Entry 147, Day 30, Evening
My skill at lying was insufficient, or the ruffians had no interest in legal behavior, and they attempted to attack me. I buried them in darkness and withdrew, removing the darkness only once I had blessed the party and gotten behind cover. I would feel bad about doing this to the humans if they were not jerks who had it coming.
A short battle with minions and constructs on the surface was rapidly followed by a shorter battle inside the ship with smaller robots and the cowardly leader of the group. I breathed lightning for the first time, it was quite exhilarating. The fact that the machines exploded was somewhat less pleasing, but such is life. I believe father would be proud.
After dispatching the brigands and healing our injuries, we investigated the rest of this tech dungeon and found 2 mutated goblins. They were dispatched quickly enough, and skimming the journal of the bandit leader we determined that they and the orc had been recruited to guard the “back door.” There were also 3 disgusting blots of tumorous flesh soaking in puddles of brackish water and their own filth. Hungry Flesh, they cannot be cut without growing back and growing larger, and must be beaten or burned to be killed. Fortunately they did not attack, it seems they were still well-fed at the time. I am concerned about the health of being here, with whatever is the source of these mutations, but the techsperts assure me that it is safe.
The “back door” is more concerning and less-easily comforted. A passage down, down into Nar-Voth, and perhaps beyond. My hope is that the oozes of wet cancer will slide down that path and trouble us no more. But to be safe we have sealed the door and are camping aboveground.
Entry 148, Day 32, Morning
My anti-disease magic is holding the infection at bay today, and I must write this while I am still sapient, because this malady is quite deadly.
We awoke to a crashing and thumping. The oozes were hungry and had decided to follow us up the stairs. A quick scry revealed they were attempting to bash down the door, and we had little time before they would breach. We arranged ourselves as I cursed myself for dumping my lamp oil. The damage done by flames would have helped, however little, but we made do with what we had. The battle was slow, disgusting, and horrifying as we expended most of our alchemist’s fire on the blobs, beating and burning them to death. Both I and Flynn were afflicted by a tumorous contagion that saps my health and my will. I am not powerful enough to cure this disease, and should I succumb I know I shall rise again as another wet, pustulent smear of hideous hungry flesh.
I feel fear. Fear of death, fear of becoming a monster, fear of something slow and inescapable. Far more horrible than the hot-blooded fear in battle, this eats and gnaws at me. My hope is that the healers of Aldronard’s grave can help, if not, I have little else to hope for, I can only hold the affliction at bay for so long.
After burning and cleaning, we made our way back south. The villagers and the captain of our vessel were uncomfortable with the presence of plague-bearers and demanded we quarantine ourselves away from everyone else. We sat at the back of the boat, and were thus the first to notice when chain-encrusted devils known as Kyton attempted a nighttime raid upon us.
As creatures of pain, torture, and horror they were covered in chains and did their best to subdue (but not kill) anyone they could get their hands on. The fight was frantic, as I seem to have been the only one to pack holy water on this expedition, necessary to defeat their regeneration. The fight also took a turn for the disturbing when Flynn chose to molest one of his opponents in an attempt to infect her with the tumor disease. We killed two of them, cramming silver pieces into their throats to block their regeneration and threw the third over the side and into the river.
Creepy moves, Flynn. Creepy moves.