[Jorann, Mazlor, Alana, Kee, Treen, Oliphas, Irem]

Tis been quite some time, that I hath ventured out of Enonia and St Eggyx’s Monastery not been my destination, but such was the case thrice these recent days. We requisitioned some riding horses for the entire company and equipped them fully.
[Adventurers only, not for the general public – Meantimes, Kee conversed with some elves, who expressed their concern over the Chaos beyond the Monastery Door and desire to examine it in person. While we respect their knowledge, we possess some mistrust of their ability to refrain from assuming a domineering role. We have taken their request into future consideration.]

On what was to be our first foray, the sky stormed and crackled with eerie, unnatural light, terrifying the populace and reminding all of the pyrotechnics preceding the Fall. We aborted our plan readily and remained entrenched in our (comparatively) warm and dry abodes.

Days hence, upon our actual exit, the horses grew steadily more unhappy as we made East down the road. I had held out slim hope that they were perturbed by the Trollkin shadowing us, but, alas, this was not the case. As we approached the clearing of the Inn, we halted and Irem scaled the mightiest tree available. He spied nothing, but claimed a disturbance in the air above. Our minds turned to the Dragon of Enonia and we determined not to chance our luck by proceeding into the open. Oliphas made claim that, as we turned tail and retreated West, he spotted the Dragon landing in the clearing. Whilst I would like to believe twas merely his imagination, my heart tells me it was not.

Yet again, we waited and made another effort. The horses were untroubled and we made to nearly the Inn without incident. There we heard a cacophony of squeaking and chirping, which sent us into the woods to circumvent it. We were relieved to be unmolested as we emerged from the forest and headed Northwest. Near day’s end, we came to an abandoned road, leading to a structure. We detoured into a patch of woods for the night and advanced in the morn.
It was a crumbling remain of perhaps a villa, with tall grasses all ‘round. Our approach startled some silent humanoids in rags, who fled back into the rubble. Despite being wary of The Damned, we hailed our peaceful intent, and with much caution, eventually made our way into their midst. A few of the poor wretches managed to explain that they were refugees from an orcish camp to the southeast! The main points of their sad and halting narrative were that they were grossly mistreated slaves. The orcs were doing much building and planning. There is something that the orcs feared, and during a battle with it/them, these brave souls made their escape.
We tended to them as best we could, binding wounds and lending spare clothing. Most of all, they ate and drank in a fashion that would make a brood sow look finicky and trepidatious by comparison. In a few days, we had escorted them back to the civilization of Enonia.
We arrived just in time to join in the tail end of a raging battle. A creature, looking for all the world like a garden slug grown the size of a small house, was surrounded by guardsmen. It was gutted not long after our arrival. None volunteered to explore the tunnel from whence it had burst out.

Our third excursion took us back to the villa rubble, where hours of diligent searching rewarded us with some trinkets of modest value. We reckoned it relatively safe, given the refugees’ survival, so we bedded there, travelling to the holy place Jorann sought in the morn.
It was another nearly demolished structure, but for a lone, tall intact tower remaining. Nothing of note was to be found, save for a great quantity of broken glass upon the ground and an altar at the pinnacle. Jorann gathered some lights and performed some rituals the next day and was granted with vision of a few local features – primarily two small hamlets and a mountain range.
On the return, we peeked into the Inn clearing for hints of the earlier noise, and found desiccated carcasses of cattle, one with a melted stump in stead of a head. We pondered whether perhaps the Dragon had brought them here or the goblins inhabiting the Inn had supplied them, deliberately or otherwise. No matter the case, the Inn becoming a way station for the Dragon would be a most inopportune development.
I also sounded a call on the tin whistle and received what seemed a match in the far distance. We were not of a mind to travel that far, nor did the Trollkin intercept us as we returned to Enonia.

[Personal journal only – I am of conflicted feelings about the final portion of our adventure. Certes, I have no doubt that the Light is true and good. Tangorin represents a competing faith, which could draw worshipers away from the Light. Yet, we know not the True Nature of the Light or from whence its power springs. Perhaps all which is true and good is shined upon by the Light, and individual gods, when righteous, merely represent another way in which the Light reveals itself? I shall meditate considerably upon this point.]

Mazlor,
Beacon of the Light