[CorstoTerrore]

I remember nothing about the past. If it ever existed in the first place. I am still sitting on the proverbial fence regarding that. As I said to someone before, perhaps none of us were anything before climbing out of that Well, birthed in response to the encroaching Scars. But why do they encroach?

So many questions, so little answers.

All I know, somehow, are my names. Or are they just names that somehow came to me. Ambrosius. Ambrose. Balthazar. Which of them is correct? Are none? Does it even matter? If I did, indeed, exist before this strange realm, does this not mean I can begin anew in a place so far removed from everything? Unless, of course, we are all punished for our previous crimes. Perhaps one day I shall enter a Scar and come across some atrocities I myself have committed in the past.

That will be one for the annals of history, surely.

[CorstoTerrore]

All those Scars that I have visited. All that tragedy, pain, sorrow, anger, despicable actions, despair.

Yet none have intrigued me as the Lantern did. That primordial dance of Light and Dark. Somehow I recall beliefs and tales from somewhere, of how danger and wicked things lurk in the darkness where righteous, honest folk should never go. No, they ought to stay in the light, where everything is bright, pure and joyful. Even the villagers here in Risenholm walk the night with lanterns and candles to ward off the dark.

Not so in that laboratory, however. From what I gathered reading those journals and research notes, Light, pure Light divine in its brilliance, is a cruel essence. Like fire, it requires fuel to burn bright. But wood or coal does not suffice, no. It requires pain and suffering to exist. Living beings tortured for its essence to appear. Or undead, as it happens. It seems as long as the being is capable of experiencing pain, it will be enough. To think that some force thought to be so benign would act this way.

And when I reached the very bowels of that laboratory, I saw it. Those wisps and shapes of Darkness, sucking in the meagre light of the candles strewn about the prison room. And they appeared to be comforting the tortured thing, caressing it to alleviate all that pain. Smothering it in that dark void we are all taught to fear and avoid.

I will return there again, soon, to inspect the site more. I must know more of this. Like other Scars, there is misery in the laboratory. But also something fundamental, I fear.

[CorstoTerrore]

I told her about the Dark and Light. I could tell she was not convinced right away. Yet she did promise to visit the laboratory again to gaze upon it all with fresh eyes.

Why am I the only one to see it so? Why is everyone else so blind to the deeper meaning hidden in that scar?

[CorstoTerrore]

The Walled City

• - It lies far deeper inland

• - Mechanical guard, lesser ones roam the farmsteads nearby. They are also apparently gathering grain from the fields, hauling it inside the walls to rot away, unused.

[*] - Magic?

• - Disembodied voice warning of intruders. The owner may be sentient, or perhaps it is a magical recording of sorts. Still unknown.

• - No entry through the gate

[*]- Possible to enter through the sewage pipe. Need manpower, tools and time. This has been proven by the recent incursion using this exact route.

[CorstoTerrore]

Druidic circle

• Some kind of internal strife leading into massive battles

• The being in the deepest cave spoke of corruption. Indeed, the corruption was palpable

[CorstoTerrore]

The cannibal' monolith

• This monolith was the reason for the initial excavation and exploration team

• That woman in brown seems to think the monolith drove them to cannibalism. And that it is a landmark for the Sleeping Gods

• There are plans to excavate the area in this reality, to prove its existence and possibly discover more

[CorstoTerrore]

Some of the resident naturists and druids are up in arms about that shadowy thing lurking in the deeper woods. Apparently they want to attempt some manner of ritual on it to cleanse it or contain it. I tried to offer my insight on the matter, as I feel its existence has something to do with the primordial forces of Light and Dark. I told them to visit the laboratory scar with their eyes peeled. But the oafs refused me, stating they will 'Come to me should their attempt fail'.

Idiocy.

[CorstoTerrore]

I suppose I ought to write something about that recent trial, for posterity.

First of all, people are all so eager to try and garner favours. Only a handful of time after I have been approached by two individuals asking how I came to have such as 'esteemed' position. And oh how their demeanour changes when I tell them it was luck of the draw. I was simply there and was chosen. Because now they realize I cannot provide them with any special favours after all.

I truly did not care for Cynemaer's life one way or another. A speck of dust on an already dirty floor, after all. But I did realize trying him for what happened would have not gone down well with the majority. Not to mention the underlying issues of their laws being extremely arbitrary on certain issues.

But it was amusing to see how easy it is to influence the townsfolk. Something to remember, later.

[CorstoTerrore]

Oh dear oh dear.

That Penny woman approached me earlier, suddenly wanting an interview. The whole tribunal matter has been done and dusted already, but now she wished to have words.

No, the reasons for that are simple.

First of all, nothing grandiose is happening right now, but she needs to keep interest in her paper, so she is filling it up with content to appear busy with steady releases.

Then all one needs to do is look at the writing on that last article. "For people to get to know the individuals living here" she said. There is nothing about me there, who I am and what I strive to achieve, if anything. Only random quotes that feed into her personal opinion on the matter, which one can find near the end. All she wanted was fuel for her own, personal flames. Hah, so much for neutral news, skimming off her personal thoughts and only reporting the truth of events.

I am disappointed, quite frankly. I expected her to be far more cunning than that.

[CorstoTerrore]

It has been so long since I took up a pen to write something down. Far too long in fact. But there is a reason for that.

I do not rightfully know why I am even writing any of this. For posterity? Who can say. All I know is that I am so very, very deeply troubled by more recent events. Personal events, that is. Something that is affecting me. An ailment or a curse. Or insanity of a quantity beyond measure.

It began one day as I woke up from what I could only describe as restless, fitful sleep. Upon awakening I discovered a most tedious fact. My clothes were gone. My lovely, quilted jacket of gold and yellow was nowhere to be seen. Neither were my flawless, puffy pants inside the room. But, another set of clothes lay neatly arranged atop the nightstand. Somewhat regal in colour in their own way, the design more practical yet still elegant. I tried them on and they seemed to fit my person, perfectly. However, I had no recollection of making such a change in my wardrobe. Why would I? Yet as the day was beginning, I had no choice but to don the vestments.

It was during the moment of grabbing hold of "my" new cloak that I was struck by some malady of horrid visions. As I turned the cloak around, I gazed upon a detailed embroidery of a crown. And then it happened. I began to shake uncontrollably. First my hands and then my legs. So much so that the cloak fell from my hands as I stumbled back and were forced to sit down on the bed, my gaze fixated on that accursed image of a crown. I could not tear my eyes away from it, even as I wished to do so with all my being.

Vertigo took hold of me then, a feeling of nausea and passing out. Voices began to sing all around me. A strange, disconcerting lullaby. So strange were the words that their meaning eluded me completely, like a foreign language. I closed my eyes and tried to focus, to calm myself and fight against the rising wave of ill inside me. But even in the pitch dark of my now sightless eyes I was visited by an image.

I saw the crown of pale gold like the first rays of a chill morning sun. Five spikes lay atop the crown, each in the form of a garbed woman. To my amazement I saw the women slowly writhe as they silently wept. Then my gaze was drawn to the center of the crown, where a large jewel I could only describe as an emerald, burned with a disheartening glow of balefire like some unknown, distant star.

But more horrendous, still, was the head that bore the crown. I know not whether what I gazing at was some insidious mask or a perversion of a man's face, but it moved and stretched abnormally, thousands upon thousands of emotions dancing on its surface, shifting and changing in some bizarre dance of mimicry or mockery. It was then I felt a penetrating and soul-searing gaze fix upon myself, and I dared (or were forced?) to meet that gaze. But I only saw black pits staring at me in return. Two blots of void that still held a gaze of unfathomable power. Even as I finally felt my mind reeling and oblivion take me, I felt a promise in the abyss of those eyes. A promise of nothing, an end to an endless cycle.

I awoke again, later in the day. The clothes were once again piled neatly atop the nightstand, but I still lay on the bed the way I had fallen onto it when the seizure had taken hold. It was already late afternoon, so, confused, I walked out to join he others for the incursion into the Ceaseless City.

Still, I am both haunted by that queer apparition and fascinating by what it can promise. And I cannot shake the strange words of that lullaby from my mind.