Descent into the Ruins of the First Men

"From the lost expedition to the ruins of the first men..."

Editors Note: What follows has been annotated by the Custodians for ease of research and future application.

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From the personal journal of Lennis Halifan, staff archaeologist, "Shadwell Society of Spelunkers and Specimen Hunters"...

5th of Elaris, 1436, Year of the Slumbering Wyrm...
"After a long and arduous three weeks, my caravan has finally arrived outside of Jomor. Here we will find our own, personal Arsanadra... our 'city of gold.' From this humble stage, we shall bring ultimate glory to the West, and Angleport shall soon best even The Custodians of The Tower of Light in arcana from the Lumerian age."

6th of Elaris, 1436, Year of the Slumbering Wyrm...
"Standing on the precipice of the cliff overlooking the assorted ruins of Lumeria, one cannot help but feel our initial concerns regarding the 'rampant Isagorn hordes' were quite unfounded. The edifices below seem as lifeless as a painting, and just about as dangerous. Ranlin, our ranging, master sell-sword has reported no activity from below, as his early reconnaissance turned up not even the merest stray cow from the farms of the neighboring Jomor.
At first light on the morrow, we shall engage our destiny face-to-face. Tomorrow, the ruins shall be ours."

7th of Elaris, 1436, Year of the Slumbering Wyrm...
"It is said that the venerable black wyrm, Xaglath, lairs within the tallest structure within the parameter. If this is so, he certainly has gone out of his way to keep his presence unknown to us. Perhaps it is Ranlin's fabled and constantly unsheathed sword, 'Wyrmsmite,' that keeps the ancient beast in check. Oh, but were I such a superstitious fellow. Rather, I think our early 'reports' can be chocked up to mere professional jealousy from Alton, as it's apparent as the green on his face that he wishes he'd beat us to the excavation contract. I'll be certain to bring him back a souvenir. Won't that be quite cheeky!?
Side note: The commoners of Jomor refer to the ruins as Xaglath Keep, or sometimes 'Narvinast,' which means 'Goblin's Hold' in their brutish tongue. I now realize there is, as yet, no good and proper name for our ruins. As such, I now believe it to be my destiny to apply a suitable one. 'The Remnants of Halifan' has a pleasant ring to it."

Note the shortening of the following entry headlines. The lack of proper documentation. As if time is of the essence.

7th of Elaris...
"They came with a speed heretofore unknown. It took every ounce of courage to muster the men quickly enough to simply reach this modicum of safety before we could be overrun. We now stand within the crumbled antechamber of what appears to have been a temple of some sort. But to whom... or what?
There are no doors to barricade. No complete walls to hold back the wave of isagorn, goblins and worse that chased us here. For what unknown reason have they halted their advance? Not to look a luck lion in its maw, at least we seem to be safe for the moment.
I suppose I owe Alton some degree of an apology."

Editors Note: This is the point at which the journal begins to show damage. At least one entry is missing, and possibly even a few pages. This will be a recurring theme for the remainder of the journal... or what was recovered of it.

7th of Elaris...
"They're gone. I'm uncertain as to the reason. Were they herding us here? And if so, why?
Lasloff has unwisely removed the cover from the 'pit' behind the raised structure I think to have been an altar. The sounds from below suddenly ceased, as if in response. Barliss seems to foolishly believe that 'whatever's down there is more afraid of us than we are of it.' He can go down there first.

More unreadable passages. What was once believed to be water damage is now revealed to be something far more insidious... blood stains.

... (unreadable)... "...pile of treasure worthy of the greediest of dwarven spelunkers. But left completely unattended. Richelout was the first to notice Barliss' absence. He'd been taking up the rear, bearing torch. It's as if the shadows consumed him whole. Ranlin has decided to 'take charge' though I have to question his decisions. What's this nonsense about 'the only way out is to go through'? And handing me a blade! Of what value is that? I'm far more likely to stab myself than some unseen, shadow villain.
Hopefully Barliss has found a way out and is currently seeking aid for his fellow adventurers. One can hope."

... ripped asunder! Before my very eyes! Madness! Beyond that capable of any sentient being. Not even a goblin could be capable of the depravity visited upon poor Lasloff. I shudder to think of his face... or rather, what little of it remained. But I cannot dwell on this, lest I fall to despair. Ranlin and his blade still lead the way.

That there are missing pages here is of little doubt. The only question is how many.
Side note to Viggo: it seems you were correct in your earlier assumption. A hunter's potion confirmed... those page tears were indeed made by nail or claw.

... by the number of remaining rations. Twelve days! How is it possible? It seems certain now that Barliss shall not be returning with the cavalry. It is down to myself and Ranlin. On the bright side, I believe I have come into my own with regards to the short blade. It's still coated with the fluids of that blackened thing. I believe I cut clean through one of its... well, legs I suppose.
How could something so tiny be so vicious? It's tiny claws slashed an inordinate amount of my arm's flesh. It throbs. Like something underneath the skin is trying to get out...
Unrelated, Ranlin and I seem to be in disagreement as to the nature and depth of our current residence. I am rather certain we are around thirty feet below the surface, whereas Ranlin claims twice that. Ridiculous! Further, this chamber is clearly the dwelling of Xaglath, or some fell beast pretending to be the old lizard. Whatever made its nest here seems to have come to the wise decision to clear out. The rocks that block the far wall (east wall?) indicate a recent collapse. Did Xaglath block her escape path? If so, could it truly be from the 'Skitters' (as we've come to call them).
Wait! Just now! A sound! They've returned! Righteous Zenithal in Celene, they've returned!

It's maddening to know there is but one final entry before the pages become to damaged to decipher. It's clear Lennis wrote something more. If only it could be read.

17th of Elainis, Year of the Slumbering Wyrm...
'Eyes in the Darkness...'
I now see with eyes clear and unclouded. The temple. The inner sanctum. The tunnels beneath. All in service to one thing. One person.
They say that not every god was trapped within Celene during The Sundering. That a few clawed their way out of the rubble. But it is believed they all died.
I now know this to be untrue.
It's down here. Something not of the Zenithal. Not of the holy Seven revered by the crown of Wyeth. Something came with them, against the very designs of the gods. Tagged along as the holy mountain descended from the heavens above. Something they didn't want... something they were perhaps even fleeing. A celestial stowaway, now escaped and nesting beneath my very feet.
The Skitters. They're but the unholy gnats that swarm around its body. Maybe even produced by its body. Maybe produced by our own bodies. Yes, my wounded arm continues to throb. It's twice its original size and gives no sign of abating. Something is indeed slowly attempting to escape my body. Am I becoming one of them? A Skitter? I'm I to father one of their unthinkable kind, these spawn of a vile god?
They are its willing servants about as much as we are. But still, they hunt us. They hunt me. Now that I wield Ranlin's blade, I have little to fear from gnats. At least the ones outside my body.
But the floor...
I feel it moving. Stirring. It was asleep, but I fear no longer. I thought my legacy was to be this archaeological dig. I thought my name would grace these fantastical ruins. And indeed, it may very well. But not as an honorarium. Rather, as a warning. This isn't my find. It is to be my tomb.
I've woken the stowaway. The beast that cannot and shall not be named. Even those who worshipped at its feet are now fled. The goblins, the isagorn... the ancient black dragon. They all knew something we didn't.
My ultimate hope is that none ever find this journal. For if it is recovered, that means the passage has been reopened. Yes, I sealed the way in, as the previous occupant of this lair sealed the way out. It must remain sealed. For the sake of all, it must.
If you are reading this, I implore you. Nay, I beg of you! Close it now. Lock it down. The way must be sealed!
It's getting closer. I don't know how much more time... (unreadable)... (end).

Purpose

The journal serves as the final word and testament to our beloved journeyman guild member, Lennis Halifan. May he lay in quietude with The Zenithal.

Historical Details

History

This transcribed journal was recovered from an ill-fated archaeological dig, at the Lumerian ruins just west of Jomor.

Public Reaction

This document, as recorded by the Custodians of the Tower of Light, has not been released to the public. More research will be required before any such decision will be made.

Type

Journal, Personal

Medium

Paper

Myth

Lumeria

Location

Ruins of the First Men

Authors

• The Custodians

Signatories (Organizations)

• Guilds & Factions of the West