Old Tattered Journal

I am Shaladar, of the Order of the Golden Fist. I have begun to keep a journal, because of the things I have done. What I have become. In the hopes that any who may come behind me may understand me, and judge me not a monster.

Four moons past, I was attacked as I returned to the monastery by some large beast. I fought it off, but it cursed me with a dark gift. The next full moon, I too turned into a bestial monster and ravaged the poor innocents around me. I could not control my actions, but I could view what the beast inside me has done. The horror!

(Next entry is too tattered to be read, and the bottom of the page is smeared)

...the full moon. Lathander preserve them. Gods, what have I become? I must flee civilized lands, or I will continue to slay and (the next word is blurry, but appears to be "eats") the innocents. Ah, my poor brothers! And the master! Their weapons were as wind to me, and now they are gone, all gone. I must hide from the face of man, until the end of my days. I go north, into the mountains. I will take this journal with me, that any who follow may see what became of me if they find my body. Gods grant that I shall die. I have slain all that I ever loved or admired. (the rest of the page is heavily smeared in a droplet pattern and unreadable)

(A few pages are apparently missing)

...four weeks, and I've seen no sign of man. I am becoming at peace with myself, now that I have removed the innocent from harm. I shall never atone for my deeds, but I will keep such things from happening to others. It is hard here. There is little food, the climate is fierce, and there are wild creatures that are dangerous and hostile to men. The training I received at the monastery has allowed me to survive.

(There are a number of pages describing the mundane existence of the ill fated monk)

Praise be! Something has happened. I didn't turn into the monster last night. Could it be a blessing from the gods? I slept in a quiet grove, and woke up in the night. There was an odd plant there, and I ate of it as if by instinct. It was bitter, so bitter it made me retch, but I felt nothing change. Yet I am whole now. I will wait another few moons to ensure that the monster inside me is destroyed. When I am sure, then I will go to the cities of man, and tell them of what has occured. Perhaps they will judge me. Perhaps in that way I shall atone for the evils I have done unwillingly. Please gods, let it.

New moon, no change. I am sure that this plant has cured me. I picked some to take with me, but within a short time it had rotted, and smelled of a dank poison. I think it must be eaten fresh. I go in the morning. The mountain seems odd today, quieter than normal. I don't think I'm safe here anym

(at the bottom of the page where the writing trails off, there is a huge brown stain)