Histories of the Realm: The Book of the Damned Itself 3.0

Chapter 2


There is water in the flesh here, an idea startling to me still as my lungs continuously suffer from the harsh air. Without her I would most certainly no longer be alive at this moment, jotting these notes down as fast as my hand can carry my pen. But as I was saying: Water in the flesh. It is true, relnits is how I am still living now, because we sustained our life upon them; whether this is mortal sin or not is yet to be told. The Eleven Above have forsaken me.
As I stayed dumbfounded by all around me, I came to notice that out of this red desert emerged life. Malicious life. Life that wanted mine.
Demons had begun to crawl towards me, ones that I recognized and ones that I did not. Some even surfaced from the sand. Sachrons there were, and other demonic entities as well. They were of the less man-like demons, more the beast-kind. Immediately I sensed I was in danger, and became bodily aware of myself.
I looked as if I’d jumped through a blazing fire. I was indeed still in my leather armoring, with my mail underneath, albeit everything was scorched. And lo! My sword had endured unscathed. I wielded it, fending off the demons which encroached upon me.
They seemed to be as numerous as the twinkling lights in the day sky, as they continued to pour from the dunes and engage me. These demons were demons nonetheless, but appeared to be smaller and less aggressive, as if perhaps only the strong are sent to invade our Realm. Ha! I am glad she was never sent…
This plane never sleeps, it is always day, a human man as myself is not meant to be here. A swarm of creatures I have deemed Techanns just attacked. I will manage to write my account around my now bloodstained parchment. It seems to be years ago since I wrote here last, but I know it is not so. Where was I? The demons were pouring from the sands, for I shall not call it “earth” because here, there is no soil, no green thing, and no running water. Only blood and death lives here, blackness and ice.
I parried their continuous assaults, managing to come away with naught but some scratches and nicks.
I was soaked in the blood of the other; however, I did not burn or steam. I believe it is because here, here in this place, my blood boils, and not the demons. Undoubtedly, the sand is blood red for a reason.
The onslaught continued until I was in tatters, shredded and beaten down, worn out and discouraged. The creatures came at me less and less, but each time, they grew harder to suspend. I was weakened beyond extremity, but I pressed on. At that point, if aye, I recall correctly, I had thus calculated that I was in the demon plane, and some immeasurable force drove me to strive to live, liked the caged wildebeest that attacks his keepers, as the sword is being driven in.
Up until this point, having not known, I was backing up, facing the demons which were hemming me in. I felt no ground behind me, and I fell backwards, falling for a spell and colliding with ice. Were it not for my mail, I believe I would have been broken, as a shovel strikes the bedrock. I clambered to my feet upon the ice, and looked back from where I fell.
Extraordinarily, I found that the fall was incredibly high, a height from which no mortal man could possibly survive, even if armored. It was as high as the northern tower in castle Twin River, nay, higher still. Standing there momentarily, I noted that the wall from which I fell was sheer like a cliff, but it was not soil, instead, to my great horror, the cliff was filled with human and demon skeletons, remains of the fallen of some great war, intermingled with the blood red sands. It now dawns on me that this is a great mystery, for I now possess knowledge that conflicts. I am here as a result of the great rolling wave of fire that brings the demons back, and the souls of the damned that come here, they do not arrive in bodily fashion. This place is ancient, ancient indeed.
The ice was not natural, but more similar to salt in coloration, and not cold. It was, however, slippery and opaque like the ice of the Realm, but not wet either. Beneath it could be seen a vast dungeon of otherworldly construct of some white stone, whose whereabouts I do not wish to explore.
Regaining my composure, I glanced about me, for sudden fear of demons cascading down from the cliff. Nay, several Sachron, with their spider-like fashioned faces, peered down from high above the dune, gazing upon me with the green luster of their orbs. All at once, the party retreated from sight, as if my viewing them appeased them.
All sense of direction for me was skewed; it mattered not. To live was to hope, and to hope is to carry on. I turned from that cliff wall, and gazed upon the great outstretch of ice before me. I am not a seafaring man, but have seen the ocean a few times in my day. It was similar, for I could see nothing of the land beyond the ice.
I cursed Those Above for their cruelty and threw off my blood splattered helm. I stomped and gave a great howl to those mocking stars above me, to the purple wispy clouds that drifted like the remains of a great forest fire. There was no where to go, and wherefore to go anyways? I relapsed once more into a sense of hopelessness, viewing as the cliff side stretched onward in both directions behind me as well, as far as the mortal eye can see.
I collected my helm and began the great trek. Alas, I must pause in my writing now, for she tells me more danger approaches. I wonder if I am viewed as the invader and my blood the foreign irritant, accursed by the demon-kind. I wonder many things, but wondering about things when demons are nigh is folly, she [There appears to be more written, but the page is torn and ripped]