I can remember her face, and that’s all. She’s beautiful.

I’m in some sort of hut. It is dimly lit, which makes it difficult to write – but so does the incessant throbbing in my head. My whole body aches. If I focus on any part of me, just long enough to take note of its present status, it hurts like it has been beaten with a club. Every part of me.


Gods… it took me the better part of an hour to have my journal returned to me. I don’t know who these savages are, but they seem far too happy to have me under their care. I will say however that even lacking real medicine, they do a fantastic job of it. I feel genuinely cared for.

Starlark came and sat with me for a while, then Dionus. They recounted for me all that has transpired. Apparently I was incoherent over the last few days, and completely unconscious for the last two. Reading my last few entries in this journal only serves to prove it.

It feels like I’ve been dragged behind a horse for as long.

I can remember her face. The woman that saved us. The goddess.

I’m getting ahead of myself though. I can focus long enough to write, but my thoughts still feel jumbled. I don’t know how long I’ll manage, so I should start from what I remember and blend Dionus and Starlark’s story in from there.

I fell ill, deathly ill, and if it hadn’t been for a providential comedy of errors and the enchantments in my armor I would have died.

The KoraKora had some strong expressionists among them, some of the most powerful we have encountered anywhere according to Dionus. They were adept enough to feel Dionus and me out from who knows how far, and they led the hunt to find and kill us. Thankfully their companions were completely undisciplined.

They attacked us as I fell into the height of my fever. Twice, Dionus said, they pressed into us and surrounded us. Both times their easternmost flank attacked us too early, whether because they lost contact with their comrades or simply were the least experienced hunters of men, Dionus couldn’t say. But their scattered approach made for a quick fight, and a way to break through their line.

The chief of the KoraKora was described as I remember him. Tall, covered in yellow paint and bleached bones. He wears a massive jawbone around his own, and a headdress made from a monster’s skull covered in red, orange, and yellow feathers. He arrived as we escaped both times, Dionus said. He didn’t look frustrated at our escape, nor did he seem surprised. He simply looked on us with a burning hatred tempered by patience.


They surrounded us a third and final time on the third day, using the small tributary as their easternmost flank. It would not break rank as their companions had. The water was rough, Dionus said, broken by many rapids and they feared dragging me across it. So they stood to fight. Arrows flew this time, and my companions killed a number of the KoraKora, but there were too many. Hundreds, Dionus said. Possibly thousands.

The Chief appeared again, flanked by two expressionists. Dionus could feel them exerting themselves, one feeding the bloodlust of the KoraKora, the other preparing some terrible assault of his own.

Gods, my head hurts. I’ll finish tomorrow, I need to sleep.

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