Entry 4: The 3rd Day of the 11th Month of the First Year of the Third Millennium     The last three days have been as a dream, for what has befallen us I can barely accept much less recount! Yet I must put pen to paper to ensure this is in fact real...     We just yesterday became aware of rumors of a great hairy beast that had been slaughtering innocents, and last night there were multiple occurrences. As a full moon was present, there was some speculation that this beast could be a werewolf. This, of course, is preposterous, for such creatures only exist in the myths we hear as children from parents who wish to scare their young into obedience and a docile temperament. However, there are many bounty hunters present who are now offering a reward for the head of this beast, and a reward is not something at which we scoff.     We arrived that evening in a section of town known to us a bit from earlier wanderings, and it was clear there were many warbands searching for this beast. I took position in the high ground, Middenheimers to my left across a gorge, and a small band of skaven downhill (and thankfully downwind) from me. I spied hobbits across the town, and strange man-beasts in the farthest reaches of this section. We shouted an informal agreement across the gorge to the primitive Middenheimers - humans should stick together.     It did not take long before I saw the unbelievable. One of the skaven down the hill from us transformed into a hideous wolf-rat-man-beast! It clearly took its own band by surprise and began attacking its own kind, which quickly routed in every direction. Jean took down 2 of the fleeing Skaven with a single pistol shot, but they soon regained their composure and fled.     We had been attempting to bring our band down a hill to draw nearer the beast while at the same time taking up a defensive position in the ruins of a hillside building of some size and having multiple floors. The flight of the Skaven, however, was faster than we anticipated, and we found the beast among us before we were prepared. For what seemed like an eternity, we massed against this beast, backing off and firing when possible, and engaging it in hand-to-hand combat when not. The beast consistently threw down my men, but they seemed able to keep getting up to pursue the fight. Finally, the beast fell at the hands of the center guard, and I drove my spear deep into its breast, after which it remained still, but not before one of my own marksmen also lay still with deep wounds shaped as from the jaws of a wolf.     As we began to regroup and regain our composure our thoughts turned to the head of the beast. But we did not have time to put action to such thoughts before we found ourselves at the receiving end of arrows and the explosions of blackpowder that emanated from the weapons of the treacherous Middenheimers. My remaining two marksmen and one of the center guard fell to their onslaught before we were able to re-establish communications with them. They, believing themselves to be of kindred spirit to this wolf-thing would not be deterred from its carcass. However, they did offer to cease hostilities and 'reward' us with 25gc to withdraw and let them at it. As we found ourselves in a fighting position that was not to our advantage we took their offer and withdrew.     Fortunately, all of my men recovered quickly. The marksman who was felled by the wolf-beast recovered far too quickly in my eyes, and those of Jean. In our searches we found a straggler who talked extensively with me and seemed to know quite a bit of this beast we had slain. He told us many stories, but when he learned that one of my men had been bitten by this wolf-beast and survived, he grew agitated and proceeded to tell me of the effects of a disease of which he swore my man must be afflicted, and he hinted at the possibility of a recipe that could cure such a disease. Then, for wont of further knowledge to impart, and with no small look of fear, he departed our company. Jean and I made a pact to keep a close eye on our potentially diseased marksman as we began to regroup at sunrise.     We had found 3 shards of wyrdstone, which we sold for 65gc. The youngblood for whom we had sent showed up at dawn that day - I have no idea how he found us, though I suppose tax collectors (and their sons) have their ways. We introduced young Henri Ferrette to the band, giving him a small purse of gold and finding him a spear. My marksmen were bragging to our new member, and it seemed even to me that they had become better shots. I also realized that I was less battle-weary than usual; perhaps my skin is getting toughened by the experiences I’m facing.     We rested through some of that next day, and soon started hearing rumors of bands gathering to seek Baron von Gormley’s treasure. I recalled that the straggler had told us of this tale, though I believed nothing more of it at the time. If other bands of adventurers were to seek it, then perhaps there is something to it after all. We returned that night to the same neighborhood, for the ruins of the Von Gormley mansion lay on that very ridge where the Middenheimers had initial taken position the night before. We came in lower to the area this time, and took up a defensive posture, sending a lone marksman (yes, the same one) to scout.     We quickly ascertained that the same band of Skaven from which the beast had first sprung were on our left, and my blood chilled as I saw the dead walking mindlessly to our right. We hid and watched as the Skaven ran forward and up the hill away from us. However, as our focus turned more on the dead, they appeared to be walking as much towards us as away. We opened fire on them as a pack of zombies moved on us. The other parts of the undead band seemed to be following a group of man-beasts across the river, but the zombies remained.     Two of the zombies felled the lone marksman scout, and I saw with my own eyes an immediate transformation into what I will now certainly call a werewolf. This creature quickly took down the zombies that had charged it and proceeded to hunt down the others nearest to it. However, this activity took it closer to our band. We began jumping out of the buildings in which we were positioned to better run away from the beast before it ran out of zombies, but like the Skaven the night before, the zombies did not stand in its way long enough.     I remember blacking out as I landed wrongly from the building, but when I regained my composure, the beast was among a handful of our band who had bravely stood between it and me. We massed against the beast, and in time felled it, though once again not before it had felled another of our marksmen with its jaws. This time, we saw the beast transform back into the form of our marksman, and both it and the newly fallen marksman recovered far too quickly for our comfort. We resolved to pursue a cure for our men most promptly - or to banish them from our band and make our distance from them great.     Some hours later as we regrouped and kept close watch on our 'men', we heard that the Von Gormley treasure had indeed been real, and that the undead and the man-beasts had defeated a dragon of some kind and laid claim to it. I learned this from another straggler who told me more tales of this city. The straggler left quickly as another human approached, though this other human was darkly cloaked and did not 'feel' quite right.     To my horror, I found myself approached by one schooled in the unholy and dark arts of raising and commanding the dead. The cloaked figure offered me the knowledge to cure my afflicted. After becoming certain that the affliction of which this figure talked was the same whose recipe I sought, I offered a price. There was a counteroffer made, and another, then finally an agreement. The discussion was unusually cold and dispassionate - I cannot call it haggling, but the result was a recipe for the cure in my hands! It ended up costing me 50gc, no small sum, though if it cure my men it will be worth it.     I returned to camp and discovered that our evening’s search had yielded 4 shards of wyrdstone. We sold three of these for 60gc, and purchased a brace of dueling pistols we were lucky enough to find after convincing a shop-owner that we were worthy of seeing his finer wares. Since the battle, Louis and I have been idling ourselves at challenges of archery, and I do believe we have both improved of late. I have also noticed that our new swordsman - the one who was to form the basis of a new group called 'the Redeeming Fists' appears to have great talent. I have learned his name is Serge LeSwifte, and I will pay special attention to him, at least once we have resolved the issue of our marksmen’s 'condition'.     Tonight we will rest, and though the moon be on the wane and the sky a bit more covered with the blackness that is normal for these parts, we still rest uneasily. Our two infected colleagues have taken up residence in another hostel for our peace of mind, though my mind is only slightly eased by this arrangement. Tomorrow, we will begin seeking the elements of this cure. Turn the page. Back to the previous page. Close the journal.