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5th of Desnus, 4712
Apparently there was quite a fright down by the water’s edge. On what has been most likely the hottest day of the year so far, a Hydra wandered up out of the Tuskwater! This seems to be the latest in a long line of monsters that have taken it upon themselves to drop by unwanted and snack upon the residents. Still, Peter and his men leapt into action - as his men kept civilians away, he (with the aid of Tamara, Tyrok & Aquilla) made short work of the monster. It has been remarked by the Duke that is is a shame we do not as of yet have a proper Taxidermist in town to put all these lovely trophies to good use!

7th of Desnus, 4712
Apparently there was some sort of altercation last night that has left the Inn a torched husk and set the army and city guard brawling in the streets. According the General Vayne, she and her Kobold Skirmishers were suppressing a conspiracy aimed at assaulting Tamara the Green by Iomedae zealots over her open worship of Gyronna. This view of events is contested by Warden Peter, who claims Vayne Redcap and her militant thugs broke into the Inn in the middle of the night and murdered a band of innocent Mendev Pilgrims, who, as far as he knew, were guiltless of any wrongdoing, and thus he was only doing his duty in arresting her as ringleader of the assault. The Duke was none too pleased at two of his top courtiers brawling publicly in the streets, and had both thrown in the dungeon while he investigated the matter personally. Tamara, for her part, claims only that she observed the Red-cloaked Crusaders arrival in town, and had suggested Dame Redcap speak to them in helping her atone (our General being a lapsed Paladin of the same faith for some years now). After questioning the departed, the Duke has ruled in the General’s favor, but has admonished her to work with the Warden in such matters when they come up within the city in the future. Both have been scolded severely for their public antics, and have promised to come to him first should such similar troubles arise.

The Duke, hoping to reduce such conflict in the future, has posted public notices up at the Town Hall, reinstating Yossen’s policy of religious tolerance, and declaired that eccessive fanaticisim and zealotry against rival faiths shall be answered with their heads being cut from their bodies, to be placed on spikes along the bridge to Witchhaven as a warning to others.

1st of Desnus, 4712
The Baron held... no, the DUKE held court today. It is all but recognized now, with the success of our diplomatic endeavors last month, that Southshield is now part of Yossen. The price, however, is that Yossen is broke, and become dangerously unstable. With Southshield and it’s three townlets (Elkholm, Olegrad & Tatzlford) comes a great, rising fear of the increasing Troll attacks reported from outlying communities, and a fear amongst our own that we may not be able to protect everyone from their incessant raiding.

Still, Duke Kenzil is jubilant. Ever the optimist, our Witchlord. True, Mistress Lily is almost due (all signs point to a boy, Midwife Niska says), and Lady Tamara concurs. And messages come from Restov that representatives will arrive for the Planting Festival next week to confirm his rank in the peerage, making him lord of the Greenbelt, uncontestedly (except, perhaps, for those damnable trolls).

At court much was reviewed of recent events, and new members were brought up to speed. The Duke has seen to it housing had been improved in the townships of Elkholm and Olegrad, making our new citizens quite pleased. More pleasing still is his giving Winterheart the option to step down and “dodge the marriage bullet,” as he likes to say. As High Priest, Winterheart had decided he “must” marry an elven woman - some tripe about worshipers of Erastil needing to be proper role-models or some such. But since the High Priest in Restov actually found a noble-born elf by the name of Genevieve to come down to discuss such a potential arrangement this coming festival-time, Winterheart has been looking like a snared animal, trapped in a trap of his own making, ready to gnaw off his own arm. But our beneficent Duke pointed out that Elkholm had it’s own High Priest, Elder Jhod, and that perhaps the senior Priest may serve better in this post, allowing Winterheart to join the soon to be planned “Troll Hunt.” An offer Winterheart gladly jumped at!

On that related matter, it has been decided that - except for our illustrious Troll-hunting team - we must all work our fingers, and our wits, to the bone this month. The young Dutchy is in the Red, I have discovered, and even with Master Kenzil agreeing to my increasing Taxes to the breaking point, our economy is in desperate straits. Aquilla cannot improve much on Gregor’s work in preparing for the Festival, so she has been drafted for the Troll-hunters. Peter to is going (indeed, I think there is none here who could stop him), and he has declared his newly minted lieutenant, the old veteran Tyrok, to be in charge of things until his return. Lady Tamara is, of course, ready to go - she has spent the last week making as much alchemical fire as resources allow - and Nathaniel the Grinning Man has requested leave of his “Hawking duties” to accompany them. They will spend the next week getting their affairs in order, and expect to leave the second day of festivities. The Duke is quite eager to settle the public’s fears over the Troll incursion once and for all (and I must say, the reward for the colony would go far in helping us out of our current financial crisis is no small amount of incentive too)!

On a sadder note, our new court scribe Mortlin has reported finding a note left by Sir Jan, last Knight of Southshield, that reads as follows:

Dear Companions, Allies, and True Friends Old and New,
I always said that writing was for wizards and elves and that lot, but
there's things I should've said that I didn't ever say, so I'm gonna write
some of them down here for you all where you can find them and read them.
When you do I suppose my leaving will be old news already, but I want you
all to know that when I went, I went with a heavy heart.

- Jan

Mortlin files the following addendum:

The preceding is an entirely faithful reproduction of a text which I
discovered approximately one day after Sir Jan's mysterious and sudden
disappearance. Evidently the good Knight had previously slipped it under my
door while I was engaged in my daily meditations on the Brightness. I
apologize for the delay in passing it along to you; as you may have
observed, I have been entirely bedridden for the last several days with a
most vexing ailment. It appears to have been a fever of some nature,
accompanied by an increase in the frequency of my chronic coughing fits. I
prepared a tea of willow bark and echinacea per Sandor of Greengold's
*Herbology of Northern Avistan: A Holistic Approach, Vol. 3*, and it has proven most efficacious in speeding my convalescence.* *But I digress.

- Mortlin

To this, our good master has sent, via his magics, the following response, also entered into our records for posterity:
Luck go with you, proud knight of Southshield, and know you will always have a place by the fire in Witchhaven. I give you my word that we of the Dutchy of Yossen will do what we can to protect those left behind, and hope for a day when you have washed away that torment that weighs upon you, and can again come home.

Kenzil the Blue,
Duke of Yossen,
Elder of the Candlemere Coven

14th of Gozran, 4712
We arose from our stay at the Temple of the Elk, and while planning our next move Nathaniel the Grinning Man arrived, along with an associate of his, a gnome named Poli (a rather chatty, social fellow -Aquilla & he hit it off right away). After they we brought up to speed we all set out after that scoundrel Varney. Pa had no trouble tracking him, and by evening we found ourselves at the Thorn river ford, once a haven for bandits, and by the look of carnage about the place it had become so again, as Varney and his ghoulish friends had had quite the party here.
We could spot four by the fire: Varney, of course, along with two obvious ghouls, quite busy chewing on bandit remains, while the fourth was swaddled in hat and coat, remaining a mystery. Having avoided detection, several of us scuttled up a nearby tree after Pa to lay ambush and cover-fire while Holland led a ground assault across the river into the camp and meet the undead head-on. The moment the first shot was fired Varney handed the Pknotic Manuscript (that vile book that seemed the source of so much consternation) off to the figure in the hat, who promptly tucked it under his coat and - following Varney’s direction to “get it to Witchhaven” - snuck off while he and his minions held us off.
It turned into a bloody slog of a fight. The ghouls proved not much trouble, going down under a flurry of arrows, but Varney, oh... that man was a monster. Fraulina charged up to challenge him first. Without even drawing his sword he simply reached out and... touched her, unholy energy writhing about his hand. She dropped swiftly, her life draining out before any of us could save her. Next he gestured, and with a word Holland was running for his life. He fought us to a standstill, with sweeping bursts of negative energy, biting and clawing when anyone got too close... he never drew his sword... he just laughed, slashing with his hand so blood from the Grinning Man’s brow blinded him, dancing between us, blocking most of our shots or blows with his shield.
But eventually he fell. Numbers and successive blows proved too much for him. Looking over his body we found, on closer examination, he was a ghoul as well, a very human-like monster to be sure, but still, a ghoul. On him he wore a symbol Mortlin recognized from the book, yet another symbol of the Old Cults that had bedeviled Carrion Hill. The man in the hat had escaped into the river’s edge in the confusion, but he had left a most horrid smell, and some wise ones amongst us suggested he may be a ghast.
Weary, we gave Fraulina a swift burial and camped amongst the carnage for the night.

16th of Gozran, 4712
We are camped near Riverford, and have met and are sharing food with a local hunter and his (admittedly creepy) nephew. No sign of the man in hat, but we occasionally find traces by the river, confirming our suspicion that he is still headed towards Witchhaven.

17th of Gozran, 4712
We have arrived in Witchhaven, and have found we aren’t the only ones having fun. Master Kenzil tells us Peter’s expedition arrived earlier that day, and has tasked everyone with finding whomever is responsible for killing his favorite barmaid, Saki Stackhome. Something has been killing sheep and their shepherd as well, likely the same monster. While some suspect it may be our mysterious hat-man, others believe - given it is the night of the full moon - that a werewolf may be responsible. Sir Jan suspects it may even be the same one that caused such trouble in Elkholm many months ago.

18th of Gozran, 4712
Turns out Jan was right. He, along with Peter and several others managed to catch the monster while it was sniffing around for it’s next meal last night. Apparently the wolf-man was some Khellid Barbarian - Kale has been given his ax as a trophy, and as part of his office as the new Royal Executioner. In related news, Master Kenzil has decreed Aquilla shall take Gregor’s place as Councilor. Good thing! This next month is the week-long Planting Festival, and things will likely be getting a tad exciting!

10th of Gozran, 4712
Well THAT was a waste of a day - well, except maybe for all the pork. Mmmm - I do love bacon!

This morning we sent Nathaniel the Grinning Man (or is that “Grinning Dwarf”? Reincarnations are so confusing!) off with Oleg’s answer about joining the Barony of Yossen, while we set out along the southwest road towards Elkholm. We never even made it to Tyg’s bridge! Perhaps 2 hours into our trip we had a nasty run in with some surly Wild Boar that seemed to think we had stolen their truffles or something! Well, we showed them! We whipped them soundly! I even managed to use my patron’s gift to put one into a magical slumber! Ho! Me, using magic! What would my parents say, to find their son dabbling in witchcraft! Well, at least I’m no infernalist - they warned me good enough about that from their days under the whip of their damned Chelliax masters!!!

But I digress. Pigs were killed, and we strung them up for Oleg’s guards to fetch later as we limped back to Olegrad (I felt fine, but others in our party had met the boar’s charge head on, and needed some rest and recovery). Pa & I have procured the assistance of Ms. Naleska to aid in tending the wounded (Pa & I tend to our party, while she is tending to him - “tending” - hah! That is NO way to wrap a bandage! And ones nurse should NOT be fraternizing with her patents in such a way! They’ll just reopen all his stitches going at it like that, and we’ll have to sew him right up again).

13th of Gozran
Well, this is one long day I am glad is over! After several days at Olegrad due to recovery and wet weather, we finally again set out for Elkholm.

We paused briefly for a comical encounter with a creature Pa tentatively identified as a “Carbuncle” - a fittingly silly name for a dubious creature. After several strange interactions with the floating lizard, who was obviously more frightened of us than us of it, Talya managed to woo its’ affection with a jar of Svetlana’s preserves and a bit of jerky to dip in it.

We reached Elkholm by nightfall. That idiot Baron Gregori had built orbiting shanty towns, including one next to the town dump, placed decoratively next to the road coming in so the full aroma of the situation hit us as we arrived. Further in we could see the Temple of the Elk sitting in the statue of a massive monument to Baron Gregori himself astride his horse, sword pointing to the heavens. It seems various parties had defaced it in the last month, prying his head from his shoulders. Dimly we could see another shanty town on the far side, many with red lanterns out front, from which faint laughter could be heard.

By the monument we found a lone soldier sitting on Gregori’s head, quietly observing the tribute to vanity. We approached and assorted introductions were given. The man in turn gave his name as Barney Crae, one of the Crows of Carrion Hill (a mercenary of some sort, I gather). He too was a stranger to town, telling us he had come in search of someone in charge to aid in his finding members of the Southshield Trade delegation that had been sent there some months before, but with the collapse of Southshield’s government, the city had polarized between the zealots of Erastil and the city guard. Worse, undead had sprung up in the graveyard, and with the fictionalization of the town, nothing was being done about this ever growing concern. Mortlin the Sage, who had decided to follow and assist us however he could in negotiations with Elkholm (he having been assistant to Shouthsheild’s Magister Allistair Lancerey in the old administration), admitted that he had been an assisting member of the Shouthshield expedition, and asked for Barney to give his story.

Barney, as it turns out, was one of a number of road-agents sent by the Crows in search of the would-be heroes the Lord-mayor had hired to deal with the Terror that had now for some months been laying siege to their town, resulting in the deaths of thousands. Mortlin’s former master Allistair, along with many others, had attempted to stop the creature, only to die by it’s... well... die in the attempt, at any rate. But before he did so, Allistair and his associates had found a copy of the Pknotic Manuscripts which, with the aid of other sages in the Lord-mayor’s employ, had given many hints as to the nature of the Spawn of the Dark Tapestry and the old gods that spawned him. But after Allistair’s death the book disappeared. It was suspected that survivors might have taken the book away with them when so many others fled the city. With things so grim, the Lord-mayor thought it best to send agents abroad to seek the Manuscript, as that damned book of dark lore might still hold keys to how the Spawn may be dealt with.

Mortlin then surprised us all in revealing that he in fact had the tome, and handed it over to the surprised mercenary. Pa muttered suspiciously, but Barney profusely thanked the bookish elf, tucking it away and setting out forthwith.

At that point we split up, Pa leading Talya and Bryn off to find trees to spy on the Graveyard and perhaps find the source of the undead plague, while the rest of us followed Holland off to the Temple of the Elk in hopes of speaking to Elder Jhod, whom Barney had informed us was still in charge. Fraulina agitated to go speak with Akiros Ismort, former Warden of the Barony and head of the guards’ faction, but the Temple was closer, and we generally believed if we needed help with the undead, the Temple would be the best place to start. Though we were challenged at the gate, we swiftly managed to persuade them to let us in and speak with the high priest. Sadly, Elder Jhod has seen better days. He seems to believe that the entire collapse of the Barony here is his fault, having had an “indiscretion” with Naleska - something that many of my associates saw no issue with (indeed, apparently many of them have repeatedly been “indiscreet” with the former Southshield diplomat) - but Jhod insists he must be held to a higher standard, and have married her first, as any good priest of Erastil would. I am starting to see why this religion makes poor Winterheart so crazy!

Elder Jhod told us that any agreement he made with Baron Yossen would be meaningless. With the civil strife between the guardsmen and the faithful, he could not possibly negotiate about Elkholm being incorporated into the Barony of Yossen. Until matters in Elkholm are settled, there is no unified face to present. Moving away from the Elder to discuss these developments in private, we agreed that if we were to pick a side to support, Elder Jhod was much too ashamed and indecisive to back. About this time Pa and company rejoined us, and told us of their own little adventure.

Almost as soon as the had gotten into position they espied someone walking in the gloom to the center of the graveyard, where they were then met by lopping, stooped figures. The first figure seemed to point in our direction, and wave. The other figures immediately began charging towards their hiding spots, while the figure wandered away, whistling a cheery tune. Bryn charged out to meet them, while Pa and Talya fired from the trees. Pa dropped one and wounded the other enough for Bryn to take it down with only minimal injury to herself. Moving in, they quickly identified the creatures as ghouls! Following their tracks back, they noted other tracks crisscrossing the graveyard in soil made soft thanks to the recent rains. At least six ghouls seemed to haunt the place, along with one pair of feet wearing boots. Following this last set they found the gravedigger’s shack, and within, etched into the wall, was graffiti - one item they identified as an ancient symbol of the Old Gods, while near by they found a scrawl of “Varney was here,” along with a stick figure making a most obscene gesture!

The current suspicion now is that we have been had. Barney and Varney seems to alike to be circumstance, so the common thought is that the road-agent was a minion of the Old Cults, seeking the Manuscript for worse evil, not for repairing damage already done! We made plans to rest for the night at the temple, and to speak with Akiros in the morning, or perhaps set out after Varney, but Holland’s head-count revealed us one short, and insisted we head back out into the night to find Fraulina.

Presuming she had set out on her own initiative to speak with the Guardsmen over where they’ve barracked themselves (the local brothel!), we came to find ourselves late to a battle already done. A half-dozen nervous guards stood in front of the brothel, the area well lit by torch light. Blood blanketed the ground, and another guardsman stood dead, pinned to the wall by Fraulina’s spear. Fraulina was nowhere to be seen.

Outraged at apparent skullduggery, Pa and Holland announced themselves loudly as representatives of Yossen, and demanded to see Akiros over this potential diplomatic misstep. The guard captain (whom I and a few others recognized as one of the Stag-lord’s former men) smiled lazily and sent someone in to “wake the sleeping lion,” and soon the man himself arrived. Akiros seemed as surprised as we of the scene of carnage outside his door, and took a moment to confer with the watch-captain (who’s name we caught as Dovan). He then greeted us and had some of his soiled doves bring out stools and refreshments while his men watched nervously on. He explained that our warrior-woman, Fraulina, had come to the door and attacked his men, killing one on the spot with her spear (gesturing at the figure still pinioned behind) and slit the throat of another (gesturing at a huge, dumb-looking brute he refereed to as Auch standing nearby, as scarf around his neck, looking sad and pained). Thus, their misstep somehow became ours, and we agreed to his keeping Fraulina’s gear as weregild, in return for her return (they had taken her down, but not out, as the guards apparently saw it in poor taste to kill a woman on the steps of a house of the flesh - injured, but otherwise untouched, they assured us). The negotiations continued, with Akiros assuring us that while he might consider the Baron’s offer of inclusion into Yossen, he could not in good conscience do so while the rest of the town was at risk from that “mealy mouthed milk-sucker” and his band of barely controlled firebug fanatics. The Erastilites had apparently tried to burn down the whorehouse and surrounding shantytowns after they’d run Baron Gregori out of town, and would had succeeded if Akiros hadn’t rallied his troops. On the subject of the ghouls, they’d had some trouble, not having the protection of the divine the zealots had, but (gesturing to several misshapen heads on spikes just outside of the torch light) they had been managing without their help.

It was while discussing the undead menace that Mortlin felt that he had to disclose the business with Varney, and his handing over a powerful book of eldrich might to adversaries possibly intending to make a repeat of the events at Carrion Hill here in Southshield, and somewhat understandably Akiros did not take it well. Shooting up, a bit of froth flying from his mouth, he shouted “what!?!”

And Bryn, our own Restovian battle-maid with anger-management issues took a swing at him.

As the rest of our delegation backed away, hands in the air, decrying the attack, Bryn managed to cut him once with her ax, before Auch stepped up behind to snap her over the head with his club and Akiros’ own blade snapped out by instinct and finished the job. She bled out before anyone had a chance to stem the spray.

“This negotiation is OVER!” Akiros shouted. “Speak with me again when you have FIXED YOUR MESS, or speak not with me AT ALL!”

8th of Gozran, 4712
Well, here we are in Olegrad, and I must say, after all I’ve been hearing, I suppose it could have been worse. Oleg’s Outpost still stands - indeed, if anything it’s quite a bit bigger since we last visited. Naleska seems to have set up shop, playing madam to a whole nest of girls in wagons out behind the stables, while outside the Outpost a shantytown of the desperate have sprung up.

After a brief run-around with the guards at the gate (all cleared up once Holland and Pa got hold of Captain Garess), we were let in to find former Southshielders Bryn the Barbarian and Mortlin the Sage (the latter was trying and failing to teach chess to the former). Holland and Pa went in to speak to Oleg, but he was deep in his cups (depressed over Southshield’s collapse, apparently), so Svetlana invited us all back for dinner once he was sober, and let us know the Greenhands still had free rooms here. Outside, Mortlin enthralled us with the terrifying tale of the Southshielder’s failed mission to Carrion Hill for Middenstone, and of how his master Jan One-eye had been the only one of the trading party to make it back alive (if not quite right in the head) after facing the Spawn of the Old Ones that had been released to wreak havoc there. Allistair Lancery was dead, his blood drained to feed the hunger of the monster, while no one seemed to know the whereabouts of Lady Sonja or the former Baron Variel. Sir Jan has apparently headed south to see what aid he might provide Witchhaven against these rumored Trolls, leaving poor Mortlin here to fester.

At dinner we found out from a sobered up Oleg that with Southshield’ collapse they haven’t had the manpower to protect the outlying farms, and have been getting refugees fleeing the depredations of ambushing giants. So it has been decided, as a matter of good will, Holland will lead the others to hunt these marauding monsters, while I remain behind to negotiate the possible incorporation of Olegrad into the Yossen Barony.

9th of Gozran, 4712
Holland and company have returned victorious, with the heads of two Thawn on their spears. Captain Garess has run them up on posts outside Olegrad’s walls, which has most pleased the peasantry! Everyone was half sold on joining us at the mention of Springfest next month anyway, but this! Oh, if they did not love us before, they do now!

And I am so glad of Holland’s return! While I would say normally I am a much better speaker by far, my city-born ways seem to have rubbed Oleg quite the wrong way, so the Thawn’s defeat has quite saved the negotiations, and the Levetons have agreed to come down to next month’s court to finalize their joining our august little nation.

Gozran, 4712
My goodness, so much has happened in the year since we seized the elf ruins deep in the Narlmarches that I truly do not know where to begin. We have all been so busy since then, working hard to bring our colony out of the economic depression that seemed to be sapping the very lifeblood out of our kingdom’s veins. But we have turned that corner, and seem to be doing well. Excellent even! We have repaired the ruins, renaming it Whitehall, for our lady Lily White, her summer home, and brought the rest of the territories explored under our domain. The capital itself has expanded: we even have an herbalist shop and shrine to Erastil established, a Town Hall, and a dump just outside of town - no more dumping in the Tuskwater!

Still, our court docket is full now. With Southshield’s change in administration and subsequent decent into chaos, we find ourselves scrambling to deal with the influx of refugees. Their new Baron, Gregori, has managed to run the colony right into revolt, so Baron Kenzil has decided to send Holland on a diplomatic expedition to see what the state of affairs are over there, and if the various settlers can be calmed down (and perhaps wooed over to our side) before we find ourselves hip-deep in bandits next season. About all we really know comes from our spy in their court (and their former spymaster) Nathaniel the Grinning Man. He, along with Peter’s wife Talya, and one of Gregor’s mercenaries will join Holland and myself to head up north to see what is to be seen.

Meanwhile, now that we have an official charter from Restov to deal with these pesky Trolls everyone keeps complaining about, Kenzil has decided to send our new Warden Peter (who has recently taken Thomas’ recently vacated post - the later having retired to “find his destiny” elsewhere), along with Winterheart, Redcap, Gregor and veteran yeoman Tyrok the Archer to hunt the lot of them down.

Hopefully all this can be handled quickly as next month should be even busier. Kenzil has announced a great Spring Festival next month, so Gregor must be back to play master of ceremonies. Holland too will be very busy, leading a campaign to get more settlers into the region. Winterheart’s discussion with the High Priest at Restov has born dubious fruit, as nobles from Kyonin have heard of his search for a wife and plan to visit during Springfest to make arrangements for him to wed their daughter. Poor Winterheart. Will we ever be able to go off to the old hunting lodge as we used to with him tethered to a ball-and-chain?

Breen has taken his leave of us. The Oracle, freed from the burden of memory, has also lost his curse, apparently, and has left to “find himself.” Though he has forgotten why his Elk companion follows him, the beast seems to still think of him kindly, so perhaps he’ll stay safe in his travels still.

Not leaving our fate to random chance, Winterheart has sent a Thrush with a message to Baron Kenzil, informing him of our woes. Hopefully this means rescue in another day or so.

15th of Gozran, 4711
Ah, back in civilization finally. Kenzil “popped” in to where we were recuperating this morning and, after hearing of how events went, took myself and Tatya’s corpse back to Witchhaven. Tatya’s body has since been stewed in his “cauldron of life,” and Tatya has been reborn as the dwarf he was before. Taking back his old name of Gregor, he is doing what he can to readjust.

Myself, I have joined the ranks of the Witchlords proper. With Kenzil’s & Tamara’s advice, I have performed the rites and made the acquaintance of a marvelous Raven who shares my predilections for shiny objects and stout accounting principles.

Still, I hope the rest of the gang makes it back all right. They are taking the long road back - by foot.

30th of Gozran
Well, the month is nearly done, and the gang is all returned. The Greenhands tell me after I left they had some trouble with rats (they were poking around some rubble and stirred up a nest full of troubles), but otherwise had a safe journey home.

Our Baroness Lily White has been overjoyed with the fortress (and accompanying statuary) we cleared out, and happily given us our promised reward (the cloak is nice, but I could have done without the kiss - really! Does seem to amuse his lordship though).

As to our amnesiac courtiers, Kenzil’s magic seems to be helping them recover. Peter is already back to normal, mask and all, and Kenzil & I have agreed to keep his identity “our little secret.” Colony of Brevoy we may be, but should things change...

Well, the brother to the King might be a good “ace in the hole.”

Witchhaven itself seems to be slowly gaining a haunted reputation, thanks to Vasha, our pet Will-o-the-Whisp. Vasha likes wandering the town at night, especially Gyrrona’s Graveyard, leading many to stay indoors at night. “Strange lights in Witchhaven” do not exactly seem to add to our promise as a tourist attraction.

Desnus, 4711
A quiet month, we have all tightened our belts and put our noses the the grindstone to deal with our economic woes. At least we seem to have no shortage of food. From what our diplomat, Holland, tells us, Southshield seems to be doing little better.

Saraneth, 4711
We have managed extend our borders and take possession of the elven ruin that gave us so much hell months ago. There is a dubious legality as to our claiming a swath of the southern Narlmarches, but given their inward focus of late, it is doubtful they’ll notice for some months.

Winterheart has gone to Restov to speak with the High Priest there. He seems to have taken his own position with the faith very seriously, and has gotten into his head he must marry a fine elf girl to be a proper priest. Silly manling. I just don’t see the need for it. We are manly men here on the frontier, with no need for such distractions!

Well, I should mention we had another visitor of appropriate size in the camp, a few hours before everyone else came back from the little green man - that Oracle of the Narlmarches that used to run with the Dragoneyes (back before they got all full of themselves and became the Southshield boys), Breen, a Gnome of rustic tastes and poor eyesight. He and I have made a nice, gourmet meal for our returning heroes to fill their bellies!

14th of Gozran, 4711
Well well, we have survived... barely. I do wonder if this adventuring thing is something I could ever come to like? The stress is killing me!

We awoke late in the night to the possible sounds of an Owlbear rooting about in the woods, but it seems it found some wild boar judging by the hoots and grunts, and we were left well enough alone.

In the morning we discovered that while the Owlbear had left well enough alone, something else had snuck in to cause no good. Tatya, our esteemed Councilor, had been snatched quietly in the night, and only through his masterful skill did Winterheart note the faint, elf-like, naked footprints leading back to the ruins. Despite our care and alertness, we still manage to walk into an ambush once back at that thrice-damned place. Following the trail into one particularly vine-choked tower, Peter found himself caught between a tree in the tower’s center that swiftly transformed into a green-skinned elf, mouth filled with razor-like teeth, and the vines behind, vines that became most ambulatory. While the rest of us struggled through the ruined castle interior to lend aid, we too became swiftly entangled in the weeds that themselves also seemed to come alive. Though the fiend nearly kills Peter, the rest of us managed to push our way through and drive the bad fairy off. The violent vegetation goes the way of all weeds when the gardener gets to them.

As Tatya proves yet absent, we continued to follow the faintest of trails back to the central tower. Sadly the mysterious purple mist again descends upon us (as it did before the last time Thomas tumbled in); this time Thomas, Peter and Breen all becomes strange, having apparently lost all memory of who they once were. No clearer evidence do I see of this than Peter forgets why he wears his mask, and takes it off! Now I know the truth! I have been to the court of Brevoy once - I saw (admittedly from a distance) the Sertova family, current rulers of our august patron state. Peter is none other than the King’s younger brother Mikiel, missing these last two years after rumors of treason!

We’d best keep that under our hat, I think! Peter has been a good ally until now, so mayhap his family troubles are a mere misunderstanding? Well, answers will have to wait until his mind returns.

At least we all still live to someday find out.

We should have retreated then, but Tamara persuaded us not to leave Tatya to her fate. So we charged up the stairs to find... well, I’m not quite sure. My memory gets exceedingly foggy at this point (though visions - or nightmares - of a beautiful, golden skinned elven woman dancing still haunts me), but Tamara & Winterheart tell me we all stood slack jawed as the lady of the fortress placed us all in a trance to feed upon us like some decadent vampire. Tamara ran amok, throwing her explosive concoctions recklessly (indeed, it was one of her bombs that may have ended up killing the half-dead Tatya). But Tamara fell, caught between the green elf returned and the lady. It fell to Winterheart to save us, his years as a forester for the Medvyds giving him the wits to break free of her enchantment. Cold-iron sickle in hand, he manages to end her, just as Tamara had ended the green man moments before she dropped with her fire-in-a-jar.

Thus freed, but badly mauled and lacking in mind, we locked ourselves up in the central tower, praying that our good Baron Kenzil might scry our dire straits and send some much needed aid!

13th of Gozran, 4711
After several uneventful days exploring the northern side of the Murque River, we have found the ancient elvish ruin, and, of course, it is not so conveniently abandoned as we might otherwise have hoped. Winterheart went out and scouted about the edges, not seeing signs of habitation, but it has been pissing rain since we got here, so he may have missed something. He led everyone else out to actually search a little inside, again, in the pissing rain, and found at least one inhabitant, a vicious little Quickling who had left the front gate portcullis rigged to fall on them as they entered, splitting Winterheart and Tamara from the rest. As everyone else worked their way around, the Quickling struck - vicious evil relatives of the Brownie (another annoying fey), the little beast was almost impossible to see or strike as he dashed about in the overgrowth that so choked the castle’s courtyard in the downpour. Tatya fell to his poisoned blade, though luckily she was only unconscious from it. Tamara did her best to carry her to safety while pausing to chuck a fire bomb at it every chance she had. Peter tried wrestling it down, but it proved to quick for him to grab. Winterheart and Thomas achieved the occasional strike, and eventually managed to drive it off, though it continued to harangue them with illusions and traps while they lingered. After handing the unconscious Tatya off to Winterheart to race back to me and the campsite, Tamara, Thomas & Peter managed to find the tower it was holed up in. While they could not find the villain, they did find his stash, a pretty bit of clink to pay for our efforts. As luck would have it, Thomas spotted the little menace hiding in a tree, apparently having stalked us back to our campsite, and took it down with an arrow before it realized it had been spotted. Peter made sure our assailant would never rise again! He IS the Royal Executioner after all.

To me they have given the Quickling’s magic sword! Who would have thought such a thing... me, with a magic sword! They’ll make me an adventurer yet, methinks. Oh, what would mother say?

Gozran, 4711
The expedition to find that boy Tig returned safely last month, having “negotiated” successfully with the Lizardfolk and survived a run -in with a waterspout on the Tuskwater. Ooo - I saw it from the city. Caused quite a stir, even with it being many, many miles away. Tamara keeps promising to learn some Hex allowing her mastery of the weather. I say such mastery can’t come too soon. The reoccurring hazard of Tornados in the Kamelands certainly explains why colonies here have failed in the past. Perhaps our preponderance of Witches will succeed where others have failed.

I do hope the loss of her familiar in the event doesn’t set her studies back too much. Her new familiar, a Rat, doesn’t fill me with much confidence. Keeps looking at me like I’m a fleck of cheese.

I write now from the field. Dame Vayne, having had enough of nature, decided to stay at home and see to her son for a while. Perhaps the rescue of that boy Tig had more of an effect than she admits. Perhaps it was being caught inside the Tornado itself. Matters not, as the rest of them managed to persuade me in taking her place. Silly me, I said yes. That Master Winterheart can be most... persuasive.

Our goal is to work our way around the Candlemere to the north, towards the old elven fortress at the head of the Marque River. Baron Kenzil and Tamara think it would be a good spot to claim, hemming in the Southshield Barony’s advance southward, and besides, it may also hold treasures to delight Lady Lily. We rowed up the Skunk river as far as the spot where they rescued those Gnomish Explorers some time ago, then set out on foot to explore for several days. Our camp was attacked one night by some horrendously large spiders - ick! Nasty things, the Narlmarches seem thick with them. We had far more trouble with a nasty old hermit and his ridiculously large wildcat the next day though. He claimed to be some sort of High Druid of the forest, but when he got close to Winterheart, he whipped out a knife and stabbed him. I admit, I lost my head a little in the fight. Apparently I lost my composure a bit, and perforated him most satisfactorily with my crossbow. Still, the mad man and his pet gave us quite a chilling run. If we had not outnumbered him, I would hate to think how it might have gone.

The lunatic seems to have quite the stash tucked away though. Perhaps the most interesting (if least valuable) item is a locket containing the portrait of a familiar looking young woman (his daughter, we suspect). This cheap piece of jewelry was wrapped in an oilcloth with a map on it. While the location it leads to is old news to us - we had already heard of this “Lonely Barrow” from the Gnomes - there are details mentioned (traps, undead, etc.) that are new. Peter is particularly intrigued by the reference to a magical flail - his signature weapon. But Tamara has persuaded us to stay on target, and continue west, towards the elven ruins, rather than return back east and to the unexplored regions of the Kamelands.

Neth, 4710
Four months have come and gone, seemingly in the blink of an eye, and we stand at the threshold of winter. Was it only a season ago our lord married and celebrated his 70th birthday? I still happily wear the courtier’s garb he gave me, medal of office and all (true, he gave all of us on the council such gifts, “planning for our future” he said). I still remember the quaint affair fondly, as it was just those of us of the court, plus a chosen few from town. Lady Lily got a little drunk and babbled about her love of elven artworks, hinting strongly that anyone bringing her fine examples of such might be “amply rewarded.” Apparently she had seen the notes about Elvish ruins in the southern Narlmarchs and has hopes that the more adventurous at court might go fetch her some samples, and is willing to hand over her father’s old magic cloak for such. Baron Kenzil has declared himself Kenzil Yossen, and renamed the Barony to take his name as such. Thus we are the Barony of Yossen, though the valley bellow the castle is still Mystvale. He has spoken of his own hopes for the future - specifically a desire to see us expand and claim the Candlemere (“We are the Candlemere Coven, after all” quothe he).

Still, after the celebration was done, he was quite concerned about neighboring troubles, and decided to send out two expeditions: one diplomatic, one to hunt. As I was not along for the latter I will be brief as to how it played out. Winterheart, as Lord Marshal, led an expedition that included General Vayne, Peter the Executioner, Warden Tomas, and Councilor Jessup. They spend half a week hunting the Warg Howls-the-North-Wind and his pack, and came back victorious (they also had a run-in with an Owlbear, similarly outmatched, and avoided a nest of a half-dozen Tatzlwyrms). Despite their triumphs, no sooner did they return but a dispute between Vayne and Tomas broke out, and the two drew steel. There duel was fair and decisive, and while Tomas showed well for himself, Vayne proved his superior in battle. Thankfully she did not kill him, though she looked sorely tempted. I am worried about those two - how will our kingdom last if those we lean on to defend it continue to snipe at each other?

Our own diplomatic mission just as successful, and far more pleasant. We headed south to meet with the Old Beldame, she whom the gnomish expedition noted as the “Swamp Witch,” and after several days of repeated entreaties, managed to persuade her to join our council. She has since agreed to take Tamara’s place as Magister, freeing the younger Witch to play Spymaster, a role she seems quite happy to take. Mistress Tamara worries me like that. Still, the Old Beldame seems like a nice, if frightening, old lady. She’s always offering me pastries and talking about fattening me up. I do like a good pastry.

That Scarecrow of hers creeps me out though. Ladies Tamara and Talya seem captivated by it, desperately desiring to know the secrets of its’ construction. But not me. It keeps looking at me, its’ head following me when I walk near. Brrr.

Yossen itself continues to grow, but slowly. Our resources from Restov are spent, so we have all been working overtime to keep things afloat. For my part I have had to raise taxes, while Pa Jessup and Holland have had to cut back on their schedule of events. We have seen more homes made, and even a smithy (which has made many at court quite happy - we have a strong fondness for metalworking amongst our courtiers these days), and with forging closer bonds with the Sootscales. This latest development has proved quite fortuitous, as Chief Sootscale has since sworn fealty to Master Kenzil, and with a little help from us, have reopened the Silver Mine they call home, bolstering the Barony’s revenues.

Trade is also improving, with riverboat traffic across the Tuskwater increasing, and roads running from Witchhaven up through Riverford to the Old Sycamore and the Sootscale Mine. The only real recent trouble was a case of arson that threatened to burn down one of the newer neighborhoods. Folks are rather upset that Warden Tomas failed to bring the culprit to justice.

So here we are, on the threshold of Winter. Stronger than we were, thanks to Baron Yossen and the Old Beldame, but friction amongst our younger members making for a worrisome future. If we can just keep from killing each other, perhaps our little kingdom has a chance.

Erastus, 4710
We have found a use for Gregor Garess, expatriate of the Dragonseyes and the noble house of Garess. While I initially employed him as my own Steward, he proved too ambitious for that, and so Holland has taken him on as an aid. We have discussed much about the finer points of ruling this new state, including how many holidays (one every other month, I think), level of taxation (moderate, for now), the merits of a Goetocracy (rule by witches), the ratification of articles of rule as presented by Tamara the Green, and Kenzil’s announcement to be married. As it turns out, his lordship has decided to marry Lily Teskerten (soon to be Lily the White) and make her his Baroness. He is also turning 70 at the end of the month, so we will have several festivities to celebrate.

The Colony itself grows apace. We have claimed the area around where the three rivers meet and can be forded, and named the spot River ford. Pa has decided to move there and establish a farming settlement, which is good. It will separate him from Tamara. The two are always squabbling like some old couple. I’m sure it is his frustration over the loss of “Ma” Jessup and Tamara’s not too different nature. Here in Witchhaven we have about finished with the reconstruction of the Fort, and initial housing for our settlers and workmen. Kenzil is dissatisfied though, feeling we should see to an inn for visiting dignitaries next. Tamara was concerned about the nearby hills surrounding the Tuskwater, especially with all these rumors of Trolls being sighted to the south, and so took Winterheart, Thomas and Vayne to scout around. Oh, yes, and Gregor. He has invited himself along as cook. They returned after about a week, having found a large thicket of Fangberries (and their associated Spider infestation), and rescuing of some Gnomish Explorers from a river. The Gnomes proved a real find, having several maps they were willing to sell (for exorbitant prices) of the Southern Greenbelt. While I personally was against such a purchase, everyone else seems quite exited, as the new maps show evidence of elvish ruins to the west (deep in the Narlwood), the presence of a giant somewhere in the south, and a burrow mound far to the east. Of particular urgency though, at least to Master Kenzil and the others, is the presence of some sort of Swamp Witch to the south on the shores of the Tuskwater, and wolf-tracks directly to the east of us, practically on our doorstep. This coincides dangerously with a wanted poster recently come from Restov, warning and offering reward for the demise of a Warg known to haunt these parts, Howls-of-the-North-WInd.

Still, all this can wait. For now, we prepare a wedding feast and birthday extravaganza for our lord and lady.

Sarenith, 4710
So much has happened, so much has been revealed to me that I don’t know quite where to begin. With all that has happened, and with my advancement in rank, I feel it is only appropriate to start a new journal, and to paint events with a broader brush, rather than malinger on the minutiae of the day to day.

Though we were all celebratory with the death of the Stag Lord and the scattering of his bandits, we had not lost sight of the deaths of so many companions. The demise of Variel the Forestwalker, whom all had acknowledged as the greatest amongst them, hit the Dragonseyes hard, I myself was frantic in finding my new master, Isuldor, was missing, though several had seen him fall. Though there was some dispute over the Stag Lord’s turncoat, Akiros Ismort, and some talk of exile, the priestess of Erastil, Sonja Medvyed, persuaded the others to accept his penitence and keep him with us, at least as long as he might wish to stay. A good decision, as events played out, as without his insight we would have completely missed the hidden cellar entrance bellow the roasting pit the others had dismissed as uninteresting to search. He also told us of the mad old man the Stag Lord kept bellow for his abuse and torment, which set Jan One-eye off to no end, and several decided to poor fellow must be freed. A questionable choice as it turned out.

I chose to wait above with some of the others, but from what I am told, the old man proved to be a Druid of the Green Faith, like our associate Meenem Riverstalker. Despite his attempts to calm his brother in faith down though, the old man proved far too insane from his time bellow, and after a desperate but swift battle they captured the poor lunatic. Sonja tried prayers to gain an insight into the madman’s thoughts, but they were too jumbled. We can only guess at his relationship with the Stag Lord, given certain “resemblances,” both in face and in scaring. After healing him up and giving him provisions, Meenem insisted we let him go free, a choice that was not uncontested amongst the company. That being said, with the cellars cleared, we spent the rest of the night tallying the spoils of our little war, and the next great debate began - what share was due to the other company, the Green Hands?

It is amazing to me how much some folks can argue about money. Thieves kill over it, marriages shatter over it, and adventuring companies... well, suffice it to say, the argument took nearly as much of the night as assessing the value of our winnings. Eventually though the more contentious members (specifically Allistar - there is something decidedly wrong with that Wizard) were outvoted, and the company decided that the Green Hands that had road with me prior and died in discovering the Undead outside the walls should also receive a fair share, as should I (a fact for which I am quite thankful). I now have more than enough to retire, should I so choose, and if my current good fortunes should change, well, I may consider moving to safer climes. But I get ahead of myself.

With the help of our wagon train and the rest of our expedition, we packed up the Stag Lord’s bounty, and turned back north to head up to the Old Sycamore where we had left the remnants of the Green Hands some days before. There we found they had taken on new allies, a group calling themselves the Candlemere Coven, a strange collection that seemed more familiar with us than we of them. The shocking truth I would not find out ‘till somewhat later. Their leader, a venerable old Witch of exceptional girth that went by the name of Kenzil, offered to bring back our lost leader, Variel, if we could afford it (and the dead man was willing). The Dragonseyes jumped at the chance, and the witch had us put his corpse in his cauldron. An hour and many strange chants and incantations later, Variel was back amongst us, strangely different yet the same. Variel is now a full-blooded elf, and not quite the same man he left. But still, close enough in his rebirth that the Dragonseyes gifted him with the Stag Lord’s Helm and elected him their leader again.

With him returned, I announced my intent to take the Stag Lord’ body north to Restov for the mixed companies to show proof and to fetch the charters and rewards promised (some of which we now needed for Variel’s own restoration). Kenzil then swooped in, announcing he could shave a few weeks off my trip, and grabbing both I and the Stag Lord’s corpse up in his meaty paws chanted another spell. And with that the world turned itself inside-out...

When my senses cleared, we were in the very surprised court of the Lord Mayor of Restov, Ioseph Sellemius. It bears mentioning that they were not initially well received to us, but between the general liability of Master Kenzil and my own small gift at of diplomacy, as well as a flourishing of the Stag Lord’s corpse and assorted charters and maps, we persuaded them of our valid claims, and both reward and colonial charters were given. As per the Green Hand’s request, the Swordlords invested Kenzil as Baron of the newly minted Colony of Mystvale, and me with the power to do the same for whomever the Dragonseyes chose to represent them.

With another stomach churning “pop,” we were back at the Old Sycamore, and I discharged my duty on Variel, the Dragonseyes’ obvious choice. His domain he named “Southshield,” and with that the two freshly minted Barons discussed where their Baronies would be founded. Sometime around then one of the Candlemere Coveners took me aside and revealed a secret truth: he was my old master Isuldor reborn! It had been Kenzil, invisible, that had stolen his body at the Fort, and returned him to life at the dubious request of another Covenner, Vayne the Red, for reasons even he is unclear on. With his rebirth he had taken a new name, Thomas, and I infer he may not be the only dead given new lease on life. Either way, I happily returned him his belongings and share of the reward, and we returned to see what had been decided. The Green Hands & Covenners had already explored the lands surrounding the Fort, and laid claim to that region for founding their state, while Variel had decided on the Temple of the Elk as their new home. Another surprise was that the ever mysterious armored warrior Peter had chosen to leave the Dragonseyes to swear fealty to Baron Kenzil, becoming his first knight.

With territories established, the Barons and their associated retinues split ways the next morning. We headed east, to Nettle’s Crossing, to discharge one last duty, and tossed the Stag Lord’s corpse into the river, where the cursed undead thing that was once Davik Nettles caught him and dragged him under, his Rinser floating up to the shore. The last of my formal duties discharged, I was surprised when Kenzil, upon urgings from both the Green Eyes and the Coven, invited me to become both his apprentice and his Treasurer. To both, of course, I said yes - it is not every day such an opportunity present itself, after all!

So we have returned to the Stag Lord’s Fortress, just ahead of incoming pioneers, eyes filled with dreams, and gotten to the hard work of founding a country. Baron Kenzil has made up his court, naming “Pa” Jessup as Counselor for the people, Lady Vayne as his chief General, Tamara the Green as Magister, Thomas as Warden, Sir Peter as High Executioner, good Master Holland as Grand Diplomat, WInterheart as Marshal, and, of course, myself as Treasurer. Our capital here by the Tuskwater, is called Witchhaven.

Still, I am a little worried. Baron Kenzil has quite taken a fondness to some trollop that arrived in town with the other settlers, an adventurers named Lily Teskerten. Surely he cannot be that naive and see a gold-digger when she appears? Also, a couple of settlers, the Rezbins, have approached us and are asking for support in founding another settlement deep in the Narlwood, some place the Dragonseyes cleared a month of so back that sounds ideal to them. They plan on calling it Tatzleford, I believe.

9th of Sareneth
Finally, they have returned! I dispatched my obligations to my old Master, giving what was his to his cousin Isuldor, and the young man has taken me into his service. I have agreed to take him and his companions to the Fortress to see my old Master avenged.

Since that frightful time at Haunted Hill, I led the wounded back to the Old Sycamore and left them with the surviving Jessups. I could not stay to grieve, having duties to discharge. I made my way up to Olegs, and had a coffin made for Master Lebeda, to be sent as soon as possible northward to his family. I then turned west, and with the aid of the Wizard Ezren, traveled to this lost Temple of Erastil the Dragon’s Eyes had found.

Now we ready to leave. We are likely to be delayed a day or so, as they say a storm will come in on the ‘morrow, but soon as we can we shall leave.

14th of Sareneth
We are resupplied. We have been here at Olegs some days now, getting supplies and waiting on our spell-masters to scribe the scrolls that shall be a linchpin to our success and allow us to avoid the hazards the Green Hands faced before. We have also acquired yet another member, a Bounty Hunter called Sean, out here looking for his little sister. I believe this is the same as the child the Green Hands found, so he will join us at least as far as the Old Sycamore.

17th of Sareneth
We have reached the ford of three rivers and made camp. Last night we stayed at the Old Sycamore, and Sean received a kick in the shins from his young sibling. The child, who only answers to “kid,” apparently finds her lot much improved living with the Jessups, and has no desire to follow her brother back to Restov. He has decided to stay on and help with the Stag Lord. If all goes well, he will return and make another go of suing for peace upon our return.

18th of Sareneth
The battle won, my old Master is avenged! But at what price! Two Masters have died. Am I so cursed, that those I serve must die?

As dusk fell, there were ten of us that stormed the Haunted Hill to come at the Fort on its’ blind-side. With our magics prepared, we were unnoticed by the dead that sleep there, and were climbing over the walls ‘ere they noticed our arrival. Under a hail of bandit arrows we dropped to the other side, catching a brief glimpse of their leader, the Stag Lord, stripped to the waste, covered in scars, sporting that horned helm that so fills me with fear. He would have shot us as we rousted the wall, had not one of his men decided to rebel. This brave old soldier, we were to discover later, was his former right-hand man, Akiros Ismort, and thanks to him more of us lived than were lost.

The Stag Lord did not take his treachery well though, and he dropped him with arrows and fled as we sorted ourselves out and sought cover from the bandits above us. It was during this chaos that my second Master died, the Stag Lord slipping up behind to plant two arrows treacherously in his back. First Khoran, and now Isuldor! Two masters this monster has taken from me! And just as quickly he retreated, a thief of lives in the ensuing gloom.

Slowly, too slowly the bandits fell or retreated, and more worrisome still was the hoots that came from somewhere inside. We did have the satisfaction of hearing the Stag Lord scream when he fled in that direction, but Variel, in his haste to catch him, followed too close and ran into the origin of those hoots, a Owlbear on the loose. He, the most noble leader of the Dragon’s Eyes, died screaming in moments. As everyone else engaged the monstrosity that bastard the Stag Lord slipped through the inner ruin and shot down Ezren and Sean, though Sonja managed to pull them back from death’s desperate clutches. We finally managed to kill or drive off his remaining men, and corner the Stag Lord in one of the inner rooms. Surrounded, he laughed to our faces before Jan cut him down and Peter turned his bones to jelly with his flail.

A hollow rejoicing, for the Fortress has been taken.
But at what cost?

20th of Gozran
Ha, ha! My lord proves most diplomatic! News has traveled amongst the little people, and one came to us last night to persuade the great “King of the Stump” to give more “peace gifts,” or face his hidden army of “assassin bees!” I think the little fellow is leading us on, as does several others in our party, but Ma has agreed to give gifts of honey and milk when next the moon is full if they will visit our main camp at that time.
We have since regrouped at the main camp and spent much of the day dealing with the Owlbear’s carcass. I will never understand these pioneers and their incessant need to take apart every animal they kill - if they can’t eat it, or wear it, they want it for components for things arcane. Very strange.
Another topic of discussion: the company has decided finally to do something about those mites that keep stealing the Jessup’s chickens. It is about time! I don’t think I can sleep comfortably knowing the little buggers are out there. Nyal has set up rabbit snares surrounding the camp in hopes of catching one.

21st of Gozran
Well, THAT didn’t go as planned. Seems Rabbit snares are useless against insanely large Centipedes. Despite all the ruckus of that monster busting into camp in the middle of the night, I managed to sleep through it. I don’t know how much more of this stress I can take. Giant Centipedes? My goodness! I find the usual tiny ones untenable! Thank goodness those Jessups are such a fierce lot. Jr. managed to break a mandible with his wooden practice sword - some miracle that - and the thing was too stupid to run. Everyone else managed to drag it down and put it to the sword after that. Pity Ma missed her boy doing good. She seems to have spent the night summoning that owl of hers - since when do Alchemists use familiars? I suspect that wizard’s book we found may have something to do with it. Either way, another day spent harvesting another poor beast.

24th of Gozran
Well, two days of bad weather and another herd of Elk in rut, and we were back to exploring. We found the Shrike River, and Nyal lead us to Nettle’s Crossing, a toll bridge he’d heard had been set up some years ago. Only the toll house was in ruins and the bridge was almost gone. And Nettles... What can I say about the old toll keeper? He rose from his watery grave and stood there, a dripping, mummified corpse, and laid it on us to bring him the body of he who killed him.

Well, apparently the Green Hands had it in mind to seek out and kill the Stag Lord anywise (they are quite obsessed with that reward, and more importantly, that charter, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised). Oh, I do hope this doesn’t prove the death of me!

25th of Gozran
Now we work for Kobalds? My goodness! What is this world coming to! My lord Lebeda and his companions found a tribe of the little scaly monsters inhabiting an old Taldorian silver mine, and have agreed to find some lost statue they hold sacred that was stolen by the Mites beneath the Old Sycamore. Well, the little blue meanies still owe us for the chickens...

On our return to camp, we became lost in the fog, and Ma and my master came across a small company of the blue menaces. Apparently they had a captive - a young girl! Well, they gave the little fiends what for! But now we have another child with us, one who is secretive and shy, and filthy! I’m not sure she knows what soap is! Ma’s taken her in hand though, and will sort her out. We don’t know what her name is (we’re not even sure she knows), only that she was out here seeking... someone... her father perhaps? Not a very communicative child... and that the Mites were planning to make her their “princess” (or Queen, or dinner... she really hasn’t been all that clear). She does seem to have a knack for bashing in their heads with that crowbar of hers once their down though. Best keep my distance.

28th of Gozran
Well, more bad weather meaning more time wasted huddling under my blankets in a tent trying to stay dry. The moon came out two nights ago though, and the wee folk came for their milk and honey. They left the grasses and wildflowers in elf-locks around the camp, and local fauna have seen fit to leave us unmolested since then.

With clear weather though Nyal, Ma and my master Labeda have headed off to finally put an end to the monstrous Mites! We had something of a panic, however, when it was discovered the little girl had snuck off as well. We listened to the dull echo of explosions coming from beneath the Tree, and were quit gratified when our scouting party returned with the stolen statue and the runaway girl, with the Tree cleared of its’ collection of Mites and monstrous vermin!

30th of Gozran
Having secured peace with the Sootscale Kobolds by siding with the chief in some sort of civil dispute within the tribe, our scouting party has returned and relocated us beneath the Old Sycamore. A bit smelly, but I think it could make a nice little home, once it was tidied up a bit. It does get us away from that wind spout tearing up the countryside! What IS with the weather here! Ma talks about strange, crazy weather gods that just like to mess with the common folk. Certainly, this may explain why the Stolen Lands have never been successfully settled!

2nd of Desnus
Master Lebeda has returned from Olegs, having sent word of our success with the Kobolds to the Swordlords and returned Svetlana’s wedding ring to Oleg. It is still unclear how it came into the hands of the Kobolds, but Oleg doesn’t care about the how, only that his wife is happier than she has been in months, and to the Green Hands another feather in our cap (and a large line of credit at his store). He has returned with Pa (done with his work on building a new floor to Oleg’s guesthouse), as well as late-coming allies Holland Sun (Nyal’s mercenary friend), Richard Perrin (Anthea’s overly friendly brother) and Lily Stone (his shifty-eyed companion).

5th of Desnus
We are off again, exploring southward, seeking the Stag Lord’s Fort in hopes of finding it before the Dragon’s Eyes do and cheat us out of the reward money (or at least, that’s what I seem to have gathered from Ma’s mumblings). We set off two days ago with just Ma, Nyal, Anthea, Eregon, my Master and myself, avoided a very odd-looking fanged toad of enormous size and color, and forded the river yesterday. Today our breakfast was interrupted by another Owlbear attack (they seem to like coming after us just before or after the break of day, it seems), and the tactics so recently perfected served us well as the Green Hands ran circles around it, peppering it with arrows and Ma’s explosives. The wind is kicking up something fierce though, so we are now forced to stop and seek shelter.

6th of Desnus
Last night, oh Gods, last night we lost so many good people, my Master amongst them! Oh, the shame of it. I could not help. I tried. I fired into those pitiless undead, plunked away my little quarrels into their cold flesh, for all the good it did. But the dead did not care, and the Stag Lord, he howled into the wind. He laughed as we who survived ran, tails between our legs.

How can I tell the Jessups they’ve lost a wife, a mother? How can I tell the Lebedas they’ve lost a most noble kinsman? Three lie dead on that hill now, and more soon to follow, unless I can make sure lessons learned are shared by all...

We raced down along the river as soon as the windstorm let up, and though it was still blustery, we came finally to the Tuskwater and the ruins we believed to be the Stag Lord’s hideout at dusk. Leaving me to mind the horses, they tried sneaking up to the wall along a path poorly observed by the bandits on watch. The path was ill-observed for a reason, as it turns out.

What we had taken for random stones and boulders were headstones however, and around these markers burst out wave after wave of hungry dead. As they fought to be free of them, the bandits on watch jeered, and took shots. Realizing surprise was lost, my associates lost their focus, as some sought cover, and others struck out against those on the wall. Once Ma started blowing them off the wall, they became far more serious, and worse, a great hooting awoke within - not unlike the monster we had just faced that morning! Finally though, after Eregon had fallen and Anthea was badly mauled it was clear they would not breach the wall, and flight was our only option. But by then it was too late. The Stag Lord had finally joined his men (well, what was left of them), and shot after shot he plunked into their backs as they struggled to get past the stumbling dead. Though my Master had managed to get Eregon’s unconscious body off the field, he failed to save Ma or Nyal from being peppered with arrows and devoured by the hungry, meandering corpses. His own hand shattered by undead strength and his lance lost to the field of battle, he had almost made it to the safety of the treeline where I hid, watching over horses and wounded alike, when the last shot from the Stag Lord found its home deep in my lord’s chest. His horse, Thunder, rode on though, so I have at least one body I can take back with me to put in a coffin.

And though we have fled the fort’s dark shadow, we must seek shelter soon. Night has fallen, and another storm is on the horizon...

5th of Gozran, 4710
Well, that was more conflict than I care for. This creature, which we have identified as a "Thylacine" (or some such - I simply call it, "hungry striped death that's calling me dinner!"), has been driven off, in no small part to Ma's explosives. I intend to sleep as soon as my ears stop ringing. Tomorrow our scouting party (this time being only Ma Jessup, Master Khorain, and Nyal & his dogs) begins a proper exploration, establishing a route back to Olegs good enough for the wagon.

15th of Gozran
The Scouts have returned, having established a proper route from the Sycamore Tree (or, more properly, the hill south of it we're camping on) back to Olegs, and have retrieved everyone else from our expedition, along with the Jessup's wagon, except for Pa. Pa is still working on expanding the Guest House at the Outpost. Apparently their journey was full of excitement - local faeries have named my Master "King of the Stump" (don't ask me, I don't understand it either). They also found a vein of gold (which they have been very careful to hide - it should make for a very serviceable gold-mine down the road), and dealt with a nasty spider of disproportionate size. The spider apparently ate some fool bandit with a map though, and now everyone has fat dreams of treasure in their heads.

16th of Gozran
A tornado hit down near us, nearly destroying the camp. Scared Nyal's dogs off. poor fellow is inconsolable. Then again, we're all fairly shaken up. Hope such weather isn't normal.

19th of Gozran
Our scouts have returned again, battered and bruised, but triumphant! I didn't think they could top their success over the kill of several River-Elk Bucks (those things are huge! Each the size of a horse!), but now they brought back an Owlbear! Just the three of them managed it, and it's a real monster too! Oh, they apparently found the treasure alluded to in the dead man's map, but what's a little money in the face of becoming legends... My god, but what a monster...

5th of Gozran, 4710
It is a most auspicious tree. Nyal calls it "the Old Sycamore," which, I suppose, it is. "Ma" Jessup seems a little frustrated we have come out here so soon, rather than focus on explorations closer to Olegs, as the Dragon's Eyes band has done. Still, this does give us some distance in our investigations.

Our Outriders returned to Olegs three days ago, not long after my last entry, their hunt along the bandit trail made short by foul weather and Trolls. Trolls! The very thought of such monsters ices the blood! They had nearly reached the Narlwood when, with the skys pouring pitch and thunder about their ears, they encountered a mother teaching her child to hunt. Poor Benitario, your sacrifice will be remembered! It was he, the jovial yet quiet Numarian barbarian, who held them off long enough for the rest of the Outriders to escape. They returned to Oleg, and told us of his dismemberment and being devoured. When the priest, Jhod Kavken, arrived the following day, I petitioned him to do service for our friend. May you hunt well in your afterlife Benitaro. We knew you too briefly, and not well enough.

In waiting out the storm, the two companies have had some time to discuss our explorations, and I am pleased to say, everyone seems willing to go with my suggestions to divide the workload and focus our explorations in separate areas. The Dragon's Eyes have laid claim to searching the Narlwood, which, given recent rumors gained by Eregon from Oleg, we have decided to accept. According to Oleg, Taldorian colonists used to mine the Kalelands for gold, which the Jessups, who count prospecting amongst their long list of accomplishments, take a keen interest.

The Mercenary Captain and the Priest have both requested we keep our eyes open - Captain Garess hopes we might capture an old "friend" of his that may be working with the Bandits, while Jhod is hoping we might find a lost temple or some such sacred site of Erastils'. It amazes me just how many amongst both the Hand and the Eyes worship this back-woods god. Jhod can expect a strong congregation, however the Stolen Lands are settled.

As Oleg has hired Pa Jessup & his son to build a second floor to the Guest-house, Ma Jessup has taken his place amongst the Outriders, and given the rest are riding, Jacobi is to stay at Olegs' to assist in the construction. I, on the other hand, am following my Master on my trusty pony, "Fickle Eater." Taking the place of Benitaro is Eregon (his slave staying behind to assist at Olegs as well). Swift riding by horse back meant a tiring two day ride to the Old Sycamore and Nyal's ghost stories of Mites - some obscure, angry sort of petulant Fey - and his hope that from there we can find one of the rivers to scout out for settlement. He mentions there should be a toll bridge recently built in these parts, managed by one Davik Nettles, who we may wish to look up. It bears noting that Anthea has come down sick, coughing and hacking and her nose quite red. Perhaps it was all that running about in the storm with the Trolls. I do hope it is not contagious!

We have just set up our camp some miles south of the Old Sycamore, and... what was that? There is something growling down at the foot of the hill, and moving closer...

Oh dear, something seems to be thinking we are dinner again...

2nd of Gozran, 4710
I am concerned for my Master. Having set out yesterday while the weather was good, I worry, now that the weather has turned truly wretched! Heavy rain pelts the fort, and lighting pelts the plains! The other expedition, the Dragon's Eyes band, arrived yesterday, not long after our hunting party set out. They sent their own scouting party out to have a look around the area, but their party (consisting of Voriel, Sonja, Arixus, Jan, Peter, and Grano) came back after a few hours soaked to the bone, badly bruised from a run-in with a pack of wild boar that had been driven into a frenzy by the thunder.

Yet more have arrived at the fort. Kesten Garess and his mercenaries, under the employ of the Swordlords, has arrived to protect the Outpost, freeing the two companies to do the job their Charters entreat them to do.

I have brought up the possibility of dividing up the Greenbelt into territories of intent to explore, so the Green Hands and the Dragon's Eyes aren't tripping over each other in the field, and while Voriel and Sonja seem quite eager to lay claim to the Narlwood, Ma Jessup seems to be very selective in what she's hearing and seems to be stalling until she can have a proper sit-down with those who went off after the Bandit gang's hidden camp.

1st of Gozran, 4710
We have arrived, and I am thankful to say, I have missed all the action. As per my Master's instructions, I will now commence with a record of the exploration of the Greenbelt.

More than a month has passed since the Lord-Mayor of Restlov announced plans to begin exploration and speculative assessment of the region to the south of Brevoy collectively known as the Stolen Lands, and of the many sent southward the two expeditionary forces I find myself becoming increasingly familiar with. I wonder some nights if I picked the right team to tie my horse to, but - outside of my employer - for a company of rustic pioneers they seem skilled enough to get the job done.

The two chartered companies have the same stretch to explore and clear of bandits. The larger company seems to have fallen strongly under the influence of members of House Medvyed and Surtova, and it is debatable if any of them have any skill for woodcraft. Thus I approached the smaller group, provincial though they may be, and took employment with their most noble member, the honorable Khorani Lebeda.

The makeup of the newly chartered "Green Hand Band" is as follows:

• Khorani Lebeda, my patron, a reasonably responsible (if quiet and unassuming) member of his House who, having been given permission to establish a branch family now that the main's star is rising has taken this opportunity to insure that his new line has lands and respect to go with it. I'm sure his mixed elf-blood has little to do with their desire to see him elsewhere given their recent successes at Court.
  
• Nyel Furlein - friendly fellow, Nyel brings to the expedition something no one else in either party can claim, a familiarity with the region. Nyel has been a trapper along the border for some years now, and hopes to get in on the ground floor if the rumors of a colony being founded prove true. Apparently he and some friends hope to establish a Glass-blowing business if they can find a location with the right quality of sand.
  
• Anthea Perren, a Rostlander touched by the call of Eristil to take up arms in his name, she hopes in time her brother Richard will join the expedition as well.
  
• the Jessup family, that being Hebediah ("Pa"), Miriam ("Ma") and Hezekiah ("Jr."), are a Pioneer family hoping to get in, like Nyel, on the ground floor. "Pa" Jessup is an experienced trapper, carpenter, prospector and blacksmith, and his wife seems equally accomplished, though her bent is more in the alchemical arts.
  
• Eragon, a peculiar refugee from Numaria, who seems to be no mere alchemist or scholar, but continues to rave about his strange barbarian sorcery-science. He also sought to employ me, but I refused. I can not dishonor the memory of my good parents in serving a man who is willing to own slaves. Reprehensible practice. Would that this particular peeve of mine not be a sore spot with myself and many a prior employer, but it is, and has resulted in my premature dismissal enough times I find it better just not to hire myself out in the first place to such insufferable people. Perhaps I can persuade my Master to speak with him on the civilized advantages of employed freemen over enforced servitude.
  
• Benetaro, Eragon's bodyguard and traveling companion, also from Numaria. Of mixed human and orc kinship, he far better fits the expectations I have of an uncivilized barbarian.
  
• Estar, Eragon's slave, used primarily as his personal chef. Not a bad position, given the stories my parents told me of their life in Cheliax. Still, it isn't right for one man to own another.

One of the first bits of advice I gave my lordship was to hold off a month, at least until the Winter was past. It is a hundred miles from Restlov to Oleg's Outpost, not a journey to take lightly. Thankfully they agreed, and held off the journey until two weeks ago, when we began the long and arduous (and blessedly uneventful) trip here. Yesterday my master joined Pa Jessup, Eregon and Anthea in riding ahead to prepare for our arrival, and from what I have found out, it is a good thing they did! Apparently the Outpost has been "taxed" heavily by local bandits over the Winter, and were due for a little "collection" this very morning. Our Outriders set an ambush for them though, "Pa" and Anthea barring the gate to the old fort while Eregon and Master Khorani caught their leader in a crossfire, taking the surly criminal swiftly. Anthea received some bruised ribs for her attempt to startle their horses - while she may be devoted to nature, animals do not seem to care much for her. Luckily they do like Pa Jessup, and he calmed the beast down before it could do her more harm. The rest of the bandits went down swiftly enough. Those that survived lived only long enough to be beheaded by Pa Jessup's axe.

It was their heads that poked up out of the fog to great us when we arrived near mid-day at the fort. Now that the rest of the Green Hand Band is here, Pa, Anthea, Nyel, Benetaro and my good master Khorani plan to follow the bandit's trail back to their lair. They believe their camp to be a day or two away, given the amount of food they were carrying, but I believe erring on the side of caution would be the best choice, and am packing a full weeks rations for my lord. Oleg and his wife, Svetlana, have been very generous in their thanks, giving us free room and board for the time being (and very good prices for what we have to sell). He has also offered a nice deal in trade if we can get back his wife's ring, which the ruffians stole. Their leader, a fierce woman armed with two hatchets, is apparently quite the cutthroat, having pulled the ring off her finger as a special "tax" for not chopping off her husband's leg! Shameful!