The following is a translated transcript from a book within the Scarlet Monastery that discusses Penumbra. I was tasked to provide this transcript by Khorvis.
Brother Abendicus, Year 505 of the King's Calendar, Stormwind City, Cloister of the Light.
Two nights past, Brother Entin awoke the Cloister in a fit of screams. Three of our order came upon his chambers to find the anointed scion huddled in a corner, snapping at any hand outstretched in aid or friendship like a wounded curr. I, myself, assigned a ward of two Brothers to stand guard outside of Entin's chambers throughout the dark watch.
It was in vain. We entered the room at dawn to find our Brother soiled and hung by his own hand and bedsheets. The guards had heard nothing. Behind his swollen corpse was writing in ichor upon the stone wall in a hand most unlike the comely pen I had come to cherish.
Brother Entin makes the third this month. I pray to the Holy Light that our spirits may be spared any further torment. I know not what crime blackens our Cloister.
Brother Abendicus, Year 506 of the King's Calendar, Storwind City, Cloister of the Light.
The ghost of Shadow haunts the corriders of our cursed sanctuary. The magelords whisper of a dark star eclisping Azeroth, yet they refuse any audience with the Order. I pity their souls.
Some of our order have begun recounting visions, received both in slumber and in waking. Shards of the Void slice against their prayers. A Shadow that walks on legs penetrates their dreams and casts a pallor upon the mass. I would question their sanity and faith, had I not seen it myself.
Below the Cloister, among the crypts of our forebears, I spent a day and night in fast and prayer against the tomb of my predecessor. Father Fridien was the most devout of the cloth that I have ever known. Wavering faith shivered and straightened into wrought iron backing at the very sound of his sermon. The flock knew their bounds and duty under his crook. To follow such a man is still an exercise in humility. Such is proven bitterly true, moreso now.
I saw the Shadow with mine own waking eyes. A gaping hole into perpetual Void, it sucked in the light of every votive. It engulfed the Light itself. And it spoke to me.
"Abandon all. Annihilation awaits. Rejoin with the nothing."
I fell forward against the stone, for the tomb of Father Fridien crumbled in my very arms. Dust is all that remains.
Brother Abendicus, Year 506 of the King's Calendar, Stormwind City, Cloister of the Light.
There is no escape from the Void. May it consume us all. The dark star calls.
Brother Cardith, Year 506 of the King's Calendar, Stormwind City, Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences.
Our flight from the Cloister was swift and full of terror. Brother Abendicus... no, he is no longer a Brother of the Holy Light. Abendicus led a flock of traitors through the corridors, unleashing something terrible against his own order. Spells borne of Shadow, driving the devout to screams and tearing of the eyes. Flesh stripped like robes in a shower of the Void. And alongside the dark host walked a being of pure night.
We survivors take refuge now with the arcanists in the Academy. Few possessions were we able to escape with in our horror. I read now the madness that consumed Abendicus. We must rally.
Brother Cardith, Year 507 of the King's Calendar, Stormwind City, Cloister of the Light.
Victory is bittersweet. Alongside our brothers and sisters of the Arcane, we of the cloth drove the traitors into the catacombs. The siege lasted for two weeks while the very stones of the Cathedral boiled with Shadow. So many faithful friends lost to this nightmare... my heart weeps.
At last we confronted the Traitor and his dark manipulator in the lowest levels. Our forces were too slow. Abendicus turned to me and spoke in a voice that echoed as if from a place in some distant quadrant of the sky.
"What is life, but an pale memory of the First chaos? The foundations of your temple are as brittle as the sparrow's bone. Penumbra calls you home, Brother."
I sent outwards with my righteousness a focus of the Holy Light, seeking the decapitate the dark being by Abendicus's side, but the two had already embraced. The Void sucked inwards at our forces and I mourn the loss of my fingernails, ripped from my flesh in my desperate hold upon a sarcophagus.
Where Abendicus and the walker had stood now was nothing save a shard of bone, cleaved by my own spell. Those of the faith shudder to touch it, for it sickens the spirit to gaze upon.
Inquisitor Fayleth Caudin, Year 617 of the King's Calendar, Tirisfal Glades, Athenaeum of the Monastery.
The timid priests of the Cathedral of Light do not even know what decays in their hallowed catacombs. The essense of Penumbra will always be a threat to the Human race. Perennial and lurking, the darkness will no doubt rear its many heads to devour the remainder of its victims. My father was wise to flee their weak order and secede with his power this tome. May the Light shield our people from the night, for the priests of Stormwind are blind.
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