|Release||12 March 2018 (Update)|
|Destroy||You can find another by speaking to the Odd Old Man. Or in your bookcase.|
|On death||Always kept outside Wild|
|An ancient journal, covered in filth. You may want to wash your hands after reading this.|
|Links||MRID • recipe|
|FAQ • doc|
The rotten journal can be found by completing the hooded pirate's mini-quest.
Transcript[edit | edit source]
I don't know if you'll ever find this. I don't know if you're even alive. I commit a great sin and I hope that you are. I hope with all my heart, let it damn me.
We are cast out, by an invader from another world and the accursed monkeys who gather beneath his banner. A great beast of tusk and fury, armed with a great horn that turns the very jungle itself against us. Our world is no longer ours. All that was mwanu has been torn down and cast out. In mere days, this invader has stripped us of all that we were and has turned the favour of Tezcasathla away from us. In time he will call us weak and perhaps he will reclaim his blood from us, perhaps that is right.
We are forced back into the darkest parts of the jungle. The deepest parts. The forgotten and forbidden places. Away from all that we built, away from all that we knew. We are so few and they, with their unstoppable ally, have beaten us.
They wish to remove all reference to us, to erase us completely from their history. In their blasphemy, they have even renamed our world. They call our beloved Jermyn...Bobonosia. As if it were their world to name.
I do not know why I still write in this. The others think me weak, or mad. That I should turn to words, rather than to fight against the world as is the mwanu way, but I can't help but feel that our time is over. That the only memory of the mwanu may yet live on in these few words.
Perhaps I have surrendered. Perhaps they are right to shun me.
Yet I still hope that you'll find these words so that, if I am gone, you will have a few words left to remind you of me.
We have withdrawn to a great lake in the heart of the jungle. It is a strange sight, blacker than the heavens, and it does not seem to reflect the stars. A reminder, perhaps, that Tezcasathla has abandoned us. There's something strange about the water. I dip my fingers in and it seems clear, yet the lake itself is the pitchest black, as though it descends infinitely down into the heart of the planet, perhaps further. I have never seen anything like it.
We have set up a small village now. Nothing impressive, rudimentary shelters rather than stable foundations, but it's good to stop moving. Why we've chosen this lake, I will never know, yet here we are.
The lake has started whispering to me.
It knows my name. It knows your name. It tells me that it knows the name Player as well, though I do not know what that could mean, nor who that person is. All I know is that the lake beckons me to it. It promises me freedom from confusion, freedom from suffering and freedom even from death.
Is this the mercy of Tezcasathla?
Does he have mercy?
Arms have risen out of the lake. Great black arms. Solid and angular like stones that have been weathered by the ocean tide. The arms of Tezcasathla himself, he reaches out for us and people run to their embrace.
I hold back. I alone hold back.
There's something so very wrong about those still waters. Something very wrong about the perfect blackness.
There are stars in the lake now.
They are not the stars I know.
I embraced the whispering waters today.
As I did, the world fell away and I found myself somewhere new. A new sky, with only one sun. A vast ocean lapping against sandy shores. My brothers and sisters around me, confused, but hopeful.
Tezcasathla has given us a new home.
...I still hear the whispers.
Achievements[edit | edit source]
- Lovingly Crafted ( 10) – Discover and read all five Horror journals.
Update history[edit | edit source]
|Hooded pirate miniquest|