Imcandoria's fall

I, Highseer Gulbrand of the Isle of Garmr, have assembled various entries detailing the fall of Imcandoria. I leave this tome in the entrance hall of our great Necropolis. Heed my warning reader and do not travel into that frozen wasteland. All that awaits is death.

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One of the acolytes discovered a strange idol along the beach today, it has the oddest markings scratched upon it, much akin to the runic rocks of the Fremennik. The Elders of Imcandoria will know what to do with such a relic so the other Seers and I have agreed that it will be sent to them immediately.

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It has been two moons since we sent the idol away and the storms have turned increasingly ferocious. We have gone below into the lower Necropolis, hoping to seek refuge in the Forge of Giants.

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The giants allowed us to stay in their domain. However, our time here is limited by our food stores, for no edible food can be produced in these horrible depths. In three moons we will return to the surface and attempt the journey into Imcandoria. There, we will begin our search for answers. The giants have seen omens of death in the forges and have suggested we go with reinforcements. They've given us a bright fiery jewel that we can use to bargain with the Auspah tribes around Imcandoria.

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The city is empty, there are sounds coming from the temple. We approach with caution.

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The temple was a scene from a nightmare. Piles of bodies. Pools of blood. A large globulous mass sat hungrily on a throne of oily black rock, a shock of tentacles capped with claws dangled above its three pulsing bulbous eyes. The Elders circled the creature, chanting incantations in a strange unknown tongue, covered head to toe in a mixture of blood and thick black sludge. They paid us no attention until the creature noticed our presence and began screaming. A fight soon broke out and the temple quickly turned into a blaze, the flames licking the ceiling. The harsh cackle from the elders as they burned, pierced our minds with unimaginable terror. We're none the wiser of how that... thing... came to be, but that idol must have been far older than we first assumed.

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We fled back to the Isle of Garmr, we have suffered many losses, but the storm has quietened and thus returning home was far easier. All the land surrounding Imcandoria is now blanketed with a very thick layer of snow. It shows no sign of change, and thus, we must leave.