City of Riverstock

The tall, thick walls are adorned with stone scars and dust-blood.

My name is Lucas Dumai. I sit here in my small study, writing my insignificant story in this diary.

I was born 37 years ago in Ludovrich, southeast of the kingdom. In this harsh world, my beginning was not the worst: a merchant father and a mother of middling lineage.

I was raised and educated first by my father, who taught me mathematics and writing, then by the Church. As the second son, my father hoped I would grow to become a member of the local cathedral.

In my youth, I was schooled in ancient rites - to please God and attract His attention, to break the centuries-old Silence.

But at fifteen, everything shattered during a journey beyond the city walls. Led by a priest, our small group was taken to a chapel north of the city. There, I witnessed the Unknown and true terror.

That night, as we rested in the small church, we were awakened by distant sounds and screams. We rose and stepped outside.

In the cool spring breeze, from the hilltop we saw the southern city in panic. Fires blazed, making the night unnaturally bright.

Then we saw them.

The Aberrations in the sky.

Too distant to discern details, but the horrid sound they emitted was enough to plunge any living being into terror.

As lights flickered in houses below and people flocked to us seeking answers to questions we ourselves were asking… It arrived.

Graceful and tempestuous, it rang the opening bell of the cursed symphony.

It landed atop the church - a single eye at the center of what might be called a head, dominated by an enormous beak filled with sharp, crowded teeth and slick tongues. Its body bore feathered wings colored like a peacock’s, yet the rest was ash-gray. Bizarre tri-jointed arms and three legs, a cross between reptile and raptor. The tail stretched like a worm, thrashing like a beached fish.

Then came the cry.

Pure bodily agony. Unstoppable. Blood, flesh and mind subjugated by it - a scream of madness and torment, shrill and quivering.

I saw my master vanish. The creature suddenly had a mouthful of flesh, tongues hissing in the wind.

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In pain and terror, I threw myself back into the church, followed by companions not yet paralyzed by fear or writhing in anguish.

Then came silence. A void in my mind. I could hear the screams and madness smothering the village, yet I was elsewhere - my mind disconnected, extinguished. What felt like an instant (though I know it wasn’t) brought true silence from without.

A scuttling came from the central nave. Hiding in the closet, I detected a fetid, bloody odor crawling from my nostrils into my brain’s depths.

There was a crack to peer through, but something told me salvation required no peeking - that if I didn’t look, perhaps It couldn’t see me.

Two of my remaining friends lacked such wisdom. Their sudden screams were cut short by chewing and rending sounds.

Then it truly ended. I don’t know when or how, but morning came. Through silence and darkness, I’d drifted into daylight.

Realizing I’d cheated death, I understood I’d never once sought help from the God I professed to believe in. His dwelling hadn’t repelled the monstrosities. Even the most pious perished alike. Only Loris survived with me - never did I ask what hole he’d crawled into. He’d been there, silent in the church desecrated by children of the Formless Tricephalus.

From that day, I was no one. Just my name.

Home, family, church, future - all gone.

Days later, the city was burned. The flying horrors had planted seeds of distortion. Everything - flesh, blood, plants and trees - was irreparably contaminated. Left unchecked, a nest of aberrations and tumorous growths would have consumed the land.

The worst part was hearing the screams of those barred inside the city.

Fear of what might escape outweighed the lives of survivors trapped within.

Loris and I never met again. Descending the hill, our paths diverged forever.

In a sense, I was free - no longer bound by my father’s orders or ecclesiastical commandments. Strange how bewilderment and expectation coexisted in me. The memory of that night remained, yet I buried it - draped in black cloth, locked deep in my mind.

The years that followed were the most carefree of my life.

I enlisted in the army, though my education could have led elsewhere.

But fear demanded strength. I sought power, however trivial, to delude myself I’d never need to hide again.

Hardship and death accompanied my rise. Yet I always prevailed.

I climbed ranks - my mathematical skills and literacy accelerated my ascent, paired with battlefield initiative.

Now I sit here, commander of the city’s defenses. No family - never desired one since that day, and grateful given what approaches.

Here on a worn chair, accompanied only by candlelight and a bottle of Liurrom liquor, I await the Black Army’s arrival. It advances like an ocean - relentless, devouring cities and empires. From the Old World’s heart, the Tower of Astubar now beats at our gates.

But I’m no longer a child. I won’t hide. Cannot.

I am a warrior. Though my death and defeat are assured, I won’t surrender.

Pray not for me, you who read these final words. For I have no God. My flesh is my temple, my spirit the altar where I pray for courage to become steel - to never yield.

The final day,

From beyond the grave,

Lucas Dumai