Exmortis

From the journal of Hemlock Hartell:
I haven't the slightest clue why I was chosen for this expedition. I'm not wieldy with mining tools, nor am I in the best physical shape. But I know the gossip whispered between my colleagues behind closed doors; they all think I'm "incompetent', "impulsive", "unreliable", and many other things. This seems more like some sort of suicide mission in an attempt to get rid of me.
A potential vein of blackstone ore has been located in the Eterfol Mountains, which I have been assigned to investigate and mine if possible. I am well aware of all the potential dangers – harsh weather conditions, sabreoils, hostile Penumbras... and yet still, the allure of the possible fortune to be made is too enticing for me to resist. Maybe that's why I was the one chosen; they think I'm the only one "stupid" enough for this job. 
But I shall dispel all of their doubt and ridicule, and return with a chunk of ore large enough to support future generations of my family with its wealth! Tomorrow morning, I will begin my journey, and I am to return within a week from today. But I intend to return even sooner.
  
The last two days of travel have proven intensive. I've neglected much food, drink, and rest to shave time. Writing another entry hadn't even crossed my mind until now.
This is the first expedition that I've undertaken alone, and being isolated in such a remote location stirs a certain uneasiness in me. The deeper I venture, the less I can shake this feeling of being watched through the fog. I've repeatedly seen silhouetted figures in the corner of my eye, only for me to turn and simply find trees gently rocking in the wind. This has only served to further incentivize my desire to reach my destination soon as possible. 
More strangely, however, is the underlying pull that I feel beneath the unease. It's almost as if I'm being guided towards my goal by an invisible hand. The closer I get to my destination, the stronger the pull seems to become. 
Night is soon to fall, but I have already reached the foot of the Eterfol Mountains. My cartographical approximations indicate that I could possibly reach the vein before the fourth day if I am willing to press onward without making camp for the night. The warnings of my colleagues not to trek the mountains at night have passed through my mind, but the pull that I feel to do so is even stronger. Those people don't wish for me to succeed, and they do not understand risks must always be taken in the pursuit of fortune. And so, I shall ascend the mountains tonight.
Simply put, my course of action was unwise. Everything leading to my current predicament is still a blur in my mind, but I shall do my best to recount it:
Shortly after my ascent began, nature betrayed me by draping a blizzard across the land. I was utterly blinded, my lantern failing to illuminate anything beyond mere inches from myself. Yet I pressed onward, determined to see my goal through. I stumbled up the slope of the knee-high sleet and snow until I beheld a site which stole the icy breath from my lungs. Behind the curtain of snow stood an imposing horned silhouette with a piercing ghoulish gaze. Knowing that my accomplishments would mean nothing if I were not alive to share them, I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. In my sudden panic, I lost awareness of my formidable surroundings. Ground did not await my next footstep, and I found myself plunging into the fog below. I do not recall having ever hit the ground. 
When I next awoke, I found myself lying on the ground in quite miserable condition. The storm had subsided, but the temperature had fallen even lower. I did not recognize my surroundings, with the darkness of night worsening matters. I had lost much of my equipment in the prior chaos, including my camping supplies. The circumstances were grim, for I would succumb to hypothermia in mere hours if I did not find shelter soon enough. 
As fate would have it, I had only to walk a short distance before finding the infamous Castle Crey nestled between a valley. Its shadow loomed overhead like a monster, its state of disrepair casting a foreboding aura. Despite this, it was nonetheless a shelter which could shield me from the elements. What was more, I could faintly see a dim light from behind its windows, calling out to my chilled bones. I know of the cult said to live on this land, but in my current state, anything seemed better than freezing to death. And so I now find myself within the castle, warming myself by a fireplace. I have yet to meet any of its inhabitants, but I know they are present here. Hopefully they will be hospitable enough.
The "Cult of Castle Crey" is much different from what I have heard. Though they've often been characterized as the more reclusive and ominous of the Penumbra folk, those that I've met seem quite kind, well-kempt and well-mannered. To my surprise, I also met a large group of other human guests in this castle. Not unlike myself, they too apparently found salvation from the dangers of their travels here, where they have chosen to rest and regain strength before venturing out once again. I have elected to do the same, figuring I can still return from the expedition on schedule even with a few days of rest here.
The resident penumbras claim to owe their recent abundance to "the blessings of The Keymaster", which confuses me. The Keymaster is obviously well-known and highly regarded, but he doesn't strike me as the sort of fellow who would so freely give out "blessings" - especially not in this corner of reality. When I explained this, one of the Penumbras claimed that I could later meet "The Keymaster" and see for myself. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to meet such a legendary individual, or possibly gain a "blessing" of my own, I agreed to the offer.
The head of this castle is a most intriguing, enigmatic gentleman. He calls himself "The Keymaster", and has keys...but that is where all similarities end between him and The Keymaster that everyone else knows of. His demeanor is different as well; though he seems kind and generous on the surface, I cannot help but suspect that it's to mask something else. Judging by the way he would speak at length of exotic lands, people and groups, he appears to be a well-traveled gentleman far from home. He would dodge all questions regarding how the residents of this castle became so prosperous with non-answers. Suffice to say, my meeting with him unfortunately only led to more questions than answers. I knew he certainly isn't The Keymaster, but then...what truly is he? I still lack the answers to that.
This may be my last entry. I'm currently hiding inside the walls of this castle, writing this by low lantern light.
I noticed that many of the other guests had "left" without announcing their departure, which struck me as peculiar – though I thought little of it at the time.
I had been ordered by the staff of this castle to not venture anywhere beyond where guests were permitted. Yet my curiosity ultimately got the best of me.  In my exploration of the castle, I chanced upon an ajar door in the cellar, through which I could feel a gentle breeze. My curiosity was piqued, an so I opened the door, heading through the passageway. The further I traversed, the wooden floor gradually rotted into soil and the halls widened into a jagged cave. That was when my face was illuminated by a golden reflection, as I found the ore I had been sent on this expedition to find. It seemed the ore vein I had been searching for was under this very castle all along. 
My moment of celebration was short-lived, however, when I uncovered a dark secret. Looking below, I was granted a glimpse into a most profane ceremony. A circle of Penumbras were gathered around a stone alter, upon which one of the other human guests in this castle was bound. My shock and horror intensified even further when I saw "The Keymaster" standing before them.
He said something about how "another shall be blooded", before entering a trancelike state as he paced about the chamber. He sprinkled herbs over each corner of the altar whilst clapping and whistling, before dousing a firepit with water, causing smoke to billow with a snakelike hiss. He grasped a fistful of ashes and proceeded to paint various markings with the ashen mud over the man's hands and face. It was then that The Keymaster began chanting something in a guttural growl. Be it a dead language or complete gibberish, it was certainly nothing I recognized. The circle began to follow along to his rhythm and volume, which rose at the same pace as his own. The Keymaster called forth one of the Penumbras from the circle, producing a tarnished key from his sleeve. The penumbra kneeled before the altar, tearing the flesh from the lower half of his face to expose a gnashing mouth. The chanting culminated in a wail as The Keymaster raised the key above him and stabbed it into the man's chest with a sickening crack.
The warm crimson fluid seeped through the engraved crevices, before dripping into the torn-open mouth of the penumbra. Upon the first drop of blood entering his mouth, his eyes widened as something primal awakened within him. He hungrily gulped down the rest of the blood until it ran dry, before doubling over and emanating animalistic noises. His skin crawled and his bones snapped as his form violently contorted, shifting into a configuration most efficient for hunting and killing. Its stature grew, looming tall above the other penumbras as its horns branched out farther. To my horror, I realized it was the same kind of beast I had encountered in the blizzard. It turned to face the bleeding-out wanderer with zero thoughts behind its eyes other than the instinct to feed. Uttering in a dead tongue, it approached the dying victim to finish its meal.
I finally realized why the residents of the castle had been so hospitable to us. Why we were so well-fed and taken care of. It was to enrich our blood, to empower their rituals.
The beast wiped its mouth with one of its gnarled claws, before turning to look directly into my eyes, followed by everyone else in the chamber – including The Keymaster. I took off running, fleeing through the twisting passageways. And so now, here I hide, but I know it is a matter of time before I am found and killed. even now I can hear the echoes of footsteps and angry growls.
If there is any advice I can offer you -- do not enter the forests. Do not take the unbeaten path, and do not follow where that inner pull leads — lest you be next to be consumed by Castle Crey...
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This journal was delivered to Base Omicron by Entity 133, who claimed to have recovered it from the foot of the Eterfol Mountains. The fate of Hartell himself remains unknown, and with the recent increase in hostility from the local Penumbras of the region, an investigation into these events cannot be conducted at this time.
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Category:Tales
Category:The Keymaster
Category:The Gelid Isle