I must apologize for the brevity of my last missive. It was penned in great haste as me and my remaining companions prepared to burn the sorry remnants of the town we had so recently made our home. It would appear that the illness spreading through the local population was not, as I had surmised, some sort of necrotizing infection. Instead, it turned out to be some sort of necromantic curse, of the sort only read about in the most fanciful travel journals. Now that was quite a surprise and no mistake! Fortunately, burning the town and the remains of the afflicted seems to have solved the matter, and we were even able to recruit the remaining survivors from the village to fill out our dwindling numbers. Do give my condolences to Mrs. Thatcher down the road, as her John was one of the unfortunate afflicted. Seeing little else to do at this point, we have set out towards the mountains to continue our survey. Who knows, perhaps some good can come of this ill-fated journey after all. Sgd. Your hopeful Son, Joseph Edwards