APRIL 18TH
My name is Laurence Sullivan, Captain of the 9th Holy Inquisition of the great city of Mirage, though I am in no capability to act as one, for I am stranded with no men nor beast in sight, only trees and bushes and grass. An educated guess would tell me this might be Trisoll Woodlands, as this is the only pine forest near where our latest duty has led us. In the interest of whomever reads this, I shall forgo any secrecy in the details of our duty in the event the accursed beast prowling these woods turns hunter into hunted. And I plead to whomever finds this report - give it to my son, Aiden. He is training to become an inquisitor in Mirage, as I did.
Our mission was thus: “You are to find and destroy the coven that resides in the Grenwich area. Use whatever means necessary.” A coven is typically a group of hags banded together to form a greater than usual threat. Of course, a singular hag is dangerous enough, you can imagine how a combined force of hags and underlings are something wildly different.
Contrary to what one might imagine, Witch Hunters usually work alone or in a small unit consisting of three to four other Witch Hunters. The reason is simple: reduce our rate of detection. It is easier to lure out and slay our prey if they do not know they are the prey. This is one of the basic guidances we are all taught from a young age.
Upon my summoning to the commander’s chambers, I would be informed of my mission aforementioned by Lord Nicolas Newmont. I was to travel to Wildedenn which lies on the western border of our country Cleademond, roughly 6 days of travel from Mirage. This area is heavily forested and is frequently a thorn in our side due to its distance from Mirage and the ample cover its trees provide for shady business and monsters alike.
It was rumored a coven has formed due to our logging business which we had ramped up in the past several months. This would endanger the hag’s territory and safety, and they are smart enough to not go against us on their own as we had dispatched many of them before who dared raise their sickly fingers against us. Regardless, this party of monstrous alliance had based itself in Wildedenn and there was no choice but to remove it, lest it terrorize the local citizenry and grind production to a halt.
After discussing the general terms of my duty such as departure time, provided equipment, and payment, we discussed the letters and rumors sent to our office that instigated the creation of this particular duty.
One such letter was from a certain Mrs Copeland, who is the wife or one of the loggermen. The words appeared hastily written with blotches of ink covering certain letters due to overloading the feather. It describes how strange markings started appearing on their door, and strange, earthy odors became noticeable. Though nothing has happened yet, there was a palpable fear and urgency in the writing.
Another letter from a Rachel Curtis described how a widower named Mr Gentry suddenly started seeing a lady who hadn't been seen before in Wildedenn, as if appearing from thin air. Ms Curtis followed said lady for a while and found that she disappears deep into the forest come morning. Perhaps Mrs Curtis doesn’t wish for Mr Gentry to find a new lover, it’s not uncommon for people to try and deceive officials for their own reasons.
We had also gotten reports of our wood mills being tempered with, halting work for days at worst. Wooden levers breaking, circular saws rusting overnight, and work orders disappearing without trace. Some of these issues might be caused by disgruntled workers or simple mistakes, however the complications are too many and some could not have been done by our worker’s hands.
All in all, we believe enough evidence has been gathered to warrant an investigation on the basis that indeed, the cause is a coven of hags, tempering with our production in an act of vengeance. This cannot stand, the forest is not theirs and theirs alone.
APRIL 4TH
Wildedenn is quite some distance away, and as such I was to go alone and find allies on the last leg of the journey. This is not unusual, we employ the work of regional mercenaries and adventurers alike due to their knowledge on the local state of affairs, topography, and peoples.
I gathered my equipment in preparation for departure: my custom forged rapier, a set of flintlock pistols and ammo, emergency rations for 10 days, a bedroll, three sets of clothes, 5 meters of rope, a hand ax, flint and tinder, a pouch full of gold coin, and other miscellaneous tidbits to cover as many situations as possible. All in all, a fairly standard set of equipment for a mission such as this. I would depart the following day.
I remember that night very well. It was not because of an incident or revelation. No, all was well until I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt of a dark forest through which I moved, and my vision was closer to the ground than it would if I were standing upright, as if I was possessing a beast of sorts. The creature moved silently and with intent, stalking or hunting for something or someone. What sort of creature I was inhabiting I could only guess. Perhaps it was a dire wolf for its movements resembled that of one, or some manner of lycanthrope. And by all logical reasoning I should feel nothing but dread, yet I remember feeling an oppressive yet strangely comfortable atmosphere. I was simultaneously meant to be there and yet I was not, but the reason I could not decipher. With singular purpose it stalked for some time until the trees thinned and moonlight started slipping through the canopy. Then, a clearing came into view and shortly thereafter a village. I cannot remember much about it, for as soon as it came into view, the creature struck out in a sprint. It moved at a terrifying speed as its powerful legs propelled it onward while it rapidly inhaled and exhaled voluminous amounts of air. I experienced this for only several seconds, for I awoke drenched in sweat and with short breath. I did not sleep the rest of the night.
Today, at the crack of dawn I would leave on my journey, leaving behind Mirage as I have done many times before. My first destination was Dalhurst, a common destination for westbound travelers for it was slightly less than a day’s worth of travel on foot and hosted any amenities one could wish for, which in turn attracts mercenaries and adventurers alike looking for work. My plan was to find at least one such mercenary and stock up for the leg thereafter, which would take me through several days of relative wilderness.
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The hike to Dalhurst was, luckily, rather eventless. The weather was fair and the sun beat on the top of my headpiece. The sights are wonderful as always past the imposing ruins of Fort Penshaw and through the rolling hills dotted with farmer’s huts and their cattle which span the width of Eldon. I would sporadically pass fellow travelers and merchants who would sit on their loaded carts hauled onwards by powerful work horses. Some would let me rest on their bench in return for my company, which I would gladly accept and ask them of their destination and wares, as one does.
I would arrive early in the evening when the sun started turning orange as it sank behind the horizon. The town square was bustling with merchants unloading their goods, children playing tricks on strangers, and soon-to-be drunkards and their wives who started their stupor as early as their reputation would allow. As for myself, I would find a more sophisticated eatery as I haven’t had anything other than simple bread and water throughout the day. I had decided on The Handy Crow, an establishment I had visited before that serves good quality food while keeping your purse strings relatively tight.
This is where I found the first of my companions, his name is Bradley Hopkins. An eccentric fellow to be sure with marvelous sideburns and a clean shaven face, and his skill with hammer and shield is unmatched or so he says. If looks mean anything, his silver lined kite shield and impressively sized hammer certainly appear like one of a well-seasoned mercenary. And thus I gave the man 20 gold coins for his services, so he may charge into the fray as the vanguard. He immediately went and got us both a pint of ale, which may as well have been alcoholic sewer water, to celebrate which I reluctantly drank out of courtesy. I left to find a sleeping place soon after, though I am sure Bradley prolonged his stay as the night unfurled, boasting about his great deeds of heroism as he pointed at battle scars on his body and shield.
I am thankful that the horrible hallucinations I had the night before did not rear their heads after I fell into a deep sleep, for the exhaustion of traveling combined with a lack of sleep was affecting me more than I’m willing to admit.
APRIL 5TH
I made preparations, as planned. I visited the local bakery and butchery to purchase some semi-perishables such as smoked ham and dried sausages to vary my diet of hardtack and water. Then, as the bell rang nine times, I would meet with Bradley and proceed on our journey. As I expected, the man’s facade has vanished now that alcohol has left its mark after completing its intoxicating purpose.
Our destination was the city of Zekemond, some three days from Dalhurst. Our route took us through the expanse of the Truege Forest, a popular hunting ground for the common folk so long as they do not wander into the deeper measures thereof. Unfortunately, we did not have such luxury for we could not afford to add several days to our journey and along the outer edges. Fortunately, we are also not common peasants, as Bradley would gladly declare.
I had heard of rumors about what lies within the inner reaches of Truege Forest; rabid beasts warped by twisted, latent magic, reclusive witches in underground hideaways, and a strange assembly of people living in a town shrouded by magic. Vile as it sounds, investigation of this place was of low priority, for none of this hearsay has any proof and there are more pressing matters to attend to.
We took advantage of the thick foliage and dense forest to hunt for some rabbit as a way of having a fresh dinner for later, supplementing it with foraged mushrooms, vegetables and herbs to complete the meal. Doing this would save us from using emergency rations which we would rather keep in case things went awry.
As we traveled westwards on the winding forest path, it was easily noticeable which crossings were used by those who came before, as the trail most walked would diverge away to the north or south to avoid the deeper, more dangerous forest.
In the late afternoon we would arrive at the threshold. Indeed, the forest rapidly descends into a much more foreboding version of itself. We would backtrack fifteen minutes and camp there as the both of us are not enough to take watch throughout the night, and any wandering creatures would not go far enough to spot nor smell our encampment.
Bradley took charge of gathering wood for our campfire which we’d use to cook upon and warm ourselves. Meanwhile, I set up our modest tents and rolled out our bedrolls. Bradley insisted he would prepare the meal. He said something along the lines of, “you fancy folk probably don’t know how to cook out here”, so I let him. I assume he thinks that way because we met in The Handy Crow instead of some grubby tavern he frequents with his mercenary peers. He is not aware of who I truly am and it was better this way, for now. The meal was surprisingly well cooked.
There was not much in the way of idle chatter as we sat around the fire and the darkness of night loomed closer. He sipped on whatever beverage he had in his waterskin while I ensured my clothes and equipment were in prime shape. We would then turn to our beds for an early rest.
That damned nightmare of two nights before would continue that night, exactly from where it ended last time. At a ferocious swiftness the creature’s claws tore into the floor as it propelled itself onwards to the hamlet. It would arrive at the first dwelling where it would suddenly come to a halt, sniffing at the air to locate its targets. Slowly it crept along the wall and as it peeked around the corner, we spotted a few peasants, farmers perhaps, saying their goodbyes and going their own way. One of them entered the house on the other side of the road, while the other continued to the left, alone. The creature made its move and prowled forward, making nary a sound even through my own perceptions. The cover of darkness allowed the creature to be but a short sprint away from the lone peasant. And that was all it needed as it struck out with incredible speed and its claws ripped through the man’s throat before he could make sense of what had just happened to him. He promptly collapsed onto the muddy floor. Then, a thought I could never have imagined crossed my mind, did exactly that: “he deserved it, good riddance”. It must have been the influence of this wretched, accursed creature I was inhabiting. The creature would continue its rampage through the hamlet until none were left alive, while I was powerless to do anything but look upon the horrendous crimes against humanity committed that night, and invasive sentiments continued echoing through my mind.
I could not help but notice it left the bodies alone. If not food, what was its purpose to kill these people? To send a message? Surely, it showed signs of intelligence through the way it systematically butchered all citizens, but would it truly have the reasoning of a human? I shudder at the thought of these dreams as a sign of things to come and how my apparent connection to this vile creature impacts my psyche.
I pray to the gods that my mind is concocting a series of nightmares without meaning.