Diary Of The Priest

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Diary Of The Priest
Written2nd Dorrrum, 567th Turn
CountryThol Urdim
AuthorThe Priest

This tome was penned by the mysterious Priest of Thol Urdim. It chronicles some events of his life and of Thol Urdim.


The first page is an illustration, drawn in pencil. A dwarven girl, with a smile that shines like the sun through the paper- sheer joy and love- happiness in an incarnation. Her small, delicate hands reach up- grasping at the long, withered hands of an old dwarf.

The 2nd of Dorrrun, of the 567th Turn.

My daughter, beautiful and wonderful Kora, has suggested to me that I take up the practice of journalling. She stating that it may help to loosen my hands in the face of my disease- to enable my fingers to continue to play the piano which she so loves to listen to. Sweet child- more action for these hands won’t banish this illness. Overuse and poor decisions have sealed their fate- yet I shall take up this practice nonetheless. It may prove… fruitful, in some ways.

The 17th of Dorrrun, of the 567th Turn.

Today has been… extremely eventful… and concerning. I was to accompany a routine Urdim Watch patrol into the dark- watching for any instabilities in the ground or anomalies within the vibrant ecosystem of fluorescent fungi- when I fell prey to a pit, losing my footing and falling deep, deep below. I fell for what felt like days- unable to see anything except the black which suffocated me, unable to hear anything except my own breaths. Until, I hit a liquid.

I say a liquid, for I am uncertain that it was wate- [ This section has been crossed out with a neat line. ] …for I am certain that it was not water. It was too viscous- odourous and… enticingly warm, to be water. I felt as if I had sunk into a pool of ecstasy- one which threatened to drown me as I struggled to push myself above it’s limit- finding myself in the face of an unconquerable foe, as I only sunk deepr and deeper into it- and despair, the dark only growing ever darker. I… somehow awoke, upon a corase rock shore. Shards of slate dug into my face, the gloom still besting my sight. Yet- I felt oddly… rejuvenated. I… sprung. To my feet. An effort which would have previously, with he ravages of my spinal injury and disease, taken much effort. I wandered the shore- and mindlessly climbed from that Abyss, making my way up to the fungoid lights… where I was apparently found, unconscious, by another Urdim patrol- who said that I had been gone for days.

Worrying. Despite my darling daughter’s comforts, and releasing my emotions upon these pages, I find that this unsettling creep on my mind- this wild anxiety- remains latched to me like a parasite.

It is late, so I shall retire these concerns for now. After all- I do have a ball to play at tomorrow.

The 18th of Dorrrun, of the 567th Turn.

Wonderous. Utterly wonderous- as I was invited to take my place amongst the many talented musicians of our City, seated upon the piano- I found that my fingers and hands were filled with youthful vigour- stretching, leaping- dancing across the keys as they did when I was in my prime. I felt the rhythm- the theme and notes flew into my fingertips and boomed throughout the hall- speed and technique unmatched…

That piece, Urell’a’s 2nd Concerto, renowned for it’s difficulty- which I had long dreaded to perform at such an occasion- was like childs play to this newfound life in me.

I… cannot draw any other conclusion than that liquid. That ocean of black mass which lies beneath our stone… brought life back into me.

This next page is noticeably vibrant- covered in all sorts of bursting colours- blues, purples, greens, reds, violets… All scribbling two figures- one with grey hair, sat upon what looks to be a piano stool, reaching with his fingers for the keys, and the other a little girl, a beautifully beaming smile reaching to her ears, latched onto the other in a loving hug. You can tell it was drawn by a child.

…As you turn the page, you stop a second to feel the paper. Crusty. Your nose registers the familiar scent of salt in abundance.

The 23rd of Thal’yon, of the 567th Turn.

I returned to what I have named the Abyss- that dark sea below us. I felt… drawn to it- as if my legs needed no guidance from my mind. Taking a glass vial from my pouch, I sample some- and have placed it within my quarters. I am no alchemist nor apothecary, though- so through some contracts I’ve made via my work as a pianist over the years, I’ve gathered a following of sorts- researchers as keen as I to investigate the effects of this substance, after hear of how it… healed me.

They shall begin work right away- experimenting and what-not. Testing it’s effects. It is my hope that this substance shall be our salvation- an elixir of life to save all those inflicted with illness and disease- to fix shattered bone and tissue.

The 5th of Dorrrun, of the 568th Turn.

Incredible- simply incredible- the results are astounding. Those individuals who have withstood the substance are, as I am, filled with this new power. Strength, agility, wits… all enhanced. It is my firm belief that this black ocean beneath us is the drink of the gods- what grants divinity their might. Surely, with a proper exploration into it’s character, we too, could ascend.

To further this end, I have expanded the domain of the following- and have begun preaching these wonders to all- from the highest of nobles at ball parties- to the lowest of miners skirting the edges of the dark- all shall know of our impending apotheosis.

…The ascension of our people is worth the unfortunate sacrifices of the few.

The 7th of Run’ma, of the 568th Turn.

They have dubbed me…

The Priest.

An acceptable title- however, it betrays the true nature of my purpose. I do not preach the teners of some false gods, borne only to subjugate and control the minds of lesser creatures. The words I speak are as true as the notes I play- I WILL save our people- I WILL watch with pride as they ascend- I WILL cry tears of joy as my darling daughter Kora rejoices in the knowledge that she will live forever.


The next page… is drenched. The stench of salt is piercing- and you recognise what this dried liquid is immediately… the drops of sorrow.

…The Dyrekir. Those spawns of terror and death burrowed into our City, luring their Great Mother unto our depths. Utter Calamity. …If only the people had listened- IF ONLY THE SMITH HAD BELIEVED. Then we may have had the strength to combat them. Yet no- no, they let Kora die at the hands of that monster.

…Sweet child. My beautiful, caring daughter. Father loves you, Arikora.


The writing on the next few pages is utterly illegible. The rabid scratchings of a wild thing- crimson blood staining the paper, blotting it black. Madness… you turn and turn- pages shredded, torn and burnt. Until… at the very end of the book- the writing becomes clear again.

…I know not the day. I know not if it has been years since her passing. Sweet Kora… I’m so sorry. I… fell not only into that Abyss- but into grand delusions of salvation- believing myself to be some deific messiah.

I wasn’t. Now, for my hubris, the city shall fall to it’s own people- blinded by madness and warped by that rotten substance. That cancer upon the world. Festering as a boil beneath the surface- a tumour in the very heart of our world.

I… have lead the faithful into the Abyss. Fool, Narcissist… and now, Betrayer. Sealing the many thousands of damned souls inside, I shall forevermore guard the gates of hell with my body.


The dark blood of apocalypse.

Should any, no that’s impossible. I doubt the Smith would leave Thol Urdim’s gates open to the surface- he’d be a fool to do so, and he is not like me.

…Regardless. Should anyone… find this place. Find Thol Urdim. Find the Devoured. Find Me.

Know that this is how cities fall. They grow strong, proud and elegant. They develop cultures beautiful and serene- grow peoples happy and generous.

Then they birth a madman.

That madman then destroys their world.

Heed this warning.

Never give in to hubris.

Never believe yourself more- gifted, special- divine.

Never sacrifice the dreams of others for your own.

…Never delude yourself into believing your own desires are for the greater good- they are not. They are your own.

Never… grant any love more precedence than the love for your family. For your child.

I did not heed that warning.

I loved Muon- it’s fanciful tales and promises of an eternal paradise with my daughter luring me deep and deeper- dragging me into a self-destructive madness.

…I became it’s vessel, dragging my civilisation along with me.

…I… I let my love for my daughter be replaced by Muon. Let the wishes of being by her side forever in the future… wrench me away from her side in the present.

A present… which would not last forever.

Muon stole her from me.

Muon… may you sit festering in that pit forever, never to fill the mind of another with false dreams.


…My darling daughter. Sweet child… Arikora- my little, lovely Kora… How I wish I could play the piano for you again, my child…

I’m sorry, Kora.