37th day of Harvest, Molash, Bechia

The guards gave me strange sidelong glances all day. I must have looked amusing, propped up on one elbow on my bunched-up cloak, with a bed of scrolls and parchments all around me. The captain is kind enough to let me stay; his excuse is that I’m keeping the guards entertained, but he seems more to be too kind to throw me out in the rain.

The parchments and scrolls have different functions, it seems. The former were stored fairly flat, and had also been written on in such a state. An official scribe of the king or the lord of Bechia had written on them, and about key facts and events. The writing was impersonal and impartial. The scrolls, however, were a different matter entirely. The cold hand that I had encountered yesterday had written hundreds of diary entries, as well as a few letters. Even one of his letters was criticizing the soldiers; in it he wrote to the lord, asking him to stand his men down. Was the cold hand a leader of a rival faction? Was there a power struggle? In the face of a lurker invasion, people oughtn’t be fighting over seats of power…

I still haven’t found anything useful against the lurkers. The scrolls go on and on about political woes, people lost to the creatures, and more. Nothing yet about any victories or weapons or weaknesses. Thankfully, the Molashian guards seem calm. The lurkers must be either biding their time or failing to breach the guarded gates. That suits me well enough. I need more time.