27 Flamerule, 1369

Hour: Vespers

I hate werewolves.

On the bright side, Coran is dead.

Whilst a terrible shame, at the same time it saves a scene of considerable social awkwardness later, so overall I consider that a net positive.

The worst thing is that he was actually holding the complete The History of the North when he died. Yeslick suggested we bury them with him, but I'm not losing them again! We've had to drop a lot of treasure, but we've at least managed to recoup our literary losses.

The leader of the "first" wolf clan (I'm fairly sure that our erstwhile employers are the second, but since they're not mages, I'm prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt) lies dead by our hand. When I say "our" I mean Neera, Imoen and myself, his flesh simply healed over the wounds that Dorn inflicted, and Yeslick's hammer literally bounced off with a rubbery schlup. After a few minutes of this we unloaded all our wands into the thing and it exploded into a shower of burning blubber. One of the wands overloaded and shattered, leaving us with only three. Here's hoping we don't have any trouble with the other side, though with our luck I'll be busting out the frost wands as spares.

We've also rescued a small infant, who I've placed in the care of Imoen; best to have him with someone he can relate to after all.

I'm too tired to battle a mage today, so we'll turn in the spellbook in the morning, once we've had a chance to rest.

28 Flamerule, 1369

Hour: Matins

This is one seriously backwards island. The mage was rude, but didn't betray us, and the non-mage chieftan actually welcomed us into their tribe and praised us for our service!

By which I mean infected us with lycanthropy, stole our sea charts and left us to fight their evil second in command and vast majority of the village.

I'm actually writing this as we go, these things are surprisingly weak compared to their wolfier cousins. Even the creepy kid with the doll decided she was going to take a shot, so I guess maybe we owe Coran a posthumous apology? I wonder if someone will actually raise him all the way out here?

Hour: Lauds

Not everyone fought against us, so not everyone died. Just most. We're just heading into the tunnels below the village, apparently there's some boat we can grab out of here.

Hopefully it's close, this place smells of wet dog.

Midsummer, 1369

Hour: Sexts

The status quo has been restored, our employer, the village chieftess(?), betrayed us (Dorn's smug about that one, as if he doesn't tell me that pretty much everyone we meet is going to betray me), and upon returning to the mainland (frankly I did such a better job sailing the ship than those sailors did, I'm beginning to think it wasn't Umberlee's doing at all, but Human error) we were betrayed by the mage-ey looking fellow who hired us in the first place. So yeah, I own a new boat.

Awesome?

Apparently killing the Chieftess and the Mage (who was himself a werewolf in disguise) lookalike cured us of our burgeoning lycanthropy; a bit of a shame really, I was looking forward to experiencing facial hair.

Anyway, Coran's ignoble demise and by now presumed consumption and defecation by werebeasts leaves us one member short of our little group, so tomorrow we'll need to scour the land looking for a replacement. For today, however, 'tis Midsummer, the festival of love and night of the feyfolk!

Which, since I'm single, means drinking until I see fairies.