About: LayEd Herald Journal 6

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An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

Every time I pull that infernal lever, my fears are confirmed. The Horrors have never truly left. They are still here, albeit still dormant. The voice haunts my waking dreams, a clear and emotionless female voice that rings in my head like a sordid whisper, in a foreign accent that I can only assume is ancient Theran. "There is a Scurrier 221 paces in that direction." I do not even know what a Scurrier is. I know that it is a Horror, and that a pace is approximately 2 feet. Every time I point the Sextant to a new direction, I find myself surrounded on all sides. It could be this place, Haven, a city built on the ruins of another city which was forgetten to all time and memory and consumed utterly by the Horrors.

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rdfs:label	LayEd Herald Journal 6
rdfs:comment	Every time I pull that infernal lever, my fears are confirmed. The Horrors have never truly left. They are still here, albeit still dormant. The voice haunts my waking dreams, a clear and emotionless female voice that rings in my head like a sordid whisper, in a foreign accent that I can only assume is ancient Theran. "There is a Scurrier 221 paces in that direction." I do not even know what a Scurrier is. I know that it is a Horror, and that a pace is approximately 2 feet. Every time I point the Sextant to a new direction, I find myself surrounded on all sides. It could be this place, Haven, a city built on the ruins of another city which was forgetten to all time and memory and consumed utterly by the Horrors.
dbkwik:rpg/property/wikiPageUsesTemplate	dbkwik:resource/b_mWiiw4XjzIlALbs46ZtQ==
abstract	Every time I pull that infernal lever, my fears are confirmed. The Horrors have never truly left. They are still here, albeit still dormant. The voice haunts my waking dreams, a clear and emotionless female voice that rings in my head like a sordid whisper, in a foreign accent that I can only assume is ancient Theran. "There is a Scurrier 221 paces in that direction." I do not even know what a Scurrier is. I know that it is a Horror, and that a pace is approximately 2 feet. Every time I point the Sextant to a new direction, I find myself surrounded on all sides. It could be this place, Haven, a city built on the ruins of another city which was forgetten to all time and memory and consumed utterly by the Horrors. I am not getting enough sleep. I would wake in cold sweat, then gripping the Sextant I would point it under my bed, in my closet, in every location where a Horror could hide. Sometimes, nothing... but all too often, my fears are given form by that dastardly voice from beyond the grave. True, no Horror has dared showed itself so far. But it is only a matter of time. I must endeavor to find a mentor who can help protect me from the Horrors. The ignorance that I had before is bliss, but now I must be forewarned and forearmed against the impending danger. I have heard that the lore of the Nethermancer is particularly attuned to combating the Horrors. While I am suspicious of what I've heard as far as the Nethermancer methods and path, I am sure that these are unsubstantiated rumors among the common folk concerning their Adepts. Perhaps I should seek out a particular Nethermancer who shares my fears and has learned to overcome them through magic.

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