Fenia's Journal, 17 Flamerule 1372

You will undoubtedly be shocked, journal, to discover that yesterday was actually not the creepiest day we have experienced this tenday. No, that honor falls squarely upon today. We returned to the location where we had found the man with the exploding bowels. We spotted a trail leading south from there. The trail led to a clearing with a house and an outbuilding. Before the house, there was a dead tree from which hung the body of Dorga the Wraith--or so, at least, it would appear. Aine took Dorga's mask off of him and it would be impossible to identify him without it, as he was lacking a face.

We then tried exploring the clearing, to be sure that there were no more outbuildings, or perhaps legions of exploding-boweled slaves to attack us. We only found one set of distended bowels, which attacked Melvin, but were eventually removed.

Having been engulfed by bowels made Melvin strangely curious, and he went back to the corpse of Dorga and examined it more closely, and discovered that his bowels had been removed. I think that he believes that it was Dorga's bowels which attacked him.

We then decided to explore the house. The main floor of the house was vacant, save, of course, for windows, the door through which we entered, and the stairs leading upwards and downwards. We decided, through my prodding, to explore the upstairs first, as it was clear from the exterior of the building that there was but one floor above the ground level, but we would have no way of discerning the depth of the basements or connected tunnels or any such construction.

The upstairs was very disturbing. In the northward room, we found creepy carved pumpkins with glowing candles within, and, in the carved eye sockets, real humanoid eyeballs. Needless to say, we destroyed them with great despatch.

The southern room, however, had a violent encounter. It appeared innocent enough. When we opened the door, we saw four piles of clothing. So I walked in to examine them, and they came to life and attacked, wrapping their fabrics around us (well, mostly me, at first anyway) and trying to strangle us. None of my spells had much effect, save lesser orb of acid, and Melvin found himself even less able to harm them. Aine hurled many lesser orbs of fire at them, but was too careful to avoid hitting us, and not all of them hit. As the rest of us lost consciousness, the creatures swarmed Aine, only to learn that she had recently developed a new spellcasting ability: fireburst. The blast consumed all of the clothing creatures and Aine got us back to the road safely.

Here the story gets even more odd, as for some reason, some mysterious figure approached Aine. He gave his name to her, showed himself to be an elf, and healed us all, or so Aine's story goes. Perhaps we shall meet this fellow again, so I may learn the truth of the tale.

Fenia's Journal, 16 Flamerule 1372

I thought I'd spare you the boredom of the last three days, journal, and conserve the ink that would undoubtedly be wasted in trying to describe the "events" of those days. Needless to say, it didn't involve deep, engaging conversations on the relative merits of spontaneous and prepared casting, or the comparative theologies of the various demihuman pantheons, or the source of the finest wines in Faerun, or theories as to the cause of the fall of Netheril. No, no stimulating conversation to be found.

I write this, journal, after the most thorough bath I believe I have ever had. I have little doubt that I was scrubbed less than this after being rescued from the hill giants. We were nearly back to the bridge near the trail to Deadsnows when a man came running out of the woods, screaming about a monster. He collapsed, and I went to see if he would be alright or if he needed treatment. I know of no treatment that could have saved him, as his abdomen burst open and a foul creature comprised of his innards burst out.

The disgusting beast attacked me, entwining itself about me and, from what Gibbie tells me of my wounds, was sucking my blood like a deflated leech. I could not cover the remaining distance to the river quickly enough. I have been grabbing handfuls of rocks to abrade my skin to get the filth of the creature off of me. I cannot describe, journal, the incomprehensible level of disgust that fills me at the very thought of what happened to that poor man, or, more importantly, to me.

Fenia's Journal, 12 Flamerule 1372

Another day of tedious silence, to be broken only by the awe the ranger has for nature, and an occasional, "Can you see me now?" from Melvin. I'm starting to get terribly homesick. Even Nestor talked more than these people do, and I'm sure you remember his position on language, journal. He always used to say, "Language is the first step towards civilization, and civilization is the first step towards the eradication of nature as an evil and an inconvenience." I'd always snicker. I don't think he ever understood the irony.