Godkiller - The Lumberjack Journal - 6 - Far From Pleasant

The visions are growing more regular. I used to be able to shake them off, but it has grown challenging. I even saw one standing in the center of an otherwise unoccupied room while passing by in the hallway. When I went back to investigate it further, it was gone.

I nearly told Pias of them but stopped myself. This journal was meant to serve that purpose, and I have already been neglecting it for many months now. Rather than make a fool of myself to the others, I have returned to your mostly empty pages. Ziel always used to try and get me to write down my reflections. I don’t know why, but he truly felt my thoughts needed to be shared with the Zol. It’s a shame I can no longer share them with him, nor the world I destroyed. Perhaps that’s a silver lining, as my thoughts these days are far from pleasant.

I have come to notice that they aren’t exactly dogs per se, but they certainly represent the idea of one. Something’s very wrong with them, and I can never get a good look. They’re broken, horrific creatures. Protruding bone, matted fur, taught skin, and black viscera mashed together in the shape of a melancholy dog.

I have tried to find a record of them, but a mere 6 hours in a considerably small library has already given me an overly exhaustive list of monsters and lore that bear a resemblance to them. It’s all too vague and overly abundant. Both my own descriptions and the information held within the text. I feel like I am trying to match snowflakes. It’s led me to believe I am losing my grasp on reality. I don’t feel as if I am under the effect of some spell. The beach in my visions feels so otherworldly, despite its mundane appearance. As if it is more real than Zol itself.

About a month ago, in one of my dreams, the black dog on the beach tried to speak to me as I clutched it to my chest. However, the bone that made up his jaw was fused in place, and his tongue wasn’t the correct shape. Though somehow I could almost understand him. It felt like holding a dying friend in my arms.

Strained, half-spoken, and desperate words. While I was not able to comprehend them exactly, I can guess the meaning. I think it was trying to tell me how to find him. The name of something. It’s so quiet. Vardingar? Vaaringain? Vaaringaard? I am frustratingly close to discovering something.