Diary of Dombasson

The Diary of Dombasson

(selected passages)

… word came today from the hobbit Kilgan of Tivitin Shire that the high archmage Xiogru yet lives—though he has been transformed somehow.  This is obviously a matter for further study…

… my research into the trogs’ affliction has stalled.  The curse is of dwarven origin—this I know.  Konykos suggests the answer may lie within the Tome of Kehl-diy Azal, could the dwarves of Ms. Decayne be persuaded to share it.  This does not seem likely …

… A man appeared at the temple today who claimed the endowment of prophecy, and declared the revered ToaToboh to be a “doomed god” and said all his followers would soon be cursed.  This man was undoubtedly a charlatan.  Still, his words stirred within me an anger I did not know I could feel.  Had the light guard not removed him I cannot be sure I would not have overreacted.  It is imperative that I banish these emotional proclivities forthwith …

… Konykos has gone.  New reports of Xiogru’s appearance in the south have again reached the temple, and he has taken it upon himself to investigate.  I remain skeptical, but I must admit having my doubts.  Still, how could this being—who, according to the latest reports, bears a deep ebon complexion and equals three marsh hobbits in stature—be the same Xiogru who once dwelled among us? …

… Another of these raving, so-called prophets in the temple today.  “The darkness is coming,” he kept saying, over and over repeatedly.  The light guard politely asked him to leave, but to no avail.  So I—intervened.  I have endeavored to drive the sensations of anger and rage from my being, yet the turkey feathers and snood I affixed to this man through mystical practices shows I have not yet fully succeeded.  This was necessary, I do suppose—yet admittedly I have work still to do …

… News today of great violence in the south.  This black walker again—the one who is being called Xiogru.  He is now reported to lead an army, and to have raided and burned several villages south of Mt. Zind. No word yet from Konykos, but this will surely not escape his notice …

… The acolyte Jaraymus this morning dared pose the question of whether the torment of enlightened undeath be preferable to eternal nonexistence.  I took his meaning instantly, and though Jaraymus insisted his motives were purely philosophical in nature it is not acceptable for an acolyte of this temple to indulge the views of madmen.  “So you, too, think ToaToboh a doomed god?” I replied.  He denied this, a bit of dishonesty that only made him doubly intolerable.  So there is now a fine mushroom in the garden called Jaraymus.  Perhaps his philosophy should have taken account of spending eternity as a fungus? …

… Elves of Larsong have arrived in town, and I am to meet with them tomorrow on the subject of Xiogru.  I will tell them what I know, I suppose.  The Xiogru of the Encrod was a miserably ambitious man, gifted with immeasurable arcane powers.  He visited the temple often, seeking knowledge of various magical treasures he dreamt of acquiring.  Somehow the man was both impossible to take seriously and impossible not to, with his exceptional talents.  Anyway I must admit feeling a bit of relief on hearing of his disappearance into the depths of Mt. Zind.  If the stories of his return are true, there is much cause for concern…

… I have long been weary of elves. Today my distrust has been vindicated. These of Larsong claim that if we do not act, then the whole of the Encrod people will be held to account for the actions of this black walker who terrorizes the countryside south of Mt. Zind.  Preposterous.

The elders of Larsong are convinced the black walker is indeed Xiogru of the Encrod.  Perhaps they are right.  But the Encrod will not act without proof!  Bandits and raiders abound in the southern wilds—is it so impossible that one might call himself by the same name as a man who once dwelt here? And even if this black walker be the same as the Xiogru who left here years ago, from all accounts he is greatly transformed.  He is hardly an emissary of the Encrod. …

… Now these mad prophets come in threes, I presume?  Three men today cast themselves down on the temple steps and wailed as if in genuine agony.  “We have seen it!  The harshest night!  The fall of our god!  It cannot be stopped!”  Unbearable, truly.

Fortunately I have perfected several curses that seem efficiently to abate these disturbances.  For the first man, an impenetrable fog now clouds his thoughts—the world he can see, but inside his head there is only blindness.  For the second, an itchy throat keeps him mild of voice and in a constant pursuit of drink, lest he be overcome by an irresistible cough.  And the third man I have simply transfigured into a common jackrabbit.  If the coming darkness cannot be stopped, as he says, then perhaps his newfound speed will at least enable him to outrun it. …

… The hobbit Kilgan was in the temple today to report tidings from the east.  Many dwarves of Mt. Decayne have been seen traveling north, in a caravan for the Jagged Coast.  There is much speculation as to the purpose of this expedition.  Some say a sixth major clan has emerged in the belly of the Decayne Undermountain, displacing one of the noble five.  This is hotly disputed, with other accounts insisting that dwarves of the Hallax, Kedizahn, and Utract clans have all been spotted in the caravan. …

… At last Konykos has returned, and with dire news.  He confirms the black walker is surely Xiogru of the Encrod.  How he verified this he did not say, but his descriptions of the walker’s magical abilities do tend to align with the sorcerer’s observed practices—albeit at a much higher degree of skill.  It will not do to deny the evidence any longer.  Konykos suggests the black walker—Xiogru as I may as well start calling him—is headed for Larsong, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.  Worse even still, he marches under the standard of the Encrod people! 

Konykos says we must stop him, lest the whole of the Encrod people bear the stain of this brazen upstart.  But such audacity will not long escape the notice of most revered ToaToboh.  We needn’t but wait …

… At last I have come across a truly amazing text.  On another day I might surely have overlooked its significance but with the curious dwarf caravan on my mind it struck me.  A great mountain of ice, north of the jagged coast, bears a dwarven name: “Azwyr Nogaak!”   Why would the dwarves of Mt. Decayne even know of one particular mountain far in the sea off the Jagged Coast, let alone call it by name?  The dwarven journey is not one of discovery, but of return. …

… The black walker now approaches Larsong, I am now told—both by the pathetic emissary the elves sent to beg my assistance, as well as my own spies.  I had just recently perfected the magic to cause a strong adhesive to emit from a man’s pores—a diabolical curse, truly.  For I imagine a man going to sleep and waking with his blanket permanently attached, or lifting his cup only to find it cannot be separated from his hand.  In less trying times I might have awaited a more suitable test subject than this elven messenger, but I do suspect the enchantment may actually serve him well.  Surely he will deliver my reply to the Larsong elders more quickly being glued to the saddle of his mount. …

… Konykos has gone to Larsong.  A waste of time, I told him—yet I must confess to a scrape of curiosity.  It is only a matter of time before the most revered one settles the score with this black walker; should it happen in Larsong I will be glad to have Konykos’ observations …

… The hobbits of Tivitin delivered an injured woman to the temple this morning.  After the acolytes healed her, we learned she was an experienced cleric of the Q’in gods Sol and Lune.  She described being on en route to Larsong from Q’in when she left the Central Road to pursue a strange light in the marshes—undoubtedly a will’o’the’wisp, this was.  Anyway she felt something bite her leg, then quickly turned a spell to spook the assailant and ran off fast as she could.  The hobbits found her unconscious the next morning and brought her here.  Lucky they did, for a snake’s poison lingered in her veins and had it persisted much longer she would never have awakened.

Returning to the matter of the Q’in deities, this cleric explained that Sol is the Q’in god of the sun, while his opposite number, Lune, is their goddess of the moon.  Sol’s magic is at its most powerful when its invoker stands in the clear light of the sun, whereas Lune’s magic thrives in darkness. “And at times of the eclipse?” I asked.  She did not answer—not directly, anyway.  The servants of Sol and Lune conceal something …

… I was deep in my studies today when the acolytes fetched me to behold yet another madman.  A young warrior of noble bearing, he did not at first appear mad.  But he soon bowed and revealed himself no different than any of the countless wretches to have come previously before me.  “Oh great lord of curses,” he said.

I assured this man I was called only Lord Dombasson, High Priest of ToaToaboh.  But he’d come only to tell of another impossible vision. “The most revered ToaToboh is summoned to an impossible challenge,” he said.  “A black walker rises in the south.  He will steal the very daylight from our land.”

For a knight of the Encrod to openly question the power of ToaToboh in the temple greatly uspet the acolytes, so I perceived no option but to silence him at once.  This I accomplished with a simple incantation—but then quickly realized the spell would wear off momentarily, and this high-blooded scamp would soon be off spreading his lies through the Encrod lands.  And so I commanded him, “you will speak no further of your vision—not here, not anywhere!” and marked him with the Eye of the Most Revered.  Should he defy my command, the mark will fiercely burn him until he again falls silent. …

… The temple has crumbled!  I know not why!  It has been three sunless days since a withering light appeared in the southern sky, and the very earth shook for an entire day beneath the land of the Encrod.  Now there is no temple, there is no city wall, there are no homes—we are nothing.  Nothing!  The very marshes of Tivitin have cracked and wandered far to the north, leaving our land a brutal desolation. The Encrod people flee in all directions.  There is nothing.

I do not dare speculate what has happened, but I fear the most revered one would not willingly have allowed this …

… Konykos returned this morning.  He was there, in Larsong, when the black walker arrived.  The walker bore no resemblance to Xiogru of the Enccrod.  No, this being we are told is Xiogru was not even a man--a scaly black demon, nine feet high and rippled with spikes and horns.  Your gods shall make me immortal,” it demanded of the Larsong elders, “or I shall destroy your gods along with you!”

At this, Konykos reports, the sky opened to three angels of ToaToboh.  They descended and encircled the demon.  They closed ranks around him, encasing the demon in a cone of pure light.  The angels joined hands, and in a flash all were gone—vanished: Xiogru, the angels, the light. 

These were the angels of ToaToboh, I am certain.  So the most revered one did confront the upstart.  But why has the temple crumbled?  Why was our land shaken into nothing? …

… Many stories have come to me from the south, from the west.  Fell creatures run amok now—orcs, trogs, things unimaginably worse.  Konykos suggests these are the hordes of Xiogru, no longer an organized army with their leader departed.  They will come here before long.  Here to the desolation.  It is theirs.  They have made it. …

… I travel northeast with Konykos.  His magic has grown powerful, particularly since he has focused his concentration on the magic of death.  He has suggested I consider the merits of an enlightened undeath.  This is a request I would once have strongly resented, but alas, things are much different now.  Still, there is much to be done, this is not a question for the present …

…   My rune is at long last perfected.  Those who come under my curses shall bear their pain until they look upon it.  And none shall behold my rune who have not come to understand the agony I alone have endured, as the highest mortal servant to a god who must now surely be dead.  Ever loyal, I am repaid in misery. …

… I passed by four warriors on the highway today.  They said nothing at first, only stared.  Theirs were malevolent, contemptuous stares.  I was twenty paces by when I heard the words.  “Foul Encrod.”

I turned.  One stood and looked still.  He spit into the ground.  I felt…anger.

Long and hard have I struggled to overcome the grip of emotion.  I am not to feel anger, to feel rage.  But something in this man, in this moment stirred me.

“Yes, I am Encrod.  And I take it that you are not?  What a pity.”

“It is your kind brought this destruction,” the warrior replied.  “You should keep your head down.”

“I will not.  Anyway I shouldn’t need advice from random highwaymen.  Be gone.”

The insult was too much for this warrior to bear.  He charged at me.  I stood calmly, and uttered a final curse. I shan’t say precisely what became of him.  But as he lay dying, writhing in an extraordinary degree of misery, I found I could not deny the emotion after all.  I felt…satisfaction.  Nay, I felt joy.  Joy at his anguish, pleasure at his coming death.  And then I promptly executed his companions, all in a similarly cruel fashion. …

… Hard to believe after all these years that I once concerned myself with curing trogs.  Trogs!  How could we have been so aloof?  Arrogant, we were.  Was I, to have desired the great dwarven text for such trivial matters as the trog affliction.  No matter.  I shall find it soon enough, and devote the Tome to a purpose worthy of its greatness. …

… Konykos has truly gone mad.  Concerns himself only with matters of the dead now, does he.  Once the greatest mage of the Encrod, what is Konykos now?  Nothing but a vile necromancer who dwells beneath the surface. Pathetic. … 

… Was shaken today in happening upon a train of slaves being driven southeast into the Amalio Plain.  Several of the men I recognized—Encrod commoners who once frequented the temple.  I felt nothing but rage for their masters.  Yet again I could not control it.  As if by divine compulsion I called my magic forth, and walking bones climbed from the soil and tore into these men with their cold, empty eyes.  The slaves, they scattered—to where I know not.  We are truly an accursed people.  But we shall survive, and rebuild the temple again someday …

… and only now realize that I no longer hold a place among mortal men.  Too deep has my hatred become, too uncontrollable my rage.  The high priest of a dead god is the high priest of nothing, but my business is not yet finished.  I shall become something else entirely.  I shall make no further entries in this record …