Online:Lumber Camp Journal

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Lumber Camp Journal

by Haldain

Journal entries about an ill-fated lumber camp

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Part 1

Week 1

Haldain Lumber Camp is a successful venture, I can feel it in my bones!

The wood is excellent here and competition is low. As per usual, I chose a good spot to begin logging. Production is high, the quality of the wood is unmatched since the trees here grew so fast. There's barely any knots or rings in them. The crew I picked know their craft. We eat well on game and the fruits of the forest.

Soon we'll be able to purchase our own tools and return the packs we borrowed from the West Weald Legion.

Lepida thinks the woods are dangerous, but these first few days prove her wrong. We haven't encountered any beasts or been threatened by so much as a starving bandit. I won't go so far as to say that we're blessed, but I may offer prayers to the Divines tonight in thanks for this good luck.

The rest of this page is tattered and torn.>

Part 2

Week 4

The crew is convinced that these woods are haunted.

The animals here don't shy away from the noises of our trade. In fact, I think they're drawn to us like moths to a lantern. Perhaps they're bold from having lived around those Wood Elves and their magic. Still, we found a fourth squirrel in the saw blade. There might be something deeply wrong here.

Some of the crew ran off. They left for safer work farther upriver. I can't complain too much. They had the decency to tell me before heading ou,t [sic] and the rest of the crew stepped up to ensure that our output hasn't slowed down. The trees here are gifts.

I'll make my fortune, Lepida. So don't you doubt me.

<The rest of the page is torn.>

Part 3

Week 7

I won't admit it to the crew, but something may not be right here. Apart from the dead squirrels.

I get reports of trees sewing themselves shut when my laborers try to chop them down. There are strange noises deep in the woods that we can never make sense of. And the shadows are getting darker at night.

It sounds superstitious, but something's out there and it's not happy with our work. Worse yet, I get the feeling that it's closing in, fast.

More of the crew want to leave, but I can't let them go. And it's not for any selfish reasons. I'm worried if they leave, they won't make it upriver.

<The page is torn. There are spots of dired [sic] blood on the edges>

Final Entry

<The pages before this have been ripped from the journal.>

There's not much for it. I won't make it outside and I certainly won't live to hear the sounds of the market in Skingrad or breathe air that doesn't taste of tree-sap.

If someone finds this, please bring it and everything I own to my sister, Lepida Russus. She has a room at the Fertile Respite in Skingrad.

I stashed my belongings by my workbench this morning, so they should still be nearby.

Don't carry my body. Lepida doesn't need to see what's happened to me.