Stonemarch Expeditions

Iago's Journal - Excerpt 2

You sassy bitch

February 7th, 512

Perhaps I should buy Kriv a cookbook. The poor lunk seems determined to prepare “real” meals for us out of our rations, but they’re so hit-or-miss I’m beginning to suspect dragonborn have no real sense of taste, and he’s just working on the general principles of cooking as he knows them.

At any rate, good time was made today. (Bearings 2-7-a/g) I’ve found us a reasonably nice camping spot on a hill, which should afford us some time to spot any wandering undead approaching.

February 8th, 512

Hellish wonders never cease. Farenhiem woke us all up at some ungodly hour this morning because there were, and I think I’m quoting, “some weird blinky bushes”. Thwarting my expectation that she’d finally finished losing her mind, however, there were indeed bushes that seemed to be watching us from a distance with faintly glowing pearly eyes. I kept an eye on them while Atan and Kriv armored up, the tension of the moment broken only by Balufdum, (as the gnome has apparently named that ridiculous gadget of hers,) who was repeating “You sassy bitch” in Farenhiem’s voice. I did enjoy that.

It took until our approach for Atan to scrounge something useful out of his potion-addled brain, and he informed us that these were likely the lure of some type of trapping predator, something resembling an earth elemental buried in wait. Though I still would have preferred to kill anything impertinent enough to sit there and blink at me, I bowed to his knowledge on the subject, and we left the ‘ Elementais Espinheiros’, or Bramble Elementals, as I have decided to call them, alone.

Progress has been good. (Bearings 2-8-a/d) We will hopefully reach Azarn by day’s end tomorrow.

February 9th, 512

My leg hurts.

Though our day trekking across the wetlands was going as well as such things can, the undead were as ready as ever to stomp all over any chance of things going smoothly that might have been. Right on schedule to be a pain in my ass, we were ambushed by half a dozen undead , five resembling zombies with swollen deformities, led by one that, judging from Kriv’s wounds, was probably a wight. Atan pulled off some sort of enlarging magic on the both of us, which I was quite enjoying until one of those zumbis malditos whacked me in the leg and left behind some kind of poison nettles. Filho de puta. After piling the bodies, I did manage to determine from my new vantage point that we were slightly off course (bearings 2-9-a/m) and had wound up a few hours south of our intended destination.

A note was found on the wight that’s somewhat disturbing. I’ve enclosed it here. Seems that while Peldrith pointed us at Azarn, there may be additional activity stemming from Narndah to the south. Tão certo como Auryn tem sandálias, I don’t want to be the one investigating it.

We should make Azarn by noon tomorrow. I sincerely hope this idiot brigade is there. If I have to do three more days like this before we find them, I may kill them myself on principle.

February 10th, 512

(bearings 2-10-a/c) Seems idiot brigade my have been a little too on the nose. we’ve made it into Azarn and made contact with Tenaesh, who has irritatingly separated from her compatriots. She claims to have the notes, but that Gunther has the stone, so we must go after him and Eliot, who were apparently heading for a church in the center of town.

Até mesmo o diabo não vai me salvar, pois ele é uma cadela atrevida



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