The night was a misty and cold one and our drive to get past these forgotten, or rather never remembered hills was diminishing with each passing hour as if funneled by some nefarious and unknown influence. It has been a journey of over a hundred days by now and we had lost four of our original party of seventeen while traversing this frozen, bleak and rocky landscape dotted with miserable vegetation. Thanking the description of the lands told to us by the lepers but also due to an eerie and unexplainable feeling of an approaching end to our misery, we have decided to keep on marching through the introductory hours of the night. The men, or rather my dear comrades, gradually began showing signs of uneasiness. An uneasiness that slowly began taking over my mind too.

'Let's keep on!' I kept repeating with less and less conviction. 'There is no one around us. It must be our weakened senses painting these visions. One more hour, lads, then we're setting camp.' I could hear a wave of hopeful inhales and restored conversations as the band knew a long awaited rest was somewhere ahead. Engulfed by the tar of a starless night and accompanied by rather irregular gusts of rough wintry winds, the only fact, that I can admit with all honesty, which kept us propelling forward was that we were thirteen strong. Even a stark soul of a proven soldier wouldn't dare venturing into these accursed lands alone. But there is an unspeakable strength inside a herd and we all knew it well.

'Lads, behind!' screeched one of us from the rear with a voice that rung utter terror and desperation. All turned around, clamped closer together in an instant and kept looking around like a group of scared critters, absolutely unsure if we should run or not. After some long moments of deep and panicked silence it was brought to my attention we were only twelve present. After inquiring with my comrades on what they have seen I have decided, as a leader of the company, that each of us is going to receive the last dose of Grazing Wort and that we shall set up camp on the nearest suitable-enough stretch of soil we find. Marma and Desot, the ones that claim they had seen the happening took out their mugs and stood in the queue the soonest as if simply begging to escape their current state of mind. They babbled about a giant white limb with many a long and deformed finger reaching out from the surrounding blackness, clasping one of our most accomplished, old Kestel, barbarously and dragging the scarlet pulp that was left of him back into the night. This is not what we tend to think an end to such a virtuous and strong warrior should be, nevertheless that is exactly how the Land decided to play it out.

The cold herb brew seemed to annul our heavy fears entirely while maintaining an unison of opinion on the topic of leaving what was left of Kestel behind and pressing on. We set up camp among stony pillars of black rock. The freezing cold pushed us into only two tents, using the remaining cloth to layer them for more warmth. The extra frame elements we have arranged as sort of rudimentary defensive spikes around the encampment. It took us not less than three hours to fall asleep, while the Worts excitatory effects and odd conversations caused by it steadily wore off and dissolved into sweet nothingness.

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I am no poet or believer in describing of auditory experiences. I also don't believe anybody that stumbles upon this story would be able to accurately recreate with their minds the dreaded sounds I have heard that morning. No matter the words I use. Blood and chaos, the two things I knew for certain upon waking up, began taking a gradually more defined and grotesque shape. I stood there in the middle of the camp that was turned into a primitive hell of sorts by forces entirely unknown to me. The tents were reduced to blood-soaked rags and splinters. There were visible strange tracks scattered around our base. Awfully small and veiny but remaining uncannily humanoid characteristics. I was slowly regaining my yet-to-be-bent consciousness but very soon came to a realization how much I wished I had never woken up. As if deafened previously by my own mind, I've started noticing what fate came upon my dear friends. The fate which brought these indescribable and horrible sounds. The sounds of certain and merciless agony. It seemed like the vile attackers toyed with the severed elements of human bodies, forming strange shapes and constructing forbidden abominations out of them. One torso had four unrecognizable heads connected to where the limbs used to be. Few, whom I cannot name due to the condition they were in, created an abhorrent choir of torturous chants on behalf of their lungs and larynxes being more or less intact. Yet another one, entirely deprived of his skin, hung from what used to be a window in a fragment of a precisely built wall, black blood dripping down onto a frozen soil. While under a spell of utter but placid shock it dawned on me that my surroundings have been altogether different from what we have chosen for our camp the previous night.

I was standing in curiously symmetrical ruins of an archaic town sprouting or rather overgrowing with incredible sculptures. If not for the signs of a violent and burdensome siege, the alluring architecture charmed me with its gleaming unknown glory. The stonework appeared so flawless as if chiseled by uniquely masterful hands. And as if regularly maintained. When my mind tried to go back to my comrades I had found myself completely alone in an alley inside of a city that never echoes. The walls worried me but the soundless wind worried me even more. The feeling here was the opposite of what you could call home. And the night was coming. With only an old spear to defend myself I started walking alongside what seemed to be a magnificent basilica and an impenetrable giant rampart wall. It must have been an hour or more of carefully treading through the silent pavement of innumerable alleys until my eyes have met with what appeared to be a well. It was crucial for me to get water. If that was a possibility. The strange well stood in the middle of a round plaza ringed by red monuments of elongated anthropoid forms. The rope hanging down the well was weaved with a fantastically shimmering silver fibre. I pulled on a stone lever of this unknown to man mechanism invented by some outlandish civilization only to witness the rope disappear into the dark depths of the well with a silent speed of a falcon. While slouching in a hushed state of total exhaustion in front of the futile well there came a rumble of earthquaking magnitude. As if some colossal stones were being grinded together. The dissonant noise was beyond me and so I cracked my last tear of Wort and Wine and set to run. Then, suddenly, I have frozen in motion as I heard a ghastly and raspy baying and howling of some gigantic canine right behind me. What I saw upon turning around was a witch's vision. Two coal-like eyes adorning a giant man-dog head that was completely transparent except for glimmering sinews and shining joints of the beast. The majestic upper arms that must have been five times longer than mine were followed by another pair. And then another. The six legged monstrosity stared at me with laborious harsh breaths. It let out a terrifying howl. When it stood there it resembled a disproportionately big glass figurine enchanted with the Echoic Light's sorceries but due to the fluidity of its movements I was convinced it was a beast of flesh. It began moving toward me so I returned the gesture.

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With my homeland's song roaring from my lungs I go into battle. The ground below me rang with a deep gallop of the creature and the clinging of my armor was restless. From my years spent battling the Pestilence That Came and fighting alongside the holy King Rys, blessed be his Soul, with monstrosities of such degree one usually has a singular opportunity to best it before he gets mutilated by fortitude far greater than human. The charging being halted right before me, standing upright on its two hind legs and presenting to me its incredible glory. It must have been at least three times my height. Its whole body flicked where the bones connected and the sinews burned like fire. No digestive or, in fact, any other system was visible other than the maddening glimmering parts. I have chosen to strike its gut with all the might I had in me. The flexile beast feinted the attack but my second thrust cut deeply into the muscle on its right leg. The wild thing shrieked and curled up to lick its wound. Then, as if due to the power of its invisible blood, the creature went into a frenzy. It rolled on the ground while baying as if being tortured. With a blessing of hope I ran towards the thing to strike again. The chaos of its motion and translucency of its anatomy made me realize altogether too late that the beast was preparing for a defense of sorts. It shook its hurt leg towards me spraying me with gelatinous droplets of this invisible substance. Disoriented due to the itching it caused, I let my hip get jabbed and ripped deeply by one of the beast's claws. I cried in pain and changed my stance. The assisting effects of the miraculous Grazing Wort were, I believe, the sole reason why I hadn't been shredded to grisly particles during the chained charge of absurdly rapid swings the monster flung at me. I thrust and swung my trusted spear against his barrage. Blocking that brute force seemed useless so I resorted to evading and stabbing. My focus was being intruded by the pain introduced to my face and torso by the abominable slime-blood. It has been corroding me. Seeping deeper and deeper into my tissue whilst I was dancing the hectic dance of Life and Death. Through the corpus of the beast that seemed to cease its assault momentarily to regain some vigor I noticed a robed person, thin and profoundly tall, measuring around 4 meters strolling right past the well and silently disappearing in a dark alley. It must have been the Taker, a scavenger of ended souls, like a vulture he waited for Death. Knowing an end to one of us was near I decided to adjust the hold on my spear to gain additional reach and grasped it closer to the pummel. My third push cut profoundly between the fingers of his front left paw letting a horrible screech of agony out of the thing's lungs. It slithered on the pavement and I dared not come closer. It hacked awfully and because it was a beast so majestic and godlike I felt sorry for its ill fate. What powers gave me the right to disturb its sanctuary and slaughter it in its home? I kept staring at it as it yielded to the wounds. I kept watching as it went more and more silent, returning the previous aura of stillness to the eerie walls of this forsaken metropolis.

There it lay. A formless mountain of flickering sinews. Not breathing. In a moment of exhausted victory I have forgotten about the severity of my wound. Kneeling on the cold pavement I prayed to the Grandfather for a favorable passage. Then I died crawling aimlessly among the accursed walls. This is not what we tend to think an end to a warrior should be. But now I finally rest with the heroes and the gods in the eternal stillness of Death and weave stories of my life to ones that are ripe to hear them.