📜 Entry: “The Sky Darkens, and So Must Resolve”

Location: Onadbyr, Tower of Mordenkainen (base)
Recorded: After the Fall of the Lucky Leap and the Death of Lord Monder

The rain has not ceased. It is not ordinary weather—it is punishment, reminder, erasure. In the short span since Queen Alphinah’s coronation, Onadbyr has begun to rot. Flora perverts. Fauna mutates. The dead sprout blossoms from their mouths as if the land itself were attempting to compost the truth.

We ventured to the Menagerie in search of Architect Nadar Tyke. What we found instead was a record of collapse. Caged monstrosities corrupted by magic; intelligent beasts weeping for lost mates; ruins inhabited by refugees and riddled with traps. There was, briefly, a moment of awe—the monstrous crocodile Old Gnarly, speaking with unsettling clarity. The blind charge of King Blackhorn, driven mad by rage. The Whispering Grove and its parasitic floral horrors. Even the mimic disguised as a water trough. All of it strange. All of it cursed.

It would have been… fascinating, under different circumstances. But I found myself distracted. Not detached—but distant. As if the enormity of what’s happening to this city now muffles all lesser mysteries. The damage to Onadbyr is not metaphorical. It is physical. Real. Profound. And it is accelerating.

The meeting with Tyke proved fruitful. A map of the palace. Clues to the hidden entrance. Confirmation of the force wall. And then, slipped silently into my hand: the truth. Gren—the brawny, slightly terrifying cousin—is the King’s bastard. Not a rumor. Not speculation. The truth. I do not yet know what must be done with this knowledge, but I know this much: the bloodline persists. And if this kingdom is to be healed, it must be tethered to what is real.

We returned to the Leap and found it ablaze. The hound knights had arrived. Ricio was already dead—slain, disemboweled, and hung like meat. Sylvia fell during the assault; we revived her, only to lose her again moments later. Lord Monder… we found dying. I tried. I failed. But we recovered his ring—his final instruction to Sylvia was to retrieve his journal from the crypt beneath his estate. He believed it contained the means to break this curse.

He trusted us to finish what he could not.

I must believe he was not wrong to do so. Yet I cannot dismiss the possibility that someone gave us up. The attack was precise. Timed. Coordinated. Whether by betrayal, enchantment, or surveillance, our sanctuary is lost. There is no safety now. Only forward motion.

I will not dwell on fear. I will not be consumed by doubt. I have been prepared for this—by study, by service, by the storm. I am no general. I am no king. But I am a scholar, and I am a witness. And the Wise One teaches: when you carry the truth, it is not the sword you draw, but the mirror you hold.

Let the Queen twist the land. Let her corruption choke the light. We will find our way in the dark. And if the flame falters, I will carry it. For Monder. For Onadbyr. For the truth.

May clarity walk with me.

— A.J.