He claimed to be stationed as a soldier at the Fortress of Morbahks in the Year of 1288 Nagihwo. He would not give his name, and he hid his face, though I caught glimpses of ragged scars, as if a great beast had slowly drawn them from his right forehead down to his left chin line. There was an unpleasant smell about him, like rotting lavender, both sweet and sickly. My instincts screamed that he too was a Horror, like all the others I had hunted, but though unpleasant, he showed no true sign to my art.
In a rasping voice, he claimed that in his time there, the Wyrd line they had lane suddenly gave up a great ruckus of noise, bellowing an alarm of intrusion. With great haste they ran to the source, a great tower that was under construction, and found a tunnel burrowing beneath it. With Wyrd stones in hand, he claimed his comrades rushed into the suddenly appearing maw. He himself tripped and fell, and as luck would have it, said tumble saved his life, for the art shook with a great explosion of violence, and flames leapt from the maw before the tower crashed down, closing it forever.
He swears that after the stones settled, in the choking dust he saw small dog headed monstrosities and heard them chirping to one another, before one twice its size, with blazing eyes of fire barked a single time, and silence descended. Could he have run afoul of one of the Horrors that have escaped my traps time and again? Could Abaotd be still running loose?
~ From Taubha’s Lesser Book of Names
