Fragmented Account

[DangerousDan]

I cast my eyes upwards. The sky is cloudless, deepest black, yet devoid of stars or moon, illuminated by some transcendent light beyond the understandings of my empirical senses. With bleak terror in my soul, I continue upon my lonely pilgrimage along the endless waste [...] Thus speak the dreams of Zarumthus.

- The Apocalypse of Zarumthus, the Ymph Fragment.

Had events been in my favour, it is like I would never have agreed to embark upon an expedition that was such clear folly. Had it been that my dependence upon the dulling extract of the poppy had not bought me into company with a sad litter of miscreants and naer-do-wells that hastened my need for flight, I would at present be continuing an enjoyable sojourn in the disreputable establishment in Westgate. that my judgement had remained intact. Before I begin this account proper, it is my desire to address Luther Borweth and some of the more ugly tales circulated by survivors of our band about him. With my memories of the expedition being self contradictory and fragmented, I cannot attest to being a witness of supreme reliability. Nevertheless, I believe it is possible to reasonably state that despite the harshness of punishment and iron discipline, to my knowledge he committed none of the heresies or terrible blood crimes attributed to him, and I can dismiss any such talk as born out of some desire to discredit him due to some long held grudge or petty desire for fame. But I grow ahead of the tale.

I begin In medias res, as the tragedians of Netheril are wont to refer to it, upon the 5th Flamerule in the Year of 877, to use the reckoning of Mistledale, regrettable as its common use has become. I had found myself bound upon expedition for an Isle of indeterminate location in the Shining Sea aboard the barque Julienne, a sad and ill-kempt vessel Captained by a cruel sea dog by the name of Loque. As stated prior, the authorities of Westgate had tired of my numerous infractions and Loque boasted a cache of the poppy. Thus I found myself subject to seven grueling rides under the cruel and domineering lash of Captain Loque, the unpleasant aftertaste of which remains with me to this day. He had claimed to be gathering a group of specialists for an attempt to locate artifacts of some fallen empire or another, although after brief conversation with my fellow ‘passengers’ it became evident that Loque had merely collected a gathering of men considered undesirables by the various organizations with a claim to authority in the myriad settlements of the Dragon Coast. Despite our somewhat sad and despondent state, we managed to arrive at our destination. I had not been party to sea travel in any great extent before, but it is of note to mention an observation by an acquaintance of mine who had some skill and experience as a mariner in his youth. Sudden changes of course were commonplace and by the reckoning of my friend it appeared we had circled the Island thrice before finally striking for the Archipelago itself. Upon my arrival I was greeted with little more than I had been lead to expect: a few squat, ugly hovels crafted from mud and straw. After being handed a generous pouch of coins by a squat looking man in a robe, Loque bade us remain in this settlement and await instruction, before he and his crew departed beyond the cliffs and finally out of sight. Despite my relief to have been free of my service to the Captain, I was most distressed at his departure as he had left in the possession of many items of considerable sentimental value, as he had negated to return them to me. Thankfully, I was soon to have them returned to my keeping.

[Someone has scribbled something in between the two paragraphs, possibly at a later date. Written in haste, and with trembling hand it is nevertheless the same recognizable script.]

 
The Wall compels me. Sleep, once a blissful release remains barren and dreamless, if I indeed sleep at all. I confound the theologians, fat and corrupt. Canticle and dirge resound as they seek to console me, to plant me amidst the great deluge of the faithful. Better, I think, to have died ignorant.

After days spent in a blissful haze induced by a particularly potent extract, in which I was informed I would be granted an experience close to divine epiphany, sold to me by a particularly enthusiastic salesman (almost unnecessarily so, due to my dependence to the poppy), I was awoken by way of a bucket of ice cold salt water by a severe looking woman entering into her twilight years. A letter was enclosed, sealed with a sigil that I did not recognize, summoning all who wished to attend. Exactly what was to be discussed was not specified in the missive, and I now suspect this lack of detail was intended, as a means of drawing me wholesale into this accursed business. In hindsight, I should have expected little else from such ill-educated and cunning men, but for now I was content to trust. Upon the morning of the 15th Flamerule the Port met in the Great Hall, which sat upon a raised platform and was inhabited by what resembled governance. I entered the hall to pandemonium. Exiles, scavengers and smugglers all sat at a table gravely, muttering in low tones and glancing darkly at the others assembled..

[DangerousDan]

Archivist's Note-

This account was anonymously delivered to the Library yestereve. The remainder of the account is in so poor a condition, that I have been unable to transcribe it into readable form. However, I have nonetheless elected to include it here in case that any would care to attempt to discover another copy. It is possible that this account was published in the Old City, or that some original remains in the vaults of some elder family of the Port. If any discover the origin or purpose of this text, I am willing to front a reward of seven hundred and fifty gold Ducats. If not, perhaps the scholars of our Isle can enjoy this fragment for what it is worth.

[FONT='Times New Roman']

- E. Dwrurrowroot
The Ymphian Dutchy
1376 D.R

[/FONT][/COLOR]