1st of Kythorn, 1492

We have arrived at the Krannath Roadhouse, an obscure hostelry and roadwork camp on the Coast Way near the Cloak Wood, halfway between Baldur’s Gate and Beregost. The superintendent here is a burly half orc who goes by the auspicious name of Bog Luck.

We were instructed to unload our wagons here, under the pretense of security. I had suspicions about this, so I rendered myself magically Invisible and, by the grace of Beshaba, locked myself in a secure strong-room alongside the cultists’ ill-gotten booty.

Soon Jorad came to the door, and we conversed briefly. He spoke of supping on turnip porridge, and a communal bedchamber on the main floor being assigned to our group. I told him of my situation, and vowed to keep watch on the loot inside the vault. A few hours later, I heard the unmistakable footfalls of Gunx in the adjacent storeroom, whispering my name rather loudly as he felt his way in darkness. His noise allerted the ill-tempered roadhouse cook, but Gunx managed to convince the gruff servant that he was there innocently hunting rats. The two then left the storeroom together, and I was once again alone.

I continued my sleepless watch well into the night, until I heard a creak, a clunk, then hissing whispers and the blaze of torchlight. Eight lizardfolk emerged from a trapdoor hidden beneath a dummy chest. I magically disguised myself as Bog Luck, but I stayed hidden as I watched the reptilian crew take all the cultists’ loot down the hatch. Once their torchlight had faded, I pursued, and reconnoitered some distance down a twisting, wet tunnel before deciding to head back to the vault for a half-night’s rest.

Lady Doom, thank you for the twists and turns of fate that have led me to this moment. Without your hand in my life, I would not have discovered this plot. May I always see the gifts in the misfortunes you bring, klaatu barada nikto amen.

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