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In my many travels across the world, there exists but one place, far to the north, where no man dares to tread. It is a place of monsters, wilderness, and beyond it all, at the edge of the world, a gateway to the underworld. It is a place that few know exist, and fewer seek, and yet, once upon a time, I too travelled there.

It was in the late stages of winter, my army had been sent once more to battle against the Hellions, when we were forced to take shelter from a devastating storm. It’s winds cut like knives through the flesh, it’s breath was the cold of death, and it’s touch like endless sleep.

Many of those who came with me, died. But up there, in the north, I found something. A huge gaping maw dug into the side of the cliff, teeth like jagged stones, and water that washed down its gullet.

It was a thing of nightmares, a thing of hallucinations, and yet in the bitter winter storm. We were forced to take shelter down there. It is one of my regrets, that I did not heed the warnings of my brothers. For during the night, when we fell asleep, we awoke in a different world.

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Bound, gagged, and dragged by creatures who looked much like the humans of this world, they had burning red eyes, and took us down into the bowels of Coroleya. The stench of sulphur was so thick in the air I could not breathe. Down there, in the pitiless dark of the underworld, I saw things that would keep any man awake, demons that flew on black wings that hunted men for sport, creatures that drank the blood of beasts, and grand cities made of bones. It’s buildings dwarfed anything above ground, and in the midst of it all, a lake, a lake that was filled with the corpses of my kin. Thousands more of them, turned into unthinking monsters, that walked about on two legs with eyes the colour of pearls.

But that was barely an appetiser for the horrors that awaited us. For days on end, we were beaten, tortured, and contorted. Broken until there was barely anything of us left, then healed by magic that burned the skin. Then each day, we would be asked to feed on the flesh of our dead kin, told that if we wished for freedom, that we must partake of the body. They called themselves the Basalet, Lords of the Underworld, and to the few, the gatekeepers of death.

It was there I learnt the meaning of true fear, hatred, and self-loathing. For although I lasted longest among my people. I too eventually gave in. There is only so much pain a man can take, and in the end I chose to kill one of my own, rather than go through another day.

I know that these words will bring me shame, but to deny what I had done, would have shamed me more. And so I leave these words here also. A warning to those that dare to step into the jaws of death. Beware, for you may lose more than your soul.