Week 93 – Aljarhaa, Shieldbreaker
The oracles have failed me. I am lost in the sands.
For years, my steps have been guided by their fiery hand. I drank poison and let it purge me from the inside, I clutched snakes to my breast and took their venom into me, and it gave me clarity.
And now the poison oracles have lied. They told me where to go. My feet were drawn to that twisted altar, and I knew in my flesh that what lay beyond it would free me.
It was a lie. There was a nightmare world, a spinning violet madness of stars, and a thing croaking and moving horribly in the darkness.
Who can I trust now? Howard was there. He supported me when the others fell. When that strange man Picvini leapt in front of an attack meant for us. Howard kept me standing so I could plunge my spear into the thing's many eyes and grind it into a disgusting nothingness.
Two men are dead. Their names were Picvini and Lynom. I slew the beast and I feel no lifting of this burden. My ruined arm still drips with blight. The snakes still come in the night.
Coming here was a mistake, but however the sands blow my destiny is set in stone. I may be blind to what is coming but my own way is clear. I must continue.
Halim Aljarhaa.
Week 94a – The Heiress
Wilhelmina Constantine von W-, Heiress and Lady of the Hamlet: Her Diary.
The dreams are coming more often. Ever since I broke the seal on the Courtyard gates.
I see my Ancestor in his youth, and the disgusting revels he indulged in. I have been enquiring among the townsfolk, and it seems that, in their long and rustic memories, they have treasured up quite a store of salacious and grotesque tales. This far from the great royal courts, my noble peers allowed their tastes for blood and filth to run riot. Different in degree from what I have seen myself, but not in character.
My adventurers have recovered, from the bodies of the blood-drinkers they have killed around the Hamlet's environs, several quite formal and intentionally infuriating invitations to the Courtyard from a thing called the Baron. By what I have pieced together, he might have been one particularly vicious nobleman who haunted my Ancestor's halls years ago.
Changed now, of course. Not that it matters. I sent Maynet and a select group of those who have explored the Courtyard before in after him. It was a long, hard journey, but they found the monstrous thing and put an end to it.
They are all shaken beyond reason. Well, Maynet is always like that. But I sent them all to work off their troubles in their own ways. Hopefully the Brothel is still standing when Baudry and that bounty hunter Montgomery are done with it.
Bosc seems perplexed by something. She's muttering more than usual. I'll have to check in with her.
Lady W., Heiress.
Week 94b – Bosc, Plague Doctor
I am offended past reason. Baudry is cured.
Baudry and Vernon both, in fact. And they tell me that Montgomery contracted the disease disease in their last mission. All cured. Cured!
I could barely hold onto them long enough to perform a few simple tests before they dispersed to the Brothel or the Abbey, as their tastes dictated. Uneducated vagabonds. They have no concern for learning.
They say that they felt the "curse" lifting as soon as they slew the Baron-thing. But I refuse to accept that this is a purely magical malady. It is ridiculous to suggest! The symptoms, while baffling, were more those of illness than enchantment.
Fortunately, I have samples and records, and there is much to do.
It is still a disappointment. At least it is distracting many of the old guard from Picvini's death. That struck several of them very badly.
Bosc, Dr. Md., physician.
Week 95 – Hue, Highwaywoman
My only real friend here is dead.
I caught a few snatches of what happened, from those foreigners Aljarhaa and Howard. Something about a shambling horror from the stars. Nothing I've ever heard of before.
That dancer had something to do with it. She looks guilty when she talks about it. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I need to know what actually happened and why Picvini is dead.
He was my only friend.
Hue.
Week 96 – Miron, Antiquarian
To: My Noble Correspondent:
Your Grace,
Per your instructions, I have undertaken an investigation as to the means by which the late and unlamented lord of this place, known to locals as the Ancestor, secured certain mystical items and obscure texts.
I have delved into records found in the Ruins and spoken covertly with some of the Cove folk. It seems that he had several lines of communication, but one in particular involves a group of smugglers and pirates that used to haunt these shores.
It seems that they disappeared under mysterious circumstances some years ago, before the Ancestor himself vanished. However, I found a fisherman who was able to sketch their figurehead and describe some members of the crew, who used to purchase salt fish from him.
Your Grace, it was the very same ship and the very same damned, drowned crew that I have encountered twice before. This speaks to a suspicion I have long held that much of the evil infesting this corner of the land is not simply endemic to the region, but rather a direct result of the Ancestor's own arcane researches.
I await your next instruction.
Your Correspondent,
Miron.