Journal of Arcadius

We are on a rowboat - summoned by Sztuczka's magic, slowly rowing ahead of the poison mist constructs, upon tainted water and hemmed in by an unknown but doubtless dangerous mist. We have established that the mist is an Aboleth-style poison that takes away its victim's ability to breathe air , though it does not on its own grant the ability to breathe water. Thus, without intervention by magic or an Aboleth, death is almost certain. Truly they are cruel.

Thankfully, the gods have mercy upon us.

Three northern deities, Odin, Hel, and Angrboda, praise to them, have granted us a blessing of protection, and enchanted our weapons with ghost-touch. Or at least, all of us now but Walter-Tupper. The folly and ingratitude of this creature have crossed all bounds today. Lord Herakles, praise to him, sent his sacred immortal lion to keep watch over us and provide inspiration to Walter-Tupper. And what, what did the fool do? He fired a bolt from his crossbow at it! Thankfully, it bounced harmlessly off its celestial form... but the insult, the sacrilege, the shameful cowardly dishonor! What kind of man, or excuse for a man, is blessed by a god, then spits in his face?

At least for his ingratitude, he was punished with the loss of the blessing upon his weapons. Alas we may together pay a price for their absence in the fight to come. Through his pettiness and cowardice, he endangers us all. Truly, if we live and lest he change, I can no longer in conscience tolerate this worm in our midst.

I am reminded of an ancient curse of my land, which I here adapt.

Shame upon thee and thy deeds Walter-Tupper, o' wretch! When next we come to a crossroads, I shall travel with thee no longer upon the great road.

In the meanwhile, we must row, tirelessly and patiently till we run out of free water, then return to land and plod on a step ahead of the mist, hoping for the return of our friends. I have prayed to the northern gods, Lady Hel in particular, that she and her peers may guide our friends to teleport back to the remaining free ground of the island, and not into the depths of the mist.

May their return be safe, may it be soon.

Praise and honor to thee, o' lord Pelor! May I be worthy of thee!
Praise and thanks to thee, o' lord Odin!
Praise and thanks to thee, o' lady Hel!
Praise and thanks to thee, o' lady Angrboda!
Praise and thanks to thee, o' lord Herakles!

*A*