Log 04: Ruffians and Rope
Shiira's Adventure

It was the very end of fall—the harvest was over and the trees had nearly lost their leaves; the balmy weather was coming to its close. In the few weeks of quiet daily contemplation, Shiira took note of how exciting the year had been. In such a short amount of time, she had contracted lycanthropy (and a terrible fear of canines), gotten kidnapped, and became an asset to an odd group of people she had previously hardly ever spoken to. It made these times of peace seem mundane and dull in comparison—a thought that gave the girl shivers when she thought of it. Since when did she grow weary of a normal life? She grew accustomed to pushing such things out of her mind, especially when she recalled how troublesome it was to suffer from nightmares on a frequent basis.
On a certain chilly day in the bar, the ragtag bunch found themselves again in the bar. Shiira found herself replacing Marissa as a barmaid more often, now that she was making marriage preparations. Shiira didn’t mind, though—whenever she worked, she had the chance to watch Milligan perform. He had been putting in a lot of effort as of late, and Shiira enjoyed listening to him sing. She was too embarrassed to go watch him whenever she wasn’t working, though.
Farmer Rye had been speaking with the merchant Gnome that came around every so often with his less than…stable goods. Rye had dabbled as a bounty hunter ever since his wife was murdered, and the Gnome was kind enough to give him information whenever he was in town. On this particular occasion, the merchant mentioned a certain Eric the Black taking residence in Sixford. Eric was a repeat offender of the law who had killed his commander, then took the rest of the platoon to make a town. The kingdom had a price on his head and wished him to come to justice. Overhearing the conversation, Shiira the interim barmaid and the others who had come for the evening were invited to join the farmer on his 3-day journey to Sixford. Shiira agreed to go, a little excited.

Three days passed. They weren’t very exciting, but they passed nonetheless. Upon arriving at the gates, the party had concocted a plan to make sure they weren’t suspected in town. Mad Milligan was a famed travelling musician, and his travelling brigade (Shiira the groupie and and the others as bodyguards) had made their way to Sixford to perform. The very first Shiira and the rest of them noticed was exactly how many watchkeeps were in town, and the lack of women roaming the streets. Shiira made sure to stick extra close to Gerrick and Milligan while Farmer Rye talked with Constable Yorrick (who matched exactly the description of Eric the Black) and Sister Aquilas talked to the town priest. Dwalin also made efforts to get chummy with the town Blacksmith. From all the information gathered, about half of the town seemed to be rather corrupt as part of Eric the Black’s men, but the blacksmith was mostly downtrodden that his wife wasn’t doing well.
When evening came, it was time for Milligan to give his performance as the remainder concocted a plan of action. The tavern was hot and sweaty as efforts had been made to gather the entirety of Eric’s brigade. Constable “Yorrick” had a harem of women around his seat at the front, and a few more were strewn with men across the room, but none of them looked particularly happy upon closer inspection. Shiira felt sorry for them—she wondered how many of them were actually content with their current position. Her concern didn’t last for long, though, as the ruffians in the room began cat-calling her. Shiira couldn’t keep her concentration as her face turned cherry red and stayed that way, but the most she could do was tense up and look at her knees in fear of making a scene. The men seemed to find that rather amusing, as they seemed to tack on the teasing more heavily after that.
Milligan started his show. He sung of gallant adventurers and one of werewolves. Shiira thought on the lyrics, and how the bard conveyed the story. She knew that even if she hadn’t been directly involved in the tale he told, she certainly would’ve felt she had been. Everyone was enthralled. After a more upbeat tune, the crowd got rather riotous, and they all seemed to be in agreeance for the man to sing some lewd songs. With such insistence, Shiira couldn’t help but get embarrassed. Getting up from her seat, Shiira made her way out of the Tavern. She could hear some audible mutters of disappointment from the men as she left, but was more terrified one or more might follow her out. She was eternally grateful when Gerrick stood and joined her outside.
Outside, Shiira couldn’t hear much, but she could occasionally make out Dwalin’s voice, ever becoming the life of the party. Seemed he was winning in all the drinking contests, getting all the gold, and fitting right in with the brigands. It made Shiira laugh just a little bit, as if she did not know the dwarf, she would have likely thought he was one of them. The night air was calming, and for the first time that day, Shiira had felt more secure. Gerrick certainly helped with that, even though the two exchanged no words outside the bar. Shiira thought that she never really had the chance to get to know him better, but he was always a reliable and trustworthy comrade. He sort of felt like the aloof older brother. Shiira was glad he had won Marissa’s heart—Marissa had always been something of a friend to Shiira, and she knew Gerrick would take care of her.
Shiira and Gerrick slipped back inside for the last of the performance. Once the song was over and the applause had been made, Eric the Black stroked his chin in amusement. “Y’know, Milligan,” he said, “This here is Ilsa. She’s quite fine, if I do say so myself. Would you and your band be willing to join me at my mansion? Everyone is invited!”
The tavern exploded in calls and excitement as some started filing out and headed towards the mansion with each other. Shiira slipped into the shadows as not to be spotted, but instead spotted Milligan with Ilsa on his arm heading to the mansion. A sweeping sense of dismay fell over Shiira, but she put it in the back of her mind as she continued to follow the crowd up the hill.

As if the concert wasn’t exciting enough, the after party was even more boisterous and rowdy. In fact, Dwalin had met another Dwarf, and things certainly got…dangerous. This other Dwarf assumed he could beat Dwalin in a drinking contest. …Or perhaps he didn’t because the mead had apparently been laced with poison. Not that Dwalin seemed to be affected by it, anyway. Around this time, Rye came around to Shiira to discuss the plan to apprehend Eric the Black. Quite impressive, considering Shiira had made a good effort to stay out of sight.
“The plan is, we’ll wait for everyone to fall asleep and then kill them all in their sleep. I’ll make my way to Eric’s room and tie him up while everyone else does that.”
Shiira fidgeted a bit in her boots. “…I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?”
“Killing people. Just because they’re ruffians and have broken the law doesn’t mean we should kill them.”
“Well then, what do you suggest?”
Shiira’s face got red, but more from anger than embarrassment. “I…I don’t know! But I don’t agree!”
“Well then, you don’t have to join in, but this is the best we’ve got. Can you at least inform the others? I need to make some preparations.”
Shiira nodded, though a bit reluctantly.
Being as inconspicuous as possible, Shiira navigated her way through the crowds of men to find the ones (and lady) she was looking for. She did an alright job of it, as anyone who noticed her lost track of the girl among the crowd. Shiira was also successful in finding those in her party and informing them of Rye’s plan. Nobody seemed to object the same way she had, making her feel downtrodden, but she held to her conviction. A few moments after sharing the plan with Milligan, Shiira started making her way back when she heard Milligan ask the group surrounding him…if they had any rope.
Shiira froze in place and turned around, aghast. A bit of a devilish look was on his face as the men around him cheered and Ilsa’s face turned even paler than it had appeared before. “We knew you were adventurous, Milligan!” One complimented as he slapped the bard on the back and then handed him a bundle. Shiira grit her teeth and hurried out of the room while everyone was distracted with the new development.

Shiira stayed outside, in the shadows, as Sister Aquilas went to tell the townsfolk of what was to transpire that night. She crouched behind the large mansion, writing things in the dirt. Why was she so distraught? She had nothing to do with Milligan—they were just friends. But…Milligan had always been there. When Shiira was in bed after becoming a werewolf, he was there. When they had been kidnapped by slavers, he was there. Shiira flushed from her own thoughts, but shook her head vigorously, convincing herself that this was Mad Milligan she was thinking about! …The Mad Milligan who shared a secret with her and only her. In the midst of contemplating the meaning behind such things, Rye appeared from the corner of the mansion and signaled to Shiira to start the plan. She nodded and stood up.
The front of the mansion was guarded by four burly men who were less than ecstatic to he left out of the festivities. They were groggy and tired, but they weren’t drunk or asleep. Shiira got to work putting them to sleep with a wand she had acquired on their last adventure. Meanwhile, inside the not-so-stealthy Dwalin and Gerrick got to work offing the passed out brigands on the ground. In his room, Milligan had conversed with Ilsa, telling her that they planned to be rid the town of Eric the Black and his gang, and that she should lie low until the coast was clear, then she should run away.
“Then…you don’t intend to…”
“No. I just needed some rope to tie the men up.”
Ilsa began to cry. Her tears expressed volumes—the way she had been taken from her family—her husband—and forced to act as the pleasure toy of the constable and his men. They told of how she had hardened her heart and become unfeeling just to run away from the abuse and pain. They told of her gratitude, and the impending freedom. She nodded as Milligan ran off to the kitchen and tied up the staff.

The ruckus Gerrick and Dwalin created in their endeavors was more than enough to wake the sleepy bunch. More than 40 men staggered awake, noticed the scene, then proceeded to try and off the two. They had strength in numbers, but the two burly men of Launsmill certainly had them outmatched in strength and skill. At some point, Sister Aquilas made her appearance through the main entrance and became another target. Milligan appeared in the corner of the room amidst the brawl, and one of the men shouted over to him.
“Milligan! Your men! What’s the matter with them!?”
“I have no idea! They were just hired hands—I had no idea they had this in mind!”
The bandit looked him over, but seemed to believe him. “That crossbow you have—can you use it?”
Milligan nodded and strung his bow. The bolt let loose and cut through the air, hitting a brigand straight in the eye and knocking him over, dead.
The man turned to Milligan, outraged, “What the blazing **** was that!?”
“Gosh dangit, I’m a singer, not a bowman!”
The bandit grumbled, but took the bluff and rushed in with the others to try and oust the half-orc and dwarf. The latter of the two was apparently not doing so well, and neither was Sister Aquilas. Rye, on the other hand, had made his way to Eric’s room and managed to apprehend the criminal. The two women in his bed were ushered out.
Back in the lobby, Gerrick had managed to bottleneck a group in the hallway, who, after some time, realized exactly how outmatched they were. Gerrick wasn’t about to let them get away, though. He made sure to sufficiently get through their meatshield of a certain dead, poison-using dwarf, and chased down others. Dwalin was holding his own, being circled on all sides, but Mary had fallen…but not before setting fire to the extravagant abode. As if the initial chaos wasn’t enough, now everyone was aloof and trying to escape. Milligan managed to make his way to the Lady of Iomedae and, when no one was watching, healed the woman. He then made his way to the Dwarf who had also fallen, and healed the man…with his own potion. The ones still inside all made their way out, and outside, the party made their escape through the predetermined route, rendezvousing with each other and some of the townspeople of Sixford. Among them was Ilsa, reunited with her husband: the blacksmith.
The party invited them to make residence in Launsmill, considering there were houses to be filled and fields to be tilled since the previous tragedy involving wolves. It was agreed that they’d come along—and that they did, and the party claimed their reward in Kellsguard, where Eric the Black was to be hanged.

Log 03: Revelations
Shiira's Adventure

The month passed by peacefully. Shiira kept herself busy in the shop, but when she had the chance, the girl would retreat to the backwoods and practice her hand with a knife. More unintentionally than not, she would also silently find her way behind people in conversation; sometimes she succeeded, and sometimes she didn’t, but it was all for the purpose of building skill and finesse.
In the meantime, Milligan took care of his pigs and and improving his singing in the bar. Gerrick continued his work as the town guard, but also increased his efforts to woo sweet Melissa, the barmaid and Mr. Lars’s daughter. He had competition, and seemed to win using money. He was fortunate, indeed, to have received some from Dwalin. Speaking of the dwarf, he spent his month the way he usually spent them—in the shop or in the tavern. Sister Aquilas had apparently commissioned him to make her a hammer—one to protect the town and her church as she brought down Iomedae’s judgement upon wrongdoers. Mr. Brown was always up to something, too, but he mostly kept to himself. Some speculated he had some… sketchy motives, but no one could be quite sure.

The day of the harvest festival marked a month’s passing the night of the full moon. Shiira, concerned about her…condition, searched out the healer before the festivities began. The healer had good news, but Shiira was still uncomfortable to be around so many people. More uncomfortable than normal, anyway.
Staying as far from the crowd as possible, but still indulging, Shiira sat down along the outskirts of festivities where she was offered a drink. She wasn’t going to deny it—not that she had the confidence to anyway. She didn’t particularly care for the taste of alcohol, nor the sense of intoxication it brought, but it wasn’t too bad in small quantities. Sadly, small quantities were enough to do its evil.

Sister Aquilas noticed sometime that afternoon that some of the townsfolk had gone missing—Gerrick’s fiancee included. She went to tell Gerrick the news, and he began to look around for the missing people among the excitement of travelling performers and merchants. The only thing he discovered was that the band of minstrels who had come to celebrate was down in numbers…and their wagon was missing. Mary and Gerrick set off to follow the tracks heading south, when at the gates they were flagged down by the rest of the performers. “Have you seen our wagon?” one asked. Before Sister Aquilas got the chance to respond, a burst of colors shot across their faces.
[I’m not exactly sure how Dwalin and Farmer Rye got into their combat. If someone wants to detail that for me, I’d love to add it in.]

Shiira awoke to the sound of wheels over dirt and her face vibrating with each jolt of the wagon. She was tied up, and beside her Mad Milligan was stirred awake by the Healer. They looked at each other and worked out of the ropes. Shiira made a quick inventory of the daggers she had hidden on herself before the festivities. She always had at least two on her at any given time, but she knew that with celebrations came trouble, and if there was trouble, she wanted to be able to help. Now there was trouble, and whoever tied her up was unfortunate enough to have missed the carefully concealed knives.
Shiira and Milligan began untying the others, but as Milligan finished untying the healer, a floorboard creaked loudly beneath his foot. A woman opened the flap from out front and noticed the two. “We’ve got some loose ones!”
Reacting quickly, Shiira took the knife she was holding and tossed it at the woman. Or at least, tried to. The dagger slipped out of her hand and fell through the wagon, landing on the road and bouncing in the dust. Shiira looked back at it for just a moment, her face turning bright red from embarrassment, and mourned the loss of Cashmir—promising to herself that she’d make sure to retrieve it.
The woman attempted to hit Milligan with her sap, but was unsuccessful, and Milligan responded by catching her in a grapple. Shiira got in a good hit, but the woman broke free again. At this point, the driver had pulled to the side and joined the combat, though he only successfully landed a few hits on either of the two. At some point, Milligan needed a weapon, so Shiira lent him one of hers. It didn’t go on for very long, as the driver was quickly felled and the woman ran away, saying how she wasn’t getting paid enough to do the job.
Under the influence of so much adrenaline, Shiira never exactly realized the situation she was in until now. She and the rest of them had been drugged—and carried off by slave traders. She thought on this—and the strange, almost charming competence of Mad Milligan—as she and the healer freed the rest of the captured and stabilized the brigand. On the matter of Milligan, the fact that he was bestowed with such luck and the ability to inspire such confidence was apparently to be kept secret. For this reason or that, Mad Milligan wished to continue being “mad.” This was even more apparent when, out of the blue, he was able to cast a spell of healing and asked Shiira not to share the knowledge with anyone else.
This logic alluded the girl. Why would anyone wish to be seen as the town fool and village idiot? It was no lie that Milligan usually irked even the most sane people with just his voice, but this new side of him: a side that only Shiira was really privy to…
Shiira’s face turned bright red. Well, it was already bright red the moment Milligan even started speaking to her. She was so focused on the fight that his request caught her unawares from the get-go. The emotions accompanying it, however, were something entirely different from mere surprise and embarrassment, yet the girl couldn’t quite understand what they were…or at least, chose to pay them no mind.

After a short while, Gerrick, Brown, Dwalin, and Mary showed up to make sure everything was alright. They were clued into the situation and, Farmer Rye went to take care of the straggler woman. Eventually, the faulty party were tied up and returned to the village. Shiira made sure to pick up Cashmir on the way back.
The slave traders didn’t say much, but they didn’t really have to. The woman that had run away spilled every ounce of information to lighten her own sentence. The brewer agreed to lace the mead with a soporific so he could get Marissa—Gerrick’s fiancee—in one way or another. They apparently had some kind of deal going on, but, well, the brewer was deader than a doornail now. As for the woman, she was only a hired hand, so she felt no ounce of pity for the ones she ratted out. All in all, justice was dealt, and Farmer Rye got himself a brewery.

Log 02: Fears Realized
Shiira's Adventure

Some weeks passed by with hopes high that the plague had passed. Of course, fate would not have Launsmill so fortunate. As the full moon approached, villagers started disappearing again. Farmer Rye’s wife was among them; he seemed to take upon the mantle of revenge. The night of the full moon arrived—and with it the howl of wolves. And from there…all hell broke loose.
Shiira shot up from bed with an insatiable urge to go outside. Moonlight trickled in, and she seemed thirsty to drink it up—thirsty for more. With the clatter of her daughter awaking, Lana stirred and awoke to see her daughter scramble outside…and turn into a wolf. In a sobbing mess, Lana stumbled to Gerrick, the watchman, and told him the dire news and asking him to find her and—if possible—not kill her. So Gerrick set off following the wolf tracks.
Meanwhile, a pack of wolves and an abomination of a wolfman raided the Church of Iomedae in their own plot for revenge. Mad Milligan caught wind of the attack from his place in the pig sty, and ran to get help. From Shiira. As he ran down the street, a wolf heard his screams and chased after the madman. Milligan’s screams also aroused Dwalin in his attempts to become intoxicated—and when the dwarf saw the wolf chasing the fool, he stood to face it down.
Back at the church, Sister Aquilas was violently awoken to the sound of a splintering door. Swiftly grabbing the morning star hanging above her bed, she emerged from her room to see the creatures howl—the leader pointing and yelling, “She’s the one!” Sister Aquilas’s retort was only appropriate as she told them the fires of Iomedae would consume them. With that, she locked herself in her room, stacking furniture against the door as she put on her armor.
As Gerrick searched the fields for the wolf-turned Shiira, he ran into Farmer Rye who was also hunting wolves. The two worked together to follow the tracks towards the church as Mad Milligan ran opposite of them. When he reached the item shop, Lana was bawling in the front room. The exhausted, sympathetic sobber joined the woman as she told him between breaths how her daughter was a wolf. Outside, Dwalin drove his hammer and pick into the wolf, felling it as Milligan started running back to the church.
Inside the church, Mary prayed to Iomedae for strength as the wolves finally burst through her bedroom door. Flame burst from her hands, setting the door frame and bed on fire, but also searing the wolves where they stood. She began to pick them off, one by one, enduring claws and bites and the fear of contracting lycanthropy. In these moments, Gerrick and Brown arrived at the church where another wolf and the leader stood in the doorway, seething at them. Pointing to the half-orc, the wolf beside its were-leader lunged forward—only to trip over its own feet and skid prone on its chin to the feet of the warriors. Unable to believe the incompetence of its follower, the wolf-man cursed and fled behind the church.
If the blatant clumsiness hadn’t tipped Gerrick to the wolf’s identity, its shiny black fur and deep, sapphire eyes surely did. Unfortunately for Shiira, Gerrick wasn’t first to react as Brown Rye proceeded to shoot an arrow into the wolf’s back. Gerrick then proceeded to slam the morphed human aside the head with the brunt of his sword, knocking the wolf unconscious. As another wolf scampered out of the church, Farmer Rye shot another arrow into its hide, felling the beast. After another moment, Mad Milligan and Dwalin arrived at the scene to see Sister Aquilas toting the corpses of wolves from a smoky church. After some effort to put out the fire and retrieve the mortician, Gerrick and the others headed over to the constable’s to tie up their wolf-turned friend.

Shiira woke up disoriented and aching all over. Initial inventory suggested a wound in her back and a large bump on her head as the lights blurred in and out of focus. Then there were people—lots of people—in a strange house and with no memory of what happened or how she got there. She could feel the heat rising to her face as every eye was on her. The healer drew closer and offered the girl a mug of warm liquid as Shiira painfully sat up.
“Why weren’t you there!?” The Dwarf shouted. “We were all doing our best to stop those wolves, and you were nowhere to be seen!” The healer shot Dwalin a glance full of daggers.
Shiira’s eyes stung. Tears began to flow, but she didn’t say anything to defend herself. She didn’t even know why she was here—she had no idea there was a wolf raid! But not only that, she felt guilty for some unbeknownst reason—as if she deserved that remark—or maybe worse. The girl had a sneaking suspicion, but she didn’t want to admit it—hoping, just hoping her fears weren’t realized. She didn’t have much time to consider them, however. She drifted again into unconsciousness as the drugged mug came into effect.

Shiira blinked a few times. Her eyes still stung, her body still sore, but this time there was no confusion. Only a heavy atmosphere and conscious. She dreamed of wolves. It wasn’t the first night, no—those dreams had haunted her since the first night—only this time, she wasn’t the victim. Shiira was the wolf: a bloody killer tearing apart the flesh of her friends and family. What made it worse was that the dream-Shiira seemed to be enjoying it—the sight and smell of blood—the bloodlust—the insanity…what made it worse, however, was that this dream was no nightmare. No, it was as if her conscious accepted such a notion—as if it was somehow ingrained into her soul.
The healer leaned over into the girl’s field of vision. Shiira tilted her head to see more of the village women and Mad Milligan somberly occupying the room, all avoiding eye contact except for her mother. The emotions expressed in her eyes were a combination of relief and concern…and a smidgen of fear. After Shiira again looked at the healer, the halfling broke the news. “Welcome to the village, Shiira. You’re Launsmill’s first lycanthrope resident.”
Tears again filled Shiira’s eyes. Her face contorted as she covered it with her elbow—as if to hide from the world and other sobs beginning in the room. Nobody said a word, and nobody stopped her from crying. The tears would flow for days.

The cell had at least been made a little nicer—but it didn’t take away from the fact that it was still a cell. Shiira didn’t want to be here—she hardly felt like she should be in civilization at all—but she didn’t speak up. In fact, she hadn’t spoken since waking up.
It was for the best, of course. She was dangerous—there was no saying what she would do. People would come to visit—her mother most often—but it only drove the girl deeper into despair. Rather than feeling compassion or sympathy from the visitors, she only sensed fear and pity. How could they let her live? Why her, when she had helped kill so many others of the village? What set her apart from them, especially when they had a much greater use and contribution to the community? Just because she hadn’t turned for a few days didn’t mean she was in the clear, either. What if she were to turn again to much more detrimental aftermath? Is it life to live in fear of yourself—in fear of being rejected and hated—confined to a cage like the beast you are?
Dangerous thoughts continued to swirl in Shiira’s mind, even after she was released from the constable’s care. She was able to sometimes distract herself with chores or carving figurines, but at night she still fell asleep crying, only to dream of more wolves and more blood. Even the bartender’s dogs began to terrify the lass, and she would stay inside at any given chance.

Of course, she still felt a certain duty to offer assistance when it was decided to track down the alpha wolf. She didn’t want to sink into misery, and this felt like it would be a good chance to stand up to her fears and prove her self worth. It took half a day’s search to find the werewolf’s abode, where the party set up an ambush. Shiira hid in a tree with Milligan and Rye, feeling quite confident… at least, until the werewolf arrived. The moment she spotted him—the way he sniffed the air with the halfling child as if he could smell them—made the girl lock up in fear. When the trap was sprung and the others began to fight the beast, Shiira still couldn’t bring herself to move. After seeing his form, his gait, his might—even after Dwalin drove his pick through its skull—Shiira still couldn’t quite pull herself from that tree. Even Milligan proved to be of some use, restraining the loose boy.
Shiira still said nothing after being handed 20 gold—more gold than she ever had to her name at any one moment; however, unlike the previous week or so, the girl’s spirit was not broken. Instead of becoming a shell and wallow in despair, the encounter provided a necessary surge of motivation for the girl to start climbing the pit she created.

Log 01: The Plague
Shiira's Adventure

Shiira didn’t go to the bar often—at least, not when she wasn’t helping as a barmaid or on an errand of sort. Sure, she knew the Lars’s fairly well—they were neighbors after all—but the boisterous atmosphere and the unwanted attention were always enough to deter the lass from the noisy social outlet. However, today, like many days, Madam Lana decided to push her introverted daughter out of the house and force her to spend time with the strapping young lads. In the bar.
Tonight was unlike other nights, though. Shiira and Lana arrived and made their place on the table with the Dwarf—Dwalin the Blacksmith. Shiira figured her mother must’ve been getting desperate if she was trying to set her up with a who-knows-how-old dwarf. Not that there was any problem with dwarves. Or any race for that matter.
This night seemed to be just like the other Bar nights until Gia came in even more on edge and skittish than usual. Shiira couldn’t quite make out what she said—she was actively trying to block out everything being said—but before she knew it, the constable was calling for volunteers to find out what was happening at the Braddon’s homestead. Loudmouth Lana: volunteering her own daughter on a potentially hazardous journey just so she could get Shiira to share the company of some men.
Well, the walk wasn’t all that bad. The night never scared the girl, but Mad Milligan surely provided enough annoyance for five nights. Not that Shiira voiced any of this. Technically, she didn’t have to since the rest of the team did plenty of that. What awaited the few at the Braddon’s house was not a pleasant sight. The Braddons were home, fortunately…but unfortunately…they were dead. Torn apart. Brutally murdered by what could only be…wolves.
Dwalin and the girl actually never saw this scene, however. Those two became preoccupied by the sounds emanating from the well. As it turns out, the Braddon girl had taken refuge there, as her father instructed her to while he led the wolf away. On the way to take Miss Braddon to the town doctor, they saw it. A wolf, dragging the body of Farmer Braddon, met the party along the way. Fortunately, they were able to fell it without too much trouble, but with this testimony, it was now painfully obvious that the small village of Launsmill was plagued…with werewolves.
Efforts were made to collect all of the silver and use it to plate all the weapons of each member of the search party. As a result, they were again recruited to go hunt the wolves. Even though it was a necessary evil, there was still a nagging concern that it was the fellow townsmen—the neighbors and the friends and the kin. It was a hunt to kill their own—a hunt that would leave them with a heavy conscious despite the nature of this dog-eat-dog world.

Log of the Shadow Beast

I can’t believe they convinced me to do this. Do they really think I have the patience to sit down and write? I could be out killing things right now.


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