Thomas' Journal

7th Caminra, 750 LCY
A dense mist surrounds me. The sounds of cawing from every direction. My companions nowhere to be found. An anxious sensation sits at the back of my mind, something about this place makes me uneasy. I partially recognize where I am has my gaze begins to pierce the mist. I can make out the vague outline of a circular stone structure. Not here. No, we left here. Why am I here. Panic shoots through my body. I hear a thud and the sound of metal on leather behind me. I spin swiftly. Perched atop Samson the donkeys back, gazing into my very soul, is Rekka The White. His feathers having undergone a stark transition the moment he was changed by unholy magics, his plumage now shimmers a pale ivory, his eyes leaking forth with semi-translucent blue energy, massive bastard sword in one hand. “No..l-“ he swings his heavy blade into me. Blackness follows.

I awake with a start. A nightmare, I sigh, of course such a traumatic event would not be without its mental aftershock. Even in the darkness I can tell I am safely within the forested circle that birthed me anew from its soil. My compatriots lay sleeping, the air around us dimly lit by mystical energies, glowing mosses and other incandescent plant life. I exhale deeply. We are safe, for now.

Ever since the magics of this forest breathed life into my body,(thanks to the plea’s of my new dryad friend Ameliorri) I feel a stronger connection to this place. The trees seem to speak to me, but only lowly, in murmurs, as if behind a closed door. In time my connection may grow stronger. But I am changed.

The events of the day prior to my passing begin to float back to me. I first encountered Rekka during an ill timed bar brawl turned nearly deadly encounter. Had the sheriff not shown up we may have been overpowered. Thank the aeons for this. It turned out that Rekka would be assigned to us has some sort of warden, meant to help keep us on the straight and narrow. Time would insure that this fact become an irony.

Rekka was not alone in the Golden Eel the following morning when our party reconvened. A disheveled half elf, going by the name “Melvin” frantically poured over his arcane spellbook at the bar, in the company of Tal the Ale Wizard. Constantly referring to it as his “journal”. It may seem hypocritical for a cat man that babbles about ancient visions from across time to start calling someone crazy, but birds of a feather, flock in tether...or however that goes.

Our time in town and on the trail were typical of our dealings in Mistwood and the area, humorous and affable, followed by life threatening and dire. But the events at the temple... that was something else.

What we awakened inside that temple is dark beyond description. It took not only Reccas life, but his likeness, and used it against us. It is an aberration that must be undone, the very existence of those creatures is a profane discretion against the flow of time itself.

It took my life, but I am back, and I will watch its bones erode away like the grains of sand in an hourglass.

19th Caminra, 750 LCY
Our recent adventures have been perilous indeed.

First Nyla is almost ghosted away by some sort of dimension-leaping spider, it’s poison leaving her near permanent death! Second: I’m insulted and pestered by a haughty wizard nemesis of Melvin’s, he seemed to have some sort of magical ability wherein he couldn’t keep his mouth closed longer than 6 seconds.

Even during our later explorations we’re assaulted by protective hippogriffs, and...AND the rash dog tells gullible Captain Shem to climb down a slimy hole, and he nearly succumbs to an ooze! Given these disappointing experiences, I had higher hopes of Brenton, who had proved competent in our adventures prior, but he too came close to a “dazzling death” by flaming pitch. Without Samson and I these hapless individuals would be helpless. As you can imagine, babysitting tired me out so much that I had no choice but to take a quick nap literally where I stood.

Thanks to a rude and boorish awakening from the mutt I’m conscious just in time to watch our very own Shirk assassinate one of the hippogriffs we incapacitated! I really need to get him a way from that knife, I haven’t known him for very long but I’m sure he’s not typically this...murder-y.

And top of it all, our already battered, beaten and bruised collection of sorry individuals is taken by surprise in our sleep. By a group of numbskull orcs no less! They bore down on me while I was in my bedroll, slashing at me with falchions. I was quite literally a cat in some serious heat. Thankfully they’re even dumber than Shirk and I could disguise my magic with pained yowls(never heard alley cats copulating I assume), summoning an eagle to distract them and help finish them off. One more near death experience to add to the list, how many more before my 9 lives run short I wonder?