Garret's Journal
Date: 07-21-2026 Tags: #writing, #fantasy-writing
Twenty-three summers I'd lived before my encounter with Fimbrethul Darksage, and by some dark happenstance I still live to tell the tale.
In those days I lived as the assistant scribe for the Golden Compass, a guild of merchants. I was tasked with tallying goods and keeping records of our deals as we traveled around to the seaside cities of the Ardent Archipelago, formerly known as The Ribs of Satan.
The captain of the vessel was a drunken, gruff war-veteran of many years. In one of his rare moments of clarity he had warned me to stay clear of any military service, refusing to elaborate on why. Piece by piece, through his drunken ramblings, I concluded that he must have been an officer in the army of Paladin King Trueguard during the Seventh Crusade against the Spawn of Hell. It's unthinkable how a great man such as he could be reduced to such a hollow, hateful creature. In the end, though, I found it hard to not have a sliver of sympathy for the man, for I seldom saw him sleep, and when I did, it looked anything but restful.
Our cargo was filled to the brim with holy relics, tomes and paintings. We were to go to the coastal city of Borgruin to supply them in their construction of their opulent new church. It was to be a simple, safe task. We were armed to the teeth with elite mercenaries, and the size of our ship alone would probably deter any but Pirate Lord Torstein himself. Priests, too, were among our guests. Never did I care much for the church. Neither did I join in prayer, for I could not believe, no matter my effort.
It was in the dusk that it happened, in the blue hues of the twilight, that I looked out onto the sea and noticed something peculiar, something that initially fascinated me.
Dead fish and sea-creatures were floating up to the surface, one by one. Not the common types, either. Grim fish, from the Deep. Their horridness exacerbated by the malformations of pressure. I thought there must have been some underground eruption, but then I started seeing other, more common fish. Bluegill, Redscale and Seagliders amassed around our ship. The mound of sea-flesh became so thick that one could possibly walk on it, and the ship had come to a halt. A crowd had now gathered at the gunwale where I stood, hollering for the captain. I looked into the eyes of one of the priesthood. It was as though the light had gone out in his eyes, and all hope had been lost. What could he have anticipated, that I could not?
The blue twilight had turned to a darker hue, and the stars were revealing themselves to us, lighting the charnel scene. About a half-league starboard, one could make out a grand sea-creature which had risen from the depths like the others. It looked like a colossal nautilus, but it had a green hue. I first assumed it lifeless, and that the slow turning was some death-spasms, but I was sorely mistaken.
The sea-colossus began moving towards us at an ungodly pace, its tentacles offering unbelievable propulsion. Its shell was unnaturally shaped like a living ship, with its green shell permeated with small holes and a railing at the top. Little more could I see, before the creature had crashed into our ship and opened a large hole in our starboard side hull.
After the crash, there was a moment of silence and one could hear nothing but the prayer of priests and the unsheathing of mercenary weapons. The silence was broken by an inhuman, guttural scream which filled my soul to the brim with dread. A sound which still haunts me in my sleep. Unholy beasts from the deep flooded through the hull-hole with a bestial might. Large, rippling flesh-automatons ripped mercenaries apart like soft leather. Bony skeletons pierced and tore into the flesh of the fallen in large numbers. I watched, ensorceled by the horrid scene which soon would take my life. A fierce skeleton approached me in my stunned state, and I couldn't move a single limb. It was my time, I thought.
My dumbfoundedness was broken as a mace-blow shattered the skull of the bony creature into fragments and shards. The captain had donned his heavy armor and lowered the visor of his grand helm, the only remaining relic of his past. His presence was indomitable as he stood by the door to his quarters with two elite mercenaries at his sides. One, a slender duelist, had severed the head of many monsters with her light sword which somehow slid through sinew and muscle as scythe through grass. The other, a mage, had scorched the skeletons into fine dust with his fire-magic, which in its flashes blinded me and lightly burned my skin, despite my range.
The trio succeeded in clearing what seemed to be the first wave of attackers. Another moment of harrowing silence and anticipation ensued, but it was broken by an eerie screeching sound. A mote of purple light appeared before us before it exploded outwards into the darkness of the blackest abyss. In the aftermath of the otherworldly event there stood a tall man, adorned with black plate-armor, decorated like a thousand arms reaching for his throat. His armor was adorned with filigree in gold and ruby, and his hood covered his face with a darkness, impenetrable by any light.
As the invader reached for his long, curved blade, the slender mercenary had already covered the distance and lunged towards the hooded man. The sword penetrated the darkness down to the crossguard, but no sword appeared on the other side. Her face twisted in fear while she tried to pull her sword back. It was stuck, and large, beastly jaws appeared from the hood to bite her hand off. In one swift motion, the hooded man had drawn his sword from its sheath, and swiftly cut through her midsection. Before her body had even had begun to fall to the ground, the fire-wizard had conjured up another mote of light, the spell which had vaporized many monsters already. The hooded man reached for the spell, and pinched the light away, popping it as if it was a little berry. He raised his left arm, and without any sound, the mage rotted away, leaving a withered husk in his robe.
The captain fell to his knees. No valiant effort or swift strike with his mace would end this horrifying presence. He had surrendered completely.
Despite the heft of his great helm, it offered no protection against the grand curved sword of the grim invader, and it was split in two, along with the head inside it, like timber to a chopping-axe.
The dark presence sheathed his curved sword and turned towards me. The darkness of his hood slowly faded and let the moonlight illuminate his pale, smiling face. He had a long face, sickly pale skin and by the gods... he had no eyes. he had no eyes.