R'tchikk beckoned me back to camp, where the entire group was steeling themselves for our march on the Wizard's Tower. "Bad Lyhr" had been located, but we had a hell of a fight ahead of us to retrieve him. "Good Lyhr" (his kinder half) and Mabon would need to forge a key to disable the tower's defense mechanisms. Just as the group was preparing to depart, Frode turned to Dagda to inquire about a distress call that she and Zojja responded to in my absence. Another Astral Ward member had been possessed, and the result was dire—Dagda had to confine him to a prison cell to isolate the threat, but not before he'd managed to stab himself in the thigh. Peitha took the opportunity to remind me of my place in this world: a stranger in an unfamiliar place, with few friends. Should I reveal my...connection to Peitha, Dagda, with whom I'm already on dicey terms, may cut me down before I have a chance to explain. There is no rationalizing my predicament with a task force solely dedicated to fighting a demonic enemy. At this point, I don't know what Peitha wants. But I'm fairly certain she doesn't want me dead, otherwise I wouldn't be alive to record my thoughts here.