I never thought that I should recover my journal, and here it is! It has been well over a month since I last laid eyes on it, and it is a sight for sore eyes. I am currently holed up in Berthwell with the Legion, while scouts are being sent out through the countryside to search for Lord Dwindlemere. If you recall, Lord Dwindlemere was the strange man who seems to have perpetrated the spread of The Blight. I discovered that I arrived in Drakksford at just the wrong time. Drakksford is now considered to be the launching point for The Blight, it had never been seen anywhere else before by anyone, and no wizard has ever even heard of an ailment of its magnitude before. It has been steadily spreading eastward towards Berthwell for the past few months now. Lord Dwindlemere as he is called has only been sighted one other time, in the northeastern province of Willterdow, in a small village of perhaps 300 people named Kinsford. There is no news of whether or not the sickness has made it to Twildenshire, though I would find it hard to believe that it hasn't already. Seeing the dramatic turns that my adventure has taken so far, I already notice how distanced I feel from home, and how more and more I feel as though the day I departed from Twildenshire is the day I died. Not literally, of course, but the day I died to my family. Certainly I never meant it to be that way, but what hope do I have of them surviving the horror of The Blight? There doesn't seem to be much I can do. Though I am very close now to home, compared to how far away I was when I was at the Crescent Lake.

But there is a woefully large amount of information to cover here in these pages. First of all, as to the matter of my journal being lost. My previous entry describes my waking from a strange dream by the Crescent Lake. After I made the entry, I shut the book and began searching the premises. It didn't take me long to discover all of the evidence of an encampent. It seemed as though the mage hunters of my dreams were real live flesh and blood, but I was wrong in this assumption. I searched for several hours, until I came upon a large mound. I realized at once that it was a mass grave. How many lay interred there, I didn't even want to speculate, but there had to have been scores.

I returned to the spot where I awoke and packed up my belongings, preparing to ride Illdra out of this place. I decided that I needed to get a move on back to Rune Mere as fast as possible to consult the wisdom of the wizards there. I had just set out when I ran headlong into the Legion of Berthwell. They had deployed a unit to investigate the dissapearance of an entire village in a far flung northern province of theirs named Darkoklan. What they found was a ghost town, no bodies, and a trail of scorched earth leading back up into the mountains to the Crescent Lake. I realized with a sickening dread as they relayed the tale to me that the mound I saw in the mountians could easily contain the bodies of those missing townspeople. But it didn't make any sense. I pass out strolling around the lake with Illdra by my side, and wake up with strange rantings in my journal, signs of a camp strewn about, and mounds of dead bodies. I realized with mouting fear that there was nobody else around for the Legion to pin anything on... nobody except for me. I threw up my hands and told the Legionnaires that I could lead them to a mound of bodies in the mountians. They were very surprised to hear this, and even more surprised when I led them to the edge of the lake and showed them the signs of recent activity. I didn't bother to explain anything about my 'dream' or about anything else that has been happening to me, it is all to surreal and no doubt they would take me for a madman, as it was, the Legion quickly got over its shock and began to grill me about everything I knew, which was nothing. They grew very angry with my inability to answer any of their questions. They also determined that a few of the bodies were from the town, while others were not. I merely hung my head in resignation. I have no way to explalin what happened. But there is one piece of information that I learned later which is intriguing, but has thus far helped me in no way at all in finding more answers.

To cut a long confusing story short, I was lead away in chains, and I whistled to Illdra, telling her to stay. They took away my journal and began the long journey back to Berthwell with me as their prisoner. They tried on numerous occasions to find out more from me, but I had nothing to give just the same. They brought me to Bertwell at the end of the third week of our long trek and I remained in prison for another two weeks until they let me out to be reexamined. Experts and wise men had gone over my journal and gone through my personal possessions a dozen times looking for more clues. They found Thyldas' medallion and questioned me about it, they found Daanli's map and questioned me about it. Again and again I was cross examined and examined again. Finally they determined that I had some kind of mental stress due to my long journey and had been halleucinating. The king's advisors apparently had been hard pressed to keep the matter under wraps, which became very difficult as the threat of The Blight increased. Today, I recieved my pardon and my journal back finally.

The one other thing which I recieved was a summons by the King himself. Needless to say, I was quite taken aback that the King of Berthwell himself had asked for me. He would have let me out a day sooner, he said, if he hadn't decided that he wanted to read my journal himself. I arrived at his private dining quarters for dinner and he ordered all of the servants to leave. Leaning in closely he whispered almost furtively "I have been having the same dreams... and they are getting worse." I thought that I detected a hint of fear in his voice. "Evil times are at hand, young Hollas. And we are not only caught in them, but also we are caught up with the ebb and flow of the dark powers which are beginning to surge around us." I didn't know what to say, I let him continue speaking. "Seven nights before you arrived, I had a dream that there was a chasm, just the same as the one mentioned in your journal. In it, I was fighting a losing battle with shapeless abominations from beyond. But, like you, I felt no fear, only a suspicion... a loathing... a sense of threat beyond what this bizarre supernatural battle was bringing me. I have had many other such dreams, and each time I have another one, I can tell that there is something different. As though I can see something beginning to manifest itself... something dark and black... an evil thicker than anything yet encountered. Something is approaching us, Hollas. Something is approaching us and I fear that we are powerless to stop it... we are being prepared for it. I have had my best mages and wizards explain to me again and again the many prophesies and legends of our day... and nothing fits. This is something either very new or very old. I can't pinpoint it... the thread that you mentioned... but I sense it too. Hollas... we are being prepared for a reason... I think that we will have a great hand in things to come... I only hope that we will be doing the work of good." He spoke at length of his fears and his thoughts on the matter. I couldn't answer his questions, I was too busy pondering the meaning of this. The scorched trail left back in the mountains from the dead town, the foul purple smog enveloping Drakksford, The Blight, the Legion of Vaspagh, Lord Dwindlemere... it all is happening. Like the King said, something evil is afoot and it is growing closer with each passing day.

Well, how was that for a story? I am growing weary from writing, I think I shall retire for the night, I will write more when I can.

Hollas Dillan, July 22nd, Twelfth Year of Enru