From the Journal of Brom-lak Inksmear

Tarsahk 30, 1479

We dispatched some minions of Gruumsh today and yesterday. Both bands descended on us in the dead of night like the cowards they are. The second ambush came as an act of revenge. Apparently, the ogre priest took umbrage at the slaying of his orc pets. Though it had nothing to do with my mission whatsoever, I took great satisfaction in the events of the last two days. Evil was delivered a blow this day.

Mirtul 1, 1479

On the outskirts of Fort Dolor this morning, we encountered some rather recalcitrant farmers. They would divulge no more than something foul indeed brews within Fort Dolor. Or at least the forest next to it. Pressed for details, the farmers clammed up, directly all further questions with the Fort’s garrison. Though too proud to admit it, I sense fear in these hard-working folk. Fear of what, I cannot say.

Jirl Merris proved less friendly than her cousin in Bristol Watch. And even less open about Dolor’s troubles than the farmers beyond her gate. She came close to divulging details several times, but always stopped short with “. . . but no, I dare say no more.” She has the brusqueness of a busy tavern keeper, but like her fellows working the fields, I sense an underlying fear from her that conflicts her greatly.

She did reveal that Fort Dolor citizens have been disappearing. And all signs point to the forest as the dubious recipient. Coming in, a farmer let slip that the captain of the garrison had disappeared. Jirl was reluctant to confirm even that much, implying (rather lamely) that the captain wasn’t missing, but rather “gone.” As if to say he were on patrol or busy training a nearby ally garrison.

Whatever the source of the citizenry’s reluctance to inform and detail, it seems clear to me that a visit to the forest must happen. The earlier, the better. I’m traveling with a goodly band of adventurers and I’m betting they will agree to explore the nearby copse, if only for the chance at treasure and fame. I have no way to communicate with WLA, but I operate on the premise that I am charged with revealing, confronting, and defeating.

Of note, some members of my new adventuring friends took offense at some evidence I took from our first encounter with the orc Gruumans. The followers bear a curious sigil, unfamiliar to me so far. Curious, I lopped an arm off, just above the wrist, preserving the mark for others to hopefully identify. But when I pulled the arm out to show to Jirl Merris, some in my party balked! I must remember that not everyone handles such matters as clinically as I.