XI
Return to Mistone? A year ago I would have scoffed at the thought. The war consumed me willingly, I felt alive for the first time in years. To not have to tolerant the assistance of indigni is a rare pleasure, to see them flee before you, to taste their fear... I never dreamed of such power. But the war ended for me, as all things are want to do, and now other paths call me. I should not dwell on what once was, but look to the future of what will be. Already my influence grows, the Black Wizards gifted me a token of their benefaction which I hold close to me for when the time comes. Also the destruction of the Razerback Syndicate, and the ensured death of their leader as earned me more favour amongst the Wizards. I have been making friends in other camps as well; The dark elf Nastor has called upon my services one again. We must respect our allies, to build for our future. And so the Lord of Spiders has seen these events come to pass, and I will aid his follower to achieve his goal, so that our faiths might become closer through the result. Nastor seeks to establish his own house, making many pacts with creatures both mysterious and sinister. If he succeeds, we will have a powerful ally in the Deep. My true concerns lie along different paths however, to begin with there is the discovery of the Leringard Undercity to dwell upon. An excavation into its depths has revealed a coven of Vampires that have rejected the word of the Mortis Mentis. They will have to be brought to heel, I despise undead that have forsaken their father as much as I despise indigni. Payment, where payment is due. To further examine this occurrence I have purchased property nearby and am currently in the process of assembling barracks, in the hopes of making a more... effective move into the depths, after more excavations of course. The path of the Raven leads me onwards. Visions come to me frequently now, promises of untold power in reward for service. I will not list this true goal here, in case these writings ever fall into the wrong hands. These will not be an easy path, but the end of this journey is the only end I can dream of. I now have the favour of the Sanctus Mortis, the Black Wizards, the Mad Doctor, the spellweaver Nastor, speaker of spiders, Adder and his associates, and the Dread Blade. Rumours have reached my ears of the return of perhaps the most important ally I need, the demilich Mechidil, former apprentice of the Marquis Morgue himself. To follow this path I need the knowledge he possess, of what came before, both the history and the relics. I must temper my mind with knowledge and steel, to combat that which has yet to come. All paths lead to Silkwood.
XII
Again I have been used as a pawn for the Black Wizards, and again I have turned the situation to my advantage. Days spent in my youth pursuing the demi-lich Mechidil paid off in the form a unique discovery, a ritual dedicated to Corath. This ritual was unique in that it required not just mortal blood (an aspect not unusual in itself), but the blood of a follower of Toran. I was not fully sure what the results of this ritual would be, only that a blessing would be placed upon he who made the sacrifice. With this in mind I began to plot my objective.
I began by documenting the movements of Toranite troops in the Fort Llast area, calling upon a few favours owed to me by the Proeliator Stipatio and Ereptor Stipatio of Ire Mountains to provide manpower, with the Doctor also agreeing to send two Oraculis to aid in the ritual itself. With the preparations made a small Toranite company was chosen as the target, numbering ten soldiers lead by a Paladin of the Longsword. Three followed me, and I sent them scouting around the back of the company to wait for my signal to ambush. At a crossroads I met with the company, and telling them I was a weary traveller I convinced them to set up a brief camp and sit for a moment with me. I offered spirits as refreshment, having poisoned the bottles beforehand. Though slow acting, it would give me the advantage I was seeking. With that I gave the signal, the summoning of a pit fiend that cut down the first man before he had a chance to stand. The men sent by my 'allies' however proved to be less effective, being killed shamefully fast. Fortunately I managed to capture four of the Toranites alive, including the Paladin who's blood was the most valuable. Raising one of the fallen as a ghast to assist me, I bound the prisoners and escorted them to where the ritual was due to take place. Two of the Doctor's Ocaculis (or so I thought at the time) were there waiting by a circle of blood red runes on the ground. And with that, the ritual began.
One by one I killed the first three Toranite soldiers, shedding the blood of the indignus on the circle whilst reciting the unholy words. However, in my eagerness to perform the ritual I had neglected to properly bind the Paladin. Breaking free of his bounds even as the last of his men died, he charged the Ocaculis and myself in the hope of disrupting our work. This could not be tolerated. But then another unforeseen event happened. Even as I brought my bade up to finish the upstart of a Paladin, time froze and my two 'Ocaculis' revealed their true intentions. With the Paladin and myself locked in our savage dance, one of the Black Wizards, for that is indeed who they were, pushed my hand to finish the ritual and kill my victim, and with that I knew no more.
I awoke in in the lowest of the Planes, where Negative energy is at its strongest, though I knew not where I was at the time. Endless sands lay before me, its dunes however lay unchanging as no wind blew there. The only sign of 'life' were the rambling corpses of lost souls, and the emotionless sand elements that prayed upon them. Cutting down both kinds in an attempt to understand my situation, I discovered that the undead carried vials of a strange liquid. In my time there I came to understand that I too was one of these lost souls in the making, as food and drink no longer sustained me and my body began to decay. In desperation I consumed a vial of the strange liquid and found to my great relief that it revitalised me where food could not. So this was my fate, to roam this endless desert cutting down these lost undead to sustain myself on these vials, forever. Or what seemed like forever, for eventually I could find no more of the undead to prey upon and my vials diminished, allowing the lower Planes claimed one last victim.
And yet, I write this now, from beyond the grave. The Mortis Mentis works in mysterious ways, for it turned out my ordeal was an experiment of the Black Wizards. As I said at the beginning of this account, I was a pawn of the Black Wizards. As I also said, I have turned it the situation to my advantage. My ordeal in the lower Planes has left me... changed. I can sense them now, when they are near, the spawn of the lower planes, for I became like them. The ritual worked, though not in the way I expected. And when the ordeal was complete, the Children of Amisit were born. My purchase of a large house in Leringard a number of years ago was in preparation for this event, and even now small groups of the faithful have come, seeking the origin of the last night. My former mentor from Arnax, Kurgen Splinterbone, is ship-bound for Leringard to act as a shepherd for my inquisitive flock. The last night is indeed coming, and the Inanis Viscus draws closer.
THE CHILDREN OF AMISIT
The 'Children of Amisit', or the 'Cult of the Lost' to the indigni, emerged in the city of Leringard during the early half of the 16th century. Attracting followers from across central and northern Mistone, the cult focuses on the teachings of a prophetic figure named Amisit. Amisit claims that he visited the realm of Corath, and returned foretelling of an approaching 'Last Night'. It is unclear what the Last Night refers to, though some theorize that it may be the belief of a coming apocalypse to the indigni. This is just speculation of course, as the cult members are known for their refusal to comment on what the Last Night truly is. What is known however, is that the cult is obsessed with the acquisition of lost relics of the Mortis Mentis and His allies, reportedly already having possession of a number of the Demi-Lich Mechidil's writings, and a blade of Tsaryn.
The symbol of the Children of Amisit is a white raven skull on a black background, and it is rumoured that the cult possess a tome with this symbol on the cover that contains esoteric knowledge. Only one extract from this tome is know outside the cult:
On the first night there was no life. The sands dunes of oblivion lay frozen in the stale air. Cracked and yellowed bone that had remained undisturbed for aeons lay scattered throughout the sands. Rusted swords and broken shields spoke of battles fought long ago, the memories of which had since joined the surrounding sands. Time stood still like it had never begun, for this was a realm not of mortal concerns, of desire for gold, of lust for flesh, of fear of the inevitable. But a realm of Corath.
On the second night came Corruptio and Insaniam, returned to a land they had never left. On the rivers of the world they travelled, for all rivers ran dry here. Under Corruptio's guiding hand did the dead then rise, and dance to the tune that Insaniam played. The skeletal fingers of thousands clawed at the mortal world, searching blindly for the spark of light that might reignite their cured resurrection. But the blade of hatred blocked their path, that which is called the talon of Chaos. Bone shattered and flew in its wake, skulls flew from the heavens, and no disciple was left unchallenged. Until again Corruptio wove, and again Insaniam played, and again the dead came. For this was the end of realms, and the end of things.
On the final night hatred lay cooled and Chaos lay still, for there was no spark left to fuel them. Mortality lay tempered in the face of decay, and the sands of time again lay still. Until the hand of the Mortis Mentis did move, and the void in the heavens did beckon to the silent realm.
And on the last night, there was no dawn.
~Garrick the Red, Sancti of Fort Vehl
XIII
It is time.
Over five years have passed since my fateful meeting with Daneth. As soon as I escaped that hole in the ground I sent word to Kurgen through a twisted pit fiend. I had broken the creature well, so I knew it could be trusted to deliver the message in a timely fashion. From there, I hired passage north to Krashin to escape civilization. The lands there have an unusual aura about them. I am certain that He once walked there, many centuries ago. There is a cave there, north-west of the Coldfinger manson, that I had prepared for this very day. Inside lies a great stone sarcophagus, built with my own two hands from ice and stone. Kurgen was already waiting for me inside, his passage from Leringard swift. He was the only living creature I ever allowing enter that tomb, and only because he was needed for what was to come next. I have long been aware that the Sanctus Mortis had been watching my actions, but when I confronted Daneth I knew she had underestimated me. For I now know her for what she truly is. A servant of the mother of shadows.
I laid down to rest in the tomb of my own making. It was time to leave this world for a time and enter His. I could feel the warmth leave my body before the lid was even fully closed and the last wisp of candle light vanished. I closed my eyes and slept. And drempt...
The Realm of Dust has never left my mind since I first travelled there, its sands infested my conscious thoughts and actions. I saw there what must pass before the Truth can be birthed. The ascended realm of man in the Empire of the Mortis Mentus. But to understand how to achieve this, I had to travel back there. If not in flesh, then in mind, in spirit. I did not hear the incantations being cast upon me. I was already gone.
The cliff of jagged stone that rose before me greeted me like an old friend.. I felt as a druid returning to its grove. This was my home and I am its guardian. I descended from the heights and began to wonder amongst the dunes of ash at the base of the mountains. I had tread these paths before, I remembered them well. But soon my path lead me elsewhere, into a vast and foreboding desert of apathy. No thirst parched my lips, no sweat touched my brow, for I knew I was already dead. I do not wish to guess how long I wondered there, for that blood red sun never moved and I quickly left all landmarks behind me. But eventually, eventually I saw something in the distance. A single spear of indomitable black rock, Tower Vereor. A cry would have escaped my throat, but there was no air in my lungs. I hurried forward and reached out at the familiar black stone, only to draw my hand away in revulsion at the organic matter that covered my gauntlet. I looked up at the tower in horror to behold its majesty covered by a sticky cocoon. Franticly I tore away at it to free the temple beneath, this was my city! My tower! Arnaxian born! But it was too late. By the time I exposed the stone it was already turning a deep shade of violet. In disgust I turned away and returned to the endless desert of my wanderings. That was the first of many dreams.
I had no concept of how much time had passed when I finally awoke. Kurgen explained later that my tomb had been stumbled upon, defiled by the living. He had to move quickly to return me here, and not without a little blood along the way. And here I finally am, returned to this home in Leringard after all these years. The house had been gutted, the the structure stood still with little damage. The temple inside was the only room unfouled, perhaps they had not found it. Perhaps, or perhaps it was a message directed at me. Either way it begins now, the Black Sun rises.