Eleasias 1369 DR.
Delainy was right. It has taken four months, but we have adapted. We are… flesh-without-fur again. Imoen and Jaheira mastered the changing faster than anyone else. Khalid survived. The curse saved him. I have become as Karoug. My size and strength is unrivalled. Our steel, useless against our foes, is now meaningless. Before Minsc broke his off in a wolfwere, we regarded it the difference between life and death. Now we see our claws and teeth as the difference.
So far, we've resisted Delainy's terminology, but slowly, we're adopting her words. Pack. …We are pack. I don't know which one of us it was, but Dradeel has also been infected. He seemed to be immune, or at least managed to avoid being bitten. His howls of 'bad doggie' and 'away! Stop biting my toenails!' echoes throughout the mountains.
We found Balduran's log book. It contradicts the legends surrounding the dwarf. It would shatter myth, but I find myself beyond such trivial concerns now. We hunt, we… I must hold onto whatever keeps us human, keeps us from becoming beasts… without Delainy, we would lose hope.
It has taken a long time, but Xan is deciphering Dradeel's spellbook. Dradeel is completely mad now. He runs around the isle at night howling. I have no sympathy. Alora seems sad, but then recovers herself. Minsc talks constantly to Boo; it is amazing no one has devoured the rodent yet. Garrick is uncertain what to make of himself, but finds himself drawn to Delainy now he knows I am a… man. I have to stop myself from striking at him. I feel possessive instincts stronger than my will take hold. Then she looks at me, and something of my humanity returns. I feel shame, but she understands.
Alora is half our size, even as in wolf-woman shape. We are savages. Monsters. Our meat we eat raw, and the isle is ours now. This – this isn't what I wanted. I was too late. I rule my pack. I, not Jaheira, not Minsc. Minsc and I brawled the other day. We both came away bloody, but somehow I emerged the victor. This curse ill becomes us. My fur is black… like sable, soft, smooth, like night's shadow. Writing helps focus my mind, but I fear it is only a matter of time. I feel such fierce protectiveness over my pack. My pack. Jaheira's fur is brown, mottled; Imoen's is auburn; the colour of our hair. We walk with such power, such fearlessness. We prowl, stride… but we are trapped. The urge to hunt is overwhelming, the need for meat. The need inside is greater. I crave to kill. I am still my sire's son. This… curse has only sharpened it.
Sometimes I sit by the sea and weep. As a wolf-man, I howl. Delainy comes to me, understands my anguish. The rock I've claimed only she'll approach. Imoen… she is pack-sister, Alora too. I don't know how long it will be until I lose myself. Pack-mates… that is how Delainy refers to Khalid and Jaheira. She seems nice towards Imoen, but I see the looks she levels I never saw as a man. She warns her away. Has she chosen me, or have I chosen her? Imoen growls back. I don't want them fighting over me. What have we become?