The end of the battle is easier to remember. Those memories carry the feel of fatigue and uncertainty as fresh as when it happened.
The dead were looted. Our living were gathered, and I set to work patching wounds and administering healing spells. In the end I had one spell left. A Level-0 Detect Poison. That was it. All my potions were used up. My precious healing scrolls would have been next to use, as a last resort. But all of us survived. That alone is amazing.
BOB, Isis, and Pulp finally returned. It may have been minutes, but felt like days. Their quarry had retreated toward a campsite. Presumably to get re-enforcements.
We had been knocked around enough to sap our overconfidence, so we withdrew from the scene of the battle. Some of us wanted to run away for hours. We settled on a brisk half-hour hike away from the battle, praying we’d put enough distance between our weak party and what is sure to be a vengeful strike team of hobgoblins and that Dwarf Cleric, somewhere out there.
A makeshift camp was thrown up. Watches assigned. Wounded tended, restless sleep managed.
Even now at daybreak, with the shadows of night lifted, we are a tangle of raw emotions. But all of our wounds and the brush with Death last night have not dissuaded our party from pushing our luck. Exhausted, we make ready to move. I have to finish this entry quickly – apparently we are going after the camp found by BOB and Pulp and Isis. There wasn’t enough killing last night, I guess.
Are we relentless to the point of madness ?
Journal of Dr. Marcus Grant
Healing Cleric of Pelor, Order of St-Jude Academy (Silabrek)
42nd Day, makeshift camp, territory of Ælim.