I’m keeping a log of events since the theft. How these Melchori cultists found our monastery I do not know. Their influence manages to pierce our walls even now. I lament the loss of my master, but death is part of life. To dwell on the inevitable is wasted time. I have been assigned as one of many to seek out our sacred artifacts — the Bone Scales of Kelmvor and Skullfang, our ritual knife. Who knows what nefarious or greed driven purpose they may have been taken, let alone gained knowledge of them. I set out tonight.
Weeks have passed without much news. I do not know how to properly deal with common folk in a way that would lead me to find more information. Some hurry away with hushed tones and fear in their eyes when they see me. Our path is one of darkness and isolation, two feelings I have known most of my life. From my eavesdropping I had heard the Melchori raided the city of Myr Leilon. A blue dragon had been sighted, but from what I heard the city was defended without being completely razed. It seems the cult has certainly stepped up their presence.
I finally tracked down a small group of cultists. I waited until they made camp and went to sleep for the night. They had one man on watch, but the shadows were on my side. I promptly grabbed him and snapped his neck in a flash. While the others remained asleep I silently dispatched all but their supposed leader. As I woke the leader with my blade to his neck he shuddered in fear to see the blood of his fellow cultists stain the cold dirt around him. It didn’t take much for him to spill what he knew. He knew nothing of the artifacts but he did know they were amassing treasure for the return of the dragon god Tiamat. He knew of a castle deep within the Myr of Dead Men where they were amassing a horde of treasure. I thanked him for the information and promptly slashed his throat open, spilling a fountain of blood skyward. After a silent prayer to Kelmvor I gathered the bodies and burned them according to our rituals. These deaths would please our god, as would the many to come once I found their keep.
I had traveled far in search of the keep, keeping to the shadows and using nature to hide my presence to the best of my ability. My attention was caught by a group of adventurers who looked like they had seen better days. What really arrested my attention about this group was one man dressed in black cloth not similar to my order. A brother of the Umbral path? It did appear so as he was the first to catch my presence. The group had previously attacked the keep I was looking for and had failed. I would need their support, despite my distrust of this motley company. I could at least have comfort to know a brother of the Umbral path was among them.
With our newly formed platoon of soldiers, adventurers, and good natured brigands we set forth towards the keep in the swamp. Our journey was halted by a massive raiding party of orcs. To my own dismay and dishonor I was quickly incapacitated. To the benefit of my companions they made sure I would not feel the embrace of Kelmvor this day, but I was useless in the fight. The orcs decimated our party but we marched on. I blessed those who had died. Despite my inaction Kelmvor was pleased with the spilled blood of both ally and enemy.
A moment of respite comes among us as we arrive at a dilapidated road house full of rotting dead. I felt it was my duty to purify the remains in fire and bless those who passed. The work was gruesome but I am no stranger to death and decay. Tomorrow we march on into the heart of the swamp, the keep nearing even further. It is my hope that I will find what I am looking for there. If not, these companions are proving to be a valuable asset towards my goals. I still keep to myself as always. I do not confide even in Brother Orlen. My darkness is my own. My path, while beset among allies, is my own.