Log - 9 - 12

The corners of the page have dried but visible water stains still rummage through the report. One of the letters is pressed flat to the page with ink bleed cleanly through to the reverse. Beside, a crude map has been copied out again in the margin with the eastern gate, marked properly this time with the original left in place for comparison.

'I know weddings aren't so commonplace past the borders of the city, I may as well have taken a look.'

A sketch of a lithe frog thing clothed in plate, hands wringing, drawn twice over as though the first pass refused to sit still. A tag of 'Harold' with a placeholder for a serial number.

'He met us not too far from the city's gates and walked us south. He seemed of an honest sort, but he is nervous. I hadn't thought much of it until we reached the encampment. A wedding is a special occurrence after all.'

Marginal studies of bullywugs run down the side, broad and mottled, weapons slung cross their backs. One stands taller in a chief's attire, with a few question marks pointing to various garments. In three of the smaller sketches, a bullywug is shoving another within a large tent, and in two more they are slapping Harold. Nearby, attendees sit along chairs befitting a swampy soiree.

'The king greeted us with the only common word he had: Guests. He was very pleased with it an used it often.'

A drawing of something aspiring to be a gong, hammered flat from what looks to be salvaged plate, with struck notes trailing off in a wobbling line. Slightly above the drawing is text, 'here comes the-', this last word lost beneath a folded sheet pinned to the page. It opens downwards into a square of parchment roughly a third of the page. Unfolded, a maw takes up most of the space, inked first and heaviest, rising out of the water with tentacles and squiggles all throughout with agitated lines, and a snippet of chain hangs low on one of its limbs. To its side is a serial number.

Below marginal studies return, this time of guards with their heels in the mud, back further away whilst facing the waters.

'I'd expect a warmer welcome for the coming consort from this amphibians, but a part of me shares the same sentiment of "Yeah this thing might eat me."'

A drawing of the king at the front of the gathering, arms spread wide before the giant swamp-thing.

'Surprisingly his vocabulary was twice the size I had credited him with, unveiling his second favourite word: Snacks. It is title I'm sure many would be glad to carry, though preferably elsewhere, and preferably not while our host was gesturing at the lot of us before his bride.'

Thumbnails crowd the lower half of the page, drawn small and hurried. Bullywugs scattering in every direction available to them all in various states of disarray, another in the corner seems to be taking a nap, and off to one side, tiny yet drawn with more care than the rest, a frog in ill-fitting plate holding a torn piece of tent canvas in front of himself.

'The ceremony concluded and the reception began immediately, at which point confirmed the invitation had been sincere and we were the catering. In the corner of my eye I'd see that frog tear a piece of the tent, holding it between himself and the wedding, and I can find no fault in it. Of everything attempted in the clearing, it was the only plan of these frogs with any visible amount of thought behind it.'

A drawing of the king from behind, rotund and low, arms still spread as they were in the portrait before. A limb is wrapped twice around his middle and he has been hoisted clear of the soil, feet hanging. Beneath him the water is stippled densely, and a second smaller frame beside it shows the same stretch of water with nothing above it.

'Our host was collected halfway through the festivities and hoisted into the shallows. The water closed then and went a colour I will write down as misty red, out of courtesy to the squeamish.'

A wider sketch of the clearing afterward. Chairs on their sides, the gong face down in the mud. Bullywugs drawn strewn where they fell, and the tent still stands with a square missing from it. Harold is drawn among them, standing still this time, mouth open. A list runs down beside him in his own words, long, ticked, continuing onto the reverse of the page and then some.

'He had a great deal to say about bullywugs once there were none left to hear it. From what I heard, and seen, his first hand experience hasn't been amiable. We then spoke of the city, he wasn't against the idea, and the return home was pleasantly quiet.

A sketch of the walk back, the company strung out along the mushroom caverns, Harold nearer the middle and the eastern gate towering from a distance.

'I should visit Harold soon, see if he's accustomed well to the city. Given his disposition, he might find the bathhouse calming.'

Signed at the bottom are the initials 'A.A'

Log - 8 -21

There are dried marks in some sections, must be written by once wettened hand.

'It'd been just a hole, a small one busted open by a small mole. I hadn't expected it to develop into this the next time I returned.'

A sketch of a small cavern leading down into the darker waters, to its right drawn is the latest iteration with boats and a direct tunnel. Metal supports line against the ceiling with lighting hung here and there.

'We'd been called over to assist in escorting a package across the lake. With all the concerns that come with our initial briefing. The captain was a little enigmatic, but he had one of those pups.'

Scribbled lower are those gathered around the captain, this temporary crew scheduled to escort the first shipment across the waters, one tusked, a small one, a fox, and Johnson. All stood upon varnished steel and copper. To the left is a tunnel carved out to the mentioned lake.

'That scenery I'd known would exist only in my memory, but I welcome this addition to what we had then.'

The group is drawn on the boat in various states of alert, with some on polar opposites.

'There were texts, of those before, of sea beasts, large enough to crush ships that once sailed on waters. Way back when. I hadn't doubted the captain's word, but seeing the creature first-hand will take some getting used to.'

The sea monster is scribbled in full, serpentine and toothy, wrapped around the boat. The group is drawn retaliating against it. Notes mention some potential weaknesses, but pure bludgeoning and violence was enough to deter it, ground it to a pulp.

'We hauled it to the other shore with some rope, and after laying the cargo down we'd carved what we could of it.'

The serpent, now dead is simply drawn with x marks for eyes, a small note adds 'buoyant'. The cargo to the side is drawn with the note 'too heavy'.

'The captain mentioned we'd fought just one, had there been a nest nearby? Do these waters go deeper into other locales? As construction continues, we'll disturb these once still waters, attracting more beasts like we did in those caverns.'

'Should we meet again, that beast back then, we'll be sure to take it down.'

'A.A.'

Log - 8 - 9

Signs of clutching are strewn at the edges of the notes of this paper, claw marks, pecking even given the faint tears near the center. The writing is subpar, but legible enough should one stare at it for a minute.

'danger city threat landslide dig much'

Perhaps inheriting the artistic flair of its creator, there's the familiar ledge, a slope, stick figures swarming near a wall, one with a hat, another with a sash, one has grown a tail and another tusks. Two hold blades, pointing towards constructs eating rocks.

'click, whir, hand talk'

A hand scribbled then here in an odd position, with something more spindly holding each finger.

'talk argue fight punch kick shoot explosion'

Non-sensical drawings litter the page, with scenes overlapping one another yet somehow in chronological order, from negotiations to the agitation to the fighting(?) that ensues down the line. Dragging, punching, swinging... One scene involves a figure with pointed ears sinking down the river, another brings circles with horns bashing themselves against the others, and one having the hatted figure tossed by an explosive. Every line in this section seems agitated.

'ouch'

The pattern lightens, the group gathers in a circle holding hands, each with a curve for a smile and dots for eyes. A building reminiscent of the clinic on main street beside them.

'everyone okay'

The stamp that below is reminiscent of a pigeon's foot.

The hand that follows is much neater,

'What'

Log-7-28

An autopsy report in another more careful hand has been slipped between the pages of the log.

'We went on an investigation beyond the city limits on a murder,'

A small scribble of the involved group drawn from behind, gathered around a halfling guard opening a fence gate leading to two red splotches. One splotch strewn with few drying portions not entirely cleaned up, and another more rotund corpse laying about. Someone has closed the latter's eyes, at the very least.

'In shorthand, behind those gates is grotesque, further detailing on the missing corpse lies in the autopsy itself, and I wince at the struggle.'

Then further attempts at drawing what little flora existed along a trail.

'We tried to track down the missing body parts, and we'd been dumbfounded to learn one of them were still moving about. We followed that path as best we could, and it lead to a supposed dead end.'

There are numerous arrows pointing towards a specific corner of an alcove, beside that is a drawing of mask fragments, leading with an arrow pointing to the mended set. It has a stern, not quite angry expression.

'Doroteya had done a ritual, and I'd thought it'd been some sort of greeting. At least one in a different language none of us could understand. I found it mildly amusing when it simply vanished afterwards.'

Two symbols, separated enough from its muse may as well be recognized as tumbleweeds to those who've yet to see the original glyphs.

'Disappointed, we lay with our silence and scratched the sand for further clues. We drifted for minutes, until explosives beneath Iggy had detonated, for those few seconds the cavern was alight. He'd been charred and unconscious, just as a fray would crawl out of those walls. It wasn't the first time I've come across the likes of it, but it spoke in a common tongue and a familiar voice, one familiar enough that one of our own would order to cease hostilities. Many of us were too busy running away, or dragging the unconscious goblin elsewhere to have any change of plans.'

A legion of shades guided by Lyx's hand is drawn holding back the large frayed, the group is portrayed in various states of disarray, be it running off or fighting back, and a minute scribble of a pigeon attempts to drag an Iggy off by the collar.

'Something about the fray's presence, or aura, had warped, the witch, I recall seemed to talk it down, calm it even. Doroteya with her quick thinking managed to pull the goblin back to a conscious state, and with a shot from his crossbow he took the frayed down.'

There's a drawing of something muscular and aquatic, waving behind some fences and pots.

'We returned to the city after collecting our bearings. Other than Iggy who somehow managed brinksmanship, we were relatively... arguably unscathed. We spoke amongst ourselves on the way down, of the group responsible for this, the names of the frayed. I recall a thought, there may've been something walking on the surface, amidst the mist, watching us through the walls.'

'Leaving Iggy with the hospital staff and the others to their errands, we parted ways. I'm left with this unsettling, hairy, feeling that this may be the start of our unraveling in the nature of the frayed, the mist and the soul.'

Signed at the bottom are the initials 'A.A'

Log-7-6

The paper of this entry is more weathered than usual.

'The trip itself wasn't arduous, the idle chatter and company can keep your mind off things, like the wait, or where you're going to, or what you'll have to deal with.'

Pinned to the side unfolds a map and of a trail much larger than any previously drawn in this journal, split into three sections with estimated dates of around when each had been taken. There are notes on shrubbery, scents, a warning against the sleeping habits of tabaxi, and extensive documentation on the Taglock's design, from it's appearance down to its predicted creation.

'We worked alongside other groups to handle the impending threat before it'd fester into much worse. We were given equipment before our departure, helmets to handle the fraying mist's effects, and a device known as a Taglock, this can be attached to a weapon or used with a stubborn hand. We were to deal with the threat primarily with these creations.'

Smaller sketches of the party involved in various states of conversation, sharing a meal, keeping watch, usually looking elsewhere. At some point these little vignettes end, drawing that of a giant hand and a bone jutting out of the ground surrounded by foliage.

'The mist can warp your spells, everything magical in its presence can and will likely be used against you.'

Scattered in one section of the page are further examples against using magic in vicinity of the mist, and notes of the group and their approaches, from sketches of their martial technique to casting practices against the frayed. To the side is meatball of flesh and a stink aura exuding from it, and a small, extremely simplified cartoon of an artificer pinching his nose and pointing a thumb at it, the angry eyebrows look freshly added.

'It warped harmless critters into malicious creatures, we dealt with them in time, but it'd taken a heavy toll on the others.' Snuck in is a drawing of a dwarf being drenched in a barrel comprised entirely of healing potions, that's what's written on the side.

'I watched my senior kickflip against a giant hand and jam one of the Taglocks into the bone, after a few seconds, it puffed right into mist. We had the misfortune to deal with its effects, and had we not had our masks, I'm sure they'd been much worse. I myself came across hallucinations- I think they'd been at least- beyond the burns and the withering, my body was suddenly filled with lacerations, I heard of words I least wished to hear, and something maddening.'

A blob next to a spiky blob. 'Oh, on a separate note, someone was trying to seduce a purple worm with some sort of deranged mating call in the cavern below ours. This may be a hallucination on my end as well, and I may need to visit a therapist to sort out my thoughts.'

There are doodles of the party recovering from the battle, drawn from a secluded corner of the cavern. Some figures seem ecstatic, some more contemplative, and then there's a catgirl seemingly high off her kite, staring blankly into space as a smaller figure feeds her berries.

'Still, I think we're okay, we're all going home.'

There's a colored drawing including blue and white pigments, of a night sky drawn from below the hole closest to the surface, thick with sapphire clouds, with smaller wisps of light peeking between them, an arrow pointing to it with the phrase 'stars?'.

At the bottom are the initials 'A.A.'

Log 6-24

A warped sketch of a strange mushroom with a tongue lolling out, alongside a smear of ink. A tag of 'Mushdog' in rigid scrawl, and a serial number on the side.

'We went past the city perimeter and explored a mushroom forest, set up some traps to keep the specimens safe, but at our arrival we came across something grim. We decided to rescue what was left of the dogs,'

There's a drawing depicting something curled over in a small enclosed cove, and a few somethings wriggling over it.

'We left none of them behind. It will be much safer in the city than these wilds,'

There's an addition of a tail-less mushroom, wide mouthed and screaming, climbing and licking another figure. Multiple other sketches of figures that were present in the encounter run along the page, as with an update of the map beyond city limits.

Nearing the bottom, a careful drawing of some mushpuppies, much too small when compared to the arm that craddled them.

In what seems to be a fresher coat of ink, 'Ah right, I named this one Truffle.' Is written in a tired hand paired with an arrow pointed to one of them. It seems this Truffle is slightly thinner than the other ones. There's notes on trying to figure out its diet, from wax candles to other mushroom species, then settling on what might be a design for a compost bin. Chances are it will be much healthier in the near future.

At the bottom are the initials 'A.A', nearby multiple pawprints going into and fading out of the page.

Log Date: 6-17

'Escorted flour on a cart at the request of a kind baker, learned more of settlements beyond the city limits. Defended the shipment while hunting strange tusked creatures with dark hides.'

There is a hastily scribbled drawing of what one may describe as a Moorbounder if they squinted past the chicken-scratch notes on weakpoints, questionmarks and notes to selves, is pinned to the side. There's also an addition of a scene of a Moorbounder slumped on a cart, which has one figure poking at it, one other annoyed.

'There was a settlement, they seemed to be doing well, save for the lack of food which we'd delivered. Safe places past the hole, they must have some reason, outcasts maybe?'

The are more drawings of tents hugging a cavern wall, alongside an awful attempt at drawing a woman holding some sort of scraplock, it seems the author is not very suited to drawing people.

'We were held a 'lock-point at one point by an elvish woman. She didn't shoot us so I assume she's not a deviant sort.'

A line with an approximation of the location of the tents are drawn alongside a roadmap and edges of Underhaven.

'There is life beyond city limits. Surely there are other cities beyond this one. Perhaps we are not alone.'

Signed at the bottom are the initials "A.A."