We rode out at dawn, following the path to the abandoned house. A structure twisted by time, rotting on its foundations like a ship left to drift. The air was thick with something—decay, perhaps, or the whisper of unseen eyes watching from the darkness.

We arrived from the northwest and examined an old well. Deep water below, but no entrance to the house. The halfling Stumpy, despite his name, had all his limbs intact but little knowledge of how to enter.

We split into two groups. Logan and Terriana took one route and soon found themselves in battle with a swarm of oversized weasels. They made short work of them, with Beak joining at the last moment to land a final shot. Odd creature, that one.

Azulas and I approached the south entrance. With a whispered command, my unseen servant pushed the door open. No traps. No welcoming party. Just dust, musty air, and a sense of unease settling over my skin like damp fog.

Inside, we found old tomes scattered in disarray—books on the magical properties of gemstones, flowers, and the strange mathematics of metaphysics. Knowledge abandoned, but not forgotten.

Then we saw it—the bird. Watching us. Following us. Why? No matter.

Upstairs, Logan and Terriana uncovered something unexpected: a prisoner. A man named Ned, bound and left to rot. He claimed smugglers had held him here, interrogating him, but they had been absent for days. Logan freed him, a kindness perhaps undeserved, but time will tell.

A hidden drawer in a desk revealed two healing potions. A fortunate find, for I suspect we will need them.

Then we found the hole. And against all better judgment, we jumped in.