The party started in the Memory Palace of the King from the previous session. After MUCH deliberation, they decided to remove the Deck of Many Things from the palace and store it in its golden storage case, thus leaving Narcosa defenseless. After much more deliberation, they decided to rest the night, and then go towards the lair of the serpentfolk, in order to try to work out a peace treaty.
While in Chokepoint Keep, they encountered a dragon, lots of stuck doors, and were confronted at night by an orcish tribe.
This journal is a small red book whose pages are mostly empty. Throughout its first few pages, various articles have been written regarding the woman's travels to meet the party. Where the handwriting in the early articles is stylized and methodical, the later entries are scrawled out, more musings than recollections.
There comes a point in every person’s life when they decide what they are. Mine came earlier than most, when that dwarf caught me palming that knife from his belt. When it came down to it, when I knew what would be in store for me when the stump alerted the authorities, I knew what I was. I was a girl who took the easy route, because the path to principle was too damn hard. Virtue was a luxury for people with full bellies and no real difficulties in life. And I was comfortable with that. I am comfortable with that. But when that call for a second scouting party came out… I wasn’t expecting to find much more than monsters to slay when I came out here. Certainly no moral quandaries lied in wait, right?
Alas, the gods hold no favor for the atheist. Who would have thought I’d have would up with this sad excuse for a scouting party? Or that, when their choices for who they would be came, they’d settle on ‘monsters’ and ‘apathetic?’ I’ve no love for the red-folk. Though, suppose I’m among them now, red mist be damned. Given the choice, I’d be fine wringing them for a bit more of what they’re worth. But, while they may not be equals… I suppose any culture that extorts like they do back home are people, right? I mean… they’ve some basic rights, yeah? What that little cretin and his monster of a butler were talking about… its genocide. And I’m sitting here in this ruin, trying to rest off the last of these wounds… and I know it won’t end well. I know that on the horizon, the looming choice of who I want to be is about to come up again. Will I be alright, if I take the apathetic path once more? Can I cross that line? …Will they end me if I don’t?
Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, midling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary, the definition is blurred in the eyes of the gods. If I’m to choose between being an enabler to genocide and a corpse, I’d rather not choose at all… I suppose… if I see my own death looming, and I can’t work up the resolve for their choice, I’ll resort to the simple path, and do what I can to these lands to do: killing monsters.