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History

Ancient Notebook

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I write this now in hope that someone will remain. Someone may remember.

The sun is an orb of blood. Twisted twilight shrouds my eyes. The air reeks of anguish. Sarn has plunged into nightmare.

The man who served me coffee now writhes on the floor. He rants of visions he alone can see, as writhing red tentacles grow from his face, as if his eyes had been seeds waiting to sprout. He is quiet, now, my waiter. No more cackling and screaming. Dead.

Of my fellow patrons, only two live. The others have fallen. Their blood is everywhere. The survivors, Gemlings both... their skin shrivels and greys to the hue of necrosis. Their gems flare with unholy lustre. Their eyes... black as... hatred.

A gemling ghoul... it twisted off a corpse's head... gnaws at skull like dog. My head now... visions clawing at me... Thinking burns! I see... horror, envy the mute corpses at my... feet. Words flay me... flee me. All is madness...


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