" I see the day when darkness will gain word and shape.
I fear the moment obscurity will hatch his spiteful eye, laying its wary iris over our heads. And it will judge us! It will judge all of us, just as was planned, since immemorial time, I am well aware. Rivers of beliefs and hopes will turn into rivulets of blood, whose carmine color will make everything in this world spurious, absorbing it up to drown it. What once was light and relief has now revealed its true form; letting us all perceive it, fleetingly. That’s what the Days of the Black Sun are for. The moment when defeat turned into catastrophe. But something I’m even more sure about, is that they’re not the ones who brought him. No, the Dark Weaver was already here, among us, silent, away, yet here! His slimy bastard servants, with extreme bold and submission, have woven the horrid web, gouging it themselves from his jaws, using it to create a lavish and gruesome nest. The Shub! A purulent dwelling of corpses whose limbs yet move and whose hearts throb pure terror.
With extreme patience, for centuries, millennia, eons, they waited, they conspired. What kind of reward are they waiting for? I do not know! But seeing and sensing their predecessors, generations and generations before man could even think about existing, I can only grievously see the emptiness of such an issue. Moved by mere, dreadful horror. The hope of living a few more moments of their existence, avoiding the abyss before time, appeasing the beast at the moment of passing; hoping, begging it not to suck the faint, although eternal, essence. And so, looking to the future, which never felt so meaningless, I do not even know whether it’s worth to take on the merit of being the first one realizing the horrific picture. Step by step, piece by piece, in more than thirty years I drafted this diary, the sole legacy that I am now ceasing to update. There is, in fact, nothing left to say, nor nothing left to do and above all, nothing to think about. There will be no more reason, only fear dominating our thoughts. And we will flee! Yes, we will flee like we fled thousand years ago, when Ancestors ate our guise and donated our screams to the Pale Darkness, giggling right next to the Shub, over the poor remnants. With their spits they still besmirch the essences of those who still find themselves imprisoned in Arkhum’s cells: the ageless, escape-proof prison. With extreme evilness they play with corpses, for some foolish reason, still sentient, making them dance and cursing their names in their unregulated tongue. Oh, Arkhum! When will your memory leave me alone, once and for all? Why did you pick me? Why me…
A tear often streams down my right cheek. The salt therein is so thick that I can feel it scratching on my skin. It shakes, filled itself with horror. Its taste, in touch with my lips, reminds me of the smell and the aridity of the Desert of Zur. May my curiosity be damned, an obsession that haunted me my whole life. I enact unspeakable curses against myself and against those who followed me reaching their downfall and extinction. What I saw over there, what we all realized, lifted our spirits, draining them deep. Over there, the big plan, finally became clear to us, better yet: it was meticulously revealed to us, by the disembodied footmen of the Master of colorless abyss. Their voices, dissipated in times’ wind, grating like crazed ravens parched by sun and too much thirst, told us every thing. I did not know, and it is still unknown to me, how it is possible that madness didn’t take me in that right moment. Sadly for my fellow travelers, most of them disappeared into black sands on that same night. Those who, however, came back with me, even though they came back to their homes, they left forever their sense, in a place forgotten by time and space. "ns 220.127.116.11da2