There were some other goblins that threw open another door near Tabot, and who downed a potion that sent them into a blind rage. The goblins in the little barracks I’d found myself at the entrance of were crowding over each other to try to get a piece of me.

But we managed. Despite Tabot being in a bit of a touch and go situation there for a moment, we did still manage to clear out the veritable swarm of goblins without anyone in our group going down themselves.

Farther down the hall we found a second door leading into what sounded like the same room as the large one with many goblins we’d identified before. We got the bright idea to split our forces, and bust down the doors in tandem to try to pincer them.

It wasn’t a bad plan, per-se. If the doors hadn’t been locked, it would have been a good plan. But with the doors locked, and us needing to burst through the doors at the same time, and get it in one go or else alert the goblins…it was too many factors that could go wrong. So it is no wonder that it went wrong.

Tabot and Krysa took the door we’d just found, while Nanel and I circled back around and took the door in the trophy room. We waited until it seemed like the right time, then tried to burst the door from its hinges.

It held firm, despite our combined efforts.

I could hear the echoing bangs of Tabot trying on their door. I didn’t hear the crash of the door giving way—it appeared he’d run into a similar problem.

Nanel and I tried again, and on a second go we managed to throw the door open. I was the first one through, having thrown my entire weight into it.

So I was the first one on our side targeted by arrows from the goblin commandos—as was Tabot on his side. These goblins were already seething with the same rage effect we’d seen earlier. They also had another one of those war chanters, a bard, who began empowering them magically.

All of this paled in comparison to their leader, however. He was a goblin, like any other, but he was issuing commands whilst astride atop a giant gecko.

I could see Tabot had wedged himself into his doorway to protect Krysa, but a number of goblin commandos were baring down on him. I was torn, and asked Nanel who he thought I should prioritize—catching a bunch of the goblin minions in a single explosion, or going after the big guy himself. Nanel told me to go after Ripnugget and his pet, and he’d deal with the other goblins harassing Tabot. I agreed, and turned my attention to the goblin chieftain.

I threw an explosive at the mount, figuring something that big was likely less agile than a small goblin. My theory proved accurate as the explosive detonated across the reptile’s scales, and flames licked at his master.

Ripnugget directed his mount to crawl up the wall, putting him in an inconvenient position to try to attack—leaving him out of range of my sword entirely. But he also opened up a vulnerability—if his mount was taken out, he would fall along with it from that height.

So I aimed another explosive at him. But it wasn’t enough, still his mount hung on by a thread.

Tabot ran up next to me—the commandos dispatched, and asked what the plan was. I told him that I was trying to do, and he took his rarely-used bow and finished the mount, sending both the reptile’s corpse and the goblin atop it plummeting to the ground. And we were waiting for him.

He was still a dangerous foe, even without his lizard. He had a level of ferocity and expertise with his blade that I would not have expected from a mere goblin.

However, his last-ditch gambit was to run—or so it seemed at first glance. As we went after him, keeping pace, he turned to face us again. I think he may have been trying to get momentum to charge at us—but we foiled that plan by staying on his heels. I’m sure the goblin probably felt we were much like the much-hated hounds on a hunt.

After he was slain, we searched the area a bit, finding some small bit of treasure and a key for a chest elsewhere in the fortress.

We were exhausted after clearing out the goblin chief. I’d expended virtually all my healing potions and extracts, I think Nanel was out of healing magic as well, and Krysa was out of spells. Tabot would have to carry all three of us if we tried to go any farther this evening.

So we’ve retreated for the evening, and set up camp with Shalelu just outside the Tanglewood. She’s going to look after Shadowmist as she has the rest of our horses. As for the rabbits…I assume Tabot is going to just release them, although I don’t know what effect a dozen new rabbits will have on the local environment.

Tomorrow we venture deeper into Thistletop Fortress. And hopefully face Nualia at last, and get some answers.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 7

This morning we met with Shelalu, who’d apparently been keeping herself busy while we’d been clearing out those ruins under the glassworks.  She’d figured out which goblin tribe was behind the attack on Sandpoint, and could lead us right to them.

And that’s how we ended up saddling up our horses and riding out to Thistletop.

Shelalu rode on Morri II with me, since she’s one of the larger horses in our care, and I don’t take up terribly much space myself. It was either that or Nanel’s horse, and that one seems to barely tolerate Nanel much less having two people ride it. Morri II is a sweet girl, at least. She’ll only bite goblins.

We made good time, and most of the ride was uneventful—and much more peaceful than the ride we’d had a few days ago with Aldern. Unfortunately our last leg of the journey was…less uneventful.

We got jumped by a band of goblins not far from our destination. They just appeared out of the underbrush on either side of the road. Most of us spotted them and reacted in time to dismount and draw weapons before they’d started their attack, but poor Tabot was taken by surprise as an arrow went wide and struck his shield by sheer fortune.

The fight went well. Shelalu is obviously an expert goblin hunter, and took down two in the blink of an eye. Krysa followed her example, and made use of their new Burning Hands spell to cremate two more. Tabot cut down one of the two remaining.

The last…for the sake of all our bruised egos, I will not go into details, but suffice to say in the end we kept his ears as a good luck charm since he seemed rather blessed with luck himself in life.

After the ambush was dealt with, we made it to the Nettlewood proper, which would be our entry point to Thistletop. Shelalu offered to keep our horses and make sure no one came in behind us to try to block us in. She was a bit tall to easily navigate the thorny tangle that made up the Nettlewood. We’re fortunate the rest of our party aren’t terribly large—even Nanel isn’t much taller than me, even if he’s built much stouter.

Nanel located tracks that indicated the path out, but the others were concerned about enemies coming up behind us—or missing possible goblin stashes that could be useful to us—so we took note of the right direction and then did everything but follow it.

We found a couple of watchtowers. Krysa, upon climbing the first one, found a healing potion. They also spotted a large fighting force of goblins the next clearing over. Unfortunately, they saw Krysa, too. The goblins charged into the clearing, outnumbering us more than 2-to-1.

Turns out numbers don’t matter much when you have a little rat-shaped avatar of death sitting in a tower above the battle dropping orbs of fire on goblins and shooting crossbow bolts at them. Krysa started out the fight incinerating a goblin with that Flaming Sphere spell they’d learned from the scroll we’d found, then they spent the rest of the fight sending the sphere from one goblin to the next, engulfing them in deadly flames each time, and then shooting another goblin dead with their crossbow without using up a drop more arcane might.

That’s not to say we were slouches on the ground. Tabot was making incredibly good use of that new magical longsword of his, and Nanel’s hit and run tactics with his bite and ranseur from the day before were just as effective on goblins as on Sinspawn.

The horde of goblins fell before us in mere moments. Then Krysa scurried down from their perch and we continued our search of the Nettlewood.

There was little else of note—two more watchtowers with some healing supplies, and a hole that dropped all the way down to the sea, from which the cries of a bunyip echoed up from below.

When we doubled back and made our way towards the bridge, we came across a single lone goblin, sitting in a clearing, chanting something in a language none of us spoke. I, once again, did not prepare Comprehend Languages today, so I was at as much of a loss as the others. I suggested to Krysa that the chanting sounded like he might be casting magic, however.

Krysa agreed, and they cast Detect Magic. After focusing for a few moments, they informed us that the goblin did indeed have evocation magic about him. And there was something else—something behind him that had magic on it that seemed to be moving. Something concealed.

We decided to strike first. Krysa shot two Magic Missiles at the meditating goblin. At the same moment, a streak of black and orange fur sprang from the underbrush, digging claws into Nanel. Now we could very clearly see the firepelt cougar that had been hiding, waiting only for its master to give the order to attack.

The goblin turned to face us. There was a sword made of fire blazing in his hand, and he had a murderous intent in his eyes.

It was immediately clear this was not a pushover footsoldier like the other goblins we’d been fighting up until now.

The goblin darted forward and tried to stab Krysa with that flaming blade, but thankfully missed a potentially brutal blow to our rat friend.

Krysa tried to retaliate with a Touch of Fatigue, but the goblin jerked away. Krysa’s hand glowed with the sickly glow of necrotic energy—still ready to be unleashed. They darted away, and before the goblin could try to follow, he was faced with Tabot and Nanel.

While they focused on the druid, I tangled with the cougar. It swung around and raked claws across my collarbone, just barely missing my throat. I shoved it away, but it managed to dig its fangs into my arm in retaliation.

There was so much blood.

I was feeling lightheaded. And cold. I think I’d gone into shock from the severe injuries the cougar inflicted.

And the goblin noticed I was on my last legs. He tried to dart away from Nanel and Tabot and make a dash for me—likely to finish me off before I could get a second wind.

In tandem, Nanel’s ranseur and Tabot’s blade came down on the druid. His momentum carried him to where he’d been aiming to run behind me—but only the upper half of him. His lower body tumbled to the ground where it had been cut down.

I owe both Nanel and Tabot twice over, now, it would seem.

Without the druid directing it, the cougar no longer fought with the cunning it had shown before—allowing me to retreat and heal while the others finished the job.

With the final hurtle between us and Thistletop cut down, we followed the trail out of the Nettlewood. There was a nasty little trap on the bridge between the mainland and the island that made up Thistletop—but we figured out the trick to it, and were able to cross safely.

This was it. We were finally at the den of the goblins who had started this whole mess. And possibly even the hiding place of Nualia, who had directed her vengeful wrath at the town.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 6

It was not a restful night after we got Ameiko home safe. She needed some time, quite understandably. The rest of us separated for the evening. I worked on a potion to replenish our diminished stock, to keep my mind occupied and not fretting over the fact I came within a breath of death.

Before we’d separated, our strange little group did have a talk amongst ourselves. Nanel apologized for nearly getting me killed. He said he was new to working with others, and he would try to be more careful in the future. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he needed to keep whatever that other form of his was under control if we were going to continue working together. I didn’t want anymore close calls exasperated by my own allies.

On the other side of the coin, however, I also spoke to Tabot after Nanel had retired for the night. I asked him to tell me a little about his god. I know what anyone else who’s a little learned does—that Aroden wasthe first of the Ascended gods, and Iomedae’s predecessor who died roughly a century ago. And yet, as I said to Tabot, a dead god cannot grant his follower the power to save a man from the brink of death—bringing him virtually to full health from death’s doorstep. So I wanted to know Tabot’s point of view.

Tabot didn’t seem to know anything more concrete than myself. He’d found a holy book of Aroden what he was younger, and something just felt right to him. Faith. That’s hard for a feline of science like myself to wrap my head around. Even my belief in Shelyn is grounded in what I can see. I can see the beauty in the world, and the beauty in other people, and how the power of a person’s creativity can sway minds or change history. I don’t have to blindly follow to understand and respect Shelyn’s teachings.

This…this is much harder for me to accept. On the one hand, it is undeniable that Tabot is being granted the power of a paladin. So clearly his belief grants him strength.  But Aroden is dead. A century ago every other follower of the god of humanity lost their power. Iomedae took his place in the pantheon. That is all fact, recorded history, there are people still alive who remember it. Iomedae being a god and not merely his herald is evidence of it. But then where is Tabot’s power stemming from?

Tabot doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t know what might revive a god, or if an aspect of Aroden survived, or if Aroden never died at all and was merely somewhere else—whatever that might entail. But he has faith in Aroden. And I suppose for that time being I simply have to accept that as the answer. I thanked him for healing me—he told me I should thank Aroden, so for Tabot’s sake I did. Either I’m thanking the being who granted Tabot the power to heal me, or I’m giving thanks into the void. No harm done either way, I suppose.

I eventually found my way to sleep, and the dawn of a new day.

In the morning we discussed what I suspected about Nualia, and were told a story of some local murders that happened not long before I came to town, by a man who came to be known as Chopper.

He was an artist, who carved birds into many of the buildings and other pieces of wood in town. His skill was famous, and anyone whose place was chosen to have a bird was honored. Then he went to live in seclusion, and not long after people started being murdered. Basically daily. Gruesomely, too. Their eyes and tongues were cut out.

The previous sheriff cornered the murderer and injured him at the site of his final victim’s murder, but was killed himself in the struggle. However the blood trail from his injuries led a certain other guard by the name of Balor Hemlock straight to the secluded island just off the coast where their famed reclusive artist lived. At first they all wanted to believe he was to be the next victim—but when they arrived to his home they found the gruesome trophies he’d taken from his victims, and they had to accept the truth. The man killed himself as a final offering at the foot of a shrine to a demon lord none dare to speak aloud. Given what we’ve found today I would be willing to place a bet on it being a shrine to Lamashtu as well.

I think I will be a bit more discerning with drawing Shelyn’s symbol on my sketches in the future, at least while we are in town. I do not want to dredge up bad memories, even accidentally.

We also talked about Nualia. I told the others what I knew—of her, the tragedy of her life in Sandpoint, and the eventual fire that supposedly took her life—and Nanel helped fill in some gaps in my knowledge, having lived in town longer.

With what we know now, it seems certain that Nualia is taking revenge on the town for her mistreatment when she was younger.

It’s such a tragedy. This didn’t have to happen. If someone had just treated Nualia like a person instead of like some holy prop with no feelings of her own, this could have all been avoided. She was just a child! It’s no wonder she’s lashing out now, after what was done to her. If you treat a person like a thing their entire life, you can’t suddenly put the burden of personhood on them the moment they do something wrong, and then expect sympathy from them the moment they hurt you in return.

…

I am going to give Mori the biggest hug next time I see her.

Anyways…I’m not saying what Nualia did was justified…necessarily. If the goblins had their way, they’d kill everyone. Even people who had nothing to do with what happened to her. Children, for starters. Like the child who was nearly killed by the goblin hiding in his closet. That’s not a theoretical, we saw the end result of what happened to the boy’s father. Oh yes, I’m sure Nualia could make an argument about how children were cruel to her too, but those are children. They don’t know any better. You can teach a child to do better, you don’t have to kill them over it. Any revenge that is going to involve child murder is, at best, misguided. At worst, completely warped and irredeemable.

I hope it is not the later. I really do. That poor woman suffered so much. She needs someone who can give her a new start.

But if she is too far gone…her life is not worth the life of an entire town. I’m sorry.

We knew what we had to do—Tsuto had tried to flee into a locked door in the basement of the glassworks. We still didn’t know how he’d snuck so many goblins in. The answer was likely beyond that door.

So, with Ameiko’s blessing, we returned to the glassworks’ basement. Tabot broke down the door—as Krysa felt their new lockpicking set was too new and shiny to muss up with this lock. Then he made a trek down a tunnel, which slowly grew darker as we clearly travelled somewhere beneath Sandpoint.

Nanel cast a spell on his fancy little flower, and it lit up the tunnel we found ourselves in. As we walked, we saw a tunnel off to our right. Nanel’s light didn’t fully illuminate the side passage, so Tabot lit a torch and tossed it inside.

As the light illuminated the rest of the dead-end passage, a nightmare creature leapt from the shadows of the tunnel and tried to clamp its jaws onto Nanel. Fortunately Nanel pulled away.

Krysa identified the horror—a Sinspawn. Something created with old magic. Ancient magic. Sin magic from the age of Thassilon ancient. The how or why of what a Sinspawn was doing in a tunnel under Sandpoint would have to wait, however, as it was not giving us a moment to contemplate.

The creature lunged at Nanel again—this time its teeth met flesh. Tabot stepped forward and struck the living nightmare of oozing flesh and gnashing teeth. I darted around and finished it off with a quick stab through where I figured its heart ought to be. The creature dissolved into a fetid pile of liquified flesh, only leaving behind the ranseur it had carried in its claws.

There was nothing else down the side passage, and as Nanel’s wound was fairly minor, we pressed on.

It didn’t take long for us to come upon a second side passage on the same side. Krysa—with their stronger night vision—told us they also saw another side passage further ahead, a little beyond where our light reached. We decided to explore the nearer of the two passages first. We had promised Ameiko that we would clear out the entire area, so it was best that we didn’t skip anything. We used a stick of chalk Krysa had handy to mark where we’d already been, to avoid getting lost.

This next passage was uncomfortably narrow, forcing us to walk single file. Nanel took the lead, and was the first into the next room—which was made of worked stone as opposed to being a natural cave like the tunnel we’d been in. He called back a moment later with some concern in his voice asking if any of us spoke ‘the demon language’. I don’t speak Abyssal, and I didn’t prepare a Comprehend Languages formulae today, believing that I’d likely need all of my formulae prepared to be combat oriented.

Krysa said they speak the language of demons, however. Clever little rat. Unfortunately, by the time they scurried to the front of the tunnel, the words Nanel had seen seemed to have vanished entirely. Nanel swore he’d seen writing on the wall, however, and we did not disbelieve him.

Something weird was going on, especially if there was writing from The Abyss on the walls.

We continued forward through more narrow passageways, until we found ourselves in a room with a grand looking statue of an enraged woman. It looked historical—possibly even Thassilonian if the trend were to continue—but she was not someone I recognized from any of my studied. Nor was the rune within her book, although it seemed to be a recurring motif within this place, as we saw it in a few other locations. So, it must have been important to the people who built this place originally. It was some sort of seven-pointed star. I know it isn’t part of the Thassilonian alphabet, but beyond that I don’t know what the rune actually is or means. Perhaps it is an ancient holy (or unholy) symbol, or part or some long lost magic? It could simply be a symbol that meant something to some small sect of people who lived in this part of Varisia, which only carried meaning for them. It’s hard to say when it comes to Thassilon. If it isn’t recorded, it is likely lost to time forever.

To our luck, the beautifully crafted ranseur the statue was holding was a real usable weapon, and hadn’t been looted in the centuries this statue had stood abandoned. Nanel took it, and has made impressive use of it.

Less fortunately for us, more writing appeared on the wall. This time I spotted it—and it was written in Thassalonian. It said “angry screams are still screams”.

Foreboding, to say the least.

The moment I looked away, the words vanished, just as the ones Nanel had seen did.

Not much further ahead, Krysa warned that they heard the sounds of more Sinspawn through the door. Our group is not exactly stealthy—Tabot’s armor is loud, and it is difficult for me to quiet my own movement given my cane. So we decided to try to rush them instead.

Except when we burst in, we couldn’t see any signs of the Sinspawn Krysa had heard. They were certain of what they had heard.

Nanel inched forward, to look down below a catwalk. And that’s when they struck. Both monstrosities had been hanging just below the catwalk, and they swung up and lunged at Nanel. Once again fangs met flesh. But Nanel gave back as much as he took, biting the one that got him and then slipping away as he also jabbed with his new ranseur.

Krysa put some bolts into one of the creatures, and I threw a bomb at it. Tabot slayed one with his blade after Nanel got another stab at it, and I slew the other with my own.

There was little else of interest in this room—it was one a jail, long ago, but now there was nothing but dust and bad memories lingering here. We did find that the back of one of the cells had crumbled and that a judicious use of force could remove the bars and lead right back to the tunnel we’d originally entered from. So we had a pretty good idea of where we were now.

There was another door on the opposite end of the room, stairs leading upwards that we’d passed in the statue room, or another hall that the previous hall had split out into. We decided we were going to leave the stairs going upwards for last, as that seemed likely to lead to the surface and possibly to where the goblins had come in from. We were not entirely correct in our conclusion, but it still proved to be a very smart call for other reasons I’ll get into shortly.

We decided to continue forward for now, and circle back to the other hall after we’d cleared out this branch of the underground. So we continued onwards, until we came to a terrible room full of implements of torture. It didn’t look like it had been used in centuries, but the implications of what the people who made this place once did was crystal clear. Even in ancient days, this was neither a pleasant nor good place to have been.

There were two doors out, each marked with that star sigil. Nanel checked one door while I checked the other. Nanel heard nothing where he was, but I heard heavy ragged breathing and the distinctive moans of the undead—many undead.

We decided to check Nanel’s door first.

This opened into a mostly empty room, with ruined books and papers strewn about. We did find a scroll that was still in usable condition, which I handed off to Krysa in the hopes they will be able to transcribe it into their spellbook.

We found three more cells, each with skeletons that were terribly deformed. It looked like the end result of a mutagen gone wrong. Or fleshwarping. I hope Laila would forgive me for making the connection, but it really did resemble the end result of some of the worst Drow experiments I’ve read survivors tell about seeing after escaping capture. Too many limbs, a ribcage that takes up half the poor creature’s body, and an enormous head the creature likely couldn’t hold up before it died. Probably in agony.

Whoever did this to them was cruel, and had no regard for the suffering of the creatures they inflicted this fate on. I can understand that sometimes things go wrong when trying to push the boundaries of knowledge. If all experiments went exactly as planned, they wouldn’t be experiments. But to force it upon others is twisted. If knowledge can only be gained through suffering then maybe we do not need that knowledge at all.

But I digress. There was nothing more in that room. Just more death and dust and memories that should remain buried along with those ruins.

So we decided to check the door I had listened at—the one in which we knew many creatures awaited us beyond.

We asked Krysa if they could sneak a little closer and get a look at what we were dealing with. They agreed, and slipped through the door and down the short hall ahead of us. Moments later they returned, their footfalls making virtually no noise. Krysa informed us that there was a strange goblin with three arms and a glowing sword in the middle of a bunch of obvious trap doors. The sounds of the undead were coming from beneath the trap doors.

I suggested Krysa and I take the lead this time, since it sounded like it would be difficult for Nanel and Tabor to safely get close to this unusual goblin. Krysa and I could both attack from afar. The others agreed.

I led the way, and threw an explosive at the three-armed goblin. The wooden traps around him caught fire, and the moaning sounds below grew louder. There was a scrabbling sound, like whatever was below was trying—and failing—to climb.

Krysa followed up with another shot of their crossbow.

For a wizard, they are quite adept at shooting people by non-magical means, I must say.

Tabot and Nanel came in behind us, spreading out and blocking off any means of running past us down the hall.

The goblin howled in rage and leapt across the gaps in the floor to take a swing at me with that glowing sword that looked a tad too large for him. However it scraped harmlessly against the shield I’d put around myself with a formulae before entering the chamber.

The others moved in, and the tragic creature did not get another chance to attack. He fell into one of the pits, landing atop one of the zombies. His glowing blade was dropped just at the lip of the trap, and we offered it up to Tabot. Being the Aroden worshipper and all. A magic longsword just seems like it obviously needs to go to him.

It did not escape my notice that this goblin had the same kind of mutations as those skeletons in the cages. So that means these experiments were not ancient history—they were still happening. They needed to be stopped.

 We contemplated killing the zombies in the pits, but decided we’d come back and do it in a bit—my shield was temporary and it would be best if we got into any more fights with it still up.

We went through the only exit and down a long hall, which split into a fork. There were stairs spiraling downwards. We decided to give it a quick glance and see how much it looked like we’d have to deal with beyond. I was dreading that this was only the first floor of many.

Fortunately, it appeared the stairwell was caved in.

Less fortunately, we heard a distant howling coming from somewhere far, far below.

There was something trapped down there. Possibly something that was trapped there purposely. Maybe it was even the reason this particular ruin was entirely forgotten.

We retreated back down the hall, deciding it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Or howling dogs, in this case.

We went down the other fork in the hall, and found a curious room. Various objects floated about the room, suspended in the air as if completely weightless and unbound by gravity. Amongst those objects, I saw a scroll, and expressed a desire to take it, as it might be a useful spell scroll. Krysa of all people told me no, they thought that was a reckless idea. They could tell the room had transmutation magic in it, and was concerned it was part of what was turning creatures into those mutants. I was not entirely convinced of that logic, as the mutants had been back in the other room, and this magic seemed unrelated.

Nanel did something quite clever to help determine what we should do. First he tossed a coin into the room. It floated as if weightless, much like the other objects. Then he placed another coin, without any momentum so it was just floating in place, and then a moment later took it back. Nothing happened when he removed an object from the room. He told Krysa that a levitation spell is also transmutation magic, and he believed that was all they were seeing. Based on his experiment, he concluded that was likely the only spell on the room, and that it was safe to remove objects from the room.

With Krysa’s mind eased, we began grabbing objects that looked useful—or expensive.

I grabbed the scroll, which was a Scroll of Burning Hands. Krysa grabbed a Wand of Shocking Grasp. We agreed to trade. I think I can make good use of that spell, as I get into the thick of things more than our rat friend. And then Krysa can add another good spell to their spellbook.

Nanel and Tabot snagged a very ancient (but clearly magically preserved) unholy text to Lamashtu, and a bottle of expensive wine.

That book didn’t bode well, especially given the Abyssal writing we’d seen in other rooms.

In this room, too. There was a band of red metal around the room, which sparked with black electricity, and occasionally seemed to form Abyssal or Thassalonian words. I saw the phrase I’d seen in the other room, about angry screams. And it seemed the phrases we’d seen in other rooms were scattered in as well.

So it seems somehow whatever that band of metal is, it’s sending these messages around the ruin. For some reason. Maybe it’s some kind of defense mechanism, meant to scare off intruders? Maybe it’s not even functioning properly, maybe it was meant to do something different but now all it does is spew out these phrases after thousands of years with no upkeep. Who knows?

We’d finally hit a dead end on this particular branch of the ruin. There was nothing left to do but turn back and choose another path we’d yet to clear. So we went back to the hall just before the room where we’d fought the two Sinspawn, and ventured down the hall we hadn’t yet travelled.

At the end of this hall was something not half foreboding. A shrine to the Mother of Monsters, Lamashtu. Any statue that had one stood there was long gone, but there was still a basin of fetid water at its base that Tabot warned us not to go near. He sounded really legitimately shaken by it, and I don’t much want to find out what happens if you mess with a Demon Lord’s shrine, so I kept my distance.

There was only one exit from this room. The air felt heavy and I think we all wanted out of this room as soon as possible—Tabot especially. The door in question had a heavy padlock sealing it closed, but we’d found a large key in the room with the mutant goblin, so we easily put two and two together.

I listened at the door first, and heard nothing. With the heavy lock in place, I believed it was likely nothing had been in or out of this room in a long time. So all we would have to do was sweep it quickly to make sure there was nothing left so we could honestly say we’d cleared everything out.

Oh how wrong I was.

When I opened the door, the room did, indeed, appear empty.

Before I could take a step inside, however, the air beside me shimmered. A summoning spell came to completion, and a goblin dog appeared directly to my left. Then a shrieking voice called out to us, ‘how dare we intrude on Her domain’—strangely it sounded like she was speaking the Catfolk tongue, but given that the others understood her as well I suspect Tongues to be the culprit.

A small creature with a feminine figure, curved horns, and bat-like wings appeared before a strange glowing pool of liquid on a platform above us across the room. Krysa identified her as a quasit, a type of demon. The demoness cut her hand and let the blood leak into the boiling pool. And from it, another Sinspawn emerged.

So it would seem she is the one behind those.

Before I could react, she flung a spell at me. I could feel my muscles try to lock up, but I willed my body to continue working through the effects of the spell. If I could will myself to walk on my bad leg for so many years, willing myself to move is child’s play.

And good thing too, because that goblin dog came for my throat. I dodged, and it only got my arm, but that would have been bad if I’d been unable to move. I backed away from the vicious hairless beast, then tossed an explosive at it in response.

Unfortunately, doing so took my eyes off the Sinspawn, which moved faster than I’d expected. Suddenly it was behind me and I felt a ranseur driven into my side. While I wasn’t looking a second Sinspawn had been created as well. And the tiny demoness wouldn’t be done creating these creatures until that pool quit its ominous glow—which only happened after four of those monstrosities had been birthed from those boiling waters.

The others weren’t slouching in helping to try to clear their numbers, though. Tabot and I stood side-by-side against two Sinspawn, while Nanel took care of two more with Krysa backing him up from the doorway. Things actually felt like they were going well, despite the numbers not being in our favor.

Then the little demoness Hex’d Tabot, causing him to drop his defenses, allowing a Sinspawn’s ranseur to hit its mark. A second Hex, and the paladin slumped over in a magic-induced slumber.

I was of two minds—the Sinspawn nearest Tabot was badly hurt, and Nanel was nearby. In theory either I could kill it, or Nanel could interrupt an attempt to kill the helpless paladin.

In theory.

I decided I didn’t like the odds. Instead, I slapped Tabot awake. He could take a cat nap later.

This apparently enraged the Sinspawn that very much was going to kill Tabot before, and it unleased its anger on me. I was forced to retreat behind Tabot to heal myself, as I think I had more blood in my fur than in my body.

Tabot managed to stand without the spawn surrounding him skewering him in response, his shield deflecting any attempt. Nanel was holding his own against the spawn he was fighting well—biting then retreating to stab with the ranseur. He is surprisingly mobile for a man of his size, and his tactic staying on the move seemed to be working incredibly well for him. Not to mention Krysa, who got first blood on the Quasit by tossing a magic missile at her.

Unfortunately, it would seem we were doing too well for her liking. Suddenly an aura of dread flowed through the room. In front of me, Tabot went rigid. I didn’t see Krysa—but that’s because they’d already run before I looked. A moment later Tabot had darted off as well.

Leaving me and Nanel alone.

I stepped to his side, to face the remaining Sinspawn back-to-back so we didn’t get any more nasty surprises.

Any bad feelings that were lingering weren’t important in that moment. All that mattered was that we both made it out of this alive—and preferably that the Quasit did not.

We had no way to harm her in the air. Her thick hide was too fire-resistant for my bombs, and Nanel didn’t have any means of fighting from a distance. Even if Krysa and Tabot hadn’t been seen into a magically induced panic, Krysa’s crossbow wasn’t strong enough to pierce her hide, and Tabot had dropped his shortbow and decided he only needed his sword somewhere along the way.

So the only way she was coming into range of my blade and Nanel’s ranseur was if her rage and pride were enough to goad her into it.

Nanel slayed a Sinspawn, his mouth somehow opening wide enough to fit its entire head inside before biting down.

I’m…not entirely sure what Nanel is. Because I don’t think he is entirely human. Humans cannot dislocate their law and open it wide enough to eat an entire living creature whole, as I have seen him do. I’m sure he would explain it as a boon from his deity—patron—thing—but that explanation can only go so far. If a worshipper of Lamashtu is warped beyond recognition by their god’s ‘boons’, they are called a monster. So what do you call Nanel if he is changed so much he is no longer recognizably human?

I don’t know. I don’t think I can answer that question. I don’t know if it’s even a fair question to ask.

I might have transformations into monsters on my mind tonight. Just a little. Between the mutant goblin, the shrine to Lamashtu, whatever is going on with Nanel, and…something else I haven’t quite gotten to yet. Something I’m not looking forward to committing to paper. It’s not been a good day, to say the least.

Anyways. Where was I? Yes, right. Nanel and I were fighting the three remaining Sinspawn. When thankfully Tabot and Krysa snapped out of their panic. Tabot charged down the hall and sliced through a Sinspawn that had been unlucky enough to have positioned itself in the doorway. A bolt shot past him, so although I couldn’t see Krysa in the next room, clearly the little rat had snapped out of it as well and was now taking pot shots at the Sinspawn.

The tide was turning back in our favor. And it seems that finally made the quasit snap. She dove from her place in the air and dug her claws into Nanel. The claws themselves didn’t seem to leave much of an injury, but the wound was a nasty shade, like she’d injected something into the blood.

I remembered one of the things Krysa had rattled off in the chaos of battle about Quasits. They have venomous claws. We would need to see Father Zantus about healing Nanel when all was said and done.

For now, however, she had put herself into position to finally be attacked. I darted in and tried to pin her wings so she couldn’t fly away, but she spun in the air and avoided my blade. Now I found myself on a pile of human skulls, fighting a demoness outside of a Shrine of Lamashtu. Sounds like it could be an art piece. Too bad reality was all terror and bloodshed instead of glory and heroics.

Tabot darted around and got a devastating sword swing on her. The tell-tale glow of a paladin’s Smite engulfed her with the attack, the holy energy burning the unholy creature.

Nanel repositioned around her, snapping at her and then swinging with his ranseur.

I felt a searing pain in my shoulder as the last remaining Sinspawn bit me and dragged its claws down my shield. I felt a flash of rage—everything that had happened in the last week boiling over. The loss of my home and place of work, threats on my life and actual near-death experiences, seeing horrific things I should only have to face in my nightmares. And then as quickly as it flared up, I snuffed it out. Anger had a time and a place, and this wasn’t it. Maybe when I was younger, I would have succumbed. Let bitterness take the reins, run the show, burn everything down just to get a hint of attention from the world.

But not now.

Krysa took care of the monstrosity at my back, and I helped slash through the demon in return.

The Quasit looked scared now. I didn’t know demons could be scared, if I’m being honest. She tried to cast a spell, but her focus was lost as she also tried to defend herself against any incoming attack we attempted.

That opening was all it took. Nanel skewered the demoness, called her a shish kabob, and then…well, ate her.

I’m no doctor, but surely eating demons and Sinspawn isn’t good for one’s health? One is a horrific experiment of a bygone age embodying human sin, and the other is the metaphysical embodiment of all mortal sin.

I did not bring it up to Nanel, but he did at some point mention something about having incredibly strong stomach acid.

Anyways, while I was licking my wounds, the others examined the room. Especially that boiling pool, which was no longer glowing. They identified it as a Minor Runewell. It would seem it’s an artifact that is charged when a particularly wrathful soul dies within a certain radius, and charges of it are used to create Sinspawn. Its radius also included Sandpoint, which we think has something to do with why the town seems so ‘cursed’ with violence and misfortune in recent years.

Tabot believed he knew how to destroy the Minor Runewell permanently, however, so it wouldn’t be a blight on the town any longer. It would have to be filled with boiling holy water for at least a full day and night to purify it.

That was not something we had time for, however. Perhaps Father Zantus or another priest in town could spare the time to watch over the destruction of this artifact in our absence. We’d killed this demoness, but there was still no hint of where Nualia was or where the goblins had come from, which had to be our priority.

The underground was virtually completely cleared out, the only place we hadn’t poked around yet were the stairs leading up that we’d planned to save for last. So, with the demoness dead, we ventured upwards, not thinking anything left lurking down here could possibly be worse than a Quasit and four Sinspawn.

That’s when we wandered into the torture chamber, and the Vargouille attacked.

It swooped down at us with a screech that resonated in my head and my bones and every fiber of my body. Despite what I said earlier about being able to will myself to move, this time I was frozen in place and at the horror’s mercy.

Tabot was the only person ahead of me in the hall—as Nanel was in no state to take the lead with all the poison the Quasit had pumped into his veins, and obviously Krysa wasn’t going to be in front to risk being the first target of attacks. Tabot, with his shield in hand, made the most sense to take point. Tabot stood steady, his shield held to block the creature from getting into the hall.

Unfortunately, the Vargouille was quick in the air. Tabot took a swing at it, but it still flew over him and straight at me. I felt its clammy skin press against mine in a mockery of a kiss, and when it pulled away it left a feeling of icy cold behind as it devoured something from within me.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to signal to any of the others that something had been done to me, but my racing mind could still think. I could try to remember what I had read about Vargouilles in the past.

What I remembered only stoked my panic further. If a Vargouille can render its prey helpless, it will administer a deadly kiss which over the course of 24 hours—sometimes much sooner—will transform the victim into another Vargouille. Killing the victim and leaving only the cursed monstrosity behind.

I was trapped in my own frozen body as I panicked and tried to fight against the paralysis. I had to get out of here. I had to get into the sun immediately. And then get a cure. Sunlight would slow the rate of the transformation—the curse did not progress as long as the victim was in direct sunlight. Which meant if I got out of the damnable ruin and the cave which housed it, I could buy myself time. Hours of time. Enough time to get a cure.

My first thought was Father Zantus. But the magic required to cure this was fairly powerful—beyond the reach of most small-town priests. So my next option was to hope that Vin had a scroll of Remove Disease in stock at his item shop—or could get one in before it was too late for me.

My mind was too preoccupied to really see how the fight with the Vargouille went. I don’t remember seeing a corpse so maybe Nanel ate it as well, I don’t know. The moment my body snapped back into my control I could feel the actual panic attack coming on, and I told the others I needed to get to the surface. Immediately.

The others, bless them, didn’t ask any questions. They immediately made a beeline for the top of the stairs, thinking it would be the quickest way out. Nanel even carried me. My pride might normally be a little bruised, but honestly right that moment I couldn’t care less, I needed to get into the sunlight as quickly as possible and honestly not being on my bad leg right that moment was a welcome relief.

Unfortunately, the stairs up led to another cave-in.

We didn’t wait around listening for sounds or thinking about if we could dig it out. We just immediately turned around and retraced our steps back to the Glassworks, and finally outside.

Once I was safely in the light of day and breathing fresh air, I had to take a moment to collect myself. I felt moments away from emptying my stomach right there in front of the Glassworks. It was hard to breath—it had been ever since the paralysis was undone.

But slowly I got my breathing back under control, and my heart didn’t feel like it was going to hammer out of my chest. Then I finally explained to the others what I had realized about Vargouilles—about what my fate would ultimately be if we couldn’t find a cure. I rambled a bit in my state, but got around to the point that I hoped that Vin might have a scroll we could make use of. Hopefully within our budget.

The others agreed we should go to the shop immediately, and Nanel carried me again. I was too tired to protest. My battered pride can recover another day.

And thank Shelyn and any other god that will listen (even Aroden if he’s really out there), Vin did have one scroll in stock. It was pricy, but we’d found enough treasures down in the ruins to make for a fair trade.

I handed the scroll off to Nanel. Scrolls aren’t really my area of expertise—alchemy might look like magic to some, and I can even logic out certain formulae from the arcane writings of wizards, but they are still two very different arts at their core. There’s a hint of familiarity to scrolls, but not enough for me to reliably make use of them.

This wouldn’t be in Krysa’s wheelhouse, either. The arcane and the divine don’t really…mesh, usually. And curing diseases or healing wounds with positive energy is not generally the sort of thing that can be translated into a wizard’s arcane powers.

Nanel, on the other hand, is a divine spellcaster. Of a sort. Not quite a cleric, but I suspected he should still have the basic knowledge necessary to use this kind of scroll.

He seemed a bit uncertain, but he read from the scroll anyways. And I felt something that I hadn’t quite noticed, something cold and oily, be banished from my chest—from where it had been clinging to my very soul. I hugged Nanel as tightly as I could and thanked him.

He, in no uncertain terms, saved my life. We’re even for what happened at the Glassworks and then some.

All three of them did everything they could to help me during that—even before they knew what was wrong, they jumped into action and got me outside with no questions asked.

I don’t think I have ever had anyone have my back like that before, besides my family. I am…caught a little by surprise, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the others just fine—disregarding any sore feelings towards Nanel at the time—but past experience taught me that only a very few, very special handful of people would bother with a disabled old cat like me beyond whatever they might need from me.

My brother was left for dead by his people—by his first family—because his wing was deformed. My sister might have ended up just like Nualia, treated like a holy object instead of a person, if she hadn’t had the sheer luck of being adopted by our mothers instead of one of the churches. My other sister, I don’t even know why the drow abandoned her on the surface, but she’s always been treated with suspicion by people up here. Even though she’s just a teen, and she’s never done anything worse than any other kid her age. Well, the human equivalent to her age.

Our mothers wanted us to be ready for the world, and wanted us to face it with optimism and faith in people—and I have tried to live by that. But at the same time, time and time again, it always comes down to us only having each other to rely on.

So…yes, it took me by surprise that the others helped without a single question, that they just trusted that something was truly wrong and decided that they were going to help fix it, even before they knew what it actually was. They could have kept clearing out the ruins—there were still those undead in the holes, and there was the stairway up to check further. They could have sent me on my way to get up to the surface on my own while they handled things down there like they promised Ameiko. And I could have made it on my own. It would have been slower, and more painful, and I don’t think I would have come down from my panic near as well without people there—but I would have managed, if I'd had to.

I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. They’re good people. With Tabot I suppose that’s a given, he really does his best to embody what a paladin is meant to be. But the other two, they’re good people too. Not everyone would have done what they did for me today. I won’t forget it.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 5

We investigated the glassworks.

Things…didn’t go the way we expected them to. Not at all.

Lonjiku was innocent. He was an ass, but he was innocent. Now he’s dead. We didn’t put two and two together in time.

There was another Kaijitsu behind the goblin attacks all along.

Let me start from the beginning. This morning. When we went downstairs, Bethana was in a tizzy. No one had lit the stoves or started making breakfast. Ameiko always got up first thing and did that. So Bethana had gone looking around to make sure she was okay. Ameiko was nowhere to be found, but she found a note. Addressed to Ameiko, from her brother Tsuto.

We’d heard a little about Tsudo in passing. He’s a half-elf, Ameiko’s older half-brother, and a bastard child seeing as Ameiko’s parents are both very much human. It was his birth that caused Lonjiku to declare Ameiko’s mother dead to him—although he apparently remained married to her and had a daughter with her, so what exactly that meant is unclear.

Tsudo had apparently been sent away to some school, never visited by any family except for Ameiko for most of his life. Until they, too, had a falling out. Then at their mother’s funeral he’d accused his father of killing his mother, and when Lonjitsu struck him, the boy left Sandpoint.

Apparently now he’s returned.

The letter said what we’d expected: that Tsuto had discovered that their father was connected to the attacks on the town, but he believed if they went to the authorities he would get himself off easy. So he wanted Ameiko to meet him at the glassworks at midnight, do a secret knock so he’d know it was her, and then they’d handle things together.

Seeing as Ameiko hadn’t returned, it seemed something had gone horribly wrong.

We decided to check the Glassworks first, as it was the closest between it and the Kaijistu estate.

Before we left, Nanel pulled us aside, saying he had something important to discuss before we left. He showed us the boxspring of his bed in the inn, upon which a name was carved—over and over. He told us he had a deity of sorts, which granted him his power. And this being had granted him a new form to take in combat. But to his understanding, taking this form would affect his mind somewhat—he said he might say some strange things.

I shrugged it off at the time. I don’t think I took it as seriously as perhaps I should have.

Having an ally not in their right mind in battle is dangerous.

Anyways. When we arrived to the Glassworks, the curtains were all drawn shut. The doors were all locked. There was smoke coming from the smokestack, but it smelled…off. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.

Krysa solved the problem of the door being locked, clever little rat they are. They picked the lock and we all slipped inside.

We heard sounds coming from a door to our left. Suspiciously goblin-y sounds. We burst in, and found a number of goblins playing with broken glass—and throwing human remains into the glassworks fires.

That’s what the smell had been. Burning flesh and hair.

And by one of the windows, their masterpiece—Lonjitsu Kaijitsu, propped up in a chair, encased in glass. Quite likely burned alive in hot liquid glass. Even for a man like that…what a horrific fate.

There was no time to linger on it, however, as we has a swarm of goblins to contend with. Our little gang worked together well, clearing out the first few goblins who were nearest us. It seemed like it would be another easy fight.

Then he showed up.

A half-elf with a bow and a passing resemblance to Ameiko. He spoke in goblin to the little bastards, giving them tactical commands so they wouldn’t just throw themselves at us blindly like the others.

Krysa was the first to realize that shooting him would be a bad idea—his stance indicated monk training, and likely the speed and practice to deflect projectiles. That meant my bombs were out of the question, too.

Getting to him to engage in close combat was easier said than done, though. He was shooting arrows at us, and there were still his remaining goblins to contend with. And even when we did finally engage him, he was incredibly fast. And he knew right where to hit you to make it hurt. Right where it would do the most damage.

When I engaged him, he stepped around me like liquid fire, until suddenly one of his goblin cronies was at my back and he was flying at me with precise punches that snapped bone and tore muscle.

At about the same time, whatever that plant form is that Nanel took shot thorns out everywhere—missing Tsuto, but empaling me. I snapped something at him that he brushed off, but I could only really hear the sound of my own heart pounding.

I could taste blood. Smell blood. Everything was tinged in red, like I was drowning in it. I could barely keep my balance—and I felt as though I was standing at the precipice of a black hole. If I fell in there would be no coming back.

Then all at once the pounding in my ears eased. The red in my vision faded. I could breath freely again. Tabot was at my side now, and had used his utterly impossible paladin abilities to stitch my wounds back together. If I couldn’t still taste the metallic tang in my mouth I’d think I’d only been imagining nearly dying a moment before—he’d healed me as effectively as any potion, if not more-so.

I hesitate to call it miraculous, but what else can you call a man pulling someone from the bring of death in the name of a god who is also, by all accounts, dead?

Tsuto saw the way the wind was blowing, as his last goblin flunkies fell, leaving him alone and outnumbered. He darted around my blade and out the nearest door. I ran after him, just close enough behind to see him disappear down a stairwell. The others were in hot pursuit.

As I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Tsuto trying to bring down a door at the end of the hall. He stopped and turned when he heard us. He stood his ground, ready to fight round two—there would be no surrender from him.

Tabot ran in and got a swing at him. Blood coated the ground. Krysa tried to get a shot at him to make an opening for me, but it went wide and he didn’t let his guard down. So instead of wasting a bomb, I darted around Tabot and skewered the man with my blade.

In his last moments he laughed at me. He said I’d made someone very upset, and that’s why I had a target on my back. Then he told me ‘she’s going to burn you, and then eat you alive’.

Then he slumped, his final breath used in cryptic threats.

I don’t understand. I still don’t. Who could I have possibly made so angry?

I think I know who this ‘her’ is though. Tsuto had sketches on his person, and writings. About an aasimar who wanted to burn away her divinity. The pictures depicted this aasimar with some kind of twisted demonic appendage, and spoke of her undergoing some kind of ritual to be reborn in a fiendish form. Tsuto seemed to have hopes that she would become something akin to a succubus—deceptive beauty masking the monster within—as he found her current demonic arm repulsive compared to her original angelic beauty.

I’d never met her—the fire happened before I’d come to town—but I’d heard enough to put her name to the face and the scraps of information in the journal. I think it is Nualia.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 4

We have continued our work around town, our investigating, and my preparations for whatever upcoming scuffle we may be so unfortunate as to find ourselves in.

One day when Tabot was on his way out to help at the local archives where he’s been volunteering, he ran into Vin Vinder’s daughter, Shayliss. I’d heard rumors around town about her older sister, Katrine, but I can’t say I’m terribly familiar with the younger Vinder daughter. Shayliss asked Tabot to come back to the shop with her—alone—to help sort out a rat problem. She was insistent that the problem wasn’t large enough to warrant anymore than a single strong Paladin to clear out. I think we all began to see that actual picture unfolding.

Tabot began waxing poetic about his dead god, and it didn’t take long for all interest to die in Shayliss’ eyes. She told him she’d just set some traps or something, and left. From how Nanel spoke afterwards it sounds as though Tabot navigated a delicate situation—apparently angering the young lady would have put us on the wrong end of some vicious gossip ourselves. So her deciding to back off on her own was the best outcome possible.

Later, Sheriff Hemlock introduced us to an elven woman named Shalelu who had made a career out of hunting goblins in the area. She knew more about goblins than anyone around. She’d taken notice of their unusual movements lately, and was here to help how she could. For now that meant giving us every little bit of advice and information she had on the goblin tribes in the area.

Here is what I learned: There are five major goblin tribes: the Birdcruncher goblins (closest to Sandpoint, usually least aggressive), the Licktoad goblins (from the Brinestump Marsh, good swimmers), the Seven Tooth goblins (use junk to make difficult to pierce armor), the Mosswood goblins (the largest tribe, only held back by internal feuding), and the Thistletop goblins (located on an island shaped like a decapitated head).

From these tribes there are a handful of particularly notable goblins called the Goblin Heroes—Big Gugmut (an unusually large strong goblin), Koruvus (a currently-missing goblin who uses a longsword sized for a human), Vorka (a goblin who cannibalizes the Licktoad tribe), Rendwattle Gutwad (chief of the Brinestump goblins—said to never leave his throne), Ripnugget (leader of the Thistletop goblins), and Bruthasmus (a bugbear who has made sport out of killing elves—he and Shelalu have a personal vendetta against each other).

Shelalu should be staying in town for a bit, and she’s staying in the Rusty Dragon as well, so we should be seeing her around more.

The next day, we were approached by a familiar face. An unfortunately familiar face, one could argue. One Aldern Foxglove—who had not, as it turns out, forgotten that we’d saved his life during the goblin attacks. And who had decided that an appropriate means of thanks for said life saving was to take us on a wild boar hunt.

Yes, because when I think of rewards for dangerous undertakings, I think of cutting down equally dangerous wild animals in the middle of the woods hours from town with an untrained noble and his lackies.

Sarcasm very much intentional, I assure you.

Still, if we killed the boar then Ameiko would have boar meat to cook with. And then everyone wins, because Ameiko’s cooking is worth having a small scuffle with an oversized pig.

Tabot didn’t much want to go, but we managed to convince him with the argument above that it was for Ameiko, not for Aldern.

And thus we ended up on a far-too-long trip from Sandpoint to the Tickwood. In which Aldern Foxglove did not. Shut up. Once.

The only good thing about it is that he bought our horses. And like…actually bought them. For us. They’re ours now. I don’t even know what I’ll do with a horse. But I named her Morrigan II, and I can’t wait to see the look on Morri’s face when she finds out.

That. That’ll make it worth it all by itself.

Anyways, we made it to the Tickwood. Aldern and his flunkies broke off from our group and went in one way, while our little band went in another.

We had just made it into a clearing when there was a squeal. And a boar came charging from the tree line. Right at me.

I jumped back, my fur all on end, and it stopped its charge where I’d been a moment before.

We didn’t waste a moment, and went all in against the beast. I stuck to just my sword this time—didn’t want to ruin the meat by burning it or splashing chemicals on it, after all.

We felled the pig just as Aldern arrived, out of breath. He was shocked to see we’d already taken care of the boar, and didn’t need any help what-so-ever. Then he passed out.

Which, Shelyn bless us, meant we didn’t have to hear another word out of his mouth on the way back.

Ameiko roasted that boar to absolute perfection, along with a stew. It was another absolutely delicious dinner. And we got first picks since we hunted the beast. Worth it. Worth every moment. Even the annoying bits.

Unfortunately, our pleasant dinner was interrupted by a storm cloud. Said living storm cloud was Ameiko’s father, Lonjiku Kaijitsu. I’ve made mention of him once prior in this new journal—he was meant to give a speech at the Swallowtail Festival but couldn’t make it ‘because he was ill’. He didn’t strike me tonight as someone who was getting over even a mild cold.

Awfully convenient that he wasn’t at the festival when it was attacked.

Anyways, he burst in, ruining everyone’s festive mood, demanding to know where his daughter was. When no one pointed him in Ameiko’s direction, he came after us. He began ranting about how we shouldn’t have stuck our noses in the goblin attack, and more people got hurt because of us, and we should have let the professionals handle it. I pointed out—correctly—that no one got hurt in the area where we were wiping out the goblins. So any harm anyone came to was not on us.

Before he could make anymore ignorant accusations, Ameiko came out from the kitchens. She and her father began arguing in their native tongue. I slipped myself a Comprehend Language extract while they were distracted yelling at each other, so that I could catch some of what was being discussed.

Basically, Ameiko’s dad saw her running the inn as some sort of temporary pastime that she should quit because it was a blemish on their family name, and she needed to come with him and do something respectable. Ameiko obviously took offense to that seeing as she’s worked hard to run this inn and make the Rusty Dragon that best spot in town. She had some creative ways to say ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’. Her father went to grab her by the hair and drag her out. I think every one of us as the table went for our weapons, intent to stop him—but there was no need. Ameiko knocked him across the head with her ladle—breaking the ladle and splashing hot soup across his face and clothing.

Her father cursed her, and—in common so everyone could understand—he told her that she ‘was as dead to me as your mother’.

Because that doesn’t sound like a murder threat at all.

Then he stormed out. Ameiko tried to lighten the mood back up, joking about how she was going to need a new ladle. But it was clear she was shaken.

The others tried to talk Shelalu into going to talk to Ameiko—none-too-subtly hinting that they could tell she liked her. Which she clearly does, but I’m going to keep my nose to myself. That’s the sort of thing Morri or Keir would have fun poking at.

Anyways, end result was Shelalu got embarrassed, drank way too much, and passed out.

After we got Shelalu somewhat comfortable, I shared my theory with the others—that perhaps Lonjitsu was the one behind the goblin attacks. The others agreed that it all added up.

We’ve decided that tomorrow we will investigate the glassworks and his manor, and find out just what he’s been up to.

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 3

We’ve spent a couple of days in Sandpoint by now. The others all have some work or another to busy themselves with, which leaves me to find ways to fill my time. Seeing as my place of work burnt with my place to live. I have spent some time investigating around town further, although it doesn’t seem as though there is much more to learn. Someone I spoke to believed the larger figure with the group of goblins who burnt down my abode was a hobgoblin. I am not discounting it offhand, but that doesn’t feel like it adds up, for the same reason that just the goblins being responsible for the attack didn’t. Whoever did this had a personal chip on their shoulder, and broke into my house to make sure it would burn down completely, from the inside out. I don’t have any personal dealings with any goblins or their ilk, so there is no reason to think any of them would take any more special interest in my home than any other.

I also spent my days brewing potions for our little group’s personal use. I’d struck a deal with the others that if they paid me the price of materials, I would make them any potion I know how to brew for much cheaper than they would get from an apothecary. Considering that keeping them healed might save my tail later if we continue working together, it is a bargain even if I don’t turn a profit this way.

Late in the evening one night, a mother—Amele—and her children came to the inn begging for our help. The woman’s son, Aeren, had been waking in a fright nightly, crying to his parents about a monster in his closet ever since the goblin attack. This also set their dog barking each time he began kicking up a fuss. The woman’s husband Alergast had grown tired of checking the closet nightly for this ‘closet goblin’ he couldn’t find, and on this night he didn’t come when the boy cried for him. Not until he heard their dog Petal yelp in pain and the boy’s cries turn more frantic. The boy got away and his mother with he and her baby in tow came to the inn to seek us out, the only people she could think of that might be able to investigate and help her husband, who was still in the house with whatever was hiding in the boy’s room.

We agreed to help, of course, and hurried from the inn to their home. We found the dog, Petal, outside—injured and scared, but alive and refusing to move from her spot watching the house from a short distance away.

We made our way inside the house, and quickly found the young boy’s room.

His closet door was open, and his father’s body lay half inside. Unmoving.

When one of us pulled out the body—finding the man already deceased with blood staining his torn open jugular—the so-called monster sprung out and attacked. It was another goblin—one that had been hiding in a hidden hole beneath the closet for days, likely starving and half crazed. More-so than goblins usually are. We had a bit of a struggle with the beastie, until we finally felled it.

Unfortunately, that did nothing to bring Amele’s husband back to life. His body was as cold as when the goblin still lived.

In a somber mood, we trudged back to the inn. On the way we met sheriff Hemlock and informed him of what had happened. He returned to the inn with us to help break the bad news to Amele. She…took it as well as could be expected, poor dear. The sheriff handled helping her and her children getting home safe, and I can only assume had someone help clean up the corpses so the children and widower didn’t have to see them.

We need to find out who was behind these attacks, before anymore lives are lost. This goes beyond any personal grudge I have for my home being taken from me. Two children lost their father, a mother lost her husband. This didn’t have to happen. But it did. All because of whoever led these goblins to Sandpoint. Whoever set up these attacks.

They have a lot to answer for.

[mewtagen-mau]

Images from Mau's Journal 2

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 2

I had barely began to drift off after writing my last entry when there was a knocking at my door. I drowsily asked who it was—Kyrsa replied. I opened the door and found the little ratfolk at my door with a box of chocolates. They offered me some. Apparently it had been on their bed. Probably some sort of thanks for saving the town. I took one and thanked Kyrsa, before returning to my makeshift king sized beg.

It felt weird not being in my own bed. The Rusty Dragon was not an uncomfortable inn, but any stretch of the imagination. But it still had that wrongness about it that sleeping away from home has. The bed was wrong, the dimensions of the room were wrong, even precisely how dark it was was wrong. It felt like the very air I was breathing was wrong. I wanted to be in my bed with my familiar sheets and my familiar pillows and my familiar lighting and the familiar creaking of the wood and none of the muffled voices of other guests downstairs.

Still, we don’t all get what we want. So I curled up and tried to go to sleep, despite the nagging wrongness of the room.

The next day I woke early, prepared my extracts, got some coffee downstairs to wake myself up, then took a walk. Specifically, I make my way back towards my old neighborhood. As I grew near, I used my Disguise Self extract to change my appearance to one less distinct than my true form. A half-elf man, as bland and forgettable as I could make him. Then I began asking questions. If people saw anything out of the ordinary around that area before the attack. If anyone had seen someone suspicious around Mau’s house.

People were happy to talk about ‘The Heroes of Sandpoint’—Father Zantus called us that yesterday and the title is spreading like a virus. People were enchanted by the idea of Kyrsa’s magic or a brave and noble paladin. They even spoke about me in this same manner, talking about how I’d actually drawn my blade and joined the fray. They almost made me sound like some mysterious sword master or something. The truth is hardly so glamorous.

Information about suspicious people in the streets was less plentiful than gossip about our little menagerie. Most people saw nothing, or things had been so chaotic they simply didn’t remember. I was about to give up, when finally a man gave me a little bit to work with. He told me that he’d seen a cloaked figure—about my height—near the building, surrounded by six goblins. He’d entered the house. But the man said he wasn’t entirely certain of what he’d seen—he tried to explain it to himself, saying it might have been me—as in me without the disguise which currently hid my identity from him—and maybe I was fleeing the goblins. Seeing as I’m me and I know that never happened, I know that we have a lead—albeit a very vague one. A cloaked figure of average height isn’t much to go off of, but it confirmed one thing—the evidence I’d found was accurate. Someone working with the goblins had without a doubt gone into my home and set it ablaze.

I returned to the Rusty Dragon—my disguise falling away on the way there—and found the others now awake and awaiting me in the common room. I told them where I’d been and what I’d learned. One of them asked me if I could think of anyone who had a grudge against me. I was honest when I said no. I couldn’t think of a single person in Sandpoint—or anywhere nearby—who would have reason to do this. Maybe if this were Korvosa and the person in question had a chip on their shoulder towards my mother. But we’re nowhere near Korvosa. I haven’t even given anyone my surname. And I obviously don’t look like her. So I sincerely doubt it could be connected in any way to Korvosa or my mother’s house.

We all discussed, and decided to go investigate the temple’s mausoleum.

At the temple we met with Father Zantus and Sheriff Hemlock. They explained that after the goblin attack, Father Zantus had found the door to the mausoleum ajar. The sheriff had asked him not to investigate until he had us on hand to help. Father Zantus seemed to think it had merely come open on its own, but the sheriff seemed to not trust anything about this entire ordeal.

The four of us went into the graveyard, and found Father Tobyn’s mausoleum—door open, as Father Zantus had described. We noticed a number of footprints in the mud. One set of human sized tracks and six pairs of goblinoid tracks. It matched the description I’d gotten this morning to a tee. We were on the right track. I moved forward cautiously, ears straining to hear anything.

Unfortunately what waited around the corner of the door didn’t breath and could stand perfectly still until the moment it struck—and so I was none the wiser until two skeletons leapt out at me, their jagged blades slicing and stabbing. I nearly fell to my knees, my bad leg nearly giving out then and there as I began losing far too much blood.

I saw a shining dart of magic fly past me and strike one of the skeletons—a magic missile courtesy of Kyrsa. The skeleton shuttered, as if the negative energy holding it together was about to come apart, but then it held firm despite the damage it sustained.

Which meant that a moment later two blades and two claws descended upon me. And the world went black.

What felt like an instant later, my eyes opened and I was on the ground, the metallic taste of blood mixed with the tang of a healing potion in my mouth. I was dizzy, and a little stiff, but other than my bad leg I didn’t feel any more pain anywhere. Every single wound the skeletons had inflicted had healed. Tabot was standing over me, the empty vial of Cure Moderate Wounds in his hand.

That potion was even more potent than I’d given it credit for.

I didn’t have much time to contemplate my brush with near death, as Nanel leapt over my prone form and into the mausoleum. The skeletons swung their blades at him, striking true. He swung around to try to smash the injured skeleton with his quarterstaff, but he misjudged and the skeleton knocked the blow away.

Kyrsa aimed a spell at the uninjured skeleton, casting Disrupt Undead. The skeleton was blasted by the anti-necromantic energy—but it managed to just barely hold itself together, just like its twin.

Now the skeletons had two targets: me and Nanel. One brought its blade down on me, but I rolled, only getting a small scratch from the jagged metal. Nanel didn’t fare as well. The remaining skeleton brought down its blade, and Nanel crumpled to the ground.

Nanel was in a precarious position, and it would be hard to get to him to heal him while those skeletons were still there. I decided that the best way to save him would be to get rid of the skeletons all at once, since they were both on their last legs. I took a gamble, and scrambled to my feet, leaving myself open to attack. They swung, but their blades only struck my armor. I darted back and then produced another explosive. This one I did not throw directly at one of the skeletons. I threw it at the ground between them, so that if I’d calculated the explosion correctly, they would both be caught in its radius.

It worked perfectly. Both skeletons were engulfed in flame and cremated.

With the danger gone, I went straight to Nanel’s side and used another Potion of Cure Light Wounds I’d made the day before to heal him.

With everyone alive and conscious, we looked around the mausoleum for clues. We found a used up Cloak of Bones—clearly where the skeletons had come from. We also found Father Tobyn’s casket.

Empty.

What use did goblins have for a priest’s corpse?

Kyrsa put words to the growing dread in my stomach when they said: the goblin raid with just a diversion.

Something bigger is afoot. And we’ve found ourselves right in the middle of it.

[mewtagen-mau]

Images from Mau's Journal 1