It is here I, known to the waking worlde as Jarin H'rada, Lourde and Master of the Grey Keep whose granite walls rise precariously over the terrible River Styx, shall attempt to dedicate to the ages and to those who will come after me all that I have learned concerning the myths of the War of Nightfall and the rise of this current worlde. I do this at a great and grave threat not only to my own soul and the fragile kingdom I hold against the travailing pains this mockery of life has cast upon us, but also at tremendous risk to those unknown to my waking flesh this is meant for who I can only pray shall find these manuscripts and use them as best they might to free us all from the Great Unrest that has once more made its presence and essence felt again in the worlde, shared now by both human and elder creatures, that all love and cherish.

I beg the patience of the reader, though I know your discovery of these pages and the words I have herein writ must mean some unforeseeable dread tragedy has descended to bury our hearts in ruin and misery. I must also forgive the occasional omissions and lacunae in the texts, as what I have to present here I gathered from sundry and decrepit sagas, many of which were found in the deeps of this Keep either being in the flowing scripts of some long dead and archaic priests, or carven upon grey stone tablets whose true message could only be gathered when exposed to the full shining light of the glorious midnight sun. I shall attempt whenever possible to retain the wordings as close to the original Indarish, a tongue favoured by prophets and poets of olde, but one that has for all its intricacies and shades of meaning gone out of what learning we have been able to revive in this age. Following their style, I shall begin this with a prayer:

May the albicant rays of the lunar orb hide your footsteps from the eyes of your enemies.
May the radiant glow of the moon trace you the path leading to the hidden Khara-Seth,
Whose mysterii has too long been gone from this worlde.
May the luminous stars hold true over the earth,
Guarding you from those who would seek to waylay and destroy you,
And draw you back in to the dreams that have granted us a glimpse of hope
Through the dense curtain of vapours.

Adai! Va rish Tia!

It is said that in another age of the worlde, Arafel waged a deadly and powerful war in his attempt to gain ascendance over the powers of Creation and the children of the Night, who is our Mother. First, let me attempt to create again for you the worlde as it was so long ago that we, the young seed of hope that rose from the ashes of infernal destruction our mighty ancestors wrought, cannot begin to imagine.

All that is now is not as it once was. Many leagues out from where now the Silver Sea runs to the ends of the worlde, there were raised mighty crags by ancient gods that sought to preserve here some of the splendour they knew in their immortal youths, still dreaming mayhaps of the lands they knew before they descended to us here from the stars when the earth was still fiery and ill-formed. The forests and woodland regions beginning at the foot of the mountains upon which the granite cathedral now perches ran all the way to the far ridges that lined the coasts, allowing the sylphan spirits that resided therein to bask as they might wish either atop those onyx cliffs that stood high and proud overlooking the Silver Sea, or dwell within the woodland that is their home of olde. Amongst the trees could be found, if an errant wanderer sought, small temples and shrines dedicated to the gods of the land, the gods of growing and green things where rich and strange flowers grew.

The tundra and wasteland that now stretches to the forbidding mountains that mark the northern-most point of these lands were yet but slight, and extended only somewhat from their native foothills. Herein were said to dwell a wondrous, if slightly grotesque race of beings invisible to the naked eye, but apt to visit upon any who drew the powers of Hypnos and Somnia in to their lands. They were said to be like glowing iridescent spheres from which trailed many limbs like fiery serpents, and upon seeing them one might also see the bizarre and glyph-like strands of light on which they danced and threw what prayers they might to the silent and far-off heavens. It was said that any childe who sought the favour of the gods might make a pilgrimage to this land, and if he or she might be learned in the inner secrets of our kind, and endeavour the dreams these mysterious beings brought then surely the gods would place their mark upon such a one, either leading to the zenith of gnosis, or the depths of madness.

Of cities and castles none might be found where now they stand hoary with age, or lay crushed by the ashes of tyme. The eldritch creatures that peopled the earth, sea and air then cared nothing for these things, and seeking only the infinite bounty of nature and what visions their goddess Night would impart to them, they found joy and life in the simplest of delights. Who might say what drowsy melodies the satyrs played upon their pipes beneath the orchard of tree that bore golden apples? Who might say what magick and lore of the earth the nymph learned from the flowers to shared with her sisters, or what glamour the fae caught in the first dew-sparkle to bring back to their homes amongst the lowly astalthon to sew in to fine jewellery?

To the west of the Silver Sea were lands of which little is known, for they do not enter the records until late in this tale, though it is known that these lands were covered for the greater extent by a vast and imposing Des-aret which leads into the far reaches of the worlde in that direction. Weird djinn and lilim were thought to people these lands, though to what gods they composed their hymns and danced to when the moon was right none might say, for the stars in the Des-aret are strange and wheel in different paths. It is whispered in some texts that somewhere in the northern climes of this seemingly inhospitable place was a great and terrible mountain, upon which other-worldly beings could be seen if one was wont to stare at the inscriptions or bones lining its unnaturally smooth face, though the hands that guided this construction or the words they were meant to convey never seems to have been realised.

Beyond that almost nothing is known. There are vague rumours of the creatures that people the oceans that to touch the coasts of both our familiar lands in the east and those of our distant, if far removed, cousins in the west. These horrible things were older than any tale recounts, and granted passage to none. The deep waters that run to the ends of the worlde were long viewed with awe and fear, though all that peopled the lands in these tymes were content to wander under familiar branches or hillsides. And though all this bliss and harmony might seem sweeping and aeternal, it was held in the delicate balance of incredible beings of magickal nature the likes of which this worlde is entirely ignorant, beings that governed and held under their sway each unto themselves a part or aspect of the earth. Some might think these Powers were themselves gods, but records in their own hands attest to their faith in and servitude of some higher power or powers. They were avatars of that Majesty, the first-born of the Night after the twilight of the Olde Worlde.

Long have I sought some whisper or song of what the Olde Worlde was, or what dreams resided therein to which I have met with failure tyme and tyme again. The recounting here makes nearly no allusions to it, though occasionally there would remain some worm-eaten texts that had not been given over to the fate of the ages, or some inscriptions that had not been totally defaced or scarred beyond deciphering that would make near-blasphemous rumours and legends of what came before even that age of the worlde. There have been clouded night-visions, wild and tempestuous hallucinations that have appeared to me betymes in deepest trance, but the key back to these I have yet to discover, and the notions of tyme, the changing of ages and lustrous beings I dare not try to interpret for fear of calling some long dead and, I pray, restfully slumbering past back in to the waking worlde.

One might here be tempted to ask after the Garden of Zais, but even those glorious pastures and roaming hills were yet undreamt in that tyme. Knowing as I do now that the Garden is once again returned to the waking worlde, be it as it is assumed now by powerful dreamers or some other design I know not, but this knowledge brings me no peace as I seek the gates of deeper slumber on those few nights now I might find some hours to rest. Sleep I have forsaken, for there can be no tranquillity found for me there now, and oft are my thoughts and secret desires drawn to where the Garden might reappear. Knowing that it is once more called back to the waking worlde, I strain not to imagine what other things have also been called back up that would rise from their well-earned interment as if by some dread necromancy. Even as I try to deny these things to myself, having learned all that I have, having studied the shifting of the winds, having gauged even to the blood that flows yet in my veins that a terrible Power is again risen over the earth I know that such things are vanity. Still though, my hand trembles as I write this, but do not let my cowardice fend you from what must be learned in the words I give here. These things must be known to you, who have found my manuscripts, if there is to be any hope in the horrible events that will soon come to pass.

Remember always that there must remain some hope for the future, and though you who read this now will be besieged on all sides by enemies and hardships you have doubtlessly encountered thus far, and by those you could only fancy in some drug induced delirium there will be others who are also pledged to the same ends you now are sworn to. There will be places and tymes of shelter in the storm, though even here in my Keep I can feel the kralizec winds stir the ancient ashes of the universe you must find the courage, will-power and endurance to overcome those who will stand against you, or all that we have grown to love will be laid to waste, and all the dreams of our kind and our eldritch kith and kin will be for naught.

And know also, my poor and wretched nephew, herein you shall find writ and word of truths I could not share with you when last you stayed in these hallowed halls. The stars were not right yet, and the terrible suffering you had so recently then endured having been witness to the Falling of the Walls would not have steeled you against what must be here unleashed. I ask your forgiveness in these things, though I fear if you are reading them I will most likely have followed the footsteps of your Father, and have taken my place at his side in the dim palaces and sombre courtyards that even now call to me. You will have a new name now, and I urge you to use its power to guide you in the dark tymes to come. Learn what you can from all I have collected herein, and I pray your footfalls shall soon lead to the pathway that will once again bring one of us back to the mysteria of the elusive and veiled Khara-Seth.