Text drawn from the journal of Willow, Mistwalker of the Virlych:
Once we made certain that everyone in the temple was settled, we returned to the dreaded prison to evidently take more punishment. Some part of me wanted to stay at the temple and let the others handle it, the other part sought vengence and an end to the strangeness and danger. (It continues to amaze me why this group continues to bare their souls to Pharasma, laying their lives on the line, attempting to save the last vestiges of this town. These backwards provincials would likely leave any one of these brave fools to their fates if they were to, say, find them stranded on the moors after darkness fell. And yet, this Willow and her friends continue to dare the eternal night for them.)
The clouds in the sky and the darkness surrounding the town was almost stifling. I’d never admit such things aloud to my allies, but I’m beginning to miss the mountainous areas that I’ve grown so accustomed to; even a forest would be more comforting than this.
I hated this place on first entrance, I still hate this place. Really hoping that we get this blasted mission done soon. We climbed down a rope into the basement, immediately being set upon by some undead monstrosities. Between Destrin and my scorpion, we took the things out; though I’m fairly certain he was still upset at my companion…ehem…landing on him. (…landed…does this beast fly? Perhaps a new member of the Arachnida class of fauna? Note for future to claim this specimen for further study.)
Not long after, we were accosted by eight skeletons. Things were fine until they decided to catch fire. Damn undead; they need to die and stay dead! Though, I’ve discovered that while my compatriots are good at handling themselves; we do certainly work well as a team, with me using my magic stones, Toreg smashing them with his weapons, Destrin striking with that odd black blade, and the rogue, who needs some fire resistance because the skeletons seem to love him for some odd reason, using his rapier to strike at them. Fortunately Destrin went to Abel’s aid and was able to do enough damage to disperse the skeleton. (…how touching…)
My scorpion was doing well against the skeleton that I had sent it after, unfortunately I almost felt as if I could feel the pain from the flames that covered the beast. Thankfully my scorpion wasn’t fighting alone and along with the dwarf they both did their fair share of damage. I tried to use my final stone to take out the skeleton, but I accidentally hit the dwarf. I really wasn’t intending to hit one of my own comrades; sadly my aim was off with the concern I was feeling for my scorpion. At least the damn skeleton went down and my scorpion was no longer being burned; I’ll have to make certain to reward my pet for a job well-done. (The obvious connection between man and beast seems to indicate some level of psychic connection between the two egos at play. Noted. Is it possible that it is actually this unknown beast is actually a mental puppet master, pulling this Willow’s strings rather than visa-versa?)
After casting some heals, and realizing we were far too under-prepared for this mission; the group decided to head back, knowing that we would need more capability to survive, especially since those skeletons likely weren’t the worst of the horrors within.
Once we returned it was a scary sight: the ground was littered with burned out corpses. When we entered the Temple, we discovered that many of the townspeople were dead, and to make matters worse, they had thought we were gone for six days; in our perception of time, it had only been about four hours. And the situation grew more dire still as we discovered that the townsfolk had run out of food. Of course, that was to be expected, as we had only brought them enough food to last for a few days. We handed what rations we could spare over to the citizens that needed them most, and to my surprise the damn mage that usually drives me nuts was actually a lot more civil. It’s amazing what a few nights with lack of sleep will do to a pompous ass. Anywho, I digress, back to important matters.
We later spoke with Justinius and found out that the father was hurt by those weapons and had since been behaving almost like those mindless undead; except he had a bit more color. He was bound by sashes with holy symbols to keep him from moving much. We also discovered that the school teacher was forming wards to keep the place safe. Pulling out our wand of restoration, we used it on a few acolytes, Justinius, and the teacher. (The spirits inside Harrowstone appear powerful indeed if they can reach out and affect a man of the cloth. Again, if time permitted, more study would be warranted. -A.)