Walking down the main street of this deserted city is for a lack of a better word,
Silence. In the middle of a city that I know was once glorious, it shouldn't be possible.
And yet here I am standing in a vacuum.
The real problem isn't the emptiness of the streets. On the contrary, the
that the streets are quite full. All of the inhabitants are still here, save a few that got out
alive. They wander the streets looking for live flesh to feast on. They themselves have
long since decayed into fetid heaps of braindead parasites. They amble along in
clumsy lumbering manners often walking into walls, or other inanimate objects.
Carelessly they follow the scent of flowing blood. They will plod aimlessly until they
either find what they are looking for or until they have decayed to such a point that
their very legs crack and break under the pressure of their bodies, collapsing into a
pile of dry, gray flesh. When they do find their meal they will moan and complain
inaudibly until they run into their unfortunate victim in which case they rip and tear
flesh with their teeth and drink the unlucky creatures blood until it ceases to be.
These undead monstrosities are unfortunately not the only pieces of dirt
in this vast,
gaping wound of a city. There are many other creatures, things, demons that roam the
streets looking for something that is still kicking. Large mutated animals like snakes
and spiders creep and crawl in the shadows of the alleys. Wild, festering dogs run
and bark in the empty darkness looking for their next meal. There also stalk weird
horrors that were more than just experiments, they were disasters. Things that crawl
on ceilings and walls much the way a bug would, only the size of an aisling, an aisling
that was turned inside out and upside down. These horrible creatures have long
hook-like claws, even longer tongues, and they make a screeching noise that could
stir even the most hardened of warriors. There are others that are like huge rats with
long claws like oddly deformed living blades.
These monsters will rush at you screaming high-pitched screeches and swipe
with their foot long knife-bladed talons. Fortunately they aren't anything a well placed
spell, or deadly warriors weapon, couldn't dispatch. There are however bigger creatures
that roam that dwarf these horrors in both size and lethality. I personally have
witnessed several variations of these beings. The first in the cthonic realms was
a large man like creature with a body that was some strange mixture, somewhere
between dirt and stone. Another much like him was deeper still underground, so many
floors down it is a wonder i made it in and out of their alive. It was about eight feet tall
and was wrapped in ancient tattered bandages, an attempt at containing the rotting
creature within. It had a cold, stony expression and large hammer-like fists.
Perhaps even more terrifying than these strange monstrosities, these deadly
by the Lord of Tagor, are the mutated insects. Strange roaches and worms, spiders and
centipedes, all grown to a size that they can take down an unwary aisling easily. These
twisted creatures scared me more than any of the strange and magical creatures that
were so made and twisted by dark magics. The very idea that a member of the Pact had
such power as to hide an entire city from the rest of the lands, all the while gaining power
through his twisted experiments terrifies me. The fading journals that I found deep within
the study of Macabre, detailing how some of these creatures were made, are enough to
make one wish to run and vomit. I am lucky, very lucky indeed that the strength of my
own magic and potions has been enough to keep me safe while I am in this disturbing
It took me a while, but I finally found a corner in which I could read these journals, and
uncover the secrets they hold within them. It is a pity my command over the ancient
tongue is faltering and weak, and as such my translations are but stuttering and simple
fragments of the whole. Enough talking and thinking though, as time grows short here, I
feel my safety shrinking every moment I stay here, as though this place steals the spark
from within me, every second that I linger.
The first pages of these journals speak of the founding of the League of Darkness, and the
formation of the Pact of Anaman. As these stories have been brought to light from others
journals, i'll not waste our time by speaking of them. It is deeper, when the writing goes from
neat to near-random scribbles, that my interest is held. The madness this man had within
him is apparent from the way his writing has become near unreadable, when he was
brought up as a noble, and was well-learned. I almost fear what i will find within these pages...
The year of Danaan, 2933
It has been twelve long years since our defeat at the hands of Ainmeal. Twelve years, such a
short time, almost of no consequence, when I face a lifetime of a thousand years. Those of
us who remain have gone into hiding, with the destruction of Tenes. Like the others, I too will
hide my name and where I once came from, at this time. It is no longer important.
Now all that matters is these lands i hold now. I have a city under my command, called Tagor.
You who read this may know me as the Lord of Tagor, as that is all that I am now. Chadul's
work is carried on here, in the guise of my newest interest. I have found that the powers of
wizardry also have an interesting twist. Necromancy.
A word you are likely not familiar with, but familiar all the same. The magic of Death, would be
a near literal translation of it I believe. The use of it is complex, requiring several rare items,
the bodily remains of creatures that have been slain. Some of these parts I had to venture out of
the mists I have surrounded this city in to find.
The strength of magic required to twist death into a new form is amazing. I myself, with all my
power, feel stretched to my limits, every time I bring forth a new creature. Fair though, that the
sheep of people who inhabit this city fuel my hungers, and in doing so, my experiments. They
are nothing but fodder, and useful fodder at that.
Ah, and another scream fills the air, as my undead servants seek another victim for my studies.
I shall have to go see to this one myself, her voice is haunting in her dying cries.
My experiments take a great deal of my time now, leaving me with little time to write. Indeed, I
see it has been two years since the last time I scribed words in this book. Years are as days to
me, and time means nothing.
I have had to delve underground, seeking new creatures to experiment upon. The various levels of
my tunneling are filled with beautiful creatures, fierce and deadly to all but me. A few of the people
of the town were sent down there yesterday, as a test, and indeed, my beautiful children are quite
deadly, the townsfolk did not make it to the second level even.
I have to laugh at the futility of these people's lives. Under my control, they have no hope in all of
Temuair, to live very long. My favorite game of late is to take their children to the study, and let the
wraiths chase them through the various rooms and halls. The screams are beautiful, and my dreams
at night are filled with the tear-ridden faces of children, instants before they are torn apart and devoured.
Pleas for mercy have never sounded as sweet as they do now.
I have discovered a new charm in the mists. Darkness is slowly overtaking all the lands within here, and
the people are terrified. Zombi's, once living relatives of these people, keep them crowded into their
homes, imagined safety appears to be as comforting as though it were real. Little do they know that
if I truly wished them all dead, it would be a simple matter to slaughter them all within moments.
However, I am nowhere near done with my toys.
A man by the name of Isghar led a rebellion against my study today. I had my servants kill the rest of
the rabble, but this man, he interests me. He is in great favor with the Goddess Danaan, she whom
abandoned me so long ago. I watched, mesmerized, as his very touch healed one of his fallen friends.
It has been so long since I saw a priest, I am not sure quite what I wish to do with this one.
For the time being, I have chained him within irons, in case he does know any of the harmful spells
that priests may be graced enough to learn. I must find out how he learned these spells, without travelling
to any of the teachers of them, as I know he has never left Tagor.
Isghar still lives, though I have not given him food or water in the two short years that he has been my
captive. His faith is unwavering, even as his mind grows feebler from the grips of my spells, and the
work of the iron bindings on his magic.
He spat at me, cursing me for a dark wizard this morning. I told him in detail, relishing every moment,
just what i would do to him.
I think it will be fitting for him, to be twisted into a dark cleric and left to haunt the lower levels of my
playgrounds. I will have to be careful during this exercise, as his favor with Danaan has not decreased,
and she will not take well to my changing of her Disciple.
So easy it has been.
My dark cleric has been borne to his new home, while still muddled from my enchantments. His power
is near tenfold what it used to be, and I will have a close eye kept on that one I believe. Should his
rebellious spirit have survived the transformations of his mind and body, I will have a problem.
The sound of time stopping.
The sound of existence itself.
That very sound...
[note: At this point, his writing is backwards, and I needed to use a small mirror to translate it. I am
still not sure if the words I have scribed are what was really written, as that place has a way of twisting
everything you see, as though the madness sinks into your very soul...]
The distant scenes flash through my head. The screaming, the yelling.
I have found a way inside my victims minds now. The pain is beautiful. The terror is exquisite.
A glimpse, here:
If anything, why so painful..?
Oh love.. I'm not so far away anymore.
Not much more...
Oh... If only...
A scene, in this girls mind. A boy with glowing eyes.
A man holding a staff close to his heart, while his body twisted into something hideous,
his eyes, glowing, brighter, brighter, before darkness pooled into one of them.
Who was he..?
Why was he punished so badly?
I'm sure nothing he could have done compared to what this monster is doing to me..
I remember him.. the dream.. he said he'd wait for me to come back...
I might not come back love...
Perhaps... in another life... we.. we will...
With this, her body finally died. While the mind continues a few moments past the bodies death, her
thoughts were chaotic, images of that man, who I recognize as Isghar, a boy long dead, whom
she had no way of knowing of, filling them.
Odd creatures, these people.
Darkness darkness darkness... Time circles..
Again again, our time at hand...
[I cannot read the rest of the writing in this entry, no matter how hard I try. Two words stand out, over
and over, Darkness and Time, while the only words I can read later are "A history writ in blood, ends
with a stand on the cliffs beyond..." There is more written, but it is unreadable]
Chadul calls me to wherever he takes his faithful.
My lifetime is not over, merely to be begun again at another time.
The mists around Tagor grow poisonous, and the people have all long since died.
A pity, my toys were unfinished. I leave this place in ruins, populated by the walking dead, and things
that should be dead but aren't. I love it, such rare beauty.
The secrets of Necromancy have been sent to someone, to be hidden away until my return. He will
keep them safe from discovery. No one will learn my secrets, my dark magic.
[There are thirteen entries more, but none contain words. Images of the creatures within this realm
fill the pages in twisted horror. Scribbles that resemble words but aren't, flank these drawings of
decay. His madness was truly unchecked, as between the entries i've managed to scribe, dozens
once stood, but are destroyed by scribbles, strange symbols, and even spills of an inkpot over
several whole pages. At the beginning and end of the book, there are several pages that have been
torn out. I presume they held the true secrets to his necromancy, though the descriptions of the blood
and pain involved that I could read, I chose not to scribe, lest someone with less fortitude than
myself read them.
Now though, I must get out of here. I can smell the foul creatures looking for me, and my spells are
growing weaker as I tire. I will try to take this book to the library, and place it with this scroll, so
others may learn some of the dark and terrible history of Tagor.
Vendes Aramin, Deoch 13]