View source for Journal- Discovery of the Tomb

'''Title: Journal- Discovery of the Tomb'''

'''Author: Tavara Sewel'''

Day One: <br>
The workers continue tireless in their efforts to unload our supplies even as light fades. I feel I should lend a hand in the effort, and yet I cannot bear to take my attention away from the magnificent stone doors of the tomb. Every inch of their massive frame is covered with intricately carved design work - 'tis truly a sight to see. I've spent the day sketching and cataloging what I can of them while my companions set up our camp and make preparations for tomorrow's work. Though the stonework symbols inspire me to new flights of fancy, some of the workers seem strangely fearful of them. I cannot wait 'til the morrow when those ancient works of stone shall swing open and deliver unto me everything I have dreamed of for the last ten years of my life. 

Day Two: <br>
Everything we'd heard and read of the tomb has proved correct - and yet, nothing could prepare me for the sight of it with my own eyes. The Tomb of Khal Ankur has given up its secrets at last! The intricate stonework that covered the tomb doors seems to continue throughout the entirety of the catacombs, each hallway and room yielding a seemingly endless amount of information for my companions and I to record. It will take years to catalogue the entirety of the Tomb, if those legends of its massive size prove true. Sadly, a good deal (of) the Tomb's interior has been damaged or utterly destroyed, whether by seismic activity in the surrounding mountainside or merely the slow efforts of Time itself, I do not know. A good deal of the stonework has been cracked or collapsed entirely, especially near the entrance supports of the main hall. Our passage has indeed already been entirely blocked in the first major room we've discovered, a massive pile of boulders and stones blocking any exit from the antechamber. What could have caused such a localized disruption of the support structures, one can only guess - but it will surely take an entire afternoon's effort to remove even a fraction of it. I look forward to more progress tomorrow once the workers have set to excavating the hall. 

Day Three - Day Five: <br>
I do not understand this place... not as I once thought I did. Something palatable seems to hinder our every attempt to investigate this ancient site. Excavation work on the first major hallway finished only yesterday - the amount of stone and rubble blocking the egress was astounding, it stands in immense piles outside the Tomb's entrance, as if we were digging the tunnels of this abhorred place ourselves! The satisfaction of completing our efforts was quickly thwarted, however, as we discovered the end of the hallway we had just revealed was blocked by yet another colossal pile of stone. I've had a few of the workers set up primitive scaffolding in the main antechamber so that I can spend my time pouring over the detail work on the stone carvings while the rest of the crew continue excavating the inner halls. 

Day Six: <br>
Late last night our camp was set upon by a pack of wild beasts - behemoth creatures with a speed and viciousness I'd n'ere before seen. Even Grimmoch, well versed in all manner of wildlife, was unsure as to their nature - though I lay blame upon the darkness covering their movements rather than on his skill as a huntsman. The attacks did not let up the entire night, and we were eventually forced to flee into the Tomb itself to take refuge from the ravenous creatures - e'en Lysander's spells could not keep the foul things from attacking in great numbers. The Tomb performed well as an impromptu fortress, and we managed to spend the night unscathed. Morning's light seemed to have scattered the beasts, as not a single one of them was to be seen as exited the Tomb - not even a carcass of the few that were slain a'fore we fled. Lysander set the crew to work, moving our supplies and gear into the Tomb, in case the creatures did opt to return. Such savage fury had the beasts - and not a single one ever turned to run, even in the face of certain death. 

Day Seven: <br>
T'was written that, upon his death, Khal Ankur's followers, those known as the Keepers of the Seven Death, sealed them selves within the Sanctum they had carved from the mountains in his honor. The Zealots of his order entombed the lesser followers alive, then, when all but two remained, slit their throats and joined Khal Ankhur in death. Surely this is not suprising for a Cult that worshipped death and sacrifice so vehemently as it is said that the Keepers did - and yet, to be in this Tomb, to know that somewhere in its depths hundreds upon hundreds of bodies lay, sealed alive at their own behest... I must confess that the very thought of it troubles my dreams at night. I've asked Lysander if we might reestablish the camp outside the Tomb, setting up night watches and some sort of fortification, but he'll have none of it. I did not press the issue, as I suddenly felt foolish even at my askance. 

Day Eight: <br>
Astounding progress was made today, and my very head spins with the excitement of it. Upon full excavation of the far western hall, another large antechamber was revealed. By the larger, mosaic style of the wall carvings and their framing, as well as the numerous vellum scrolls and tomes held within, the room appears to have been a great museum or library of sorts. The sheer amount of written information encased within this room would surely take me decades to study e'en if I could immediately decipher the strange text with which it was written. My sheer joy at the discovery was quickly noted by the brute known as Morg Bergen, who, even in his simple way, seemed just as delighted as I that some progress had been made. I must confess, upon his inclusion in our party at the beginning of this journey I was somewhat suspect of his nature, but he has a startingly quick wit about him for such a massive, calloused warrior. While Lysander and e'en Grimmoch always seem to investigate the tomb with a scowling determination, Bergen seems to feel the same thrill of discovery as I. I am proud to now count him as a friend, and am thankful for his laughter as well as his strength. 

Day Nine - Day Ten: <br>
The excavation of the next set of tunnels has ceased, as three of the workers have gone missing in the night. Bergen voiced the opinion that they had most likely abandoned our group altogether and headed back, as they were of the number that seemed especially disturbed by the Tomb. Lysander had other ideas, however. In the middle of our discussion on the matter, he went into a wild tirade on the possibility that they had somehow infilitrated the tonb's interior without us. The pure, hateful venom in his voice when he spoke of the workers shocked me, as I had always though(t) him to be a levelheaded man of great learning. As we are still at work digging out the rubble that blocks all access to the inner chanbers, I cannot help but believe the workers must have fled the site altogether, as Bergen said. 

Day Eleven - Day Thirteen: <br>
Two more workers have gone missing. Even more disturbing is the fact that Lysander has joined him. Late last night the workers finished excavating the next main hall, and we retired to the main antechamber and our camp to rest up for exploration on the 'morrow. In the middle of the night we woke to a strange howling sound, and as the men prepared themselves for another onslaught of the beasts that had troubled our outer camp, it was noticed that Lysander was nowhere in our number. I cannot fathom where he has gone - the newly revealed chamber holds no immediate egress, blocked again by piles of stone and rubble, and I cannot believe that Lysander, of all people, would have fled this site - indeed, he had lately grown almost fanatical in his work to discover more of the secrets barred to us by the consistently slow progress of excavating each new hallway. The men are at work even now, and as the ceaseless thumps and cracks of their picks reverberate throughout the entirety of the tomb, the dust continous to pour down from the ancient stonework above us like some horrible, eldritch curse upon us all. 

Day Fourteen - Day Fifteen: <br>
Lysander has returned... and yet, how can I describe the horror of it? He stands across the chamber from me even now, a changed man. His hair hangs in grimy knots across his face, his clothes filthy and torn in places... and the blood - covered in blood, his skin shining in scarlet reflections of the torchlight. He will let no one approach; a thick rusted dagger in his hand warding off any attempts to overcome him. And the blood, which runs down in great rivulets from his arms and hands - it is not his own, and this is enough to keep is at a wary distance. Morg Bergen wishes to subdue him quickly, but there is something in Lysander's eyes - and I remember the power of his spells, even as he swings the jagged dagger back and forth in a wide swath before him. Something about the sight of it makes my stomach churn. Something has happened, something that changes everything. Lysander has lost his sanity to this tomb... or to something within it. Do we dare approach? We must make a decision soon. 

Day Sixteen: <br>
Why do I write? I must... not so much because there must be some record of this... what's happened here... as for my own sanity. The act of putting pen to paper calms me, focuses me, even in this madness. Lysander is dead. So many are dead. And we're trapped here, trapped forever in this nightmare. He would not let us pass, wild in his psychosis, furious, spitting, covered in blood, he swung the ancient dagger at any who approached. He babbled incoherently, cursed at us, the most hateful curses, prophecy, doom upon us. Bergen would have none of it. Finally, he leapt at Lysander, his massive axe at his side. But he would not be the end of the mad mage... no... they were... those hands, covered in the dirt of the grave, maggots, filth. They rose up behind Lysander. That look of curiosity on the mage's face as Bergen skidded to a halt... t'was almost a moment of sanity for him, surely, to attempt to comprehend what could have stopped the warrior in his tracks. And then they were upon him. Skeletal hands, arms, and faces with loose, corrupted flesh hanging from yellow bone. Inhuman, yet once human, staggering towards us as their companions tore at Lysander, coming towards us in droves.  

Day Sixteen Later <br>
We Ran. What could we do? We ran back towards the entrance, cutting at them when we could. T'was a nightmare, and yet nothing to prepare us for what would come. We were almost there, the entrance to the abhorred crypt in sight. Then the earth shook with such a force that we were dropped to our hands and knees, stumbling in the darkness with those.... those things surely behind us. The noise of falling rock and crumbling stone drowned out our piteous cries. No sign of the entrance remained. We owe our lives to Bergen, whose wits returned quickly. That he could make us hurry back into the main antechamber.... actually run back towards those eldritch dead that stalked us. But we did, the strength of his convictions enough for us in the moment. And at our campsite we erected our last defense, a pitiable wall of wood and stone, anything at hand that might block the tide of those nightmare creatures. And I sit against it even now. I can hear their moans, their wailing cries in the distance - they'll be here soon, even at the unhurried pace of the shuffling dead. 

Day Seventeen - Day Eighteen: <br>
I cannot go on much longer. I know now t'was no work of the earth that trapped us here - I can feel His force in it. It was His will, His power that has sealed us in this nightmare. The barricade will not be enough. So many of them. They come like unto the ocean's waves - ceaseless, neverending. For every five we strike down, another ten rise up against us. And like the sands we cannot help bu be brought down, wasted away in this ocean of blood. 

Day Nineteen - Day Twenty-One: <br>
The barricade won't hold - never, and they'll come, they come even now. I would tear the last of it down, let them in to devour us all, if only to stop the screaming - the awful, wailing cries that fill the tomb with their presence. May my ancestors forgive me, but it must be done. I must end this. 

[[Category:multi-shard books]]