Might not be suitable for the squeamish;))
[The campsite is a grisly scene. What was once a tent has been destroyed, and it's poles are sticking out of various holes in the ground, as if they were used as some sort of digging aid. The lone bedroll is drenched in what can only be blood, the original color is indeterminable. Most unsettling of all is the strange growth that covers it all, a pink fungus that clings to everything as if it were and unnatural skin.
Next to a fire pit, which is now little more than ash and stone, is a journal.
The journal itself looks fairly new, the leather is bright and the spine has few creases in it.
It seems to be the research journal of an alchemist. It's early pages are filled with various notes and journal entries, sometimes accompanied by a pressed flower or herb.
What's most intriguing, however, are the final entries which carry a much...darker...tone.]
*The handwriting on these pages match that found in the early pages of the book; it's neat and organized, with a slant that favors the right margin.*
I stumbled upon something amazing today. The area seems to be scarce with Elfroot, I was searching for a sample when I came across a clearing. What I found there was simply beyond belief. A strange fungus had seemed to take hold on everything. It hung from the trees, covered the grass like a rug, and made it's home in the bushes.
It's unlike anything I've encountered before, and seemed to be confined to only that particular clearing. I brought a sample back to camp with me and have been watching it for the last hour. Despite it's separation from the area it continues to grow.
Simply fascinating.
My sleep was disrupted tonight by a most terrible nightmare. There were men fighting each other in an engulfing darkness. They clubbed and slashed at each other, tearing limb from torso and flesh from limb. And they ate. They ate it all, and tore and slashed.
And I realized they were all - me. I was them.
I don't think I will return to bed tonight.
I seem to be coming down with a fever. I've broken into my emergency cache of poultices and they seem to be keeping it in check. I will have to remain in this spot until it passes, I fear travel may only make it worse. I've survived worse, such are the hazards of working with herbs. Still, may the Maker watch over me.
*At this point in the journal the formerly uniform handwriting becomes jagged. It's as if the hand that wrote it was trembling, and moved faster than the thoughts that guided it.*
More nightmares, I remember only one though they were all terrible.
A man stood alone in a plain. This time he was not me. He was no one. He had no face, where it should have been was only a void that seemed as deep as the plain he stood upon was vast. He moved not at all, stiller was he than any stone or tree.
As I watched his skin began to boil and blister like a stew over the hottest fire. When the boils popped what came from them was not blood, but the fungus I had collected from the clearing. Where it touched the grass it spread and grew. It took shape, and became Him.
Where they previously had none, their eyes opened and stared at me, into me. And they stared
and stared
and stared
Then I heard it, faint and fleeting. It sounded like music. Then it was gone, and I woke.
I'm starting to think this might not be a fever.
Not a sickness! Not sick! It's alive, it's something. I feel it, it's there.
Not alive, it's death. Inside me
I feel it.
It moves, it claws, it gnashes and tears. Not out - in. Deeper, below
Under
In me
*The following pages are stained with blood.*
I saw it, it moved! It's darkness, black and pure.
I took my blade to it. I had it! But it must have known, must have
hid must have gone
deeper
and now it's making me pay
pay
paypaypaypaypainpainpainpainPAINPAINPAINGOAWAYMAKEIT
go away make it stop make it stop make it go away
mommy make it stop make it
make
I hear it again! The music. Where? Everywhere. NO. Under, below, inside
the ground
I dug, It won't stop, I can't FIND it.
It's beautiful
It's HORRIBLE
I want it
I need it
I fear it
I hate it
hatehatehate
HATE IT
*This page appears to have been filled in completely with ink, and the bottom half torn off. On the page below the following words are written*
EAT IT
FIRE WITH FIRE
[The blood stains on the pages that follow make anything that might have been written unreadable.]
*On this page a piece of what appears to be flesh has been stretched out and pressed not unlike the flowers from it's early pages. The pages are soaked in blood, and the flesh itself seems to have bite marks in it. The only words in this part of the book are those that have been carved into the flesh itself:*
YOU CAN
HEAR
IT TOO
*At this point there are no more entries from the alchemist. However turning to the last page reveals a message written with handwriting that matches neither the careful, scholarly script of the alchemist nor the scribbles of madness. Instead, it is delicate and centered on the page.
The page itself is stained, but not with blood as much of it's previous pages are, with water.
Tears?*
Dearest,
Though I know not why you insist on this hobby that takes you so far from me, I know I can't stop you from pursuing it. My hope is that you carry this gift with you, so that I may be with you then, no matter how far you roam. And if you reach this page abroad, it has been far too long, come home. Maker watch over you always.
Your Love,
Maura
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