|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_01||In the Great Cleave, leading to that ominous city of Corruption, dogs of unnatural color and ferocity prowl. I have taken to calling them Corrupted Hounds, for the red veins of Corruption visible and accompanying abhorrent behavior. These aberrations can unhinge their jaws wide enough to swallow a turkey whole.|
Still, they are kind of cute from a certain angle, aren't they?
Mum back home raised bigger dogs--how hard could it be to domesticate one of these? A puppy of one would look just darling in a bow. A gift for a beloved, perhaps?
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_02||I have not yet been able to locate a pup, no matter how deep into this crevasse of corruption I delve. All are full-grown, and fully trained to follow their shambling Masters. Do these Hounds not need to whelp? Do they just regenerate fully-grown as everything else on this strange continent? Further research required.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_03||After a grueling battle, I managed to slay a red-eyed houndsman in attempts to capture an adult specimen of the beast.|
My arms are covered in at least two layers of bandages from wrestling the dog into a makeshift trap, and my blood surely left a trail from the snowy pass, but my efforts are not in vain. I sit writing this in both incredible pain and incredible pride, gazing upon my new captive. She's restless, obviously unused to being confined by walls, and too strong to remain in the trap for long. I think I shall call her ‘Molly'.
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_04||Molly is still ruthlessly vicious around me.|
I present her with raw meat at feeding time. This seems to quell some of her rage, but not her distrust. She drags the scraps from the wooden bowl I made in favor of eating in the corner of the wall enclosure. From this vantage point she can keep her eyes on me at all times--always red, always wary.
Food motivation can only take us so far, and ultimately winds up being more dangerous than it is worth to feed her from my own hand.
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_05||Her behavior still proves too aggressive to let out of the walled-in enclosure. I write now with my left hand as my right has been requisitioned by dearest Molly as a chew toy.|
Research into leather leads required—if I could ever get close enough to her neck to sling one around. The dog looks at me with such disdain and disgust, as if I were the one with red fissures and eyes glowing like the Devil.
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_06||What joy! I woke this morning to find Molly sans her characteristic growling and snapping. She took food more gently from the bowl, obviously cowed by my superior animal handling skills. There is a strange intelligence in her eyes, as if she is beginning to understand the situation.|
Could this be how the first man felt taming a wolf?
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_01_07||That damnable dog, she was figuring things out--but not in my favor!|
I have never seen such intelligence in a canine, to feign docility long enough to convince even an experienced handler like me. Molly did not as much as whimper when I put the leather lead on through the fence. I spoke sweetly to her, told her it was time for a walk, hoping a lack of captivity would bring out her personality.
It turns out her personality is evil. The second she realized she was no longer contained, my dear Molly mauled me, draining me to my last before I woke up in bed again, alone. She ran back North to her true master, I can only imagine.
There are better ways to make profit on this lush continent than lying with the dogs. On a related note, I now certainly have fleas. Corrupted Fleas, at that. A Corrupted Flea Circus, yes, now that could work...
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_02_01||I wish they would discipline that child. I have shooed him away from the well more times than I can count. Yet still today… There again. Casting stones.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_02_02||I woke to a faint scream and a splash. I found a pile of stones on the edge of the well. I called to no answer then sent the remaining stones to the depths.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_02_03||Our child has still not been found. I never imagined a heart could ache so.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_02_04||We now believe the old crone may know something about our child's disappearance. She would never cease complaining about the noise of innocent play and has offered little in the way of concern.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_01||I saw the strange blue flashes light up the hillside again last night. And there was a noise… hard to describe… melodious, but also dreadful. Like something out of a dream. I have not had a decent night's sleep in weeks.|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_02||I question the wisdom of this location for rest and storage. It is beset upon nightly by wolves. There must be a den nearby. It is strange how cavalier some have become in this place. As if death was all there is to fear, and now that it has forsaken us, all care is abandoned.|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_03||This archway appears to predate the temples and monoliths. I wonder who the first to walk this accursed land were and what befell them. These are the thoughts that haunt my eternal, sleepless, nights.|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_04||We have set camp near the burned hovel, despite my words of dissent. I'm not so quick to dismiss the past. Why tempt the fates? Are we doomed to repeat the same mistakes for all eternity?|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_05||On nights like this, when the full moon glistens through the tall trees and the very air itself seems to reverberate with warmth and power, it can be easy to forget the horror of our plight. The dire battle we wage to keep our very souls fades like a distant dream. Such is the insidious nature of this hell.|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_06||I sleep like the dead. The temperate air and soothing sounds of the waterfall put me in such a state… It is not unlike a drunken stupor. My senses feel dulled and my body detached. Why in this place of eternal life, do I feel less alive than ever?|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_07||That awful noise filled the air. And fire. Blue fire.|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_08||This seems to mark an entrance to what is now a modest, if it can be called that, grove of Wyrdwood trees. These “Ancients” clearly valued this place. But for what? What secrets do these strange trees hold?|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_09||From this vantage, the largest of the spires cuts through the sky. It is clear that their locations held great meaning. But to what end?|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_03_10||Such a feat of engineering! And yet there seems to be no attempt to harness the power of the falls themselves. And what of these braziers? I see no evidence that they have ever been alight. Odd indeed.|
|AnonymousManuscripts_Body_04_01||This 2nd year harvest proves our stubbornness was justified. Already more are clamoring to join our budding community. The soil is rich and the river provides.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_04_02||It is wonderful to now have neighbors! Our shared toil has enriched the lives of us all. 4th year harvest is just around the bend and my heart soars.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_04_03||Something peculiar has been discovered in the fields. We have lost a good portion of our harvest to a rot that appeared, quite literally, overnight. We have seen no worm or fly, yet the fruit is blackened and bruised. And the soil reeks of death.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_04_04||There was quite the lightning storm last night. The river would glow with each strike and the mill cast long, spastic shadows across the fields. If I subscribed to the superstitions of my kin, I would call it an ill omen. But there is no denying the grand spectacle it was. The whole village sheltered together and gasped in time with each thunder clap.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_05_01||Jonas was with those hooligans again. I saw them on the bridge and the following morning his face was a mess. I don't like how this place is changing him. He is not the boy I once knew.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_05_02||There was a great commotion several nights ago. Several fevered shouts could be heard from the crest of the waterfall. The precise words were lost to the tumult of the falls themselves. But there were several figures silhouetted against the storm tossed sky in what appeared to be a violent struggle. A thunderbolt forced me to avert my gaze for but an instant and they were gone. I've heard nothing since.||AnonymousManuscripts_Body_05_03||More flotsam has washed upon the riverbank this morning and amongst it was a great clump of human hair, matted and bloodied. I fear it belongs to Jonas.|