Strangers in a Sodding Bizarro World!
I could fill a library of spellbooks with the tales that have -- plagued? -- our party, but the words would do them a terrible disservice in the telling. Only our resident bard could shed light on the darkness we've seen, and even then...what horrors...

Suffice it to say, I have a reason for scrawling these words, and it is not to sum up the terrors that have befallen us. The fact that we are in seemingly another land, a place of fleeting daylight, and omnipresent, gloomy veils of fog and mystery. This is a land of people unwilling -- perhaps incapable -- of answering even the most basic queries, for they fear their own motives, nevermind for the safety of their loved ones, whom they seem more apt to torment than to work together with.

Nay, my purpose here is to set down the questions that plague us, that someone may one day answer them once we've left the village of Marias d'Tarasceon. There are so many!

The people of this village wield weapons, wands of explosive force. I cannot understand how this level of magic is so pervasive among a people so clueless as to its workings.

The priest of the town -- what temple does he call his own? I cannot say I've ever heard of it -- attempted to help raise a fellow from the dead, but rather smote the fate of the village with a terrifying curse, creating a veritable flood of terrible events: a ghoulish lord of mindless zombies, several undead, and a murderer, all coming from the family whose name graces the village: Tarasceon.

There is a madness that afflicts many here. They carry superstitions I thought might lend to our aid in fighting the undead, but instead have proven mostly baseless and certainly useless in protecting anyone from the undead. One woman hides behind garlic cloves, while a man raves of swamp gods and dark cults.

Daylight is fleeting: barely a few hours pass before the day gives way to a much longer night. I don't know if this will change since we helped lift the curse of the town...

And as to that, did we really help? Our battle against the undead -- Marcel, Luke, the Tarasceon's in general appear to have a penchant for becoming undead, murderers, or apparitions -- was clearly not going in our favor, and yet it seemed a powerful force finally destroyed the ghoul-lord of the cemetery. Was it by our hand that it was able to do so, or are we simply watching from the sidelines as a larger story unfolds?

We are lost, pure and simple, and our way home looks no more likely to appear before us than it did during the days of endless trudging through swamps and reeds. I fear we may never see Hommlet again.
Session: Game Session 52 - Wednesday, Dec 17 2014 from 10:30 PM to 1:30 AM
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