Whispers from the Darkness

Talk About Unleashing Hell...

Text drawn from the journal of Willow, Mistwalker of the Virlych:

As if we haven’t faced enough, going down to the basement we hear a lot of banging noises and as we get down there the scent of something cooking quickly turns to the scent of something revolting. Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to be here, as it seems that every time something odd happens I either wind up running or we end up biting off more than we can chew so to speak. And it seems that this time we’ll be facing the Splatter Man. I’ll admit, seeing my name written in blood on the walls as we headed down was unsettling; but there was no way I would be telling my companions that. (It is always interesting to examine the results of emotion overriding reason. This could turn into a case study…)

Why is it all the psychos look to women as weak and helpless? It’s sickening; just once I’d like to have those types put into their place by the very women they think to be weak. (Undoubtably, this Willow has never read the works of the esteemed Professor Idneous of Barstoi, whose research two centuries ago proved beyond a doubt the proper place of the female. Only through protection of the womb, and those meek women who wield it, shall mankind survive and thrive.)

We did some exploration of the room that we went into; Toreg and Dorvinius exploring a wall that evidently had something odd about it, while Abel and I looked over a bunch of tags. Sadly, most of the tags were worn away and old, so not much was actually found out except for a few items that we noticed. The masterwork war razor made me a bit uneasy.

I jumped at the sound of stone grinding against stone and turned to see what the dwarf had gotten us into this time. Though, at finding a few things, I was advised to help watch the door. I wonder why I’m taking orders or suggestions from a grumpy, stubborn dwarf. Oh, that’s right, he’s the one that keeps most of the party alive by taking the brunt of the damage. Willow’s journeys alone in nature have obviously colored her psyche. This journal appears to be her catharsis…a friend more than a tool. Not uncommon or unexpected.)

Evidently there were a few items on the shelf that they uncovered. Including a Bloodstained hand-axe, probably belonging to Hanz or in other words, the Lopper. A wad of chains on the ground with holy symbols engraved along them. A tarnished silver flute tagged with the Piper of Illmarsh. A smith’s hammer with a tag named Isben. On the top shelf a leather-bound book, tagged with the name Hean Feramen.

On our way out of Harrowstone prison, we realized that time passed quicker (…more quickly…“quicker” is not proper grammatically…)while we were inside, we found ourselves outside and down the hill from the prison just as darkness had fallen. We quickly headed to the temple and found that, once we went inside, there were many missing faces that were there the night before. Feeling the stress of the most recent events getting to me, I quickly went into the kitchen, feeling symptoms starting to creep up on me that I haven’t felt for a long while. I brewed up some tea and frowned as I realized I had enough left for about half a batch if I needed it again. (Is this evidence of an undiagnosed mental condition? No matter really, yet it does provide explanation in many regards)

Much to my chagrin, I realize I’m going to need to go hunting for more of the necessary herbs to keep from having issues later on.

I realize the whole town is far too quiet even before I drank my tea: it was beyond eerily quiet to me. Moving over to the father’s chambers, after seeing an acolyte move with quick strides in that direction, I heard what was going on and decided that perhaps it would be better if I understood how these holy people did their rituals. Maybe then I would be better equipped to try and help by putting my own thoughts into play. Though, in just glancing over at the books that the father had laid out, I was growing confused about it all. There was a lot of ritual to it rather than just doing something and getting to the point. No wonder their rituals took so damn long to complete. (Religion equals pomp and circumstance. How better to appease the omnipresent?)

Looking over at where Destrin was supposed to be I raised a brow; evidently he felt that doing research on the items would decipher how they worked and how to put an end to the supernatural occurances. Though, as if things couldn’t get worse Destrin decided to do something that for a scholar was actually quite stupid. (…exclaims Willow, obviously the most educated of our cast…) He evidently couldn’t decipher anything with the flute, so he decided to try playing it. Obviously, the tune was disturbing and the flute lashed out at the man for trying to play it, regardless of the reasoning. Fortunately, grumpy or not, Toreg came back and got the flute from him. Unfortunately he unsettled the townsfolk that were in the church with that move. We explained what could be said to calm the people before the scholar pulled out a owegi board. Though smacking him did cross my mind, once again the dwarf took care of the issue…I still want to burn the damn board. Letting out a heavy sigh, I decided I needed rest and retreated to a corner of the room, feeling that Abel should be able to keep Dorvinius under control. (A restless mind can not be satisfied so easily, no doubt.)

When daybreak came, it didn’t even look like it was daytime. It was still very dark, and the dwarf informed everyone that the people didn’t have much food to last beyond three days. So, as a deed for good will, we headed out on a salvaging mission. The mage also wanted us to bring a bunch of books to him from Kendra’s. I swear that man is more interested in getting us killed than anything. He suggests things that he may see as rational, but I know better than to just take someone’s words for just being said out of kindness. In other words, I do not now, nor will I ever trust that man, something about him causes me to feel that he can’t be trusted. (Again I find myself wondering who this woman is talking about…) If he was supposedly someone that Lorrimor trusted, it must have been a case where the professor was trying to find something out about him. The professor was a good judge of character, I wouldn’t be able to understand it if he trusted him just out of good will. (Another interesting account. I await the next entry with baited breath. -A)

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