Four days have passed, and we have not been returned to the monastery. I've begun to think this is because of the one piece of business we have left unfinished. The thought first occurred to me the day after the battle, as I was wandering the regions outside the town, paying very little attention to my surroundings. I thought, as I thought many times these four days, about the Tracker's death. The very peace of the areas I wandered were an affront to his memory and our mission. Had we left this vile place when we should have, one small village may have fallen to chaos. Instead, we sacrificed the safety of the world for that of two hundred people.
Our unfinished business lies in the missing pages of this record. I have had plenty of time to think over my first two entries, which I have since copied down from memory, and I am now convinced that with the proper insight (and I do not even consider the use of magic), one could use them to learn of our presence, and perhaps even of our precise location. It is no longer at all a mystery how the guild of assassins located me, if our enemy is behind them. If he is not, and the assassins were simply paid by the escaped kobolds or a stray orc or drow, then we still must do all we can to retrieve it, so that it is never discovered by our enemy.
I first mentioned this days ago to the others, but they thought it better that we rest. I am thinking more and more that they do not understand our importance in this world. Did they never listen to our master?
Little of interest has happened since the battle. I wrote down a new spell from the borrowed spellbook, and another from a scroll we had found. The druid friend of the town's priest arrived, and cleansed the minds of the two we'd rescued from the kobold's lair. They are still tree-like in their appearance, but traditional magic may cure them of that in time.
Although I write as if I am twitching with eagerness to recover my journal, I admit that I have been unable to build up my own willpower to begin another adventure. I can not stop thinking about the Tracker. He, and our mission, are dead. How I cherished my free time in the monastery, and now there is so much of it that I can hardly act. If I were busy, perhaps this cloud of apathy would not overcome me. I wish we did not have to find my journal. Then within the day, we could be back in the monastery, training another eight.
My will or willpower will soon become irrelevant. The priest is anxious to go to the next town, will a cartload of the valuable metal with which the mayor of this village maintains his wealth. The others are anxious to accompany him.