The Dark: Scholars and Cities

by Operative12

The world of Westeros is gone. Wiped off the face of the Earth by an Ancient and mysterious force. One mans quest for answers will lead him down a dark path into the heart of the deadly mystery. His journal is recovered centauries after his expedition disappeared into the jungle of South America. It tells a disturbing tale.

From the Journal of Michael T Sanders

11th of February

The tomes cannot be wrong. Every ancient text and scroll I have studied has lead me to the same conclusion. There was once a sprawling and ancient civilization that inhabited this world. The few ruins we have found indicated that it was a medieval society. The scrolls we were able to salvage spoke of castles, lords and conquest. All the evidence points towards that this civilization was massive and encompassed nearly the entire the continent at its prime. Bordered in the North by an icy wasteland we now believe to be the Arctic Circle and in the South by an 'Endless Ocean'. However, despite the signs that this civilization was on its way to becoming one of the greats (no matter how backwards and barbaric they could be) all the records we have recovered seem to cease between 500 000 and a 1 000 000 years ago. Something happened to that civilization. An extinction level event that blasted it off the face of the Earth. The only question is, what?

That niggling question has tormented generations of scholars yet even after the first discoveries over a hundred, the answer still alludes us. Wealthy men have exhausted their fortunes searching for the 'treasure vault of the Red Keep' or the Ruins of the Winter Castle. Some believe we should not search for the answer. Some of the more disturbing texts speak of Dragons and the 'White Walkers'; beings who could level cities with fire and entomb men with ice if the legends are to be trusted.

I however suspect it was something else. I will not yet commit my suspicions to paper less I be proved wrong. In order to prove my theory I intend to mount an expedition to the Jungles of South America. An ancient text that my father found deep in the cavernous bowls of that cursed dig site; speaks of a continent far to the South. This continent, known to the locals as 'Sorthorys', was said to have been made up of large swathes of steaming jungle and inhabited by strange and deadly creatures. Finally the scroll details legends of a vanished civilization that built pyramid like temples and the sorrow that befell all those who tried to settle on the Jungle continent. It is here I believe I will find my answers.

That civilization found something in that dark jungle. Something they should not have. I need to find what they did. I need to prove my father's work and finally solve this mystery.

Using a strange map I acquired years ago, but never understood until recently, I will journey to the place it marks out as the " Burial site of –". I still don't know what is actually buried down there, but I intend to find out.

15st of February

I have begun to make preparations for my expedition. Food, equipment, medicine and workers are streaming onto the estate day and night. The deep jungle of South America is one of the most remote and hostile places on the planet. I'm going to need mercenaries to guard the workers and scout the way. Men who now how to keep their head about them.

There is another reason I have hired such individuals. I am afraid. I worry what we might find in that dark, isolated corner of the globe. My father suspected it and so do I. Whatever caused the downfall of that civilization is likely ancient and incredibly powerful. If the time comes that we encounter it… I shall be grateful for a significant amount of modern firepower.

One of my old acquaintances from the university has been able to secure us passage via ship, on the condition that she joins the expedition. Truth be told I shall be grateful for the company of another intellectual, but I worry she may try to claim any discoveries as her own. If all goes well we should depart in three weeks for Brazil.

25th February

The Estate has practically become a small town! I've had to set up extra sleeping quarters to accommodate all the personnel. The last numbers to come in were:

103 workmen

2 doctors

5 foremen

9 mercenaries

123 000 pounds worth of equipment and supplies.

The list of names seems endless. I supposes some men will do anything for a spot of adventure or coin.

If I take all the salaries and traveling expenses into account, I'm looking at almost a three hundred thousand pound expedition! My Acquaintance: Ashley Nash has taken to watching the preparations. I cannot deny that she is an excellent accountant and was able to spot several errors that I myself missed .We have chatted amicably over what we hope to find in the Jungle but I still cannot shake my feeling of distrust, perhaps I am just being paranoid. She is definitely a beautiful women. Her black hair cascades down her back and her piercing green eyes are only complemented by her tall slender figure and pale face.

I have obviously kept my suspicions quiet, but she seems to believe that we will find an ancient city built in a style not unlike the Mayans. 'A city of black stone' she calls it. A place so foreboding and cursed, not even the jungle will enter it.

She told me that the way the city is described in the scrolls makes it seem almost like a living entity. A disturbing thought to match my own.

28th of February

The last shipment arrived today. A crate full of weapons. Knives, rifles, pistols and shotguns. I don't expect the workers to become my own private army but I do believe that if pushed into a corner they will know which end of the gun to point at the creatures of the jungle. Nash and I continue to speak but I remain guarded and I think she has realised that I do not hold her in my full confidence.

I spoke with the leaders of the mercenaries today. A grim man by the name of Harold, he wears an eyepatch and bears the scars of many jobs, he is definitely an elderly man, with greying hair but he retains a muscular physique. He assured me that his team can handle any situation we may come across. I asked him if he believed in the old legends of the jungle. He told me that over his life he has seen some strange things, but when I enquired further he merely brushed me off. I have overheard that some of the workers have been whispering, that I am an insane, recluse who carries out rituals to dark gods and that they are meant as human sacrifices for some satanic practice. Can you imagine!

1st of March

An amazing discovery! As I was packing my things in the manor, I finally found it! My father's journal. The very same journal that I believed was lost in Asia all those years ago. I read through the yellowed and decaying pages. They detail his infamous expedition to Mongolia. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I read about the insanity and death that plagued his mission over 20 years ago. His journal claimed that he was looking for a place called Asshai, which he believed to be somewhere in the far east of Asia. He set out with a hundred men and spent the next two years traveling by ship and overland to where he believed he would find the ruins of the ancient dark city. Sorrow followed him where ever he went. Disease broke out amongst the workers, equipment went missing and madness began to take hold of many of the men. By the time he reached where he believed where the city was buried, he had lost a quarter of his force.

But he pressed on. Spades splintered and picks broke but he still oversaw the digging. Food became scarce but still the men dug. My father records being confronted by angry villagers, they told him that he should not disturb the resting place of the dark city, lest he release the spirits within. He ignored them. Fighting broke out between workers and villagers. Gunfire and blood stained that ancient ground.

The excavations did not cease, finally after months of working they unearthed…. The journal stops. The last page details the fear that seemed to ripple across the land as 'it' was unearthed. My father returned home, alone a year later. He never spoke of what happened or what he unearthed in that hellhole. I never asked. When he took his own life only months later, it hardly came as a surprise.

In the weeks following his death I searched for anyone who might have survived his doomed endeavour. It was in vain, the workers and friends who had accompanied him, never returned from Asia.

With no one else to talk to, I brought the journal to Nash. What she saw their seemed to greatly disturb her. The scrawls looked like the work of a madman, not a respected intellectual. She asked me if I had any idea of what had been found in Asia but I could only speculate with her. By dawn we were both exhausted after pouring over the diary for hours on end. Unfortunately we had nothing to show for our efforts.

The ship sailed into harbour late yesterday evening. The final preparations are nearly complete, we leave in two days.

March 3rd

An ominous feeling settled over me as I closed the front door to the manor. The estate, so bustling and full of life was now empty and quiet. I was leaving home and heading out into the greatest mystery of our time. Nash was able to translate some of the more archaic scrawls of my father. They are not pleasant. Many of the runes have histories in death and exorcism rituals. Why they were in that journal I don't know.

I have resolved to trust Nash after she kept the discovery of the journal confidential, but I still have my eye on her. A women of her calibre must have he own agenda.

Before leaving, I was able to find the time to visit my old professor: Doctor Andrew. He advised me to be wary of the jungle, claiming that many an unprepared explorer, looking for fortune has disappeared into that green abyss. I assured him that I was not unprepared, as I patted the revolver, I've taken to keeping in my belt.

As I stared over the country side, I know that I will miss the soft rolling hills and green meadows of my home. The hot, tropical jungle beckons me to crack open her secrets, I should not keep her waiting.

March 24th

Thank god for land, was the only thought I had as I stepped off that metal tub. Shut up for nearly three weeks on that floating monstrosity, I thought I was going to go mad! When I wasn't leaning over the railing and relinquishing my breakfast, I was having to deal with the administration of nearly a hundred people! Some are complaining about the food, the Catholics won't work with the mercenaries, the mercenaries want to sleep in better quarters! Had a storm blown through and drowned the lot of them I wouldn't have cared!

Nash seemed to be dealing with the movement of the ocean even worse than I. She scarcely left her cabin and when she did she was ghastly sight indeed! Her face was ghostly pale creating an almost painful contrast with her dark hair. I spoke with Harold on a few occasions, his experience seemed to render him immune from seasickness. He told me of a group of soldiers who had reportedly gone rouge and disappeared into the jungle years ago, their remains were later found floating in the river. He warned me that the natives could be savage and that we should be wary of them. I nodded my agreement. Tales of the brutality of the jungle tribes were legendary. I will not attempt to provoke them but if threatened… they will see the effectiveness of modern firearms.

The harrowing the journey is over and we have now arrived in Macapa. We shall spend a few days here as everyone adjusts to the climate and recovers from the journey. As expected the company was soaked with sweat practically the minute we walked off the gangplank! I've given the workers a few days leave while Nash and I search for a captain willing to take us upstream. I have no doubt that they will whore and drink their pay away. As long as they can still use a shovel I don't care what they choose to do with their money.

The sounds of the jungle reach the town, but in amongst the hustle and bustle they sound like whispers. I feel drawn to the jungle, I know that I will find my answers there even if I do not want to.

March 25th

We've had our first causality. The idiot got drunk and picked a fight with a local. The local had his stomach ruptured and my man was stabbed through the eye. The morphine ended his tortured cries. Needless to say he died. The doctor who attended to him was a very peculiar fellow. Tall with a mop of brown stringy hair and a set of eyes that seemed to fracture light. He wore no scrubs or gown but working clothes. I had seen him before but always thought that he was a worker. He hardly spoke to me but seemed to endlessly talk to the dying man, muttering and whispering as he helped end the man's pain. He could have been blessing or cursing him. He said his name was Warren. He confuses me, which makes me wary of him.

Nash and I have been able to find a man willing to take us upriver. His name was Joao and he's willing to take us as far we need to go for enough coin. The other captains we asked were unwilling to take us past Santarem. They claimed that the river became dangerous, unpredictable and more savage after that point. I saw the fear of the river and the desire for coin war in their eyes before their fear won out. Fear of what? Natives, animals, rapids or superstition?

Nash and I have been spending more time in each other's company and while my distrust of her lurks in the back of my mind, I find that she makes a pleasant change in conversation than the uncouth workers I constantly find myself dealing with. We continue to talk about what might be waiting for us in the heart of the jungle, she is still set on the idea of the black city and the more I hear of it, the more sense it makes to me. I doubt that an individual merchant or trader was able to find whatever caused the demise of an entire world. I suspect that it was purposefully dug up, either the locals thought it was a holy relic or something instructed them to dig up whatever they found.

I have taken to translating some of the older scrolls in my downtime, I've found that writing helps me concentrate over the incessant noise of the town and the whispers of the jungle. I intend to leave Macapa by weeks end.

March 27th

Thankfully we were able to leave Macapa without any further incidents. It took a few days to load everything onto the river boat 'Dancer'. We left early this morning while the steam was still visibly rising over the jungle. I intend to stop at Santarem to resupply and gather information about the river upstream. I pretended that I didn't see the traces of nervousness on Nash's face as the city gave way to Jungle. Thankfully the wild life has had the sense to steer clear of the steam belcher. The workers have taken to share stories about what supposedly lives in the jungle. Basilisk's and boat-sized crocodiles feature prominently in their tales, but every now and again someone will mention 'Wyverns' and gigantic apes that can fell an elephant with a single blow.

I've never been a religious man but the more disturbing things I read in the runes and scrolls, the more my belief in what I know is shaken. I slipped Harold the question of whether he's heard about the Mystery of Westeros and the lost civilizations, he surprised me by saying that he had been present on some of the dig sites of the ancient ruins. I asked him whether his services where ever needed on the sites, to which he darkly replied that he has a bad history with the ruins of the dead civilization.

I find that my translations are becoming more taxing, difficult and disturbing and it is to them I must return.

March 31st

Our second casualty. The worker (a fellow by the name of John, I'm told) pitched over the side of the boat into the river! Off his own accord, if the witnesses are to be trusted. Apparently he was standing, staring out over the railing when he just went over the side! He had drowned by the time we recovered him. The look on his dead face was one of a strange peace. I don't know much about drowning but I realise that it isn't a pleasant experience. We had stop and bury him on the side of the river before we could continue.

I thought I might've glimpsed natives earlier today, but if they were they knew to stay away. Still it troubles me to have sighted them so far upstream.

The runes I have been able to decode continue to support my theory but there is still room for reasonable doubt. The more I decode the more I start to hope that perhaps I was wrong in my conclusion. The tales the ancient texts tell are unsettling at best and horrific at worst. The difficulty is beginning to exceed my abilities and I am being forced to use intuition to decode certain segments.

I am forced to concede that I may be attracted to Nash. She possess a strange sort of beauty. Her pale face and almost luminous green eyes makes a striking contrast with her long pitch black hair. I shall do my best to suppress this attraction as this is neither the time nor the place for such feelings.

April 1st

We pulled into Santarem during the steaming midday heat. I intend to resupply and gather what information I can about what lies upriver, before we bade farewell to civilization for what may be months, even years. The thought of being out alone in the Jungle concerns me. Isolated from the world. Cut off from help. If something were to go wrong…

No, I cannot afford to think like that. I will take each day as it comes. Money, men and machinery will see us through this. I long ago decided to put my faith in steel and labour, not the cross, and it is to them I now rely on. I do want to believe in a benevolent god but with the things I've read and the horror that has befallen my family in the past has closed my eyes to this.

I have decided that if I am to navigate the jungle I am going to need local men who know their way around. It took longer than expected but I was finally able to find a few willing locals to act as guides and translators. They warned me of the dangers that lurked further upstream, something I am too aware of already.

April 10th

We've finally been forced to leave the Dancer and her captain behind. The river has become too narrow and dangerous for safe passage. It took most of a day to unload all of our equipment. While this was happening I couldn't help but notice that, a number of the men seemed to be exhibiting early symptoms of the flu. Coughing dryly and clearing their throats as they moved equipment off the boat. It is definitely there lurking in the background of the hustle and bustle of the camp. I hope that it is only a flu outbreak and not some strange tropical disease.

I watched the sun blaze above the jungle, but the trees seemed to prevent the light from hitting the fern covered floor. Shrouding it in pools of shadow. From this point we shall have to utilise foot travel, as we follow the runic maps instructions. I have no doubt that the journey will be taxing and possibly deadly, but I have come too far to turn back now.

I have been doing my best to avoid Nash where I can. My feelings towards her only amplify the strange unease I feel in her presence, I have however been forced to ask for assistance with my translations. She seems to have an almost uncanny ability to understand even some of the most complex transcripts! I had no luck on my last batch and was forced to ask for her help in unlocking the secrets of those papers.

April 11th

What a strange thing I just witnessed. As I was delivering the latest set of scrolls to Nash's tent, I couldn't help but overhear her arguing with the curious doctor, Warren. The conversation was nigh impossible to make out, but snippets reached my ears. None of them made sense. Words like "Ed God" and "unwelcome" came from Nash, while Warren at one point declared that it was his duty to accompany me. Even though I only met him days ago, he believes that he has a duty to me? Another thing I noticed was the strange light that seemed to bathe the two. No crackle of fire could be heard, but a bright red light engulfed the two. The light was a pure red, not the volatile mix of warm colours that is produced by fire. At one point I'm sure that they both stopped talking as if they knew they were being eavesdropped on, but that can't be possible, can it?

As I delivered the scrolls I couldn't help but notice that Nash has been able to decode the last batch with ease. The scrolls that I delivered were impossible for me to understand at all. I am unsure whether to leave her privacy alone, or if I should see how she is able to understand what I cannot. I suspect that my nature will force me to commit the later.

April 11th

I could no longer resist the pull of answers. Last night as she was presumably using the latrine, I snuck into her tent to check the progress she had made on the translation. It was completely finished! The indecipherable text was converted to flowing English with no errors! Resisting my desire to take the papers for my own study and quickly gleaned what I could from the top one. The papers declared that Sorthorys was so inhospitable and savage for a reason, but I was unable to find out what exactly that reason was and had to leave for fear of discovery.

This raises perplexing questions.

What caused the corruption of that southern Continent?

And perhaps a more immediate puzzle, how was Ashley Nash, a University student who is not yet out of her twenties able to decode a text that has, remained gibberish to scholars for decades?

I am torn. Should I confront her with this discovery or should I remain quiet. I wished to speak with Harold about this, but he has been working round the clock; ensuring that a perimeter has been established, hunts carried out and workers accounted for.

The sounds of the Jungle are sometimes ear-splitting now that we are encased in its green grasp. Our progress has been slow but constant, cutting back the undergrowth so that mules and men alike can move through. Trees and flora oppose us at every turn it seems, but with steel in hand we have driven them back. I feel that we are at war with nature. Every tree we fell is another casualty in her ranks.

April 15th

Our first confrontation with the natives. Thankfully bloodshed was avoided but the tension in the air could've been cut with a knife. A war band of men wielding primitive weapons blocked our path two days ago. A man we picked up in Santarem was able to communicate with the men but I don't know if we'll get so lucky in the future. I think he explained that we were just passing through and not settling on their land. After what seemed like an eternity the locals motioned to let us pass.

Nash hasn't given me the translations back, she could suspect something. I have thrown myself into the work to avoid having to confront her. The figures and administration I have to deal with are almost insurmountable. But Nash sits at the back of thoughts like a Spectre, her shadow disrupts my thoughts. I don't know how much longer I can maintain my silence.

April 17th

It seems endless now our journey, every day through this incessant humid hell. We have lost 3 more men at least. One to dehydration, one to snake bite and one to diarrhoea. My silent observation is that all three were afflicted by the cough. It still has not progressed beyond spluttering and throat clearing but it is definitely there. I worry that it may be eating away at their minds and bodies, gnawing flesh and bone, as it consumes them. That or my imagination is overactive.

The problem of what to do about her is starting to steal my time. She must have noticed my behaviour by now. Harold has. He asked what was troubling me but didn't press me when I merely grunted. I am starting to distrust my thoughts, I fear that the seeds of irrationality may have been sown in my mind. I will press on. If I look back I am doomed. I read that in one of the scrolls recovered from Arabia. The scrolls spoke of a princes with silver hair and amethyst eyes, who ruled several cities and was well on her way to building an empire, when presumably the cataclysm happened and her small kingdom was destroyed. It said that her dragons were the last to perish against the force that broke the old world.

April 18th

It was right where the map said it would be. A city of Black Stone, not touched by the towering ferns and sinister trees of the jungle. Ancient Structures in a design of the Aztecs and Inca, rise out of the dirt. The stone is blacker than night. An infinity of darkness trapped in those walls.

The cough has claimed its first victim. The man died with blood on his lips. His body was burnt to prevent further infection. The cough doesn't seem to have spread beyond its initial victims, but should it start to infect more people, drastic measures will be taken. I cannot afford distraction now. Not when I am so close. My answers are here, I know it, and deep in my bones I can feel it.

I confronted her today, demanding to know who she was and how she deciphered the scroll. Nevertheless, she feigned innocence. Declaring that the stress of the long journey was getting to me, She tried to comfort me. I panicked and pulled my gun on her, warning to stay back. In horror and Anger she recoiled. I cannot blame her, but I didn't see another choice. I told her that there would No longer be any lies .I left when she continued to state her innocence. She told me that her ability Eclipsed mine and that I did not have the skill to understand the scrolls.

I ordered two of the mercenaries to keep her detained in her tent, while I try to figure out my course of action. We will scour the city in the morning, and search for the best place to begin digging. Our true work now begins.

April 20th

Much to my chagrin it took the better part of two days to find it. The site was unmistakeable, a giant amphitheatre like pit, with black steps that went into the earth. The stairway to hell the workers called it. I could almost sense the dark pull coming from the ground. Whatever it is, it's buried in that place. I know it. The equipment has been set up and the excavation has begun. Picks and spades make impacts in the ancient earth.

While the pit itself is definitely unnerving the city is just as, if not more so. The black walls oppress the soul. Constricting breath, denying movement. Several times I caught myself staring into that void, think archaic thoughts. I have decided to camp on the outskirts of the city. I don't know why but I get the strangest feeling in my stomach while I walk those ancient streets.

More men have fallen to the cough, but the infection still hasn't spread beyond the 20 or so who originally contracted it. The Doctors are perplexed, medically there has been little wrong with those who have fallen. But continue to fall they do. I have begun to hand out weapons to the workers, if for no other reason than my own piece of mind. Something that seems to be in preciously short supply these days.

Nash remains a prisoner in her tent. I have set my own dwelling on the opposite side of the camp. My thoughts seem to be clearer the further away I am from her. A suspicion is growing within me, something I dare not voice. I believe I know what Nash is. I cannot afford to be wrong about this. I am well aware of my own lapses in judgement and I fear that if I have misjudged this, it could send me out over the edge of madness.

April ?

Ambushed in the dead of night by savages. They fell upon our camp in the darkest hours of the night, yelling strange war cries. Harold woke me as the first screams and cracks of gunfire began to pierce the dark. We ran through the camp as the savages fell upon it. I saw a man have a spear driven through his spine, before Harold put one in his head, blood and gore erupted out of the wound as brain matter sprayed out the back.

Some of the tents went up in flame as we ran. Some of our men rallied around us. I saw a savage get his skull ruined by a shotgun, just as he finished spilling the entrails of one of ours. The smell of battle is hard to describe. A terrifying yet intoxicating mix of powder, blood and fear. Fear so palpable you could almost touch it.

Our group ran through that terrible night. That night that could've been hours or centauries. Into the city we fled. Pausing to discharge our weapons at the savages who pursued us. My memories are hazy and I find it difficult to tell what was real and what was conjured by my own brain. At one point I was separated and trapped in an alley as a savage bore down on me. His blood splattered the black walls when I shot him four times. The bullets ripped through his meagre 'armour' with ease. The walls seemed to drink in his blood eagerly absorbing it.

I remember running screaming through the city, pursued by something I cannot remember. I recall putting my gun to my head, but not what happened after.

At another moment I was taking shelter with a group in one of the old buildings. We were under siege. Projectiles flew and guns went crack. Workers tried to hold a barrier against the savages. A man took a hatchet in neck. He tried to hold his blood in, but it was futile. The sound reverberated in my skull I remember being operated on by Warren. I felt an intense burning sensation and then only a strange piece. I know not of the severity or place of my injury nor who inflicted it.

In another 'memory' I professed my attraction and regret to an injured Nash as we were surrounded and fell upon by natives. I fired until my gun clicked on empty. Bullets ripped through flesh and left an acrid smell in my nostrils. The savages surged towards us but suddenly retreated in fear and panic. Who or what caused this I do not know. The sun shone with an intense light during this recollection,

I woke in the dawn, whether it was the morning or the week after the attack I know not, along with Harold, Warren and several other workers in the pit. The city was eerily silent as we made our way back to the camp. Corpses littered the old cobbled floors. We took what we could off the bodies. A spade here, a bullet or two there. Thin trails of smoke rose above the camp. Nash escaped in the night, her two guards were both found dead, we still don't know what killed them. I suspect it could've been Nash but the wounds inflicted on them were terrible. They were good men and now they are gone.

I awoke two nights ago. It has taken two days since then to account for our 34 dead, and recover our supplies. We estimate that over 50 savages were slaughtered. Good, that should teach them not to return. We buried our dead but burnt the savages in a pile. They deserved less. Good, loyal men lost their lives that bloody night.

The excavation resumed the next day. Now that we know the savages are thirsting for our blood, we cannot afford to delay. Not one minute can be lost.

3 days post the attack

They toil day after day in the depths of that pit. Digging deeper and deeper. The casualties continue to mount. Injury, the cough and accident all claim their blood payment. By my calculations we have just over 60 workers left. It should be enough, it has to be enough to complete the excavation.

6 days post the attack.

We are close now so close. The excavation in the pit is now meters deep. My sleep is restless and full of strange dreams. Dreams of blood and horror. Images too strange to explain outside of sleep flash constantly in my brain. Nash features prominently in my dreams. She warns me and tries to dissuade me from continuing my digging. Nash has yet to actually appear. I find that I am missing her more than I thought. Her distinctive hair and pale colouring have left a notable absence in the camp. My attraction must have been more severe than I thought. I must confide that I have become consumed by my task, I hardly eat or sleep, I just puzzle over my remaining scrolls the final set of symbols seem vaguely familiar but I cannot remember them. Even my memory seems to be failing me these days. I Hope and pray to a god I have never believed in that this has not been in vain.

9 days post the attack

We found it. I was notified immediately and rushed to the pit. I saw workers lying around it clutching their heads in pain. An artefact engraved with symbols and pictures so terrible, I could feel my mind slipping as I gazed upon it. It was raised from that black hole. My glimpse of it suggested that it was vaguely box like. Strange shadowy tentacles seemed to burst out of the box as I approached. Screaming and terror followed. I remember running and then only blackness. I awoke several minutes ago in a building with what I assume remains of my workforce, twenty scared individuals. Some with madness in their eyes, others with blood on their lips. They mutter furtively as they watch me write this. Something large and terrible thumps sluggishly around the city and the workers mutter more. Sporadic cracks of gunfire around us. I catch words like 'sacrifice' and know what my fate will soon be. Warren moves among the injured, saving those who he can, injecting those he can't. My mind may have finally snapped but I'm sure I saw his eyes burning a bright red. Harold isn't here he is probably dead or worse.

I finally remembered what those runes meant. A memory so distant and buried it could just be a hallucination. I finally know what they say. Only now at the end do I understand:

"The god of the black will slumber for thousands of years, until a scholar, mercenary, demon and witch come, to the city of eternal night. With tools of iron and weapons of steel they will drive back the Earth. Blood will water the stones and coat the walls of old. The Ancient will rise and the world shall fall. Neither fire nor ice will end their existence. The black of madness, death, lust, destruction and fear will consume them, once and for all."

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

To the head of the department of Occultism and the paranormal.

Sir, the above document was recovered several days ago by one of our operatives in South America. Several pages were missing or destroyed and every page after the final entry suffered serve burning damage, but I think I can speak for both of us when I say that it is a deeply disturbing account, especially in light of recent events.

I contacted our 'friend' overseas. She reports that no records of a black city appear in any of their files, and that satellite's over the area have been unable to find any pictorial evidence. Surely if it did indeed exist, we'd be able to find some evidence of it.

Finally, we were able to recover the name from the Journals cover: Michael T Sanders. The significance on the name is lost on me but our 'friend' took a great interest in it. I would send someone to investigate. I don't agree with your decision to work with the Americans as you know and any intelligence we can acquire that they don't have, will undoubtedly be of use in the future.

I hope that you will consider my proposal with renewed interest, Sir. It's a large scary world out there and we don't want a repeat of what happened last year.

Warm Regards

-M