Dear Diary,
The morning began with an unsettling revelation over breakfast. Alistan, between sips of lukewarm tea, mentioned a strange dream he’d had about Cornu. A chill settled over the table as we each realized we’d shared the exact same vision.
In the dream, Auntie Patty stood in the shadows of Logvale, weaving her dark magic to resurrect—or worse, transform—Cornu into a grotesque undead hunter. The memory of his snarling face, now twisted by unholy energy, sent shivers through me. Auntie wasn’t just toying with us anymore; this was a declaration of war.
But Logvale was days away, and rushing off half-cocked wouldn’t do anyone any good. After some debate, we agreed to send a messenger to investigate. If Cornu truly walked again, we needed confirmation before making our move.
Still raw from our icy encounter with Mother Alma, the rest of the day was spent recovering. While my companions sought distractions, I retreated to the fields. Casting a spell to enrich the soil, I felt a flicker of hope knowing this would bring a bountiful harvest to Dogville—a small victory in the midst of chaos.
Meanwhile, Gael, Dadroz, and Luke ventured into the woods to scout for signs of Auntie. They returned with a troubling report: the geese were gone. Auntie had likely packed up her grotesque operation, either in fear of our reprisal or as a result of Mother Alma’s interference. But their search stopped short of the cabin, leaving us with unanswered questions.
Was she gone for good, or was this just another step in her twisted game? The uncertainty lingered like a storm on the horizon. For now, we could only wait—and prepare.
Alistan and Liliana, still pale and shivering from the aftermath of Mother Alma’s icy dinner, opted to stay behind in the keep for the day. I didn’t blame them. The frostbite lingered more in their spirits than their skin, and some rest might do them good.
As the morning unfolded, Gael ventured to farmer Tommel’s home for what he cryptically referred to as “a conversation about Sylvesse.” I didn’t pry. Some matters are better left private, and I trusted Gael would share if and when he felt the time was right.
Meanwhile, Luke buried himself in research, his curiosity and determination sharper than any blade. He scoured the kitchen for magical traces, piecing together the puzzle of the giant frog from my vision. His findings were chilling: the creature was likely a banderhobb, a grotesque, frog-like monster created by hags to assassinate a specific target. Auntie’s so-called "vision" of Noira’s death wasn’t a warning—it was a promise she intended to keep.
The realization burned in my chest. Auntie Patty wasn’t some mischievous meddler; she was methodical and cruel, a predator weaving her schemes with precision. If Noira’s life was the prize, she’d have to go through us to claim it.
To that end, we made a collective decision to bring Noira into the keep, offering her a permanent position there. Under our watchful eyes and within the protection of its stone walls, she’d be safer. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start—a chance to shield her from the hag’s clutches and defy the dark future Auntie sought to carve in stone.