From the triple-locked journal of Lairdslen Sonoly

It’s the middle of the night…the blood of the Sahaguin we just killed is still fresh... I can’t get back to sleep. I know I haven’t written for a while now…writing in a diary seems like such a childish thing to me now. I feel so much older and beyond that. But here, I am, writing, on this chilly and moonless eve. It’s getting darker earlier as the season passes, and that only makes me more and more aware of how much I’ve aged this past month.

I think all of us have. Ashleigh, newly resurrected by the clerics of Malikar, even has a streak of gray in her hair. I offered her some of the henna that I use to blacken my (already dark)(I just like it to be extra black)(but it’s practically that way already) hair, but since she’s blonde, it didn’t make much sense, and so the gesture ended up being just an awkward exercise. I hope we’re still friends? Her friendship has come to mean more to me than I ever could have expected. I can tell she is straining to be her old self; but there cannot be any doubt that death, even after resurrection, changes you.

Maybe I died too, a little, with her. The next time I’m at a looking glass, I’ll check for gray streaks.

I wonder how mother and Nails are getting on? I wonder if they’re much older now, too? Nails must be getting tall. That day that the owl of the council flew in our window with that fateful letter…feels like eons ago. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. The Dungeon Master is gone, stolen by dopplegangers (we suspect sent by the thieving, but powerful, lich of Malikar, Sadiq), and we’ve had to abandon its rescue in favor of more pressing matters. We may never get it back, so our line of communication to the Council – to Valon – is cut, and along with it, any hope of me getting a message to mother.

We are utterly on our own now, chasing down the visions of our dreams with no guidance from the Council, or anyone. Perhaps we are chasing our own deaths – perhaps the council is desperately trying to contact us to tell us, “Turn back! It’s a trap!” It DOES seem suspicious to me that the loss of the Dungeon Master (AND the amulets, and scrolls, and scythes, of the cult of Orcus) coincides exactly with the sudden appearance and infiltration of a VERY suspicious character in our close-knit group.

By all appearances, this “Helena” seems to be one of us, a Chosen One…she recounts the same dreams – of the Hyena Man leaving the Targnol Port cemetery, and of Jacqamule handing off a baby to a tear-tattooed man. Jacqamule claims, and this “Helena” reiterated, that SHE is the baby from all of our dreams…that Jacquamule sold her to Faradon (the tear-tattooed man) , a trafficker of babies from the dragon-ruled isle of Arkturan. But I don’t believe her. I ESPECIALLY don’t believe that she could be my HALF-SISTER??!!! Jacqamule claims that the woman who brought her the babe – Helena’s mother – had been the lover of none other than Valon’s most notorious, womanizing, egotistical, “celebrated” painter – my father. Helena’s mother had asked Jaqamule to kill the infant, and I wish she would have, as this story is CLEARLY (to me) a ruse to cover more sinister origins. Corellon, forgive me for penning such a dark thought, but I cannot deny that I feel it – I do not trust this “Helena.” I believe she is a changling, an illusion, possibly a doppelganger? Possibly sent by Sadiq, instructed to tear our party apart? Perhaps they have secret communications – perhaps Sadiq is gleaning the content of our dreams from the Dungeon Master and psychically communicating these visions to her minion, whom she has disguised as one of us. It is brilliant, really. That could really be it.

It’s not that I doubt that my father had other lovers – I know he did, I’m just one more of his bastards, with which Valon is no doubt sadly overpopulated. It’s that I do not believe that this red-haired, freckled, insufferably cheerful and optimistic girl could possibly be my relation. She is like my opposite.

Curses, it now occurs to me – we are already in the palm of this “Helena” ‘s hand! It is HER maps – which she just “happened” to acquire at a “library” – that we are following! Possibly to our doom?! We are bound for Tarnol Port in Viridistan, so from Malikar we sailed into Warwick (a huge but entirely uninteresting metropolis), and from there gained passage on a fishing boat to the village of Thelemy. We were hoping to get another boat from Thelemy to Maskholm, the next major city on the coast, and from there, strike out by foot to Targnal Port.

We were not able to get a boat out of Thelemy, though, so now we’re walking up the coast, hoping to encounter another village where we can catch another fishing boat going up the coast, and in this way make our way to Maskholm. Maskholm is said to be the domain of an evil illusionist, Bolosh. Corellon!! Perhaps this “Helena” could be one of Bolosh’s creations... perhaps she was, or IS, trying to lure us to him? I am definitely not ruling anything out. I will try to pay closer attention if the subject of Maskholm arises again, and see if her face betrays some secret charge.

Right now we’re camped out on the wet rocks of the coastline…Blech! There was no cover to be found (there was a cave, but it was occupied by a family of bears), so we just made the best shelter we could and are trying to stay warm and dry and possibly even get some sleep. I HAD gotten to sleep before, but was woken up when we were attacked by sea creatures , which Sadush said are called Sahaguin. They were welcome combatants after these last, grueling encounters with entangling vines, swarming spiders, and paralyzing venom. Nonetheless, I can't get back to sleep. I’m writing in hopes that, if I get all these thoughts and fears off my chest, I’ll be able to rest.

We will push on in the morning. I know Viridistan is where we need to go – my dreams could not be making it clearer. I just must remain vigilant in our journey there, and be sure that this “Helena” does not lead us astray.