An entire body filled with tattoos, ever to forget,
Targets have never been set.

Holy symbols not correctly remembered by others lead to false information.
Please stay tuned - my hair might blow up, full of radiation. The sound of a band across a heart that has Broken can be heard.
Inmidst of the tweeping of a little bird.
The shadowy owl and lamens and a twiligt rose.
A strange little Jester strikes a pose.

Eventually, the fog was so strong it coalesced into the form of Sartan, the Malevolent.
This must have been a huge event?

Squirming sluggishly across the ground, a fleshy maggot creates a trail of foul-smelling slime.
Did anyone ever care and look with spare time?

A black hand crushing a dying sun. THE SUN will never die!!
Cries out a non-remorseful voice with a sigh.
An open palm with fingers splayed, on a red background. The non-colorblind know the truth!
A shivering voice shouts out from atop a roof.

Repulsive smell are reminiscent of rotten meat;
Can you stand the heat?
A bloated female cockroach; another szene: their eyes are a deep yellow, and their beaks black;
Reminding of the fiercelessly pointed Jack.

Speckles of blood mar the weed's surface; MOTHERS creations are truely wild to see.
A notice being shouted by a Jester on it's knee.

The shrub smells heavily of flesh; do we not all?
Malnourished squirrel, unhealthy - still on a run, waiting for the fall.
All bared below a pair of slitted, golden eyes.
Blurry, blurry - all in a dream, the Jester sighs.

A firecracker arcs high into the sky. Time to cheer!
Calliope was discharged from the guardianship of the Aureliana, allowing her to deliquesce and become whole with Nature once more, nothing more to fear!

A myriad of colours are reflected in the wings of the unique glitterlight butterfly, which legend records transform with every sunrise.
I am an ugly little creature, surprise, surprise!

You have recovered balance on all limbs, little one.
The Jester has once been told by HIM, now HE is gone.
The truth is: The Divine symbol of Neraeos is the hippocampus and a water chestnut.
A little Jester cheerfully performs a strut.

Things tend to happen when she is around.
She reaches out and touches a statue of Flair, standing infront of her on the ground.

Small hand in one of the large imprints in the stone.
One cannot hear the slightest tone.
A searing-hot pain convulses for the barest increment of an instant, and a red haze fills your field of vision.
Oh, boy?!? What now? Must I listen?

The cold eyes of the statue seem to drill into your very core, and in your vision, the
Statue opens its mouth and begins to speak in a low, gravelly voice like the
Grating of stones rubbing together.
I am thinking...Honestly? Again? What ever...

A low, gravelly voice in your mind intones, "The beginnings of Mhaldor start
Before the formation of the city, within Ashtan, once the Bastion of the North."
Uh-oh! This is new...listen do not forget all of the sort.

"Once, the God of Evil, Sartan, ruled in Ashtan as divine patron.
Gosh, this is feeling like some kind of Sword of Damocles swinging deep into my flesh like a thorn.

Following a long internal struggle, the goddess of chaos Eris took His place as patron, which led to a bitter conflict
Between Ashtan and one of the city's guilds, the guild of Infernals, loyal followers of Evil.
This reminds me of a Giant squid somwhere in the Sefyric Ocean, ranging from Phereklos in the north to the coastline south of the Aalen Forest;
There was no retreval.

Eventually, the Infernals would declare war against Ashtan.
As such, they were driven from their guildhall, and their tutor was slain, his
Head piked at the entrance to the Iron Citadel, their once-proud home."
Hm...Yeah, I understand..but...more important...wasn't I locked in some kind of Dome?

An image of the city of Ashtan rises up, and the scene draws closer, until a
Single structure is visible in perfect detail, the Iron Citadel. A crowd gathers
Before it, screaming and cursing. They drag a single man from within, and
Summarily execute him before decapitating him.
This story is really bad. Dunno why, but somehow I have to think of Master Tarrin, scholarly and slim.

You are dismayed as a forked stick turns to dust in your hands.
What? Where did this come from? I forgot! Must have got it somewhere in the lands.

The Infernal Knights had nowhere to
Go, but they remained loyal. Meanwhile, Sartan attempted a dark ritual involving
The unwilling aid of the goddess of sleep and dreams, Valnurana. When the ritual
Failed, Sartan despoiled Valnurana and cut out Her eyes in a rage.
Aha, aha..yes, yes..I see...this highly interesting story is way long. However: if this takes longer I am losing my current age...

A red admiral butterfly flits out to the north.
Oh! A butterfly! This is just like a Thelepathy Torc.

After learning of what he had done,
Eris and Aegis, along with numerous other Gods, bound Sartan and cast Him into
The western ocean. A great mountain was then thrown upon His beaten form that He
Would never trouble Sapience again.
Reminds me of that poor very little dragon; the large bow is made from it's spine.

The red-hued image of a great battle between Sartan and numerous other Gods
Rises up before you, the combined efforts of the Divine Alliance pushing the God
Of Evil back. You watch as He is bound by Agatheis and Eris, and moonfire from
Ourania pushes Him over to the western ocean, where Caspian thrusts Him deep
Into the seas. It is not long before Phaestus breaks free an entire mountain
With His hammer, which Aegis and Lupus cast forth atop the sunken God.
Is this like about The Congregation of Blood?

Sartan's presence corrupted the
Newly-formed island beneath which He lay, and in time, a strange stalagmite
Appeared deep within the mountain. Those loyal to the Malevolent One began to
Impale themselves on the stalagmite with a blind fervour, and each death caused
An increase in a strange red fog about the area. From this fog came demons of
All sorts. It was not long before the fog began to spread away from the island,
Something Oakstone - an organisation for protecting and preserving nature - in
Particular found troubling.
Should I really listen to the all of this? I am neutral. Or should I be off like
Little pebbles rubbling.

Silver sparks dance across the heavens as the dazzling orb of the sun rushes
Past Achaea's three rings, the second brilliantly coruscating at its passing.
I should really be off, it is getting late - but on the other hand;
It is not that like I am allowed to do bashing...

A vision of countless men and women throwing themselves upon a stalagmite deep
Within the earth appears before you, a large pool of blood gathered below the
Rock formation. A deep red fog spreads throughout the area, strengthening with
Each sacrifice. Crawling about menacingly, horrific demons wander the landscape.
Somehow I get reminded of Dahlia, the seamstress; she always keeps a measure tape.


This fog spread further and
Further, exterminating the lands it touched, despite many efforts to halt its
Progress. The stronger it grew, the more demons terrorised the landscape. The
More of the faithful that sacrificed themselves on the stalagmite, the stronger
The fog grew.
Just like them poor little kobolds: they have been imprisoned and, more infamously, turned into stew.

Eventually, the fog was so strong
It coalesced into the form of Sartan, the Malevolent. He was whole once more,
Though His form was badly scarred from His experiences. With His strength
Returned, He created the Baelgrim Fortress, the beginnings of Mhaldor, and
Formed the Maldaathi Knights, who follow in the footsteps of the Infernal
Guild.
I wonder if one can ride the white wolf, the one of the WILD.

Since its beginnings, Mhaldor has
Known war and strife from all sides, suffering countless assaults. Like those
Who formed the city, however, this has not deterred the faithful citizens, who
Only continue to fight harder to prove themselves worthy of Evil.
Evidently aged beyond measure, her amber eyes are clear and she brooks no interference in of her water-watching duties.
Always on retrival.


In the dying days of the fourth
Century after the Fall, Lord Sartan chose to split Himself in twain, becoming
The Gods Shaitan and Apollyon. He spent more than two centuries in His twin
Incarnations before Apollyon's death during the War of the Worldreaver, when He
Was once again reborn as the unified Lord of Evil.
Why must I always touch things? This is no good, I have to think of that
Giant squid again and how it pleval.

The ashen-skinned form of Sartan towers before you, a disdainful scowl upon His
Face. Liquid fire courses through His veins, and a glint of unmatched cruelty
Blazes in His inhuman eyes.
Ehrm. Are you seeing this, too, guys?
To be honest, I must have fainted when that tended to happen.
Just like when seeing the Kraken.

Thus, the beginnings of Mhaldor
Were formed by those who refused to bend in their loyalty to Evil, and this
Belief continues to this day, in a city grown far more powerful than its humble
Beginnings.
Please, stop me from all my sinnings!

You feel a sense of relief as your vision clears once more, the gravelly voice
Gone from your hearing.
I think I can hear those guardsmen again and their sneering.

There is no exit in that direction.
Hrm, must have been somekind of reflection.

Atop the Great Rock.
The sun shines down, its rays broken only by the occasional wisp of cloud. An
empty stone base is all that remains as a reminder for a statue that once stood
here. A ladder of long, soft leaves comprises a wispy Weaver's Fern along the
ground.
Why must I think of Kkrogandr, the Prelate, bearing a magmatic polearm
Which he uses to trace trails of flame in the air as he contemplates the mysteries of Brarra; in fire he was crowned?

Two large imprints in this stone base mark where the feet of a statue of Sartan
once stood. Now, this is little more than a pedestal that raises itself a few
feet off the ground, and is several times over as wide. The statue must have
been truly massive to require this large of a base to hold it.
It weighs about 20 pounds.
Good that I am ridd of all those sounds.

Oooh! And it was Sartan, not Shaitan who zapped me...I remember now. Sorry Lord Shaitan...luckly I did not tell that story yet.
But all in all I should stop touching things and get me a pet.

You reach out and touch a silky white fern.
Good lord, I did it again...please, please let it only be me wishing upon a stern!

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Scarlatan, in the year 897 AF.