[Journal kept chaotically, dates missing, ink blots abound]

What on earth got into me?! Humming one of Master Dandelion's ballads in front of Her Illustrious Grace?! Ugh, to fall into disfavor in such a foolish way... I, a young, ambitious politician with brilliant career prospects at the ducal court, now find myself exiled due to my own stupidity. I must find a way to plead the duchess' forgiveness...

They say the emperor has offered the duquessa a very strange gift: a shaelmaar! The knights are to face off against it during the tourney. Now, were I to make a similar offering to Her Illustrious Grace...

Inconceivable! The gods have smiled on me! I ran into a witcher in Belhaven willing to help me catch a young shaelmaar. Naturally he demanded a fortune for his services, but I am ready to do anything to get myself out of the duchess' black books. The witcher collected a down payment and set off for the Amell Mountains...

I've got it! Success! With an offering for Her Grace worthy of an emperor, I can at last return to the duchy and seek forgiveness! Now I need only find a way to transport the shaelmaar to Beauclair...

I gathered my entire retinue and together we embarked on the good ship Suzanne. With the current in our favor, we should be in the capital in a mere three days!

I feel like the hero of some elven tragedy. Just when it seems all is going perfectly, catastrophes fall from the sky and pummel me to the ground... The shaelmaar chewed through the deck, sank the ship and dug its way into the river bottom. I begged the captain to help me capture the monster in exchange for the rest of my fortune. As the witcher instructed, I will light incense made of rue and direct the smoke at the monster, which should calm it. The sailors can then capture it in their nets.

I am finished. The rue incense did not work. The shaelmaar flew into a rage and killed nearly everyone. True, the captain managed to escape, but I could see he was badly wounded, so I doubt he managed to swim out of that cavern. Now I sit here alone, listening to the shaelmaar devour the remains of the murdered sailors.

You! The person who has found my journal, whoever you may be! Take the rest of my fortune – for what good is a chest of jewels to a pile of moldy bones? But in exchange, please, drink to my health, to my sad fate, to the hero of a true elven tragedy.