Kindrath's Journal
Delving Into Madness
The Final Written Words of Kindrath, of the Healers of Orydins Clan:
It was supposed to be our final act of devotion, an honor bestowed upon the very best of us. After the great fall in the final battle in the hills, the five clans elected their most godly followers, and we constructed the final resting place of our people, and named it after the leader who united us, Stojanow the Mighty. Beneath it, fitted for five rulers and their master, we interred their bodies, their most prized pieces of armor - that they may have protection in the afterlife - and the Orb of Destiny they were entrusted to guard in their lifetimes. I, Kindrath, of the Healers of Orydins Clan, was to be our final leader. It fell upon me to finish directing the construction of the crypt, and choosing the monks to live here, for the rest of our lives, ensuring our traps would keep gravediggers and opportunists at bay yes, but more importantly, that no son of Ænthror would ever step foot in these hallowed halls. We have provisions and stores to last the rest of our short lives. We will live as the dragons, modest, monkly, and without need of material trappings. We will live in prayer, we will live in servitude and defense. :::: Listings of daily, and seemingly unimportant items are scattered throughout the logs :::: Pages later, the handwriting gets less neat, the writing more terse, thoughts less clear: It has been six years, I fear the brothers are losing their religion. It is a lot to ask, to retire here. I am up to the challenge, but did we make the best choice with the others? Some concern me. Pages Later: I was forced to punish a pair of brothers today. It hurt my heart, but they have stopped praying as much as they should. In fact, they are using the library to research, dragon’s know what, and I cannot have a crisis of faith. We have many more years here. Pages, and about ten years later. The entries are more scarce, with more time between them: The daily floggings are taking their toll on the brothers, but it must not stop. We must have order. Later: Two brothers died. I had intended to bury them in the underground river, digging into the clay of the shore bed. One of the brothers asked me if we could place them in the throne rooms, can you believe that? Each of our kings is buried with his honor guard, here for all eternity. We cannot, must not desecrate these sacred halls. And of course, they are already protected! Fayward and Talmond disagree, as is their way. They continue to read texts they shouldn’t. I curse my own stupidity for allowing the wealth of the Heorrenda’s mysticism to be buried along with us. Undisclosed Years Later: It was not my fault. We have performed daily floggings for years. Had Fayward and Talmond not deserved their extra lashes, then perhaps this could have all been avoided. It was not my fault. Talmond is dead. The entries pick up again, in rapid succession, days after one another: Fayward will not come out of his study hall. I have submerged Talmond’s body in in one of our inventions in order to study it. I think I may have ways to changing things. One of my more trusted brothers informed me he believes Fayward and Talmond were perhaps more than just close associates. Be that as it may, these events are all so unfortunate. But I must believe they are necessary. Later: I have begun seeing strange symbols on the floors. I’m not sure what to make of it. Another brother died today. Things feel like they are coming apart at the seems. Later: We know we cannot leave. The traps we have set and our weakness will make it too dangerous to navigate our way back. But this has not stopped some from trying. I now see more of these symbols. I am told by a few of my trusted confidants they are trying to find a way to use the dark arts to their advantage, to get out. I cannot express how ill thought this plan is, how much it goes against what we have committed to. Some Time Later: Fayward has murdered another brother, I am sure of it, though I cannot prove it. The brother trusted Fayward, how could he do this to him? I’m afraid of what’s going on in that room. Weeks Later: As leaders, our study rooms are locked by the large levers in the main hall. Fayward has one of his loyal brothers standing guard day and night. I cannot get access to his room without throwing that switch. Mixed with other nonsensical ramblings: More symbols. These are the forbidden runes and designs. They glow eerily at night. All has become disquiet. In our defense, I too have started researching our ancient mysticism. Interestingly, I may have found something that Fayward could have missed. The orbs of destiny, though dormant, could be used to activate some ancient machine of our elders. The machine’s location has been lost to time, but its function is clear. By loading all of the orbs into it’s machinations, it can consume even the darkest of horrors - or - I have learned, summon ancient beings. Is this what Fayward has planned? To bring . . . back our ancient wyrms? Large words here, frantic and hard to decipher: We awoke with a start. I cannot believe I am writing this. A massive beast has somehow invaded our sanctuary; a thing of nightmares, tentacles, gaping maw, it is a thing which should not exist. The small underground river that we used for freshwater has suddenly overrun and destroyed one of our throne rooms. The thing sits there now, tentacles spiraling, eating the small fish that traverse the river. Other beasts have now made their way here too, horrible things in the water. This was all Fayward, at his darkest. The beast consumes the darkness, I hear it in my dreams. It is terrifying, and we cannot leave. We cannot leave. Later: I think the beast is talking to me. I think it is talking to all of us. Was this Fayward’s plan? I saw him today, for the first time. He said he will no longer speak to me directly. He said I killed Talmond. I did not! He passed from his floggings. Talmond was weak. But my protestations fall upon deaf ears. The beast has driven Fayward mad, I am sure of it. Or perhaps this crypt has? Or, dragon’s wings, it was this idea all along. We should have killed ourselves from the start. Later: I am bereaved. That . . . Thing . . . Is driving us mad. Brothers are fleeing into the waiting death of our own traps, driven mad. We’re all going mad. A very neat and formal entry: I was told today that Fayward has changed his name, adopting an amalgam of his and Talmond's monikers. I was told he is leaving, somehow through the front mirror, though it should still be shattered. I was told I would be executed for not being faithful to the dragons. How can this be? I am the most faithful of all of us. How can our religion become this perverted? I will ask the dragons in the next life. Let posterity know I was faithful to my ancestors, and our people, the Heorrenda. Scribbled in splotted ink is a final entry, assuredly not in the same penmanship as the rest: I, Talwart, High Priest of Stojanow, now declare myself, and my followers, chiefs of the Heorrenda. As with the five kings, and Stojanow, our true patriarch, I will assume the leadership mantle. This place is cursed. I leave it now with one last devout follower; he will stay behind and secure the orbs and ensure they are returned to the kings crypts after we have used them to escape, so that none others will follow us. The horror we have summoned will stay, trapped. We will return to vanquish it, undo the last of the nightmares this place has created. But we will do so upon winged dragons. We will do so on the backs of out Gods. This place be damned, we will exterminate the Ænthror and take back our lands once more. By the Dragon’s Heart I swear it.
History
The so named 'Stojanow's Crypt' was discovered to be the final resting place of the Heorrenda's kings, guarded by elaborate traps and priests devoted to their preservation. Kindrath's Journal was found upon a podium in the crypt's lowest level and represents the harrowing tale of the priest's decent into madness and chaos as their well laid plans fell apart over the ensuing years.
Creation Date
The Second Age
Manufacturer
Owning Organization
Weight
5 Pounds
Dimensions
Standard book
Deadly Entrance to the Crypt's Underbelly
