Dear Diary,
The weeks of preparation are done. We are moving on Hillfield.
Our target is the source of the mind-control spores: Lady Magnolia’s garden. But a frontal assault on the gates would be suicide. Fortunately, Ileas unearthed old records of an ancient mine running beneath the city—a backdoor that could lead us straight into the sewers and up into the noble district. We just had to find the entrance.
Finding it was a lesson in the difference between arcane study and... whatever it is Gael does. While Gael spent twenty minutes trying to interrogate a local wood pigeon—struggling to explain the abstract concept of a "tunnel" to a creature worried about worms—Hayley and I swept the area. I found it, of course. A concealed entrance in the hillside. I couldn't help but beam with a bit of pride as I called the others over. The bird, for the record, refused to go near it. Wise bird.
The entrance was boarded up with heavy planks. Gael found tracks nearby—large spider prints that seemed to jump around, appearing and disappearing, completely unfazed by physical obstacles. Ethereal travel. Wonderful.
I set up my Tiny Hut for the night, a dome of safety against the unknown. We slept, but the unease was palpable.
This morning, we breached the mine. Prying the planks loose made a terrible amount of noise, echoing into the dark. In response, we heard a skittering sound from deep within. When the light finally hit the space behind the planks, we realized why it had been sealed. The floor was littered with small sacrifices—coins, trinkets, small crude effigies. The locals weren't trying to keep people out; they were trying to keep something in, or at least appease it. We boarded the planks up behind us. There is no turning back now.
The tunnel stretched into the dark, aiming for the city’s underbelly. There were no tracks on the ground, but the ceiling and walls were scarred with the prints of those same massive spiders. We reached a junction with six tunnels: two marked with an =, two with an arrow up, and two with an arrow down. We found an old mining cart and, deeper in, a massive industrial elevator.
The controls were cryptic: S, S, M, F. Next to it stood a small control shack, locked tight. We broke the lock—another thunderous noise in the silence. Immediately, a deep, resonant movement answered from the depths. And then, it hit us. A sudden, overwhelming wave of hunger. Not natural appetite, but a magical, gnawing starvation. We had to stop and eat just to function.
We boarded the elevator. We set it to the second 'S' and began a slow, creaking descent. We switched to 'M', picking up speed, the darkness rushing past us. We stopped at the fifth level when Gael spotted a body.
We investigated. It was a human, or what was left of one—mummified, drained, a husk. The wave of hunger washed over us again, sharper this time. I cast Detect Magic. The aura is suffocating down here—enchantment and necromancy, designed to induce this ravenous state.
Then Gael froze. "Footsteps," he whispered.
They emerged from the gloom—pale, emaciated horrors with gaping, endless mouths. The Hungry. We hoped to stay hidden, but luck was not with us. They shrieked and sprinted toward Liliana and Alistan with terrifying speed.
I did what I do best. I summoned a Fire Elemental, a roaring avatar of heat to draw their ire. But in the chaos, I lost track of Ileas. He wasn't fighting. He was wandering away, his eyes glazed, following some unseen lure down a side tunnel.
One of the creatures lunged at Liliana. Rhyme, her spirit wolf, intercepted it. The beast tore into the wolf with brutal efficiency, shredding Rhyme’s form until he dissipated into mist. Liliana screamed, but held her ground. I sent my elemental slamming into the fray and unleashed a Fireball, scorching the stone and pushing the shadows back.
But Ileas... he was gone. From the darkness where he vanished, a single, terrible musical note resonated. A dissonant chord that hurt to hear.
And then the air shimmered.
Phase Spiders. Dozens of them. They blinked into existence all around us, drawn by the sound. One materialized right next to me, its mandibles clicking.
I am writing this as we run and hide, flee and fight. I am casting Fireball behind me, burning the webs, burning the dark, but they keep phasing in. Two of the sorrowsworn are dead, but the spiders... they just keep coming….
— Luke