30 April, 1283 Anno Domini
I write these, my last words, from the confines of a small chamber in the temple atop Sternmont. This is not for the sake of... memoirs... but, like the oft-lit candle flickering by my feet, for the sake of my sanity. I know I am sane, at least in part, just as I know... there are those out there who might, if circumstances were different, read my words, who share in my sanity. Though it hurts me to have my mind so intact... I must hold onto it, for it is all that remains of the blessed ignorance I once had in abundance.
It is strange, how a knight in the Teutonic Order, in God's service, came to this.
It was three days ago when we entered the temple. The 'monks' here - for lack of a better term with which to brand them - were of as sinister disposition as the villagers, only they seemed to acknowledge us even less. We were... unimportant, and they hurried around other business we were not privvy to understanding. Jostling them, restraining them, even applying torture to them only got often as little as a hiss in reply, and as much as a string of indecipherable words... the only distinct one among them, Sa'atha. Their appearance was... different from that of the villagers, as if their disfigurement and deformation and disgusting imperfection had, in some way, perfected itself. They are as pale as the moon but dull as wax in complection, but they seem to be quite strong... often taking two or three of us to restrain one for questioning and torment. Of greatest and most unnerving significance is their blood, ranging from the murky crimson of colored glass bottles to what I pray... is at least a shade less than black. Despite their pale color, they are quite warm to the touch. I would call them devils or demons... if I could still attribute good to God, and evil to the Devil. How far-removed everything is from our simple ideas...
They made no protest when we raided their kitchens, though... we rarely saw them eat a bite themselves. We took possession of a few dormitories and took turns sleeping and staying on guard, and debated in hushed voices what we should do... There was naught to do but steal food and explore in order to gain answers to our questions...
The temple has several basements, most of which are made of the strange rock of the mountain itself. Going down there... gave us pains in our heads and our spines... so we spent as little time down there as possible. It was when we descended the staircases that they paid us greater heed, pushing us, warning us with hisses and a strange language interspersed with the clicking of teeth, and in many cases barring our way. We had noticed their strength by this juncture, and their great numbers... and so gave them little trouble for it. All we managed to find in our explorations were more hallways and rooms of strange structure and design that contained nothing... but gave off the strangest of feelings when one stepped within. It was this morning, when the Jew, our guide, who had reluctantly followed us so far, largely out of fear for the village below and for his hideous curiosity that grew like ours... disappeared.
He had taken a lean against the wall in one of these strange rooms when, before the eyes of more than one of us, he vanished, with no indication of cause... we heard his frightened yelps seeming to travel along the arc of the wall before it intersected with another in a very oddly shaped corner... and his screams stopped.
Whatever the mountain is made of, it is... so foreign to everything else that is of this Earth. No rock should take a man and sling him to... God only knows where.
Many in our company panicked. We were certain the answers to these horrors lay in the closed doors the monks violently barred us from, and so we trekked into what may have been the lowest basement in search of one door that was not so guarded... not so watched. Only one man stood in our way at the end of descending stairs with a door behind him... and we drew our weapons and slew him. He was pierced through the heart more than once, but bled black... and did not die until he caught my hilt to his head. In the frenzy to get through and bash down the door, I was shoved to the back of the group... and as the others went through, I was grabbed from behind by one of the creatures. He was very strong, and slung me over and over against the wall... I was fortunate to shatter his skull with my blade.
In the room beyond I heard the end of another fight, and saw one of my comrades slain in the doorway... and I heard their screams of horror, and over it, a sharp whistling as if all the wind of a storm were released from a single bottle... interspersed with a buzzing... and with each buzz, the walls seemed to move, shift, ripple in ways that break the minds of fainter-hearted men. It nearly broke mine.
In gasping, sobbing terror, I fled the basement, though when I made it to the first floor... the monks were not keen on letting me make my exit. I eluded them, pushed and slipped past them, fought many, and hid when I could... moving from floor to floor... hoping they would leave me, and leave me to ascribe what I had experienced to science or to the limits of devilry I have been taught exist. But it seems now there are no limits... and the world is not what I once thought it was.
One of my own comrades came after me... crazed, covered in black blood, though one hand was coated in red... I had hoped it was his own, and not another of the knights'. I eluded him, slipping into this very chamber... remaining in darkness as I listened to him continue his killing frenzy, screaming words foreign to me and that he himself did not seem to understand.
Only once have I left this room since I came in, to acquire a candle... and then, out in the hall, I saw two of my comrades locked in battle with each other. It was too fierce... too animalistic, for me to hope to intervene and come out alive. I took my candle and returned to my chamber, uttering the darkest prayer that has ever left my lips... that they all end each other's lives, so that I might survive. God forgive me...
It is night now, I feel fairly certain, and noise has mercifully left this place. It is even quieter now than when we first entered... not a sound at all to indicate inhabitance. Perhaps it is safe now... and perhaps they will kill me, sparing me from the damnation in death of suicide, and damnation in life of my experiences... But I am driven by a desire to know. Thankful as I am for that last shred of ignorance I possess, I cannot continue one part sane, the other part insane. I must find out what happened in that basement... why all of this has happened... and pray that it will leave me at peace, and not horrify me any more.
It is May Eve.
