1st Qindirsday of Spring's Birth, Second Age 1853: On the 5th Respitesday of Winter's End, we plunged into the depths beneath Nyxthranis, where we stumbled upon a grim pile of aberrant corpses—twisted, unnatural things that set my nerves on edge. We made camp that night, but the darkness felt alive, watching us. By Malakar’s watch, the ambush hit—those same aberrant monsters lunged from the shadows. We fought them off, blades flashing in the dim light, and though we took some hits, we stood our ground. Action like that sharpens the mind and steels the body.
The next day, bandaged but unbroken, we pressed deeper down a spiraling tunnel, the air growing heavy with each step. A rhythmic pulse echoed—a heartbeat, unnervingly alive. Malakar scouted ahead, his Web of Eyes sharing the sight of a grotesque plant creature, its pulse throbbing through the stone. No time for hesitation; we moved to confront it.
The battle was brutal. The creature, a corrupted fey spirit of dreams in a form of an aberrant tree, shrugged off our strikes like they were nothing. Then a memory sparked—a tale of such a beast’s weakness to vital energies. I shouted it to the group, and Talindra infused our weapons with that power. The tide turned fast; steel bit deep, and we gained the upper hand. In the tree’s core, we found Luthadir, his body pierced by root-like tendrils feeding the monstrosity. Talindra’s medical precision saved him, carefully extracting the roots without further harm. Deprived of its fuel, the tree weakened, though it still resisted my spells. Afterwards, its resistances fell away and the party made short work of it. I collected some of its sap—potent, strange stuff that might yield something useful. We patched up, collapsed the mountain onto Nyxthranis to bury its horrors, and marched back to Hithfaer. Lady Aria sent Selestiel to track the escaped dwarven slaves, and I’m ready for whatever we face next.