Moonday, Erastus 7th

When I stepped into that room I knew that something was not right.

The battle with the Scribbler and his hounds and demons left me somewhat unnerved. It’s one of the few times that the party was not able to take the advantage, and we fought on the defensive at the mercy of his spells. Though he was no tactical genius, he was resourceful and he was prepared and it was enough to keep us off balance. Most importantly, it was enough to keep him alive. Once again one of our foes was able to vanish into thin air just when the tide was starting to turn.

My frustration with this encounter is why I chose, uncharacteristically, to take up the rear guard as we advanced through the fog. I don’t know why I did not trust my judgement, I just know that I did not. As it turned out this may have been the wisest decision I have made.

Sabin, Takkad, Rigel, and Rararallo all entered the hallway and that is when the confusion began. I still do not know the precise sequence of events, but within seconds spells were fired off and a wall of stone created to block our passage. Before I could move up to see what had happened, Rigel tore through the room and into the fog, running for her life. Running from us! And then Rararallo appeared, showing the same terror, the same wild look of someone who was consumed by paranoia and fear.

It was Kane that figured out that an enchantment was responsible, one that convinced those who entered that the evil Lamashtu had corrupted their friends. It was a subtle, clever suggestion. I am told that one so enchanted cannot be made to act against his or her nature, but twisting our own perceptions of reality would sidestep that limitation. Very clever, and very effective.

But not foolproof. Takkad, fearing the evil that he believed had taken over his friends, did what he would logically do in any such situation: he cast a spell of protection, and a side effect of this spell was to break the enchantment that was influencing him. Through the thin stone wall, which he had created for his own safety, we heard him exclaim a few choice words as the realization of what had happened came over him. Kane took my sword, for I did not trust myself to enter that hallway, and broke down the wall so that we could be reunited.

Takkad’s spell would eventually free Rigel and Sabin, at least temporarily, and so we retreated to the temple in Sandpoint to regroup and permanently dispel the charms that had afflicted us. Rararallo, however, was so shaken by these events that he has lost his nerve for adventuring. It is a shame, for in the short time that we have known him he has been a valuable companion, but I understand his decision. This is a very dangerous thing we are doing. His reaction is, I think, normal (which, disturbingly, suggests that ours is not).

Toilday, Erastus 8th

The Scribbler is dead. As I write this, my companions are searching the room at the end of the hallway and trying to make sense of the magical items and protections that are in place. Every now and then, one or two look my way give me “that look”. At least once I overheard talk about the Scribbler’s damaged falchion and what could be done to repair it. I know that some are upset about the destruction of a valuable magic item—an item that could have been sold for money—but I don’t care. I had long since lost patience with the Scribbler and with this place, and when I found myself face to face with him and feeling the business end of that weapon I deliberately smashed it to pieces. And it felt good.

If they want to try and fix it, fine. But I am not apologizing for my actions.