Sir Henry’s notes

Daemonspawn appeared as suspected - now drawn to the Menhir as I was. Its power to corrupt is extremely effective, to all but the strongest-willed, or those already corrupt in spirit.

As predicted, they have made their sport in the village. Corrupting influence has begun to affect the environment, amplified by the Daemonic incursion; also observed in males of the area who demonstrate instincts of self-preservation and predation, while females seem to exhibit a state of submission and inability to leave the locale. Possibly useful for my own research.

Daemonspawn conducting breeding rites with local Elf and Human populations. Elves for magically-inclined spawn; Human for combat spawn. Elven cross-breeding intrigues me - may have to arrange for further introduction of Elven entities. Melira has already been taken to their holding around the Daemongate - a shame to have to see an old friend succumb to such an ignominious fate, but she would never have seen things my way.

Lavorra feels a lurch in her gut at the words, realising that Sir Henry must have been the friend that Melira came to see here. How far must he have fallen to have once been an ally to one of her dearest friends?

What’s more - it seems he stood by and watched as Melira was taken by the Daemons, or even delivered her to them. She finds even greater depths to her hatred for the dead wizard.

It is frustrating not being able to scry further into the Delwald, and therefore remain ignorant to the Daemons’ further works. The barriers surrounding their incursion site are strong, but should be easily bypassed with my Reculus Staff. I may chance it, if curiosity grows too strong to bear.

A final section begins to describe Sir Henry’s fury at the destruction of the Menhir, but his sense of consolation at his acquisition of a new toy… she shivers and looks away. Unable to continue, she snuggles further in against Zeya, clutching her friend’s arm.

Zeya presses her lips to the top of Lavorra’s scarlet head, soothing her with a few sweet nothings. There’s a lot to go on here, and while it’s good to know where she needs to head next, Lavorra feels a rising anxiety in her stomach; just a piece of simple parchment inspires a deep horror of all that’s happened and all that’s to come. She can feel the panic attack advancing on her, and hates herself for how overwhelmed she feels.

But she feels Zeya’s hand on her back as well, her skin against hers. Despite their earlier intimacy, what she receives and what she needs right now is comfort and protection. In Zeya’s arms, she allows herself to cry, her friend murmuring in her ear and stroking her hair and back. And though the road behind and the road ahead are both dark one’s, tangled together with Zeya she feels that things will be alright.