Toilday, Neth 5, 4707; Thistlestop, Evening

And so our adventures at Thistlestop have come to an end at last, or will by morning when we take leave of this place.

Shortly after our noon break we conducted a final thorough search of the lower levels and found no more than what our previous efforts revealed.

This left only the natural cavern to explore with its cephalopodic resident.

The first thing we discovered was that the squid-man beast’s chambers stank. After overcoming a wave of nausea from the noisome air we next noticed that the floor of the cavern, although uneven and natural, were worn smooth, as if this creature or members of its brood had shuffled about down here for countless years, polishing the rock with their flappy feet.

To the south was a room used by the goblins and Nualia’s ilk for disposing of refuse.

To the west a large cave that opened onto the bay below through a screen of brush and thistle (what else?).

To the north was another chamber, and the source of the horrific smell that filled these caverns. It was within; passively waiting.

We made a little noise in the cave and withdrew as the squid thing shambled down to investigate. As it hovered near the cave opening above the bay — though whether it paused trying to discern the source of the noise, was lost in thought over its lot in life, or because it simply forgot why it had moved in the first place I cannot say — Avia and I crept into the north chamber, gagging as the fetid odor enveloped us.

There, lying in a large heap on the floor were many dozens of bodies in various states of decomposition. Birds, small woodland animals, goblins and various other unidentifiable bits and bobs of flesh.

Some of the bodies were quite recent additions, and I managed to rescue a few items of potential use (or value) from their former owners.

[198] masterwork dog skin armor (small)
[199] masterwork short bow

After a quick search for secret doors we retreated back to the entry and closed the door behind us.

The squid-man creature was not evil, and it or its kind had been living there for generations. Furthermore it served as an effective guard against unwanted entry via the cave opening to the west. We left it there, and I gave a silent prayer that it would remain there unmolested, living as it had for so long.

On the way back up to the goblin fortress we stopped and looked once more at the goblin drawing depicting a goblin-giant beneath Thistlestop. What it actually meant or represented we will probably never know.

We have set up camp in the fortress after gathering the items to take back to Sandpoint tomorrow. Sabin will use a spell to create magically floating disks to carry the heavier items, which will save us the time, trouble and expense of going back to town to hire a horse and cart.

Wealday, Neth 6, 4707; Sandpoint, Evening

We are back in Sandpoint. I must admit a certain fondness for this village, huddled quaintly on the promontory above the mouth of the Turandarok River.

The sun was shining brightly when we arrived, slanting down at its morning angle, glancing off the shingled roofs and casting beams of bright and dark in the dusty air between the buildings.

The salt smell from the Varisian Gulf mixes with the vegetative smell of river bottom and is spiced with the tang of fish from the docks along the harbor; thus giving the city an interesting, but not at all unpleasant aroma that is uniquely Sandpoint.

The townsfolk were already out and making headway against the day’s toil. But even then most had a friendly word or polite nod for us as we came in through the north gate and entered the city.

I had lived near or in Magnimar for all of my life, and while I was comfortably familiar with life in the big city, I never felt I was at home anywhere until I came here.

While the rest of our team proceeded to the Rusty Dragon with our loot, Sabin, Kane and I took the gold plated giant helmet up Tower Street to the Sage’s Guild.

Master Quink was fascinated with the helmet and the tale of our explorations at Thistlestop, but he remained skeptical about there being actual Runelord ruins beneath. “After all,” he reasoned, “these ancient Runelord dwellings have been lost for centuries, and now you claim to have found two within as many months?”

We have arranged to take them on a trip to Thistlestop tomorrow so they can see for themselves what lies beneath.

We also broached the topic of the well of power in the ruins beneath Sandpoint. According to Nualia’s notes these can be used for great evil as long as they are active, and so we expressed our concern about this to Quink, offering our services for removing the threat. He was receptive, and we will work out the details when we return tomorrow.

Trask spent much of his day making the rounds to his usual social haunts. For some unfathomable reason he was looking for Lord Foxglove, the dandified local whom we rescued during the first goblin invasion. He had seemed infatuated with our group, badgering us attend one of his hunting trips, and when that failed to pique our interest begging us to let him come on one of our exploratory trips.

Most of us tried to avoid him when in town, and so it came as a surprise when Trask returned to the Rusty Dragon this evening with news that Foxglove had been missing for the better part of a week.

Apparently he had left quite a few debts about town, but the only surprising thing about this piece of news was that anyone was foolish enough to extend him credit in the first place.

On an unrelated note, I have been wondering and worrying about the reason for Sedjewick leaving with Shalelu for Magnimar. An undead uprising sounded ominous, and so I posted a letter to father Tyrion asking if he has heard any news of such goings on.

Perhaps I will be able to sleep well tonight.

Oathday, Neth 7, 4707; Sandpoint, Evening

The morning dawned chill, overcast and misty, and I dreaded the damp dreary trudge with the Quink and his colleagues to Thistlestop that awaited me. But my misfortune turned to fortune as we approached Thistlestop from the beach just as the mist cleared to reveal the island as if it were floating upon a cloud.

I heard the gasps of surprise and delight from the sages and knew they were sold.

During the tour of the Runelord complex they ran giddily about, talking in loud excited voices like school boys.

I took great care to explain the squid creature’s presence and how it was an asset to be appreciated and treasured rather than a liability to be remedied.

By the time we returned to Sandpoint we had agreed upon a fee of 1,000 gp for Thistlestop plus another 150 gp for the giant helmet. We included the Thassilonian scrolls and books from Nualia’s lair with the understanding that we could access them when needed.

The Sandpoint Sage’s Guild is well on the way to being an important and central resource and authority on Runelords, and I am delighted to have had a hand in that.

Those of our party who had not made the return trek to Thistlestop had not been idle in Sandpoint, and the excess items we had collected were sold for a tidy profit, which netted each of us 375 gp. We have maintained our tradition of giving an equal share to a “group fund”, which now has a balance of 389 gp. I find myself with a staggering balance of around 400 gp, even after tithing a share at the cathedral.

My friends had also updated Mayor Deverin and Father Zantus on our finds at Thistlestop. Father Zantus asked to be present when we deactivate the well beneath Sandpoint, and the mayor invited us to attend the upcoming Moonday Festival as guests of honor.

Fireday, Neth 8, 4707; Sandpoint, Evening

A tiring but productive day.

We returned to the temple beneath Sandpoint and, using a few drops of blood from my hand, summoned sins-pawn from the well until its evil red glow faded and then winked out altogether.

Three times we summoned and destroyed one of those hateful creatures as Father Zantus and Master Quink looked on from the far end of the room.

We left the well dark, grey and inactive.

Starday, Neth 9, 4707; Sandpoint, Evening

Spent most of the day resting and puttering about Sandpoint.

I stopped by the old Glass-works, but the doors were locked, and there was no obvious sign of recent activity.

I walked through Wet Dog Alley on the way down to the harbor. There was a funny smell here I could not quite place, and while it was not particularly offensive, it was also not particularly pleasant.

Foxglove is still missing. Some of us are concerned, while others merely curious.

Sunday, Neth 10, 4707; Sandpoint, Evening

I spent most of the day working at the cathedral, while outside the sun failed to make her presence known on the day named in her honor.

The noon service was disrupted by one of the local down and outs who had changed the copper pieces he had begged earlier to wine, or something stronger, before staggering in to get out of the cold and damp. Usually these sorts of visits are both tolerated and even encouraged, but this worthy decided to relieve himself in the hall.

I feel restless. Obviously the sedentary life is not for me.

The Moonday Festival is tomorrow at noon.

Moonday, Neth 11, 4707; Sandpoint, Night

The day began well with the arrival of a letter from Father Tyrion saying that there was no need to worry about any undead problems in Magnimar. He was glad to read that I was making myself of use around Sandpoint and sent his warmest regards to Father Zantus, which I passed on.

The Moonday Festival was a pleasant diversion, with the mayor and other local dignitaries speaking about the bright future waiting for Sandpoint. The food was tasty and plentiful and everyone appeared to enjoy themselves.

Everyone except for Sheriff Hemlock, who glared at us through the entire proceedings with a perpetual from upon his face.

Intrigued I asked him what was afoot, but he quickly whispered, “Not here and not now. Later — in my office.”

Later, in his office, Hemlock revealed grim news. There was a pair of grizzly murders at the lumber mill the previous night. One of the victims had been mutilated in a particular way; and two nights earlier three other victims had been discovered at a nearby farm, each mutilated in the same way.

He thought the murderer was known to us, and was hoping we could help with the investigation. Hemlock then handed over a note, splattered with blood, with Avia’s name written upon it (in blood). The note read thus:

You will learn to love me, desire me as SHE did.
Give yourself to the Pack and it shall all end.

Your Lordship

That we were surprised is an understatement, and oddly enough my first thought was, “So that’s what Foxglove has been up to.”

We first followed Hemlock to where the corpses from the first murder were kept.

These bodies had been found by the town patrol when a crazed man, screaming and laughing, ran by them and into a barn where the corpses lay.

The crazed man was a local thug, but his days of being a ruffian for hire are over, and he has been sent away to an asylum.

The three victims were all local con men, and had all been slashed with what must have been a five fingered claw. On each of their chests was carved the shape of a seven pointed star.

At the lumber mill the two victims were Harker, who was comanager of the mill, and a local young woman, named Katrine. of the two, Harker’s body was mutilated in the same way as the other victims, while Katrine had been thrown into the giant circular blade of the log splitter while it was still running.

Harker’s partner, Ibor Thorn, who had discovered the two bodies, was in custody on suspicion of murder. Katrine’s father was also in custody, but mostly for protective reasons as he was insane with anger and grief.

Some of us had actually met Katrine and her father just after the first goblin raid. She had shown herself to be more than a little over sexed and uninhibited; a trait ignored by her father, who assumed anyone who came near Katrine was after her virtue, which even then seemed likely to be a commodity already well consumed.

From the evidence at murder scene we deduced that someone (or thing) had crawled up out from the river and left muddy prints (they appeared to be bare human feet) and broken into the offices on the second floor of the lumber mill, and from there tracked down and attacked Harker.

Katrine and Harker had been seeing one another at the mill in the evenings to hide their affair from her father. She came upon Harker and his assailant and had taken an axe to who or whatever it was. The price for her bravery was her death.

The attacker finished his job with Harker and then hung him from a hook on the wall.

The scene of the murders reeked of rotting flesh (the barn where the first murders occurred was said to have held the same stench), which made us suspect something unnatural was at work. Most of the yard had been splattered with sticky, red blood — fortunately it was cold and the flies had not yet descended in droves to feast upon the gore.

Trask went to the garrison to question Thorn while I searched Harker’s place for evidence. Thorn was angry and unwilling to speak, and at Harker’s I found only love letters from Katrine.

I also checked out Thorn’s residence, and as I was leaving I came upon Thorn himself who had just been released. I commiserated with him about the injustice of the legal system and offered him a drink and dinner, over which we talked about the mill in general and Harker in particular.

Thorn confirmed what we already knew about the couple being an item, and that they would regularly meet at night at the mill. The mill was owned by the Scarnetti family, an infamous name with which we were already familiar, but for the time being he was unwilling to say more.

I then took Thorn to the Rusty Dragon, where we were seated in a private dining room. After consuming much brandy Thorn confessed that Harker had been cooking the books at the mill, and that he, Thorn, knew trouble would come of it. The Scarnetti family would never allow such a thing to go unnoticed or unpunished.

Thorn thought the Scarnetti’s knew that Harker was acting upon his own and wouldn’t take action against him, but he was obviously nervous and seemed to be trying to convince himself that this was the case rather than stating it as fact.

As Thorn progressed through the brandy my fellow team mates showed up, and we discussed what we had each found, and tried to make sense of it all.

That something unnatural and possibly undead was haunting Sandpoint seemed obvious.

That this thing was operating under the orders of the Scarnetti family seemed plausible. Those con men could have tried to take in the Scarnetti’s in some sort of scam, and of course Harker was cheating them. But then how does the seven pointed star carved into the murder victim’s chest fit in? That image is an obvious Runelord symbol, but were they put there as a distraction?

The connection to Avia was more disturbing, and I fear my original impulse to blame Foxglove may prove to be correct. But the Foxglove we knew was not capable of such acts, and so we suspect something has happened to him or done to him to change him into some sort of monster.

Tonight we are keeping watch at Thorn’s place while he sleeps. I almost hope that the creature comes for him in the night so that we may have some answers.

The clouds are out, but thining, and the moon brightly illuminates them from behind, and casts the entire town in a feeble diffuse yellow light.

This is a most disturbing ending to a Moonday.