The way from Britain to Kov took me almost 4 days. That damn detour through the desert… I wonder when the swamps will be cleared of the ugly creatures that live there. My mare isn’t the same anymore, she’s old and weak. Although I must say I appreciate her serving me even longer than I remember myself. Once I reached the city, the guards detained me. Those dumb smelly wussies made me pay to pass. The parcel I was carrying was way too important to argue about it. I had no time to waste. Those morons didn’t even realize that I was carrying potions and resources for their equipment. Later I handed it over and left my mount in some paddock to rest. I am too old for this shit, I guess it’s time for me to spend the rest of the nights quietly in some hut… Outside was calm and quiet. A light breeze was blowing the smell of horse manure in my face. Passing by the tavern I heard some noise from the crowd. The tavern had lots of empty tables, as most of the visitors gathered around a dirty one-handed man with a huge black beard. He looked wounded as if he’d fought at the Arena on daily basis. I saw a gun on his table and an enormous wooden mug with a drink unknown to me. While waiting for my drink, I lit my pipe, sat quietly by the table, and tried to listen carefully to the things the man was telling. He talked about his adventures, accomplishments, and victories.
I was an attentive listener, and it seemed to me that I could repeat word for word what he was saying then. Later, I found out that this man devoted his entire life to protecting the lands of Britain from demons and the undead. He was a head hunter – one of those who hunted assassins. Then it realized why his appearance was so disfigured. He mentioned that his name was Natar from the village of Ilshenara. The noises in the tavern became louder and louder, almost unbearable…the drinks kicked in and I felt very sleepy.
Suddenly, a distinguishing sound was heard from the street. Apparently, passers-by saw something. This cry frightened me so much that it seems I became sober. All visitors of the tavern fell silent and it became very quiet. Some kind of bloody black dust was visible in the windows in the middle of the street, no one understood what was happening after all. At one point, Natar shouted, — “Back! Move away!”, I thought he seemed to know what it was. I remember how grabbing a gun, he ran out into the street and disappeared into a clot of dark energy. I could not move, as if my body did not obey me, I remember that I could only look. All the people around also stood and did not move. The deathly silence was broken only by the sound of pistol shells and the whistle of dust coming from the street. The last thing I remember is that everything in front of me started falling to the floor. Waking up a little later, I went outside and saw a black mark, an element of a pentagram burned on the ground, and a burnt pistol lay near it in a pile of ashes. All visitors to the tavern, except for me, were killed. I am the only and last who is still alive and can and will tell everyone about my letter.
Everyone except me died. I am the only one and the last one of those who are still alive and can share this story through the memories in the book.
It’s been two years since that horrible day. I quit traveling and settled in the center of Ilshenar.
I was dreaming of my death last night. Abbadon came for me.
The weather is awful. A storm is coming. It seems I hear the whistling just like that day. I guess, this might be my last day.
The last scroll has been deciphered:
He spoke to me. I am doomed…The ritual was initiated. Everyone must kill him. The bones of the damned will show the way to find him.