One Step Closer

Dear Journal,

It is Feastday of LastLeaf in the year 3735. The wards are strewn about the battlements of the ghostly castle called Nektropos. Theeral be damned! There are all manner of flesh-rotted beings and patchwork golem-like beasts guarding them! It is a trap and the nomad knew it all along dispatching us off to march unwittingly to our deaths. A wicked surprise awaits her should we ever cross paths again.

Regardless, the wards gleemed to the touch as we raced from one to the next with all manner of beasts trailing close behind wailing, gnashing their teeth, and striking blows upon our backs. The holy man finally unsheathed his sanguine sword to unleash the fire of the heavens upon these mindless minions. One last step remained. We simply had to reach the Herald of Nektropos. Finally arriving at the gates of Nektropos, the Herald materialized from the ether to grant us access with a sinister "The master is expecting you".

Passing through the portal into Nektropos, a chill descended upon me and every follicle remaining on my body stood with military-like attention. Something was amiss, but what I could not surmise. Once inside the spectral stronghold, my senses spun to a dizzying degree. I collapsed to the floor hearing naught but the hammering of my own heartbeat in my ears and throat. Then, something else penetrated the war drums pounding my skull. Echoing through my brain came the words sister and awakening. It was as if they were whispered from every ceiling crack and floor fissure. The harder I tried to block out the voices, the louder they became. From behind me, above me, beside me, and below me the voices rang. Louder. Louder. Louder. Haunting. Louder. Louder. Chanting. Louder. Louder.

Darkness took me. I have no way of knowing how long I had laid upon the cold stone of Nektropos. When I awoke, what did I see standing before me? Ischade. Something is familiar. Something fits. I am not sure how or why, but I feel I am one step closer to understanding my past and my future.

Bathed in the Blood

Dear Journal,

What strange happenings! While banding together with the lizard, evil twins, and the holy man this day, I came across a curious nomad, Theeral, who spoke in shrouded mystery. She claimed she foretold my appearance before her and knew the path I sought. What madness is this? I have no predetermined path to follow. I go where e'er my mood takes me. The unmitigated gall of her to tell me I have no free will! I would have struck her down there if not for my accursed curiosity getting the better of me. I listened in quiet to her tale of a spectral stronghold which stood somewhere in the forest of Nektulous. Naturally, a treacherous trek lay before us in order to learn its location.

Following the flowing river, we journeyed northward in search of Timber Falls. Many a minion meandered across our deadly path as we cut a swath of wanton destruction and mayhem along the river banks. Kodiaks, Grimmins, Fae-folk, and the like all fell before our combined might. After what seemed an eternity, we managed to find our way to Timber Falls only to discover that the information we required was not to be found there. We were then pointed in the direction of a structure stricken with the skeletal scourge, N'Marr's Ascent.

Traversing to N'Marr's Ascent was remarkably uneventful. Upon arrival, however, the skeletal scourge struck. They set upon Szadiss as if revenging for their awkward, unwarranted awakening. Wave after wave gathered 'round us as we struck back. There is a moment of clarity, which settles upon you as dust to a hearth, when you question if you are severely outnumber and quite possibly overwhelmed. It appears that you may not last the day, let alone the seeming eternity of moments you find yourself mired in. Time halts. It is in that moment that you realize you are never outnumbered nor are you ever overwhelmed. The more that assemble before you, the deeper you reach within to draw from the darkness that is your soul. You are power incarnate! Then as quickly as time halts, it snaps back and you find yourself standing wild-eyed over a heap of corpses bathed in the blood of the innocent and the guilty alike. N'Marr's Ascent had been cleansed and we were no closer to our goal.

Our quest was leading us to Bone Lake. The forest took on a malevolent presence as we neared our goal. The very trees themselves began to uproot as if to block our progress toward Bone Lake. Someone or something did not want us to reach our destination. Could this be the cruel machinations of an as yet unknown mastermind or were we choking the forest on the blood of the fallen and it merely wished to regurgitate us? Either way, we are not so easily expelled. We traversed the muddy banks of Bone Lake only to conclude that all roads lead back to Theeral.

Theeral the Nomad. Theeral the Insane I say! She knew the location of the castle the entire time, but had to determine if we were worthy of the information? Insolence! To make matters worse, we still must complete the final portion. There are 3 mystical markers which hold Gul'Thexian glyphs. We are to uncover these words and speak them to a Gul'Thex Lieutenant who will give us the secretive word to pass to the spirit who guards the castle. Our adventure is nearing an end... or is it?

The Filthy Ratonga Part II

Curse me for a fool! The witch Kirsteh must surely be addling my senses. For as I spoke to her tonight, she appeared not as a filthy Ratonga at all, but a beautiful Gnome. I must regain control of my faculties! If someone such as her can dupe the likes of me, then I fear my sanity is surely slipping away. I try to comfort myself with the thought that it is mere parlor trickery, a simple illusion that clouds an already overthinking mind. However, the doubts inevitably seep back into the darkest recesses. Yes! The mind plays tricks... you play tricks back!

Bah! I hope to speak no more of the vile witch now that I have completed her task and collected my reward. The ethereal ones of the Fallen Gate were no match this time for me and my allies, the lizard and the twins. I feel it necessary to mention a strange occurrence this evening that slightly puzzles me. While decimating the denizens of the Gate, we happened upon a curious fellow. A dwarf no less. A dwarf that far from Qeynos? What madness is this? He called himself Ment and he was a brilliant sort. Brilliantly clad, not brilliant of intellect. No, I dare say he was far short of that. The metal that encased his girth shone brightly even in the depths of the Gate. He had an aura about him, this holy man, an emerald hue that seemed to emanate from his very pores! He is stalwart and brave and his self-righteousness is sickening. I don't trust him.

Perhaps the holy man could lend some clarity to the nightmares that have plagued me these many months. They are always the same... carnage, turmoil, strife, destruction, and then the vast emptiness of the abyss. At first the floating sensation is a cold, dark blanket wrapping itself around me, comforting me. But that is fleeting as I topple and tailspin towards some unknown depths. In the end, my bones lay battered and motionless. Intact, but incapable of movement. As the light of consciousness flickers and fades from me there is one word that echoes almost elusively in my ears. Another.