Sunday 15 May 2022

The Warlock Diary - Entry #2

 I have lost the last two days trying to escape the damnable maze of a mansion. What at first seemed like an ordinary ruin - left abandoned to the annals of time - has turned into a damnable lesson in hubris and the inquisitive minds of mages.


The house is… ancient. Far more so than I had imagined. And somehow far larger. I wager there was once a mage of some descript who made this there home and placed some kind of enchantment to add more rooms and corridors without needing to expand the premises with building work. And that enchantment seems to have held.

Not that it has caused me much consternation. In fact, it may well have helped keep them off my trail a while longer and the wound has healed enough that I’m no longer leaving a blood scent for them to track.

I have made a base camp of sorts in the library, which from what I can discern, appears to be the centre of this madness. And infected by Obscenum - or what the scholars would call dark magic. Which carries certain connotations that are largely unfounded as they list necromancy among such practices despite its being a particularly useful tool for healing and for investigation, but I digress.

I have found markings in several abandoned rooms - summoning circles. Or attempts at them. The runic language used is faded and broken by time but some parts of it remain legible. Enough to know that the Hells were ultimately the point of contact and that what they were attempting to pull through was likely far beyond the ken of any mage past or present. I have been trying to find a name of the beast among the writings on these shelves but the magic in here stings. So much as touching the cover of a tome can feel like a caustic burn.

Though there are some records I can access. Records of the house and its owners… perhaps they can bear fruit. Something about this place has been off from the first. Bleakview Manor is not all it seems.

L.L.V

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Day 30 - Ending

 The cat with the mouse in its mouth is just passing through. Past the mourners, veiled and shuffling through a rhythm only known in grief. ...