Darkest Dungeon 26

Matron Thessia,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I apologize for the delay in writing to you. We spent nearly 3 weeks in the hellish darkness of the warrens, but I have spent the time since our return purging myself of the taint of those tunnels. I have flogged my back raw and performed my Mending thrice a day, and still I can smell the stink and see the horrors of it when I close my eyes. My hand trembles as I put quill to parchment, and I hope that in writing to you of it I may finally shed myself of its weight.

Raziq has still not recovered after the suffering inflicted by his own infernal skills, occult magic cut from the same cloth as that of the cultists, and he has been prone to fits and fatigue ever since. When we were finally tasked with delving into the warrens once more, he was in no state to travel, and Clarke leaped at the opportunity to place his man Cole with the group. I was not pleased that we were to explore the depths with that drunk, though he quickly displayed his martial prowess when we found ourselves set upon immediately upon entering the tunnels. The abominable swine-men fell on us with a newfound strength and ferocity, striking with their crude axes, and it was only through Cole’s mastery of mace and shield we were able to repel the assault. We were fresh from the hamlet yet the attack had left us winded, they had launched themselves at us with such force. This filled me with a deep sense of foreboding of what was yet to come, but there was little else we could do but press onwards into the darkness.

Our previous explorations were well marked upon the tunnel walls, where we had etched our passage into the grime. It was then that Cole revealed Clarke had tasked him with outright destroying the cult, removing their influence from the warrens entirely- a haughty goal, something I knew even then. But Cole was a soldier who had received a command, and thought of nothing else except carrying it out. Morgan had told me of how he had driven the party to near exhaustion within the weald, and he repeated a similar feat within that infernal maze. He pushed us to the end of our strength so as to reach the cult’s territory as quickly as possible. We did, for we approached the first of those repulsive wards in half the time we would have otherwise, though at the cost of leaving so exhausted we could scarcely stand. It was only then that Cole allowed us to take our first rest.

We were grateful for the opportunity and quickly made camp, though our peace did not last for long. We could not have slept for more than one turn of the hourglass when we found ourselves under attack once more by the swine-men. In the confusion we were scattered and disorganized, unable to repel the attack, and Cole ordered us to retreat. The monsters had come from the same direction that we had, and the only escape was through tunnels we had not yet explored. I cannot believe that such a turn of events arose purely out of coincidence; I am certain the cultists engineered the event. Regardless, we fled from those horrors into the unknown tunnels. In the darkness and confusion, it was impossible to know where we may have been amongst those constant twists and turns. I know not how long we ran, but it was some time before we realized that we could no longer hear the sounds of our pursuers and paused to orient ourselves. When our torch was properly lit, we surveyed our surroundings and were confronted with the cult’s depravity.

That effluvial grime that had been encrusted upon the stones of the warrens was absent entirely. In its place grew a large swath of what can only be described as skinless flesh, raw meat dripping with crimson ichor. It had greedily snaked tendrils into the crevices of the stone, seeking to grow outward, and where it was not the stone lay bare. It grew in uneven patches upon the walls, though at first we did not recognize what we beheld. As realization swept through the group, we became frantic to escape, but all for naught. We were entirely lost within that labyrinth of tunnels with no way to mark our passage, and as we moved through them those vile tumors grew larger and larger upon the walls. We wandered endlessly, aimlessly, desperately trying to find our way back, when Cole finally realized the futility of it. He ordered us to set up camp once more with our diminished supplies. In the safety of the hamlet, I shiver at the memory of sleeping under the watch of those fetid growths, but I was unspeakably exhausted and glad for any chance to rest.

We slept unmolested, and continued our trek through the tunnels once we awoke. It was then I detected the undercurrent of that acrid scent beneath the stink of the place. I foolishly decided to bring it to the group’s attention, and Cole realized that Wolfswift’s senses were the sharpest among us. She was able to pick it out like a thread and follow it, leading us through the tunnels like a bloodhound. I suspect that Cole saw this as an opportunity to carry out Clarke’s command, though it seemed to me like insanity. As we traveled, the tumors grew steadily larger upon the walls, until I began to see other aberrations growing inside them. In the flickering torchlight, I glimpsed the faint shapes of swine snouts and pig ears emerging from the growths, and I averted my gaze from the grotesque creations. We moved along the tunnel in silence until we turned a corner were confronted with a sow’s half-formed face pressing out from a tumor, with one mad eye swiveling wildly in its socket as its skeletal jaw struggled against the flesh wrapped around it.

This unnatural sight proved to be too much for the leper. Before we could react, York charged forward with a ghastly scream and began to hack away at the facsimile of a sow. That crimson ichor sprayed over his armor as he shouted crazed commands for his watchers to allow him rest and we rushed forward to calm him. It was too late, however. We heard the sound of approaching enemies and braced ourselves for an attack. The monstrous swine-men showed themselves and Cole rallied us to repel the attack, but York leapt forward like a mad berserker. He attacked the three of them, swinging his sword over his head again and again while driving the monsters back, taking no notice as their cruel axes bit at his skin. He slew one, and then another, but it was as he was bringing his sword back for another strike that the remaining swine-man’s axe found its mark on York’s shoulder and sliced its way through his body.

We stared on in horror as the two halves of York fell to the ground, spilling his innards upon the floor of the tunnels. We were mesmerized by the gory spectacle, but as the remaining swine-man stepped over the bloody pile of York’s remains Cole leapt forward with his shield. He deftly dispatched the creature with his mace and we quickly rushed to what was left of York, though there was nothing we could do. The man had surely died instantly, and I can only pray it was painless for his sake, and mine. With no means with which to bury our fallen companion, Cole ordered him stripped of his supplies and we carried on, following the trail of the scent. As we set out, I asked Cole to consider searching for the exit, but he refused and continued to press onward. York had bloodied and slashed that tumor with the half-face, leaving it unrecognizable – except for the eye. The thing that had driven him mad still remained, and swiveled to stare at us as we marched past.

I apologize for my illegible writing, Matron. I cannot control the shaking of my hands.

We pressed on into the dark of the tunnels, leaving our slain companion behind. The pulsing flesh pressed in on us from all sides as we traveled, still tracing that acrid scent. As we followed it, it became so distinctive that even Cole and I could discern it clearly under the smothering stink of the tunnels. We began to hear a sound from deeper in the sewers, echoing off the stones to reach our ears, though then it was impossible to know what may have made it. As we moved inexorably forward, the tunnels became indescribably humid, only adding to our exhaustion. We took our rest and comfort when we could – Cole in his drink, Wolfswift in her pagan rituals, and myelf in prayer. I tried to pray for York’s soul, Matron, but in truth I could only muster the strength to beg the Goddess for protection from whatever hell we pursued.

As we pushed onward in the tunnels, under the oppressive heat and pulsating tumors, I began to feel the Light of the Goddess fade from my spirit. It is a blasphemous thing to write, Matron, but it is the truth. Deep within the warrens, under those gaping tumors and close to where the cultists conducted their demonic schemes, the Light of the Goddess cannot shine. I realized this began to beg and plead with Cole to flee, to return to the surface, but he would not hear of it. Half-drunk, he merely instructed me to steel myself for the battle ahead. I attempted to seek counsel with Wolfswift, but she was as unnerved as I was, wide eyed and quietly chanting something in her guttural tongue.

We began to identify the sound as a swine-like scream, one that sounded at random intervals. The flesh began to grow so thick that portions of it hung down from the stone like some repulsive fruit, and we had no choice but to hack it away as it impeded our progress. The smell was overpowering then, and we knew we were close. I was afraid, Matron, nearly paralyzed with fear, but Cole never allowed a thought of retreat. He intently pushed us forward, making our way as fast as we could afford, until suddenly and unexpectedly we came upon a door.

The image of that door is still burned into my thoughts. The growths had not touched it- rather, it seemed as if it had been avoided all together. The cult’s sigil had been carved into it, and in the center of the sigil rested another one of those repulsive wards, much larger than any we had seen, and a pile of entrails had been gathered below it. It was too much for me and I was overcome with nausea, vomiting my last meager meal. Cole and Wolfswift both gagged and stumbled from the ward’s effect, but Cole found his strength and swung his massive mace, destroying it and releasing us from its effect. From behind the door, the scream sounded again, and with another mighty swing of the mace, Cole destroyed the door. With the door broken, that scent spilled out, and it was only then that I recognized the stench of singed flesh and hair. Cole stepped through the ruined door with our torch, illuminating the foul prize we had uncovered.

It was a large chamber, and every inch had been infested with those horrific growths and the swine parts cultivated within. The flesh felt spongy under our boots, and there were pools of that crimson fluid that had collected within the pits of the flesh upon the floor. There were three of the robed cultists in the back of the chamber, surely working toward some nefarious goal, but their bodies and the flickering light of the torch made it impossible to see what they may have been doing. Cole shouted and charged towards them, his going slowed by the softness of the floor, when that screaming began again. He paused in his assault while the cultists remained still, their faces and intentions hidden from us.

We surveyed the chamber, attempting to discover where the howling may have come from, when I saw that the growth upon one wall had begun to ooze profusely. One of the half-formed swine faces, much like the one that had driven York mad, was working its jaw and struggling free of its tumorous prison. There was a horrific sound as the flesh tore, freeing the swine’s jaw and allowing the deafening scream to fill the chamber. We paused in place, transfixed with terror at this strange new creature, when there was another sound of ripping flesh as it freed one of its malformed appendages. It was only then we realized what we faced, that the cultists had somehow created this monstrosity of flesh, pig, and blood as it continued to lurch free of its prison. It clawed towards, using its sickening limb to clutch the flesh upon the ground and pull itself closer, tearing more of the tendrils that bound it. There was another scream and we saw another foul, half-formed beast attempting to do the same, and then with a final disgusting rip the first creature tore its bounds and began moving towards us.

Cole called for us to rally and leaped at our first attacker, swinging his mace with all his strength, though to no effect. He hit the creature’s body with a sickening thud, clearly shattering the bones in the appendage, but it seemed not to notice. Cole attempted to remove his mace, but found it was stuck in the soft flesh. He growled and shouted, giving the mace up for lost as he retreated with naught but his shield. He fought valiantly as the two horrors converged on him, using his shield as best he could, but I watched as the man was ripped apart by the beasts and the cultists stood in their place.

I am ashamed to admit that I was paralyzed with fear, Matron, but I was powerless in the face of such blasphemous abnormalities. The Light of the Goddess did not shine in such a place, and there was not I could do. The monstrosities had begun to advance on us, and Wolfswift slashed at one with her glaive. She removed one of its limbs, but that did little to slow the creature’s advance. Seeing no other options, Wolfswift shouted for us to flee. And we did.

We ran from the room and through the tunnels blindly, not knowing where we were but desperate to find our way out of those demonic tunnels. We did not hear the sound of pursuers, but that did not curb our desperation. We ran as fast as our legs could take us, and Wolfswift’s prosthetic limb did not slow her. We ran and wandered for an unknown amount of time, wanting nothing more than to feel fresh air upon our faces. We had been unable to mark our way through the passages; our only method of navigation was following where the growths looked thinner. We did not rest until, by luck or design, we found ourselves finally clear of those repulsive growths. I believed then that surely I would fall dead from exhaustion, but Wolfswift insisted we continue traveling. We were finally treading upon familiar territory, and could follow our markers to the surface. We took a little rest then, but we did not stop for long, both out of fear being caught by the swine-men and wanting nothing more than to finally be free of the tunnels.

Following the markers, we reached the entrance to the warrens. We sprinted through, finally emerging to the surface, but I found myself nearly overwhelmed by the fresh air and sunlight; I had become so accustomed to the stink and darkness of the sewers it was almost painful to be outside. The relief I had expected to feel did not come. I thought would have been joyful at finally escaping. Rather, I found myself immediately reflecting upon the horrors I had just escaped, unable to put them behind me, and it has been as such since my return.

I cannot go back into the warrens. I will gladly face the undead horrors of the ruined manor a hundred times before I return to the hellish and humid darkness of those tunnels. It is too much to ask of me. I still shake and tremble uncontrollably now, reflecting on the things I have witnessed. My courage would surely fail me if I were to stand upon its precipice again, being tasked with facing down those creatures of nightmare. I cannot, and will not. If the cult of blood magic practitioners are only a symptom of what the elder Clarke half pulled into this world, and not the cause, then this estate is beyond saving! The world would be served only if the Goddess’s righteous fire was visited upon it, razing it from existence.

I will remain here if you command it, Matron, but there is little I can do in the face of such evil. I cannot go back into those tunnels.

Sister Catherine


Darkest Dungeon 25

Matron Thessia,

It has been a week since our return from the warrens, and we have not yet been tasked with another exploration. I do not hold hope that Clarke has taken his satisfaction and will spare us from further explorations; rather, it seems that he intends for us to spend the most time yet within those infernal tunnels soon. A self-styled curator of curios has recently joined us in the hamlet, and while he is a rather unpleasant person his skill with a ledger has found him in charge of our stores. I have heard from York that he has set aside triple the usual rations at Cole’s behest, and I can only assume it is meant for us. Raziq has still not recovered from being subject to his own occult magicks, and has been suffering from fits ever since our return. He has been in Morgan’s care who has tried some elixirs of her own creation to heal his ailment, though none have yet worked.

Clarke himself is a rare sight these days. He has been seen less and less by the travelers, choosing to use Cole as his mouthpiece when a need to communicate with the us arises. I have seen him once in the past week, and it was strange to see that he diminished in some way over these past months. When he first arrived upon the estate, he had an emaciated appearance but he spoke with the authority of a man who had returned to claim what was rightfully his. Now though, he looks withdrawn and withered, speaking quietly when he speaks at all. No one save Cole knows where he spends his time when he is not within the hamlet, but there are insidious rumors that he has begun to walk the path that led his father to opening that portal beneath the estate. They are said softly, and never within hearing of Cole, but they are said all the same. For my part, I do not believe it, but I do wonder if perhaps his link to the rotting estate is a burden upon his spirit. If we are to banish whatever his father half-pulled into the world it is important that he maintains his fortitude, for without him the travelers’ sacrifices will be for naught.

York is suffering from spiritual disquiet of a different nature, though he has refused my attempts to help him. He has remained perturbed by the idea that the monster we last slew within the warrens was Benedict, or some perversion of him. York’s time within the leprosarium has rendered him resolute to the most horrific scenes of the warrens, but this lingering thought has proved to be too much for him. I do not believe that York counted Benedict among his friends- I do not believe any of the travelers have friends within the hamlet- but it is grotesque to imagine a fellow compatriot falling foul of the cultist’s horrific experiments. I have repeated that Benedict’s life was ended when the murderous cultist drove his dirk into his throat, but York has a myopic view of the Order and refuses to see the truth. He has demanded that I leave him be and I have acquiesced for now, though I hope he will be free of distraction before we are tasked to venture into the warrens once more.

I believe Wolfswift’s desire for vengeance has been suitably sated by our previous exploration, for she has calmed significantly. I have been looking after her injured leg which still bears open sores, and it is a testament to her fortitude that she is able to stand and fight while enduring such discomfort. It has taken much coaxing, but Wolfswift has relinquished her false limb for a time to Morgan who is working to make it more comfortable for the pagan. Wolfswift has added to the intricate design of the the leg, carving a blooded pig cowering before the wolf’s jaws. While it is a pagan image, I take the meaning clear enough. Of the travelers who have ventured into the warrens, I believe that she has been the least affected by the things we have seen despite bearing the most grievous of wounds.

I have been spending much of my time within the church, fortifying myself for the challenges ahead. I have performed the Mending twice a day, purifying my spirit of any taint the warrens may have left upon me. It has helped me maintain my focus, though I find my thoughts wander towards the bloody scenes we have witnessed within the warrens when I am not preoccupied. I still shudder when I think of my ill-fated venture into the ruins of the manor, as the undead fell upon me with their cruel swords. It is in these moments that I feel weakest, though I know that the Goddess is with me always. I have discovered a veritable library within the cellar of the church, a stack of forgotten and moldy scrolls. I have been perusing them to pass the time when I am not at my duties, and I hope to learn a thing or two about the history of this hamlet. Much of them have been ruined and what is legible is not very revealing, but I hold hope that I may learn more about the Clarke lineage. Perhaps it will reveal the activities of the elder Clarke before he passed, and explain the thing he half-pulled into our world.

I do not know when we will be expected to depart again. I will write to you if I am able, but I cannot promise it. If several weeks pass without a letter, please do not fret. I anticipate that our next exploration will be our longest yet, but I trust that my faith and the Goddess will see me through whatever trials lie ahead. Please send my regards to Acolyte Abigail.

May the light cast away the shadows of our fears.

Sister Catherine

Darkest Dungeon 24

Matron Thessia,

Wolfswift has joined us once more, replacing Benedict after his death during the last exploration. She has recovered quickly from her wound, even more quickly than Morgan had anticipated, and she has fashioned herself a wooden leg to replace her lost appendage. It is an intimidating thing, carved from cedar in the visage of a wolf. Morgan balked at the idea of letting her back into the warrens so quickly after sustaining such a dreadful injury, but Wolfswift’s vengeance would not be denied. As Raziq, York, and I were being given our task by Cole, she angrily burst into the tavern and insisted that she travel with us. Cole was apathetic to her passion and merely reminded her that if she died, we were not privy to her share, which mattered not to her.

Our entrance into the warrens repeated the same familiar pattern as our previous explorations, and we found ourselves quickly set upon by those terrible swine-men and their ragged axes. Wolfswift proved herself in battle once more, her artificial appendage proving to not be a liability. As blood began to be spilled, she lost herself in that primal bloodlust we were familiar with, carving a swath through the monsters in our way. Her thirst for blood seemed insatiable as she cut open the swine-men that stood before us, splashing their foul blood and innards upon the stones of the warrens. It would not be a lie to say that we grew to fear her more than the abominations as she covered herself in their entrails, gleefully cackling at every one slain. It was solely her doing that we delved as deep as we did, deeper than we ever have, and we began to uncover evidence of the cult’s treacherous magicks.

We first came upon the skin of a pig, freshly killed, strung tightly against the rotting stone of the wall. Its entrails were piled beneath it in a strangely organized fashion, almost ritualistically, and our entire party experienced an overwhelming sense of revulsion at the sight. I am no stranger to the work of butchers, but something about the scene caused me great spiritual distress. We did our best to push forward and we moved on from the swine’s corpse, deeper into the tunnel while marking our way all the while. It was not long before we came across another pig, its skin stretched and entrails gathered in a similar manner as the first. We were overcome with that same sense of disgust when Raziq identified that the entrails formed the cultists’ strange sigil, as if it were a ward against trespassers. He pulled a strange yellow powder from a pouch and muttered a few words, coating the bloody entrails in it, and we were suddenly released from its nauseating hold. We discovered two more of these terrible wards as we moved forward, and Raziq was able to neutralize them in the same fashion.

Wolfswift maintained a grueling pace, scarcely allowing us to rest her thirst for vengeance was so great. As we pushed deeper into the tunnel we came across even more revolting scenes, each testing our party’s resolve. We encountered the carcass of one of the cult’s experiments, another swine-man abomination, though this was different than the others we had seen. This creature had the body and legs of a massive boar, much larger than any I have ever seen, but the torso of a man was attached where the head should have been. In the dim light of the tunnels it was impossible to tell what may have killed it, for those strange maggots had taken to feasting upon the body. We did our best to skirt around it, avoiding the attention of the maggots, and push on further into the tunnels.

It was not long after we had come across the carcass that another horror confronted us, the likes of which we had yet to see. It was a strange, gruesome thing that hobbled out of the darkness, its silhouette both familiar and unknown. It was shrouded in the shredded remains of a cloak, though most of its flesh was exposed to the acrid air of the tunnels. Bulbous formations had erupted under its skin, swollen and discolored with blood, deforming any semblance to the man it may have once been. We saw that the monstrosity was unarmed as it approached and we held our ground in confusion, unsure of what to make of the new abomination. Even Wolfswift was stayed by the creature’s approach, cautiously keeping it at the tip of her halberd, when the creature belched and vomited sticky, black blood all over our party.

With a vicious scream, Wolfswift lunged at the creature, though we were all slowed by the fluid. She swiped at the creature, slicing it across its front, but the fleshy monster merely vomited blood all over once more. York struggled against the blood as he rushed to join Talana in the assault, and Raziq began his strange incantations. I muttered a prayer that purified my person of the black blood, freeing myself to join the assault upon the regurgitating monstrosity. Wolfswift and York were struggling against the blood that covered them, weighed down and reeling from the shock of the grotesque assault, and I did what I could to cleanse them of the foul-smelling ichor. They hacked at the creature, spilling its blood and shearing its flesh when I heard Raziq cry out in horror. From the ceiling above him, the shadowy and incorporeal hand he foolishly called forth held his head in its grasp, leaving him wide eyed and whimpering in pain, until the shadow dissipated. He remained standing, shaking in fear, and there was little else I could do except continue to assist York and Wolfswift as they gouged the monster with their weapons.

The creature finally fell to the assault, hacked to pieces and left upon the grimy stone floor. Its vile attack had left us all shaken and disgusted, and it was even more hours before Raziq’s paralysis left him and he was able to move of his own accord. It was with disappointment that we realized the fluids had seeped into our stores and spoiled our rations, forcing our retreat from the tunnels. Even Wolfswift agreed that there was little else we could do but return to the hamlet, her lust for blood sated temporarily.

It seems that the blood cultists’ blasphemous experiments are far more dangerous than previously thought. With the knowledge gained, our goals have become clear, for we must find a way to stop the cultists from continuing their foul art. I know not how we can do this, though perhaps Raziq can discover something within his library of tomes. He has not yet recovered from that strange hand passing through him, however, and has constantly complained of being cold since our return. I suspect the nature of it is derived from his occult art and I have been charged with caring for him in the hopes that my prayers will do what Morgan cannot.

I have spoken at length with York about our experience in the warrens, and he has suggested a dangerous thing. He has suggested that creature we fought may have been Benedict, for the shredded cloak it wore was the same as his. I have insisted that he is in error, for it is not possible that Benedict would have survived his wound. It is too awful a fate to befall one who is working to reverse the wrongs infesting the estate, and She would not allow it.

May the Goddess show us the light when things look darkest.

Sister Catherine

Darkest Dungeon 23

Matron Thessia,

Benedict has been murdered.  I do not know how else to describe it, for it does not suffice to say that he merely fell in battle. We were set upon once more by those awful swine-men, deep within the tunnels. We were better able to steel our nerve against those hulking monsters, having already encountered them. York and Benedict held the line well against the monstrous assault, repelling and skewering the abominations, while Raziq eschewed martial prowess in favour of his occult art. As we fought against them, three strange robed figures emerged from the darkness behind the creatures. In the flurry of battle and flickering torch light it was difficult to see these eerie figures, though I for one struggled to believe that men were under the cloth. Grotesque, bulbous formations strained against the fabric of their robes from within, and patches of it were heavy with dampness. The hoods obscured the faces, which only served to make their presence more intimidating.

The battle was nightmarish. The swine-men bled prodigiously, and with every slash against them more blood was spilled upon the ground. Raziq continuously chanted in some alien tongue, using his dark art upon the enemy. I recall a swarm of scarabs exploding from the flesh of one of the swine-men, ravenously feasting on its skin until the creature collapsed and the insects vanished into dust. I watched as Benedict bravely lunged at one of the swine-men with his dirk, thrusting it deep into its bowels. The creature collapsed in a heap and we all took heart, when suddenly one of the hooded cultists effortlessly stepped over the carcass and reached for Benedict. I saw a bloodied, fleshy hand clutching a dagger emerge from the tattered sleeve of the robe and had no time to react as the cultist drove the blade into Benedict’s throat and then roughly tore it free, severing the soft flesh. Blood sprayed from Benedict’s neck and poured down his shirt as his scream came out as little more than a gurgle, and he weakly swiped at his assailant before falling forward. The cultist embraced him and began to drag him backwards into the darkness, and though I attempted to give chase I was stopped by the swine-men still battling York. Raziq made a motion as if he had intended to stop them, but a cultist spat a guttural sound at him as if it were a weapon, and suddenly Raziq screamed in pain as his arm swelled in size. Helplessly, I watched the cultists drag Benedict into the darkness they had emerged from. All our attempts to follow them were thwarted by the swine-men still assaulting York; our only choice was to stand shoulder to shoulder, and together York and I battled the two remaining beasts. Being so close to such abominations was horrible, and I still shudder to recall the splash of their blood on my own face as we fought them. But for all our horror and exhaustion we managed to avoid their powerful blows for the most part, and after what seemed an endless struggle we were finally able to slay those last beasts of nightmare.

After the battle, I insisted we give chase to retrieve Benedict, though York refused, demanding that instead we should rest and regain our strength. I was barely able to stand, the fight had exhausted me so, but I feared for Benedict’s soul- I worried that if one were to die in such an unholy place, their spirit would be forever trapped and out of the reach of the Goddess. I see now that such thoughts are folly, and have paid my penance for it, but the effect the darkness and those noxious fumes have on the mind is difficult to describe. I know that I am always within the reach of the Goddess, for I was able to use a healing prayer on Raziq’s arm to ease his pain. It did little for the swelling and the discoloration, though the arm slowly returned to its normal state during the rest of our exploration.

We were not able to travel for much longer, due to the queer air spoiling our food. Heavily salting our rations improves their longevity, if not their taste, but we were forced to return to the surface shortly after our battle. Benedict’s fate weighed heavily on my mind during our retreat, as it does now. With his death three of our number have now met cruel fates upon this estate, but it does not seem as if their deaths were worth much. Least of all the meagre coin Clarke pays. We have continued to wander the tunnels at Clarke’s behest, who insists that our task of exploring is not yet done, though I do not know what more he hopes to discover. Raziq has suggested that perhaps there is something we can do that would at least diminish the dark power in the sewers, if not eradicate it, though what it might be is unknown to him.

Raziq’s occult art is a disquieting thing to witness. I have always been warned that the draw of the occult is a terribly powerful thing and rightfully so, for you cannot throw a stone upon the estate without it striking some symptom of the elder Clarke’s corruption. Raziq conjures things, creating something where once there was nothing, and I believe his magicks to be cut from the cloth of the cultists’. He does practice with restraint and discipline, though such things still must be guarded against. I trust the Goddess will protect us in this regard, lest we all be consumed by it.

I have said a prayer for Benedict’s soul tonight, trapped as it may be within the sewers alongside the blood cult and those awful swine-men. It is becoming difficult to think on what trials further await us in those infernal warrens. My sleep has become fitful, for flashes of the violence and the blood spilled with it infest my dreams and wake me every other hour. I have been performing the Mending daily clear my mind, but such methods seem not to bring me the peace they brought before. Perhaps I must explore alternate solutions, so I may take proper rest once more.

May the Goddess grant me the strength to bear the unbearable.

Sister Catherine

Darkest Dungeon 22

Matron Thessia,

The pagan has been wounded severely, almost certainly mortally. She has had her leg severed below the knee by some sort of terrible pig-man within the warrens. We were attacked by a pair of them as we patrolled along the sewer, two of the snorting and hulking beasts. They walked like men but had the face of swine, and their appendages terminated in beastly digits. As our torchlight fell upon them, it was easy to see that their skin looked ill fitting- tight in some places, loose in others. They each wielded vicious battle axes and ran at us, weapons raised, though not before Benedict was able to fire with his pistols. I watched the shots tear the flesh off the charging monsters, though it did little more than splash blood upon the stone walls. Wolfswift and York braced themselves against the charge while Benedict reloaded his pistols, and I did what I could to fortify their spirits for the impending assault.

The battle was brutal and bloody, a different manner entirely than slaying mere slugs. As sword and halberd bit into the porcine flesh, blood spilled upon the stone and turned it slick, making the footing treacherous. Wolfswift began to behave similarly as she did when we fought against those awful slugs, howling in revelry at the blood being shed. Those vile pig-men grunted and snorted as they swung their powerful axes, and it was in the course of avoiding such a blow that Wolfswift slipped. As she lay upon the ground, the pig-man swung again and crushed the bone beneath his axe with a revolting crunch, severing her lower leg entirely. She screamed like a wounded animal as blood gushed from her wound while York continued to fight off the pair of pig-men. Benedict fired twice more with his pistols, slaying one of the beastmen, leaving one left for York to duel. I could hear their weapons clash together as I pulled Wolfswift back towards me, mustering every ounce of my faith to heal her wound. Channeling the power of the Goddess, I was able to stop the bleeding and partially mend the flesh, though the bone still remained splintered and broken.

When Benedict saw Wolfswift’s wound, he called for retreat.  As Benedict and I picked up Wolfswift, York found an opening and slid his shattered sword into the throat of the last creature. Blood gushed like fountain all over the beast’s front and it fell to the ground, giving us the opportunity to run. We could hear more snorting throughout the dark of the tunnels as we fled for the surface, and all we could do was hope that we would not be caught out by more of the swine-men.

The pagan was fitful as we carried her to the surface, occasionally rousing herself to consciousness long enough to thrash about and scream before her energy flagged. Her splintered bone was still partially exposed and it is impossible for me to fathom the pain she may have endured, though I suspect that a lesser woman would have been killed by such a wound. We returned her to the hamlet without further incident, where we were able to place her in Morgan’s care. She was pale and clammy when the physician received her, and her entire body was trembling. There is no more my healing can do for her now, though I will continue to check in on her as the days pass to see if I can assist Morgan in any way. I have held Wolfswift in low esteem, but I do sincerely hope that whatever fortitude she derives from her pagan beliefs will give her the strength to survive this.

We have not seen Clarke since we began exploring the warrens, but Benedict has explained to Cole what we encountered while traversing the sewers. I trust that word will reach Clarke, where ever he may be, once Cole has sobered himself. For my part, I have spoken with Raziq who has done his own research while we were away. He has confirmed that the symbol is that of a blood cult, but no more information could be gleaned from his scrolls. I talked at length with him about the swine-men, and he has suggested that perhaps they are the work of the cultists- indeed, he suggested that they may have desecrated their own bodies in the pursuit of their dark manipulation of the flesh, or else they have kidnapped innocents for their nefarious purposes. The members of the church have not mentioned anything of missing persons of the hamlet, but it is not impossible that others have wandered onto the estate and found themselves lost in the dark of the tunnels.

I do hope that now that we know what manner of corruption exists in the warrens, we can stop these aimless explorations. I understand the gravity of the task set ahead of us and I know that little of it will be easy, but I am opposed to throwing my life away fruitlessly for the sake of wandering through some ancient sewer. It is scarcely worth Wolfswift’s leg. I do hope that we are not asked to go back down there so quickly- every trip we make out to the shore, I dread stepping foot into the entrance. It is becoming more difficult to enter that place and be overcome with that hot, putrid air. It feels as if it is penetrates every fiber of my being and infests my lungs with every breath I take while I am in those tunnels. It is a difficult thing to face over and over again, though I know the Goddess is with me always. I have been performing the Mending twice day to keep my spirit pure and my healing abilities sharp- Morgan was able to provide me with a poultice for my wound, so I am free of distraction.

I will write to you once I know more, Matron.  May the Goddess grant me the strength to endure.

Sister Catherine

Darkest Dungeon 21

Matron Thessia,

I have had some terrible wound inflicted upon me by foul creatures that live within the warrens. These creatures crept upon us while we took a brief rest, and I awoke to find that an awful slug-like creature had attached itself to my arm. It was as long as my forearm and thrice as thick around, and its mottled green skin was covered in the same repugnant slime that covered the walls of the tunnels. As I alerted the rest of the party to its presence, its one globular eye swiveled to meet mine as it feasted upon my person and I felt my entire body shudder with revulsion.

I could not feel the creature’s teeth as it gnawed upon my flesh, though I saw the rivulets of blood as they dripped from my arm. I began to swing at the creature with my cudgel, trying to dislodge it, until Benedict fired his pistol to assist me. It erupted in a fountain of blood, covering myself and the walls in its innards. The rest of the party had begun to attack the dozen or so others that had gathered around us, but none with more enthusiasm than the pagan. As we fought back against the creatures, they exploded in the same gory fashion upon their death, and while we all found it revolting Wolfswift seemed to revel in it. With every death to her credit, she swung her halberd with even more prejudice and howled like a wolf. The slugs proved to be surprisingly nimble, leaping at us with gaping maws encircled in razor-like teeth, clinging to exposed flesh when given a chance. I witnessed several of them attach to Wolfswift, though she ripped the creatures from her flesh while paying no heed to the ragged wound inflicted. The three of us had killed our fair share of the creatures, though Wolfswift’s rampage had destroyed the majority of them. When the last creature was slain and she was doused in blood, she fell to her knees and gave an inhuman, mournful scream. Every muscle of hers trembled with exhaustion, but her strange behavior made us too wary to approach her. It was impossible to tell which blood belonged to her and those of the slugs, though she made no indication she desired healing. With the battle done, she slunk off and began her strange worship of her totems, leaving me to see to the party’s wounds.

The slugs had bitten York, though the illness had ravaged his flesh so much that these attacks were ineffectual. Benedict was unharmed so I saw to my own wound, a ring of dagger-like incisions from the creature’s teeth. This was my first attempt to heal the wound and I was startled to discover that it resisted even my most fervent prayers. I am ashamed to admit that when I saw the flesh remained ragged and broken, I began to despair and believed that I had been forsaken by the Goddess in the dark of those tunnels. I tried over and over to heal my wound, to no effect, and I thought that my healing abilities had been stripped from me for losing faith. It simply continued to weep blood, and all I could do was bandage it so as to protect it from the foul air of those tunnels. Even now, as I write, it continues to soil bandage after bandage. I know now that my faith is strong, for I have performed my penance and even within the church the wound resists healing. I must seek out Morgan and perhaps see if she knows of a poultice that may help the wound, and I now know that there are some wounds I am incapable of healing.

Wolfswift’s wounds are of the same nature of mine, though she elected to rub some strange mud over them  in lieu of healing. Within the tunnels, she refused to clean the foul stuff off of her. Such a practice made it difficult to tolerate her during our moments of rest, and I was not alone in such a sentiment. She has cleaned herself since our return, but such a practice is unnerving to be alone with in that oppressive darkness.

As we left the site of the battle and pushed further into the dark of the sewers, it seemed that they had become much livelier since our last exploration. Strange sounds we could not account for echoed off the stone and throughout the tunnels, making it impossible to know what or where it came from. One sound in particular stood out to us, though, which was a strange swine-like grunting. We also found yet another one of those symbol, painted upon clean stone. As we examined it, Benedict noticed faint footprints pressed upon the mud around it. They were slight, and barely visible to me, but Benedict swore they were not the footprints of men, though they belonged to a creature that walked upon two feet. Morgan’s story of the satyr is still fresh in my mind, and I dread to think on what sort of devilish abominations walk within those foul tunnels.

I do apologize for my previous transgression, Matron. I should have known better than to transcribe such a symbol in a letter to the abbey, lest I draw unwanted eyes towards its location. I have performed my Mending in penance, as you have prescribed, though the bone still feels sore- it has been difficult to focus with my wound, and I worry the Mend may be incomplete. I take comfort in knowing it is not nearly as severe as those visited upon me by the undead, however. Raziq, that student of the occult, does not know what the symbol represents, though Cole of all people has possibly shed some light upon it. He has been in his cups since his return from the weald, and though it is difficult to trust a man who slurs his speech and sways upon his stool, he spoke with such gravity that it caused me to ignore the drunkenness. It is the symbol of a blood cult, he says, dark practitioners that manipulate the living flesh of other beings into their own heretic vision. He began to speak of a time in a far off land where he had dealings with such a cult, though his story was stopped short when he dropped his tankard and fell of his stool chasing it. Raziq is still consulting his scrolls and tomes, though I hope that Cole has perhaps given him enough of a lead to find what he needs within his veritable library.

If he is right, and there is such a group practicing in the tunnels, then it seems that nowhere upon Clarke’s estate has been spared some foul infestation. I trust that it is an act of the Goddess that this hamlet has been spared from such a fate, though these people may not realize it. The bodies of those that reside within the hamlet are twisted as a result of the corruption that grows under the earth, but it is nothing short of a Miracle that something similar has not taken root within the hamlet itself.

I must seek out Morgan, and see if she knows of an alchemical solution for this wound. She seems to have recovered well since her return from the weald though her eyes look colder than they did, as if some part of her soul has hardened as a result of her experiences. She has not spoken much to me since her return, though I hope that she is willing to help me.

Please pass on my greetings to Acolyte Abigail, Matron. May the Goddess grant me the Wisdom to know that I am always within her Light.

Sister Catherine

Darkest Dungeon 20

Matron Thessia,

I have returned from several days spent in those revolting warrens. We did not discover much during our short time down there, though the air has a queer quality to it that led to food spoilage and forced us to leave. I am glad for it, since merely being in those tunnels is an assault upon your senses.

The entrance to the warrens is little more than a stony hole close to the seaside, one that emits the most offensive odor you could ever imagine. The worn stone is covered in some manner of effluvial grime and viscous green fluid trickles out, both of which gave me pause. York, whose sense of smell was destroyed by the illness or lost a fear for such things in the leprosarium, was undeterred and stepped into the entrance without a second thought. Wolfswift and Benedict followed shortly after, and I am not ashamed to admit that I was the last to enter. I needed to say a small prayer to the Goddess and fortify myself before I followed them into that foreboding tunnel.

Entering into that place is difficult to describe, Matron. The way in which natural light vanished, the overwhelming and nearly palpable stench, and that strange humid warmth that emanated from within all mixed together to create this sense of dissonance within me. With every step I took into that place, my feet felt as if they were no longer mine and instead were being propelled by a stranger. I was overcome by a sense of otherworldliness, as if I was witnessing someone else’s horrible dream. I began to cling to the slim hope that I was trapped in a nightmare, and that I would soon awake in my own bed within the abbey surrounded by my sisters. Eventually, however, we found ourselves in the warrens proper. I jumped down from the entryway and landed ankle deep in what can only be described as a puddle of muck, and any hope that I may awake in comfort was dispelled.

We had entered into a tunnel that stretched on far beyond the meagre light of our torch, reaching out in two directions. The same sort of stone that made the entry and the tunnel had been used to create the rest of the waterway, and that same strange grime covered most of the blocks. While some of that disgusting stagnant water was present, it looked as if we could keep ourselves dry as long as we navigated carefully. With little to guide us in our exploration, Benedict picked a direction and began to walk the tunnel as we followed.

I have spent the past several days with my companions and I have come to respect that they are far more capable than I thought, though I still stand by my previous judgments of them. Shortly after our arrival, Wolfswift produced some manner of waxy animal product from her pouches that she was able to break into pieces and place up her nose so as to rid herself of the stench. She offered some to the rest of the group, and while I was hesitant to accept such a gift from a pagan, it seemed that the Goddess would have looked upon pragmatism favourably in such a case. Benedict and I both accepted, and while the sensation of having an object in my nose was uncomfortable, far preferable to the smell of those awful fumes. While this moment of cleverness may have won my begrudging respect, her strange rituals of yowling and worshiping her animal totems made her seem as if she was little more than an animal herself.

Benedict, for his part, proved his worth by taking the impetus to scrape grime off the walls of the tunnel so as to mark our passage. If he had not done such a thing, I fear that we would have surely become lost and doomed to the wander those black tunnels when we turned to take our leave of them. I thought it only polite to remark on such an act but found that he was as surly as ever, rebuffing my courtesies. When we established our camp to take rest, he chose to retreat into the shadows and tend to his weapons rather than sit with us.

The darkness of those tunnels seems to be of the same character as that in the ruined manor, despite their differences in location. It is not the darkness that comes with the night; rather, it is that oppressive darkness that only comes from places where the light of the Goddess has been forsaken. The fact it is allowed to flourish so readily in this place is alarming, to be sure, though I know it to be a symptom of whatever thing the elder Clarke half pulled into our world. As we walked, it oftentimes felt as if the light of our torch was barely holding it at bay and it became impossible to not ascribe some sort of nefarious purpose to it. I will confess to occasionally being overcome by fear as I imagined the undead reaching out for me from the shadows, much like they did in the ruins, but it was only ever my imagination getting the better of me.

The waterways run longer and sprawl further than I ever would have guessed. As we explored those ancient waterways, that awful air began to spoil our food far sooner than we could anticipate. This necessitated we cut our exploration short, though we did find one curious thing before we were forced to take our leave of that place. It was discovered by Benedict in a small nook of the waterway, a place where two men might struggle to stand shoulder to shoulder. We found the grime scraped cleanly away from the stone and in its place was a strange runic symbol, one I am unfamiliar with. As disquieting as it is, I believe the symbol may have been painted with blood for the shade of it could not be anything else. Just looking at it created a deep sense of revulsion within me, though I committed the symbol to memory. I have included a sketch with this letter in the hopes that you may be able to guide me in understanding its meaning. Once I am able to find him, I will also consult with that student of the occult in the hopes that he may recognize it and know of its significance. I do not know what it portends, but perhaps the warrens have not been spared the infestation within the weald and ruins.

I am happy to be out of those tunnels, though the knowledge that I will return so soon weighs heavily on my mind. I still have not rid myself of that horrible stench, and I fear that I may never be able- it lingers within my nose, reminding me of the way the air seems to wrap itself around you. I have washed my robes and performed my ablutions, though that is not enough to banish it. Perhaps I must try again.

I eagerly await your response, Matron. May the Goddess always bless us with the Light of Knowledge.

Sister Catherine