Entry 2: The 26th Day of the 10th Month of the First Year of the Third Millennium     In the past week I have greatly enjoyed the company of my friend and champion Simon Templar. He is of a quick wit and provides both levity for me and our whole band as well as comfort for me with reminiscences of our childhood days together. In such a dark place as this province, both are welcome - I daresay even needed. I have also in this past week found myself having several more philosophical conversations with Jean DeVrai, my other champion. He is still more the brutish type, but I feel he and I may be the most closely connected of this band at a spiritual level.     On the morning of the 22nd day, we entered a narrow canyon, not seeming quite natural, but with the remnants of buildings that must have once formed a town lining the walls. As we entered the canyon we noticed a band of rat-like creatures in the street far ahead towards the other end of the town. Skaven! What a perfect opportunity to learn more about these creatures.     Just then a set of clouds rolled in, the likes of which I have never seen. These were not manifestations of anything natural, but a tortured whirl of air and darkness that quite literally swooped down upon us. A lightning bolt - no, a transfer of darkness and energy - struck down Jean DeVrai, and our whole band set to running down the street. Another bolt struck down Simon Templar. And then, as quickly as it came, the phenomenon was gone.     Immediately following this, a loud shot rang out and we stopped in the street. I realized that the skaven had a hold of some type of long rifle and that they were shooting at us! Perhaps this was their town and we were intruders. I noticed then that almost all the skaven in this band wore green tunics. Was this town home to an order of rat-priests or mages? Then it struck me that the 'storm' we had faced was likely an act of dark magick inflicted on us by these vermin. I looked back and saw both my champions beginning to stand - at least they were all right. Another shot rang out. It appeared we were in for a fight.     I angled to the buildings on the left of the road, with one of my marksman. Another marksman took up position behind the cover of a monument in a small square, while my third marksman headed to a building on the right. My center guard walked up the middle of the road, and my champions struggled to catch up and regain their composure after the devastating magicks that had tormented them subsided.     We ended up trading missile fire with these rat-beasts, and it became apparent rather quickly that we were outnumbered and outgunned. I saw a swordsman drop in the street and remain there, followed by the marksman who had taken cover behind the monument. I had several shots ring true and wound deeply, only to see the skaven rise again and continue shooting. Finally, I took one down and saw it not get up - they can be defeated, though apparently it is not easy.     The next thing I knew I had rats crawling all over my body. I fended them off, but while I did a skaven stepped into the open. He had a particularly vapid look about his excessively drooling face, and he bore long metal claws on his hands that appeared almost to be of him instead of carried by him. I shot at him, hitting him squarely, but failing to harm him. He charged me. I braced with my spear, again hitting him squarely but inflicting no apparent damage. It was then that I felt the warmth of blood against skin - even before I recognized the attack. I was wounded multiply, and down. Summoning the last bit of strength I had, I got up and ran, calling an order to rout to my men - an order that was heard by few and acknowledged by none, for two thirds of my band had already run or been lost, and the remainder needed no prompting to flee.     When we finally regrouped outside of the canyon, it became obvious that we had been brutalized by a superior quantity of dark power. Four besides myself held serious wounds, one of whom - a swordsman of the center guard - was mortally wounded. But worst of all, Simon Templar was missing! I was unable for some time to spend any energy pursuing his whereabouts, but over the course of the next 3 days, while I recovered, I learned much that I had not witnessed about the battle.     As I was off on the left flank, the swordsman in the middle held their ground. Soon, they were approached by the ogre-sized rat-beast I had seen several days ago, along with its skaven master in another green tunic. As the champions were now also present, they decided to take the initiative and charge the beast before it could charge them. The four together rushed the ogre, all landing blows, not a one of which appeared to phase the beast. The ogre’s flailing arms slashed through the men, sending Simon, Jean, and a swordsman to the ground. Most recovered in time to flee for their lives, but Simon did not, and one swordsman reported seeing him being executed as he lay there unconscious. I recoiled at the recounting of the event and shudder still at the mere thought of it.     Oh, Simon! How I miss thee, friend. Bravest of champions, childhood companion, and defender of Magritte’s honor. You are now gone, denied even the rites of burial. You will be remembered and honored.     Oh, foul skaven - you have stirred my blood and awakened in me a bitter enmity for all your kind. I now burn with a hatred I did not know possible. When my band is healed and better equipped, I will seek you out again and face you on the field of battle, and vengeance shall that day be mine.     Another day passed, but as deeply as my heart grieves, I must this day return to the business of rebuilding my warband and updating my journal. Provisions are running low, though we have now largely healed of our wounds. In the last several days, my men have found 3 more shards of wyrdstone. We sought out the nearest outpost of civilization. On the way I was sensing the presence of the wyrdstone more acutely than ever before, and as we passed an overturned cart off in a ditch to the side of the road., I got a strange feeling about it. We searched it and found 9gc. Perhaps this wyrdstone is instilling in me new talents or senses. I earnestly hope there are no mutations to follow. I have sensed an additional strength about myself as well since I recovered from my wounds, and I am not sure whether to attribute this to the rigors of our travels or to some darker, more secret undercurrents.     We arrived at the output and sold the wyrdstone for provisions and 65gc. This brought my treasury to 109gc, though this would go nearly far enough towards hiring new hands and further equipping our band.     I have sent for a swordsman to replace our loss. We will be more careful with our true fighters now than we were in this last battle. And despite the irreplaceable loss of Simon, we have several positive notes that came from this battle. First off, I have noticed that one of the surviving swordsman has been showing exceptional talent. As we train, he now sprints far ahead of anyone else when we run, and in combat his quickness and timing are unparalleled, as he seems to be able to step aside from many blows at just the right moment and return with more strikes than were dealt to him. I will have to focus extra attention on this lad, for he may have the makings of a true champion. Secondly, we have found in this outpost a lone Marienburg swordsman of some experience. He seems to fit well with the remaining members of the center guard, who have seemed to have improved their accuracy with the bow. While he is demanding a 12gc premium to be hired, I feel he may be worth it and have hired him into our band. Thirdly, all of our marksmen and center guardsmen seem to have learned to slash more frequently with their daggers and swords. Perhaps the reality of survival in this land is bringing out the best in them. Finally, Jean deVrai has also seemed to become stronger and more skilled with his pistols. These are all good signs towards our ability to survive, so long as they are not the forebodings of mutations to come.     I purchased equipment for the new swordsman - sword, buckler, and bow. My treasury is down to 2gc. The loss of Simon’s body is doubly hurtful now, as his equipment could have gone far. This is a paltry concern compared to the loss of the man, but at a time such as this it is hard to ignore.     As we wait for the new recruit from home and bide our time with training, my mind keeps returning to the skaven. I find my heart is filled with emotions that are more than simple hatred. My old curiosity is still there, and my desire for secrets - and ultimately for the truth - drives me more strongly than my enmity. I have no doubt that I cannot bear the sight of a rat-beast, I must still find a way to make contact with them and learn more about them and from them. Perhaps through the use of some sort of emissary or intermediary I could approach them. But how? I will ponder this in the days ahead.     I have pursued some other conversations this afternoon and have determined that wyrdstone is indeed dangerous. If worn closely, it can cause grotesque mutations - all the more reason to continue selling all that we acquire. Gold can affect a man’s heart and his judgment, but it doesn’t deform one’s body. However, there seem to be some shards of wyrdstone that can positively affect a being, and there are alchemists scattered throughout the outposts of this land who are skilled in divining the properties of particular shards. Turn the page. Back to the previous page. Close the journal.