First mudcrab I saw, I put my weapons away... and gave him a fair old fist fight.
That was my first thought. Then I heard the noise, and, paralyzed in fear, my adventure was nearly cut short. I stumbled behind a rock, bleeding out. Before I could even begin to sound a warning to my nearby kinsmen, a shrill bubbling once again pierced my ears, shoving whatever words I meant to form out of my mind and replacing them with primal terror.
Quickly, that was replaced by screams of agony from every conceivable direction, particularly from inside me. They were not quite enough to bring me to my senses, but jarring to the point where I could only think, "I'm next." And then... just like that, he was gone. I peaked my head out, and in his place... a small, unassuming journal.
I am not a superstitious man, but even then I was overflowing with a god-forsaken dread whenever my eyes passed over, nay, were drawn to what would in but a few days lead me to my greatest ally and single downfall, sitting in my pack.