Entry 26: There will be blood!

Dear Diary,
 
It’s been a few days since I’ve found the time to write. We’ve been on the road ever since the battle at Ravensfield, and the memories of that night still weigh heavily on my heart.
 
When we fled the burning village, we stood at the edge of the forest, watching the flames consume the houses, my home. A mixture of sadness and anger filled my mind as I watched everything I had built over the last five years turn to ash. This place was as much home to me as Tarn had ever been. But the heart of Ravensfield lies with its people, and they have escaped. That knowledge offers some comfort, though it does little to ease the pain.
 
But most of all, what I felt was anger. Anger at the injustice, at the sheer arrogance of a cult that sacrifices innocent people for their twisted, deluded agenda. The flames of Ravensfield might have burned away my home, but they’ve ignited a fire within me that won’t be easily extinguished. I swear on the ancient spirits that I will have my revenge. Midnight will come for them, and when it does, they will know the true meaning of fear!
 
There was still the looming threat of the army, and we weren’t sure how to deal with it. If they decided to pursue the villagers, we would have to stop or delay them. But in our current state, battered and drained from the battle, I doubted we could take on an entire army by ourselves. I sent Fiachna to scout their movements, hoping for some sign of what they planned next. When she returned, her news brought a mix of relief and concern—they were lingering on the other side of the village, waiting for the flames to die down.
 
Reynis was another problem. He had fled into the forest ahead of us, and we hadn’t seen him since. The question was, should we go after him? At this moment, he posed little danger to anyone but the remnants of the cult’s army. If we decided to take him to Keralon, it would be a drain on our resources, and searching for him would cost us precious time.
 
After weighing our options, we decided to follow the villagers and deal with the army only if it became necessary. Fiachna stayed behind to keep watch, with orders to inform me of any movements or changes in their plans. When we finally made camp for the evening, she returned with news that eased my mind: the army had entered Ravensfield after the flames had died down, but instead of pursuing us, they had set up camp there.
 
It seemed they had no intention of following us. For now, at least, we had escaped their grasp.
 
That night, as we camped under the stars, our uneasy rest was interrupted by a shadow passing overhead—a massive draconic shape, flying back and forth from north to south. The sight of it sent chills down our spines. Had our enemies brought in a new dragon to hunt us down? The thought weighed heavily on all our minds as we pressed on towards Keralon the next day.
 
By noon, we reached the end of the caravan of refugees. Their faces lit up at the sight of us, relief mixed with sadness as we confirmed the loss of Ravensfield. But I could see the same determination in their eyes that burned in my own. These people were survivors. Homes could be rebuilt, and we would rebuild them, stronger than before.
 
A few hours later, we caught up with Zem and Saphira. I hugged them both tightly, grateful to see my friends alive and well. After we shared our harrowing tale, Saphira had some unsettling news of her own. That morning, she had discovered strange tracks in the forest—trees pushed down, scorched earth, as if some enormous creature had landed in the night and taken off again before dawn. The description sent a shiver through me. Could it be the dragon we had seen flying overhead?
 
The next few days passed in a tense silence as we trudged alongside the caravan of refugees, all eyes scanning the skies and the dense forest surrounding us. The dragon that had been trailing us became an ever-present shadow, a silent threat looming over our every step. On the first night, Gael and Dadroz, ever the stealthy scouts, slipped into the forest to gather more information about this mysterious creature.
 
When they returned, their news was disturbing. The dragon wasn’t a living creature, but a construct—a monstrous machine clad in heavy metal plating, with fire seeping ominously between the cracks. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light as it watched the camp for hours, then silently departed to the north. The implications were troubling.
 
The next day, we spent hours debating what this mechanical dragon could mean. The obvious conclusion was that it had been sent by the cult, but if that was the case, why hadn’t it been used during the attack on Ravensfield? And why wasn’t it attacking us now? The questions circled in our minds, gnawing at us. I suggested that it might have been sent by someone else, perhaps an ancient enemy of Amarra’s—someone who had their own designs on us.
 
Despite all our discussions, we found no clear answers. The real question became whether we should confront it. Alistan, Liliana, and Luke were eager to face the dragon head-on, hoping to eliminate the threat before it could strike. Gael, Dadroz, and I were more cautious, arguing that it was best to avoid a direct confrontation unless we knew more. After much debate, we decided to leave it be. It was only observing, after all, and if it was just a construct, we wouldn’t gain any useful information by attacking it.
 
Looking back, I can see that this was a mistake. We had underestimated the danger, and soon enough, we would pay the price for my caution.
 
Today was supposed to mark the end of our flight from Ravensfield to Keralon. By nightfall, we would reach the city’s gates. Confident that we were within reach of safety, we stopped to rest and eat at noon, allowing ourselves a moment to breathe. But that moment of respite was shattered in an instant.
 
All at once, chaos erupted. People began attacking each other, their eyes glazed over as if overcome by some dark, powerful charm. Luke, my brother, suddenly turned on Zem, his hands tightening around his throat, while Dadroz, our sly and nimble rogue, plunged his blade toward Gael without hesitation. Panic gripped me as I tried to use my magic to locate the source of this madness, casting detect thoughts in a desperate bid to uncover the culprit—but there was nothing. Just the noise of terror and confusion, the clashing of weapons and cries of pain.
 
And then, the true nightmare began.
 
With a deafening roar, the dragon construct descended upon us, its massive form tearing through the trees like they were nothing. The beast unleashed a torrent of fiery breath that swept across the camp, killing several refugees in an instant and engulfing Alistan and Liliana in its infernal blaze.
 
But we were not so easily broken.
 
We fought back with everything we had. Arrows flew through the air, striking the dragon’s metal hide. Spells crackled, lighting up the sky as we poured our fury into every attack. The dragon construct, though powerful, began to falter under our relentless assault. It tried to flee, its wings beating furiously as it sought refuge in the skies. But we weren’t about to let it escape.
 
A volley of well-aimed arrows, followed by a blast of magic, struck the creature in its exposed joints, and with a final, echoing roar, the lifeless husk of the dragon plummeted to the earth. It crashed into the forest a short distance away, sending up a plume of smoke and debris as the trees splintered beneath its weight.
 
While some of the group hurried toward the crash site, I remained behind, my heart heavy with the responsibility of tending to the refugees. The devastation around us was overwhelming. Some of the injured were beyond saving, including our beloved mayor, whose loss was a sharp blow to the already shaken community. We did what we could for the survivors, but for many, all we could offer was a quiet, somber burial by the side of the road. I spoke a few words for the fallen, trying to honor their memory in the midst of our grief.
 
When the others returned from the crash site, their faces were grim, and the news they brought was unsettling. The dragon construct was indeed dead, but its remains were far from harmless. The metal plating that had armored the beast came from hell itself, infused with dark, evil magic that still lingered even after the construct’s destruction. Worse, the chaotic charm effect that had driven our comrades to madness continued to emanate from the wreckage, making the area dangerous for anyone who ventured too close. This was no ordinary battle aftermath; we would need to inform the knights of Keralon so they could deal with this twisted relic. If left unchecked, it could bring harm to innocent people who might stumble upon it.
 
By the time we finally reached Keralon, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the city gates were closed for the night. Alistan, ever the diplomat, managed to convince the guards to open the gates and allow the caravan of refugees inside. The sergeant on duty questioned us about the events that had led to our late arrival, and we recounted the harrowing journey and the destruction of Ravensfield.
 
After ensuring that the refugees were safely within the city walls, Alistan and I made our way to the Long Table, the meeting place of the hedge knights. We needed to inform them of everything that had happened—the attack on Ravensfield, the cursed dragon construct, and the letters we had sent. We needed their support and resources now more than ever. Meanwhile, the rest of our group took the prisoners to the Briar Ring, where they would be secured until they could be properly questioned.
 
We were fortunate to secure an audience with the leader of our circle, a rare opportunity given the gravity of our situation. As we explained the events that had unfolded—the destruction of Ravensfield, the cursed dragon construct, and the looming threat of the cult—he listened intently, his expression growing more severe with each passing detail. When we mentioned the knights who were supposed to assist us, he frowned and confirmed that three had indeed been dispatched to aid us. The fact that we had not encountered them suggested that something had gone terribly wrong.
 
Recognizing the urgency of our report, he assured us that he would escalate the matter directly to the king. These were not merely local concerns but threats that could imperil the entire realm. The acknowledgment brought a small measure of relief, but it also underscored the enormity of the challenge before us.
 
Before leaving, we inquired about Robert Talespinner, the enigmatic bard who had traveled with us. As a regular at the inn, we had expected him to resurface by now. However, to our dismay, we learned that he hadn’t been seen in days. His sudden disappearance only deepened the mystery surrounding him. Could he truly be the cult’s champion, or was there more at play here than we realized?
 
With heavy hearts, we regrouped at Erna’s Wish, a familiar inn that offered a brief respite from the turmoil. The weight of the day’s revelations sat heavily upon us, but the night promised at least a few hours of rest. Or so I thought.
 
When I entered my room, I was greeted by an unexpected surprise. There, resting innocently on my pillow, was a letter. My pulse quickened as I picked it up and carefully broke the seal. Inside was an invitation—one that could either be a boon or a trap. It was to a ball celebrating the opening of the new embassy of Velora Morenthene’s people.
 
I couldn’t help but wonder, what could go wrong?
 
21st of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree