Elves and worms

Dear Diary,
 
On the fourth of Brigan, it was finally the full red moon of the Witch again—a night steeped in mystery and magic. The night when a fey emissary of King Ulther arrives at the ruined church near our district. Our plan was to confront the emissary, though the thought filled me with a mix of anticipation and unease. Tensions between us and the Fey High King Ulther have been high ever since we opposed several of his schemes. Still, our goal was clear: to ensure the safety of the people in our district. We intended to approach this meeting diplomatically, as one lord to another.
 
Gael and Liliana prepared a gift—some food and perfume, tokens of goodwill to hopefully ease the conversation. It was a small gesture, but in the world of the fey, even the smallest gestures can carry great weight. As we set out, the sky was a deep, unsettling red, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. We followed the old path to the ruined church, a trail so overgrown it felt like the forest itself was trying to reclaim it. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and the faint sound of music drifted toward us from the distance.
 
As we drew closer, the music suddenly stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The ruined church loomed ahead, its crumbling walls illuminated by the flickering light of dancing candles visible through the gaps in the stone. At the entrance stood an old, dry fountain, its basin cracked and empty. Stairs on either side led up to the church, their steps worn smooth by time and weather. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, as if the very air was holding its breath.
 
The tension was palpable as we approached the ruined church, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the troll stepping out from behind the fountain. My hand instinctively went to my staff, memories of our confrontation with the troll lich flashing through my mind. But this was no undead abomination—just a troll, clearly in service of the fey. It raised its hand and spoke in broken Common, its voice gruff but firm. "Stop. Not welcome," it said, its eyes narrowing as it assessed us.
 
Liliana stepped forward and explained that we were the lords of Wolf’s Rest, here for an audience with the emissary. The troll grunted, then demanded we leave our weapons in the fountain. Reluctantly, we complied, not wanting to antagonize the fey before the meeting had even begun. Liliana, however, simply dispelled her massive sword, causing it to vanish into thin air. The troll blinked, clearly confused, but eventually nodded and allowed us to pass.
 
We ascended the stairs, the air growing heavier with each step. Small fey darted about, their tiny forms flitting behind stones and debris like mischievous shadows. One of them, a diminutive figure with a rapier at his side, approached us. He introduced himself as Genlamin, a guard tasked with ensuring only those with good intentions reached Lord Quinn. His tone was polite but wary, and his eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence.
 
Gael explained that we were here to build a friendly neighborly relationship. Genlamin, however, seemed unconvinced. He suggested a few "tests" to prove our worth, his smile just a little too sharp for comfort. I exchanged a glance with the others. Dealing with the fey is always a game of wits and wills, and it seemed this meeting would be no exception.
 
The fey’s idea of a "small test" was as bizarre as it was unsettling. Genlamin pointed to a set of small pebbles and instructed us to throw them at a group of tiny fey who had scurried up the wall. Liliana immediately protested, calling the idea cruel. Genlamin, however, simply shrugged and agreed—though he added that it was also "very funny." His casual tone did little to ease our discomfort. We hesitated, wary of falling into some kind of fey trick. The last thing we wanted was to offend Lord Quinn’s court before we even had a chance to speak with him.
 
Gael, ever the quick thinker, suggested a compromise. He offered to take the place of the small fey, reasoning that it would be better than attacking members of the court. Alistan, perhaps a little too eager to prove his willingness to cooperate, picked up one of the stones and threw it at Gael. Mid-flight, the pebble transformed into a dagger, striking Gael square in the shoulder. He winced as the blade embedded itself, and the fey immediately accused us of smuggling weapons into the court. Genlamin’s tone turned sharp as he declared that we must provide some kind of music as recompense.
 
Gael, clutching his shoulder, argued that it wasn’t our doing. "It doesn’t make sense for me to stand here and have a knife thrown at me by my best friend," he said, his voice tinged with both pain and exasperation. Alistan, caught off guard, blushed and stammered that he hadn’t realized they were best friends. The moment of awkward bromance aside, Genlamin seemed to accept Gael’s explanation. He conceded that the rock likely "wanted to be a dagger," as if such a thing were the most natural occurrence in the world.
 
Genlamin, seemingly satisfied with our "aim," decided it was time to test our intelligence. He summoned three doors, each leading to a different peril: a pool of lava, a cage with lions that hadn’t eaten in five years, and a large drop into a pool of hungry alligators. The choice was mine to make, and I stepped forward, determined to prove our worth. I quickly reasoned that lions couldn’t survive without food for five years, so I chose the second door. To my relief, I found myself in a cage filled with lion skeletons—dead, not undead. It was a macabre sight, but at least I wasn’t being devoured.
 
Genlamin, apparently amused by our efforts, declared he’d had enough fun and finally allowed us to proceed. We walked further into the church, entering the main courtyard. The atmosphere was eerie, with only a few stones and a couple of redcaps in sight. There was no sign of Lord Quinn. Gael called out a greeting into the aether, his voice echoing through the ruins. To our surprise, one of the stones unrolled itself, revealing a small fey with a long beard. He introduced himself as Lord Quinn, his voice carrying an air of authority despite his diminutive size.
 
He asked for our names, but we were careful not to give them, knowing the power names hold in the fey realm. Instead, we introduced ourselves cautiously. When Lord Quinn asked why we were here, Gael explained that we had come for a respectful visit. The fey lord, however, shook his head, his expression stern. He accused us of disrespecting fey traditions, failing to honor our deals, and upsetting the balance that had been in place for centuries. "Chaos can be fun," he said, "but not always."
 
Gael, undeterred, replied that he still hoped we could become good friends. When Lord Quinn asked what that would entail, Gael spoke of mutual respect and leaving each other’s subjects alone. The fey lord seemed surprised, admitting he had expected us to come with rules and demands, to be the "big bogey men" he had heard about. Instead, he found us… reasonable.
 
With a whistle, Lord Quinn summoned the shadows to dance around us. Small lights flared to life, and the music began again, filling the courtyard with an otherworldly melody. It was a strange but beautiful sight, and for a moment, it felt as though we had made progress.
 
The night took an unexpected turn when Lord Quinn invited us to sit and eat with him. He walked away, flanked by his redcap bodyguards, and led us into the main hall of the ruined church. There, we were served sweet wine and pastries adorned with colorful frosting. The atmosphere was surreal, the air filled with the faint hum of fey magic and the soft glow of dancing lights. Liliana presented the gifts we had prepared—food and perfume—to Lord Quinn. The fey lord, ever the eccentric, drank the perfume straight from the bottle, smacked his lips, and declared it tasty but "could be sweeter." I couldn’t help but chuckle at his peculiar tastes.
 
We stuck out like sore thumbs among the small fey, our towering frames contrasting sharply with their diminutive forms. But as the night wore on, the divide seemed to blur. Liliana, Alistan, and Gael took out their instruments and began to play, their melodies blending seamlessly with the fey music. The courtyard came alive with laughter, song, and dance, and for a few hours, it felt as though we were part of their world. We celebrated with the fey until the moon began to set, its red glow fading into the horizon.
 
Just before the end, Lord Quinn approached Liliana and gifted her a rope as thanks for her earlier gift. She accepted it graciously, though I couldn’t help but wonder what purpose such a gift might serve in the hands of the fey. As the moon disappeared, so too did the fey, vanishing into the shadows as if they had never been there at all.
 
We made our way back to the fountain to retrieve our weapons, the troll still standing guard. As it wandered off, I seized the moment to ask if it knew of any trolls who had disappeared for a few days, hinting at the troll lich we had encountered at the cathedral. The troll, however, seemed genuinely confused and claimed no knowledge of such a creature. It was a dead end, but at least we tried.
 
As we walked back to the keep, the weight of the night’s events settled over me. We had made progress with Lord Quinn, but the mystery of the troll lich and the stolen lance still loomed large. The fey may have retreated for now, but I know their games are far from over. And so are ours.
 
The next day was a whirlwind of preparations as we readied ourselves for the journey to Latebra Velora. The trip will take about ten days, and we’ve spent the morning gathering supplies and making final arrangements. Our mission is clear: investigate the Black Knight who has been spotted near the Draconic capital. I’ve packed every book I own on the Immortal Knight Nemesis, the enigmatic and almost mythical group to which the Black Knight belongs. If there’s any clue to be found about his weaknesses or motives, it’ll be in those pages.
 
Alistan swung by the cathedral this morning—though I suspect his visit wasn’t solely for spiritual reasons. He apparently spoke with Galiene, who shared that they still have no leads on who attacked the city. However, they did discover that the fires were started with special lamp oil, a detail that might prove useful later. The gate to the city’s mausoleum was also damaged, which could explain where the lich obtained the bodies to create its undead minions. Before Alistan left, Galienne gifted him a sending stone, explaining that it would allow them to stay in touch. Alistna mentioned, somewhat cryptically, that if the need was great, she could be there within the hour. Alistan didn’t elaborate, and I was left wondering how Galienne had access to such high-level magic. There’s more to her than meets the eye, it seems.
 
Hayley went to inform Ambassador Rachnar of our departure. He provided her with an introductory letter to ease our entry into the Draconic Empire. It’s a small gesture, but one that could make all the difference in a foreign land. As for me, I spent far too long packing my books and ended up rushing to Elsa’s manor later in the morning, missing her as she had already departed for the palace. I left flowers and a note excusing my absence for the next month, assuring her she would be in my thoughts every day. It’s a small comfort, but I hope it conveys how much she means to me.
 
When I returned to the keep, I stumbled upon a bittersweet scene between Gael and Dynia. Gael was explaining, in his usual dismissive tone, that it was far too dangerous for her to come along. Dynia, tears in her eyes, agreed reluctantly. It’s clear she cares deeply for him, but Gael remains stubbornly oblivious to his own feelings. I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Love is complicated enough without one party refusing to acknowledge it.
 
We set off from the keep early in the morning, leaving Dynia and the comforts of home behind. Our path would take us north, past the ruins of Ravensfield, towards the Draconic Empire, a place steeped in both history and danger. As we passed the site where we fought the construct dragon, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. The memory of that battle is still fresh, the creature’s lifeless form now a subject of study. Several guards stood watch near an impromptu palisade, their presence a stark reminder of the threat the construct once posed. The rhythmic clang of tools echoed in the distance, likely scholars from the Briar Ring breaking down the creature’s remains for further investigation.
 
As nightfall was approaching, we set up camp nearby. The guards, recognizing us, allowed us into the palisade. Inside, we saw laborers meticulously dismantling the construct, piece by piece, each fragment carefully carried to a pool of acid for disposal. They warned us—though we already knew—that approaching the creature would drain our life force. It was a grim reminder of the power we had faced and overcome.
 
We spent some time talking with the laborers and guards. The guards and wizards were from Keralon, but the laborers hailed from the surrounding rural areas. As we chatted, they shared unsettling rumors of a strange disease spreading to the north-west. Animals were developing black patches, growing weak, and dying. Several farmers had already lost entire herds to the illness. Hayley noted that it sounded like a disease affecting herd animals.
 
The news piqued our curiosity. While it would mean a small detour to the west, we decided it was worth investigating. If this disease is as dangerous as it sounds, it could pose a threat not just to livestock but to the people who depend on them. We planned to head north to see what we can uncover.
 
The journey eventually took us right up to a mostly empty grassland, save for four sickly cows grazing listlessly. Liliana and Gael were the first to notice the telltale signs of disease—black spots and an emaciated appearance. Concerned, we left our horses with Alistan and approached the cows for a closer look. I hung back, wary of catching whatever illness plagued them, but my friends quickly noticed something else: strange patches of grass stained with what looked like dried blood. I used my magical senses to investigate, but found no traces of enchantment or foul play. Whatever had happened here, it was purely physical.
 
Liliana used her divine magic to tend to one of the cows. The creature seemed to perk up slightly, a small but hopeful sign. Meanwhile, Hayley took a more scientific approach, examining the cows closely and collecting samples from the ground. She concluded that the animals were severely sick and starving, unable to digest their food properly. She also made a disturbing connection: the cows had definitely grazed on the blood-soaked patch of grass.
 
Gael, using his primal magic, communed with the cows and fed them magical berries to ease their suffering. Through their shared connection, he learned that the bloodstained grass was the site of a gruesome event. The cows’ sisters had been killed and eaten there by a flying predator with claws and teeth. The description sent a chill down my spine. What kind of creature could do such a thing?
 
On the other side of the field, Alistan struck up a conversation with a young boy named Kal and his dog, Zara. The boy had an open wound on his hand, surrounded by a black, necrotic ring. When Alistan mentioned the wound, Kal pulled back, reluctant to show it. After some coaxing, he allowed Alistan to take a closer look, but it quickly became clear that this was beyond Alistan’s expertise. He called us over, and Hayley examined the wound. She diagnosed it as a bite, with the black ring indicating dying flesh. Liliana tried to heal it with her divine magic, and while the wound improved slightly, the boy winced in pain. Then, to our horror, a worm several centimeters long crawled out of the wound, falling to the ground and dying.
 
I recognized the worm immediately from my studies: a Kyuss worm. These vile creatures burrow into their hosts, eventually reaching the brain and turning them into zombies. When the infected bite others, the cycle continues. Kal explained that he had been bitten while helping clean up the dead cows a few days ago. The implications were dire. If this disease were to spread, it could devastate not just the livestock but the entire region. We needed to act quickly—and carefully.
 
We followed Kal back to his village—or rather, his hamlet. It was little more than a cluster of ranches, barns, and a well, nestled in the middle of nowhere. A middle-aged woman, Kal’s mother, approached us, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. We explained the situation, and her face grew pale as she listened. She thanked us for helping her son and invited us inside for tea, a small gesture of hospitality in the face of such grim circumstances.
 
Over tea, she told us about the recent wyvern attacks on their cows. The wyverns, she explained, were behaving strangely. They would attack the cows but leave them uneaten, as if their only goal was to spread death. The villagers had begun to suspect that the wyverns were carriers of the disease, but their hunters had been unable to track them down. It was a troubling revelation, and one that added urgency to our mission.
 
We asked if there were others in the village with wounds similar to Kal’s. His mother mentioned a stable boy who had been bitten one night, and we resolved to investigate further before moving on. The last thing we needed was for this infection to spread unchecked.
 
We made our way to the barn where the stable boy’s bite had occurred. As we approached, a faint moaning sound reached our ears, sending a chill down my spine. We asked one of the villagers to open the barn door for us, but as they did, a zombie lunged out, grabbing the villager and dragging her inside. The sight was horrifying—the infection had already taken hold, and now we were face-to-face with its gruesome consequences.
 
The fight was on. We couldn’t let this creature harm anyone else, and we certainly couldn’t let the infection spread further. Gael was the first to react, firing a volley of arrows that embedded themselves into the creature’s rotting flesh. Dadroz darted to the side, his rapier flashing as he stabbed the zombie in an attempt to make it release the screaming villager. For a moment, it seemed to work—but then the zombie’s wounds began to close, its grotesque form regenerating before our eyes. It turned its attention to Liliana, its claws raking across her arm and drawing blood. Worse still, a worm wriggled out of the zombie’s wound and immediately began burrowing into Liliana’s skin.
 
I didn’t hesitate. I launched a firebolt, the flames engulfing the zombie and reducing it to a smoldering heap. But as the first zombie—the stable boy—crumbled, a second zombie crawled out of the barn, its lifeless eyes locking onto Alistan. It clawed at his armor, unable to find flesh, but Alistan stood his ground. With a swift slash of his sword, he struck the zombie, drawing its attention away from the villager and toward himself.
 
Meanwhile, Hayley rushed to Liliana’s side, her dagger flashing as she swatted away the worm before it could burrow deeper. It was a close call, but Liliana was safe—for now. Gael finished off the second zombie with a well-placed arrow, the creature collapsing in a heap.
 
The fight was over as quickly as it had begun, but the aftermath left us shaken. The villagers were safe, but the infection was spreading, and we were no closer to stopping it. Liliana’s wound, though treated, was a stark reminder of how dangerous this disease could be. We needed to find the source—and fast.
 
After the chaos of the zombie attack, we searched the barn thoroughly, hoping to find answers—or at least ensure there were no more undead lurking in the shadows. Thankfully, we found no other zombies, but the signs of the stable boys’ presence were everywhere. It was clear they had been living there, sick and suffering, for some time. When we checked the villager we had saved, we discovered another worm inside her, a grim clue that the infection was far more widespread than we had initially thought.
 
We called everyone from the ranch together, determined to root out the infection before it could claim more victims. Alistan, with his commanding voice, and the villager we had saved helped gather the people. As we examined them, we found several more infections. Through questioning, we learned that all the infected had been sleeping in the stables and had woken up during the night feeling something bite them. It was a chilling pattern, and one that pointed to a deliberate source.
 
Hayley began performing complicated surgeries to remove the worms. Liliana’s divine magic reserves were too depleted to heal everyone, so Hayley stepped in, her hands steady and her focus unwavering. Most of the surgeries went well, but one—an older man—nearly ended in disaster. As Hayley began, the worm started burrowing deeper, forcing Liliana to step in and mend the wounds to stop the bleeding. It was a close call, but they managed to save him.
 
While Hayley and Liliana tended to the infected, Alistan and I investigated the barn. At first, we found nothing unusual, but then we noticed a foul smell emanating from beneath the floorboards. We pried them up and discovered worn tracks of a zombie crawling around underneath the barn. It was clear now: the zombie had been depositing the worms that were infecting the villagers. We followed the tracks outside, finding a small hole hidden behind a bush, with tracks leading away from the barn.
 
We gathered the others and let Gael take the lead, his tracking skills unmatched. The tracks led us to a small, overgrown temple on the other side of the hamlet. The place was ancient, its stone walls covered in moss and ivy, and the tracks led straight through its crumbling entrance. Whatever was inside, it was clear that this was the source of the infection—and possibly the key to stopping it.