5 Calistril, 4725 AR

I want to tell you about a Vrock.

A Vrock is a demon. It is large, it is vulture-shaped, it is not something you want to encounter when you have been traveling for twelve days and are hoping for a quiet stop in a town called Lifel. The Dungeoneers encountered one. They won. I would describe the fight in more detail but I was mostly documenting from what I considered a reasonable distance.

Guards died in the fight. When it drew attention, Devon addressed the crowd. I did not catch every word. Whatever he said, it worked. His talent for improvised deception remains one of the most useful things I have witnessed in the field.

The horn was stolen during the chaos that followed. I am recording this because it happened, and because its absence mattered enormously to Grizzle, and because the things that happen to people during the messy middle of a journey are the things that explain who they become by the end.

I would also like to note, for no particular reason, that I make excellent biscuits. My aunt told me so once and I have never forgotten it.