"Look here. It tells of how he first came into contact with someone called the Masked One. That must be who we encountered downstairs," Osgar pointed near the top of the page, as Wingar did his best to read the handwriting. "Well, go on. Read it aloud for the rest of us," Alf said uncomfortably.
I'm not sure I really want to know what's in there, but if it means getting out of here alive, so be it, he thought, moving beside Wingar.
"Year one of my service to the Church: It is probably not the best of ideas to make a deal with a devil from the Underworld, but I have no choice. Mideia has not allowed me to escape the clutches of evil itself, and I am beginning to fear for my life," Osgar began to read, making Wingar's eyes open wide as he listened attentively.
"I met the one in the mask along the road of my pilgrimage to the Hallowed Tree, where he offered me a chance to improve my life infinitely. Oh, how I long to have had the wisdom to continue on my path simply. The one in the mask told me of a greater power than that of Mideia himself, and though I doubted him at first, I realized that there are many mysteries to our world that we have yet to discover. Of course, I wasn't entirely devoted to the idea, but my heart told me I should accept the offer," Osgar read, glancing momentarily at the others who urged him on.
"He asked me for my undivided loyalty to him and to aid him in his quest for knowledge. Over the past three months or so, he has harassed me for information on a source of power known only as The Plant, though I know nothing about it," he continued, raising an eyebrow.
"Here, I found a few more years. It looks like he's taken all the others except these; like he wants someone to know his story," Alf interrupted, handing two volumes to Wingar. "Read this one," Wingar said after giving it a quick glance, handing it over to his brother.
"Year twenty-seven: I have forsaken the idea of Mideia and his goodwill towards all men, for it is now clear to me that it is the last thing he wants for us. The Masked One, who, after all these years, has never said his real name, has allowed me to become the leader of the Church. I know that refusing it could mean the end of me, though I will have to cheat and murder my way to get there, only to give him information on The Plant," his eyes widened as he read the last sentence.
"So that perverted bastard reallydid murder his way to the top. I've always wondered how a sick fuck like him could reach that position," Alf scoffed. "There's still more," Wingar handed him another volume.
"Year forty: I can feel myself getting older each day, and yet even with all of my riches, stolen from blind believers, I can see nothing but sorrow and misery coming to the world. The Masked One has continued to search for The Plant itself, taking matters into his own hands. He must believe that my service to him all these years has been for naught. He has begun recruiting spies from all regions and classes of the world, including outcast Synners, desperately hoping for some information on its location. Even if I do find it here, I don't believe he will be willing to share its supposed power," Osgar read, closing the book and setting it aside.
"So the old fuck wasn't fully on board with the idea after all, and merely followed orders out of fear? That still doesn't explain his speech to Leona the night we took over. Maybe that was all a bluff?" Wingar asked the others. "It seems like it, but even if it was a bluff, it doesn't change what he commanded us to do or the fact that we followed his orders," Osgar sighed heavily as the others also felt the same wave of guilt come over them.
"Here's the last one," Wingar said, handing it to him with a nod.
"Year sixty-nine: I've discovered its location, but at a great price. He has forced me to reveal its location, but in the process, my suspicions of him having contacted a powerful force known only as The Undergod have been confirmed. I haven't told him everything I've found, and know I don't have much time. His plans have been set in motion, and he is coming for it. Although he will likely have wasted his time, as all the plants appear long-since dead," Osgar read the ominous words.
The final words hit everyone in the room as hard as a blacksmith strikes the steel on his anvil. They knew what Mourtis had meant when he wrote the final words of his journal. They were engraved in their memories, and the three looked at each other desperately. "What have I done?" Wingar asked himself weakly.
"There was no way we could have known any of this before, and you did what you thought was right, brother," Osgar put a hand on his shoulder. "I might have just sentenced the three of us to a painful death," Wingar said grimly, shaking his head. "We would have died anyway. We've been fucked since the beginning of our lives, both figuratively and literally. I suppose there's no point in trying to escape fate," Osgar sighed.
Wingar looked out the window to the distant, green hills covered in a dense forest and scratched his well-shaven chin. "What do we do, then?" he asked. "We survive for as long as we can. Think we've gotten the hang of it over the past few years," Osgar replied, but Alf didn't seem as enthusiastic, releasing a heavy sigh.
Wingar looked at his younger brother and agreed with him for once. He nodded, and they put the journals back in their place, returning to the hall where the Masked One sat on his newly forged throne borne from mana.
"Well?" he asked, subtly sending tendrils of mana out toward them. "We have found nothing, lord. The old man must have taken any information on it with him when he left," Wingar said, kneeling before him. The Masked One grunted in response. "Go to the libraries, or the Church itself. Search everywhere you can. The creatures outside will not bother you so long as you do my bidding," he commanded. "As you wish, lord," Wingar replied with a bow.
What was that strange feeling in my head just now? Was he reading my thoughts? Wingar thought.
The three of them walked outside to head towards the Church, and encountered several glicks gnawing on the bones of fallen guardsmen and servants just outside the palace itself. Alf vomited at the sight, but the monsters paid him no heed and continued about their disgusting business. Alf wiped the remaining fluids off his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, which smelled horribly during their search.
Meanwhile, the Masked One remained inside, thinking about what he'd seen in Wingar's mind. He rubbed his knuckles, considering every aspect of what he saw. Some of it was muddled, but one thing was present amid the cacophony of Wingar's thoughts that he knew for sure.
It's down there, isn't it? Those fools had better bring me some more information on it, he thought, rising from his throne and dispelling it immediately to look at the stone floor again.