Metys Raddock's Journal A scrappy looking book with a thin leather cover. The yellowed pages within are dog-eared, ripped and some even falling out.

On opening the flimsy tome, the first aged page merely reads: Metys Raddock in the centre.

Date: Unknown

This is an eerie, unholy feeling. To write, to know what the word 'write' means, the connotations of the word, it's alien to us and yet somehow it's comforting and right. All we can remember right now are the Tentacles, them and the voices in our head. Strange, severe voices. Not even voices. Notions. But the fear they brought doesn't change no matter what we call them.

Date: Unknown

We found this book in the darkness when we got out, we're not sure if they know where we are or not, whether it was their intention for us to escape or if they look for us even now. We aren't sure how much longer we can survive.

Date: Unknown

They act, like everyone else, they act. The Tentacles are in our dreams, but they scare us not. They don't make us fear anymore. We have realised the truth. It is too difficult to say, to express in language. We sometimes think that words are too limited for the concepts mortals contrive, or the concepts of those of higher import...

Date: Unknown

We've found something.

"My name is Metys Raddock."

Description This odd section of the book ends with three blank pages left, before the writing begins again.

Sanctuary, Day One

Sanctuary, the stolen city of Svirfneblin design. The Machine. Whatever epithets there might be, mine is Home. I've decided to take a room at the Pissing Crone, and see what gold I can muster. I pray to Shaundakul, the Rider of the Winds, that my way be blessed.

Sanctuary, Day Two

"The Rat

For crumbs and scraps for to get fat, I’ll all but die, I am The Rat.

I’m nimble and I’m cunning, I take what can be found. My scavenging is bested By no other on the ground.

My face isn’t pleasant, Nor emaciated form. My teeth are naught poetic. Filthy, scraggly hair the norm.

I’ve nibbled at the edges, Of many a tasty pie. I’m daring and I’m foolish, It’s a good thing that I’m spry.

My enemies look down on me, Darkness, the only friend. They roar and hiss and curse, And chase me to no end.

My black and beady eyes, Take in the sights of horror. They’ve seen too much of Underdark, Thus I hide, a little borer."

Sanctuary, Day Three

A Tale Of The Dark

Six months ago I was under the tutelage of my father, a master of unarmed combat. I was to go deep into the wood as part of my training. To find the ancient totem of strength. I travelled for days without food or water. Hunger and thirst made me focus on the task at hand, it was to help sharpen my mind, that's what my father said. I crossed the Sacred Foot Hills, to the Mountain of Fire. The rocks were hot and the climb was close to unbearable. The climb took from dawn until dusk. My hands wrapped in bloody cloth, my boots beginning to blacken and char. So thirsty. So hungry. But I could not fail. I could not return until I had completed the test.

Breathing heavily, feeling weak and meditating to take my mind off the pain, I finally reached the top. There stood the totem, carved from a lone redwood tree in a patch of grass untouched by the mountain's fury. I kneeled down to begin my meditation. The sun set, and the stars began to shine. I heard a noise behind me and went to turn when I heard a loud crack and then there was nothing but blackness. I awoke with a hood over my face, heard the voices of others that shared my fate. I tried to move my arms, but realised they were tied behind my back. Something grabbed me by the arms and stood me up. We walked for what seemed like an eternity. I kept hearing a whip crack, people crying out in pain. We finally stopped, I could hear the noise of thudding, like bodies falling against the ground- like ragdolls. I waited. I heard footsteps growing nearer, soon they heralded someone standing in front of me. I kicked as hard as I think I've ever kicked. I heard a yell, a scream of agony, it seemed to grow more and more distant until it vanished with a splash. The sound of others running in my direction told me I'd have to act quickly. I jumped forth, in the direction of the one I kicked. I felt the warm embrace of the water all around me. I slipped my legs through my hands and pulled my hood off, only to realise it was still pitch black. I chewed the rope that bound me until it fell apart, and I swam hard until I reached a shore, deep in the blackness. I wandered, fearing for my life for what seemed like three or four days, when I came across this city. And here I've been, ever since.

An elven lass told this tale to me, I'm sure she won't mind me using it to entertain.

Day Three, Continued

Inquisitor Belarius. I'd heard of him before, and I'd heard the rumours about the Hoarrans supporting drow- But I could barely believe my ears when I heard he was selling chainmail of Drow make. I told him I was interested. Perhaps I am, I acquired a suit of armour from the Red Skulls that I'll use in a performance or two- maybe the Drow suit can be an addition to my seemingly growing collection of costumes. Eight hundred coins, though. Or if he takes the bait of my offer to be eyes and ears for him, and if I make a few Psalms for the Temple it might be mine for less. Or nothing!

The Red Skulls

Black dawning, But there's no fear. Lies forming, The bloodied altar's bare.

The spinners, Would testify, We'll suffer, When sacrificed on high.

Forced risers, False ritual, Apprises, The body and the soul.

Our union, Their fall from grace, 'Ascension', Will seal them to their fate.

Transgression, They prey on grief, Their mission, To 'purify' belief.

Their altar, Gives power and blight, But they falter, While we are shining bright.

Black dawning, But there's no fear.

I'm told it's foolish to wear the Red Skull uniform when I play it. Call me a fool.

Sanctuary, Day Four

There was an explosion at the Hoarran Temple, which was easily put out thanks to my enchanted gloves. The priest was behaving oddly, and there was an old woman in the wreckage. He scooped her up and put her into another room- which he then stopped people from going into. I'd thought the explosions might have been happening because of the goblins taking over Mycopolis... But now I see it's more complicated than that. By Shaundakul, I'll wrest Shar's grasp on the Hoarran Temple and bring these secrets into the open.

Description A piece of paper is pasted into the scrappy little book at this point, stuck in with some sort of smelly adhesive.

Hoarran Justice, Blowing Stuff Up?
Citizen 1: "Just an explosion, without any cause?" Derber: "Yes. Is the fire put out?" Citizen 2: "Aye." Derber: "Okay. Thanks. That's all I need, then." Citizen 1: "Who is the old lady?" Derber: "A resident. Nobody. All of you, thank you for your time. You are no longer needed, please leave." Derber: "Stay the hell out!"

Halfling: "I don't suppose anyone here remembers there was an old lady near the Shrine of Ascension before that blew up?"

Courtesy of,

A Helpful Scribe

Almost got my head bitten off (not really) for these songs, Captain something or other wants me to tell people I sing them to that they're his songs. I don't know about that, though. I'd probably tell them better anyway. I didn't think he'd notice me writing them down, darn it.

Whisky-O

Now whisky is the life of a man. Always been, since the world began.

Now whisky gave me a broken nose, 'n whisky made me pawn me clothes.

Whisky is the life of a man, Whisky from that old tin can!

A glass of whisky all around, 'n a bottle full for the shanty man.

General Taylor

General Taylor gained the day Walk him along, John, carry him along.

General Taylor gained the day Carry him to his burying ground.

To me way hay, you stormy Walk him along, John, carry him along

To me way hay, stormy Carry him to his burying ground

General Taylor died long ago, he's gone me boys, where the winds never blow.

We lowered him down with a silver chain We made sure he wouldn't rise again

We dug his grave with a silver spade His shroud of finest silk was made

General Taylor gained the day, General Taylor gained the day.

That'ns General Taylor.

I joined Meladon's Maps, as well. Shaundakul be with us, we'll map the whole of the Underdark!

There was something odd about that Cassandra girl, though. She didn't seem comfortable, or something. Can't put my finger on it, exactly. I'll just have to wait until I meet this Elrindra. That dark should be a good one.

Sanctuary, Day Five

Trolls! I slew Trolls today, how exciting. They almost scared me half to death at first, then I actually felt the fists flying. Anyway, Elrindra's first map is done and a portion of the Underdark clear of danger for the time being.

I drew up my own map as well, for personal use and safe keeping. Shaundakul, guide me on the paths I've laid should I ever cross them again.

Description

A crude charcoal map of the Low Road is sketched into the book at this point.

It turns out the bombings were done by a drow, who's dead now at the skeletal hand of this Scholar. A necromancer fellow, who has a bounty on his head. He had a half-orc asking around the Lower City to seek the people's opinions on him as well.

And Cassandra doesn't exist. It was actually Elrindra interviewing me. Funny. Meladon's Maps is a pretty small, but growing company now that I see it, though.

Elrindra, Durdain, that Black-Clad Goof, Me, Kin and Sev?

Something like that...

Until next entry!

[Updated with the map image]

Description The journal accompanies Metys in an untimely and unfortunate death out in the Underdark.