(an excerpt from the journal of Gavenot Rizzlan)
Though I am unlikely to forget the major transpirings of this day, I feel it wise to commit some finer details to paper, given my current state of fatigue and mental drain.
Rested and healed from our encounters in the cave, we met upon an aging, weathered, near toothless man named Iztrak. Strange fellow but seemingly of no ill-intent, we expertly convinced him to aid us in the search of the bandits and the lockbox. I feel we will find ourselves in his presence again as the days pass, but I do not know under what premises. For now, in exchange for his guidance, Esmund agreed to deliver a vial of potent medicine to an ailing lass who has lost her wits, in the village of Pentworth.
Our attempt at a stealthy entrance to the keep fell short and we were forced to dispatch two guardsmen lest we, ourselves, be felled by their arrows. Their alerts brought an abomination of half-man, half-ogre to their defense. The creature bruised more than our egos with his mighty armament, but ultimately fell to Esmund’s cunning attacks and Breen’s skilled arrows.
Pressing deeper into the keep, Breen was surprised by a member of a small contingent of rogue footmen. They called themselves “The Low Hand” and they will certainly need to be dealt with. For now though, in exchange for Breen’s uncut throat, we volunteered to descend deeper into the keep to deal with a powerful warrior (Nathaniel) and his shaman wench. Sadly, there was no negotiation with Nathaniel, nor his woman, nor the slippery magically concealed halfling. They were, perhaps, rightfully protective of their small collection of fortunes. That said, I have little doubt their gains were mostly ill-gotten and St. Cuthbert smiles with these injustices set right.
We find ourselves now, weary from battle, with treasures that will certainly raise the brows of the remaining brigands above, with no clear exiting path, and our most adept spokesman and swordsman laying crumpled on floor of a cleverly placed pit trap. We are assuredly in a tight spot. I feel I have the magical means to shape a spell to retrieve Esmund’s body, but I’m simply too weary to call forth my energies. I need rest.
Things I need to investigate further, when time permits…
- The Goddess Aurel (sp?). Malark seemed to know enough of her to recognize the shaman’s ties to this northern deity…something about cold and destruction magics.
- this dark wand gives me a sense of anxiety, despite its allure. Caution is undoubtedly required with this item and it must not fall into the wrong hands.
- this silver enlayed scepter may be of noble origin. Perhaps there is reward for its rightful return.
Now… what to do about Esmund????