TO THIS day, I do not know why the knight came to me.
All I know is I wish he hadn’t. I wish I had never laid eyes on him.
Since he came to me, I have not slept for a single night, and I am growing weak. Too weak. I have been running for days, finding nowhere safe to hide. The closest place is here, in the House of Solarash. I pray the Guardian God will protect me now. I am speaking my words to a Priest of the House, for I do not know how to write, asking for help, and even here I am not believed.
I need to warn everyone.
I need to prepare everyone.
There is something in the shadows, trying to come into our world.
Something old, dark, and powerful. The knight was supposed to have stopped it. He and an entire army.
They failed.
The Great Old Ones are returning, the insane priest is calling.
I had better start from the beginning. Hopefully cleanse my soul to the Judge God Phlican while I am here. If the shadows get me, I wish for sanctuary in the Halls of Hasa.
I am Unmar, Son of Tarin.
As a child, I was exiled from my home of Ossiras for a reason I am more than ashamed of. My father, Tarin, Son of Kalam, died in the Great War as part of the Emperor’s army. My mother, Jessim, Daughter of Vulkas, had to remarry. I was but a babe, and she could not run the farmlands alone.
So she married a merchant, Ysad. As I grew older, I grew jealous. My mother spent her time worrying about her lazy husband, leaving me, the eldest child, to handle the farmlands. The children she bore with him were pampered with extravagant gifts from his journeys, whilst I was ignored.
Angered, I laid a trap. There was a known pack of sabrewolves in the forests outside Ossiras. Many farms had lost cattle to them. With bait, I lured a pack into my family home where they were slaughtered. I hid in the manure shed, the stench offensive enough so they would leave me alone.
However, the sabrewolves were not satisfied, and attacked nearby homes. Many other families were slaughtered. Of course, the others found out and exiled me.
There, I have spoken of my sins. Phlican, please forgive me and judge me mercifully.
My exile has been harsh. To look at me, you would not think I was still a young man. My ragged grey hair and wrinkled, thinned features are from what I saw that night just last month after the knight came to me. It is as if a curse were placed upon me, upon anyone involved with what happened.
Since that night, I have wandered the wilderness, terrified of what I saw. Please, you must believe me. You must help me.
All those years ago, when I was exiled, I retreated to the sanctuary of the woods of Ganfala Forest, and built myself a hut. It was a modest place; it had a space for me to sleep, a simple table to eat, and a fire to keep warm.
I lived off the land. For my amusement, I gathered wood to carve, creating sculptures of obscure images that I often sold to travelling merchants, exchanging for different food, clothing, or tools.
Anyway, I was spending an evening as I always had. I had gone hunting with my crude bow and arrow, finding myself a fine deer. Upon returning home, I strung it up outside and, after retrieving a bowl from my hut, bled the creature dry. Once sure it was clear, I skinned it, cleaned it, and cut it into various slices and chops. Of course, I kept the entrails, to mince together as a pie for myself. Then, after rubbing into the meat some salt acquired from travelling merchants, I stored the result in a small cellar I had built under my hut to help the meat keep. Once this was done. I made my minced entrail pie for the night.
Once I had my fill of lunch, with the setting sun creating dense shadows throughout the forest, and the chorus of night animals starting, I retired inside, lit a fire, and set to work on my newest sculpture, listening to the crackling of the fire behind me. I was so focused on my work, chiselling away with my fine tools, that I didn’t notice the silence outside.
A silence that was suddenly broken by a knocking at my door.
Something that had never happened in all the years I had lived there.
People usually left me alone, trying to avoid me.
Wary, for I was often met by fear and hatred for my sins, I walked over to the door and opened it.
Fear overwhelmed me upon what my eyes saw.
Standing in the doorway was a great knight clothed in black. A towering figure, covered head to foot in blackened chain mail, a black tunic upon which, done in grey, was the emblem of a sword, with another tailing behind it in a darker shade, like a shadow. Upon his waist, a thick belt with a great sword hanging from it. Strapped to his back was an equally impressive shield, black like the rest of his uniform, as was the great helmet he wore, covering his face. The helmet was so dark that I saw nothing.
From within came a deep, hollow breathing.
The knight removed it, revealing a young, handsome man, clean shaven, with vibrant blue eyes and a purple mark like a scar above his right eye. With a smile, he spoke:
‘Many greetings, hermit. Under the discretion of Bala, may I rest for a while?’
Even though I was a hermit, I had never forgotten the old customs.
Bala was the goddess of hospitality. Under her name, a guest must always be courteous to his host, and a host must always be willing to serve the guest. Therefore, I let him in without question, giving him a slice of pie and a cup of fresh mead.
He devoured both within seconds.
‘I did not know there was war,’ I said to him.
‘There is.’ His expression darkened. ‘But far from what normal citizens may know of.’
‘Well, I do not know your uniform, I have seen many soldiers pass through and my stepfather used to tell stories of various armies and their uniforms.’
‘I am no soldier. I am Malak, Son of Tarak of the Darranas Clan.’
‘Darranas? But they are barbarians!’
‘Yes, we are,’ with a sly smile. ‘However, one warrior is chosen as a Knight of Zorsha.’
‘The God of Shadows.’
‘In truth, Zorsha fights shadows. He prevents the Great Old Ones from returning.’ I shuddered. All knew the tales of the Great Old Ones. I still trembled as he continued. ‘Aeons ago, the Great Old Ones left our lands to find better realms to conquer. The New Gods protected our borders, preventing their return. But now they are seeping through. Many sightings have been made of the Dark Man. Many have been driven insane by the calls of the Priest of R’lyeh. The Knights of Zorsha are formed from all knightly orders, such as the Jewelled Knights of the Six Kingdoms, the Order of Gharras from Timmold Desert and even mercenaries andbarbarians. Although we live our lives our own way, there are times when we must unite to fight a common enemy.’
‘What?’ as fear filled me.
‘The Darkness. The Great Old Ones. We have heard tales of an ancient Darkness rising in these woods. Rumours of its disciples taking victims from villages for dark rituals. We believe it is He, the Dark Priest, Cthulhu.
Have you seen anything?’
‘No.’ I was too afraid to say more. Was this why the barbarian came to me? He felt I was one of them? I remembered something. ‘I have often seen light coming from the mountains to the west.’
‘Yes, that is where I am to meet my brothers.’
As the knight spoke, a horn called from outside. A call that the knight reacted to, saying it was time. Without question, he got to his feet and made his way out, leaving me alone, unsure of the night. He warned me not to leave the hut. Why did he come to me?
Although too afraid to sleep, exhaustion soon overtook me, as did the mead I guzzled down. Although I do not remember, I must have fallen asleep upon the table.
I was awakened by hammering at my door.
Stumbling in the dark, I reignited my fire and opened the door. Once again, I was greeted by a knight in the black armour of the Knights of Zorsha. At first, I thought it was another knight. It was an elderly, withered man, his eyes full of fright.
But that was when I saw the birthmark.
This was the same knight from before. It was Malak.
Whatever had happened to him was monstrous. Just as I look now, he appeared aged and thinned, haggard, as if all life was drained from him. His hair, long, grey and limp. His right hand, stripped of its gauntlet just like his other hand, was blackened and shrivelled, as if burnt. His left hand clung tightly to what remained of his sword, the blade melted, and everything twisted.
But his eyes were the worst, wide open and filled with a terror I cannot explain. Not once did his eyes blink.
I asked him what had happened, and I still remember what he said, word for word.
‘We arrived at the clearing and we saw the robed figures. They were dancing and chanting in some demonic language, calling to their dark master. Nearby, a group were cutting into two youths. Two youths that were still alive, screaming.
‘Carrying the sacrificial body parts, which were still screaming although they should be dead, the robed worshippers entered a cave, and that was when we charged. That is when it went wrong!
‘I saw it, coming from the shadows! We all did! Their master! It was as if the thing were made of shadow, reaching its many limbs out. Limbs like snakes, reaching for the body parts, taking them into the shadows.
Chained to the wall were two more unfortunate victims, screaming in terror as they watched the thing stretching out.
‘We charged, striking at any robed figure we could, trying to reach the sacrifices. As we did, those snakelike arms reached for us, striking at my brethren. Those who were struck collapsed, their eyes wide open, although they were still alive. Unable to move, the limbs reached out, dragging the fallen knights into the shadows.
‘By the Gods, they were dragged into the shadows on the wall and disappeared!
‘All around me, I watched my brethren fall. In time, the victims died of fright alone. But it was the eyes I remembered. As the thing grew stronger, I was able to see its eyes. A ring of eyes, hundreds of them, and they locked me in a daze. Hypnotised, I watched the eyes. The thing was speaking to me, telling me all the things it was going to do to me, and the world, as its arms reached out to me.
‘What happened next was a blur. I passed out every now and again, but when I was awake I saw knights appearing out of the shadow. Knights without armour, in thick black robes, with heavy masks and hoods covering their faces. They carried swords of brilliant light. With speed and agility unlike any I have ever seen, they killed all the robed figures and attacked the beast. I heard the thing shrieking, and it was the voices of hell. So many different voices came from it.
‘When I had enough strength, I ran, and the only place I knew to hide was here. But I could hear the voices all around me.’
The knight finished. I couldn’t believe what he had just told me. He was looking around, as if something were speaking to him. Leaving him to sit there, I made a special brew using fruits and herbs, and gave it to him.
The brew helps to bring in sleep and, although his eyes remained open, he lay his head down on the table.
Feeling confident he would recover in the morning, I retired to bed.
I was once again awakened by knocking at the door. I awoke, thinking it was a dream, but I then saw it was a living nightmare. Just where I had left him was the knight, sitting bolt upright, with blood on the remnant of his sword and a slit throat. He was dead, but his eyes were still open with fear.
The knocking continued. Unable to take my eyes off the dead knight, I went to answer the door. There was no one there. But then I looked into the bushes and saw it. A figure in grey robes, its eyes giant and gleaming, and a mouth of monstrous fangs. An amulet hung from its neck, showing an idol I had learnt to fear. A bulbous head with writhing tentacles upon a winged, crouching, humanoid figure. This was a disciple of Cthulhu. He was pointing at me, whispering.
I heard a crash behind me, and when I looked I saw the knight was gone. Turning around, I saw the robed figure was too.
Terrified at what I saw, all I could do was run. What happened thatnight I do not know. I ran, hoping to find sanctuary from those things.
Whatever they were, I knew they were not of the Gods’ making. Not even the Dark God Uzo. This was older than the Gods.
Dear Gods, please forgive my sins. Save me from the shadows.
IN THE Year of the Manticore, Emperor Talos gathered his forces to march on the far western shores to find rebels. They knew of a House of Solarash just miles from the site for sanctuary. Upon arriving, all that they found were ruins. It was believed that this was the rebels’ doing.
Whilst searching for survivors, this account was found on a parchment in a chained box.
Rumours spread of shadowy figures sneaking into camp and stealing the box.
All remembered what they had read.