Work Text:
The following is an archive of an anomalous event in the Illager Republic's early history. This archive is exclusively for research purposes. Within is a transcript of relevant entries from a logbook of a small pillager outpost, most of which were written by Esteemed Pillager Captain Torquatus, containing among the first descriptions of the mysterious 'Pale Garden' biome. However, some of what is described has never been witnessed or described elsewhere, and the truthfulness of this logbook is debated. This archive is meant to provide a neutral account of relevant events, for one to draw their own conclusion on the veracity of the account.
Disclaimer: Beyond the 8th entry, dates are missing and the distinction between entries becomes unclear. Efforts have been made to decipher unmarked entries despite the scattered ink and paranoid ramblings. The order of events is reconstructed as best as possible.
3rd day of week 40, year 24 of the Republic
Nothing of interest to report. All is normal, waiting on supplies to arrive.
7th day of week 40, year 24 of the Republic
Supplies requested from the Republic are late. Two scouts have been sent to see if they are close by.
2nd day of week 41, year 24 of the Republic
Supplies are still missing. Scouts have also gone missing. We will live off the land in the meantime.
4th day of week 41, year 24 of the Republic
Supplies continue to deplete. There are no animals to hunt. We have searched the forest with no luck. The foliage is beginning to look wilted, and everything is unusually quiet. No sign of missing scouts.
Addition: No monsters of the night appear. We are the only ones in this forest, living or undead.
6th day of week 41, year 24 of the Republic
Everything is silent. Even the river has gone quiet. Every sound we make seems loud and jarring. A dense fog hangs over us. The forest continues to wilt; the trees have taken on an ashen look. Patrols are still sent out in search of food, with no success. They claim they feel 'watched' and are anxious to go out. The watchmen grow anxious as well, claiming to see something moving amongst the foliage at night. Multiple false alarms have been sent up. Shameful cowards, all of them.
2nd day of week 42, 24th year of the Republic
The bodies of the scouts were found by a patrol I led. Their bodies were horribly mangled, necks and limbs bent at unnatural angles, the broken bones jutting from what remains of the skin. They look as though they've been dead for weeks; the flesh is rotting away, moss and tree roots have rushed to claim them. They were hardly 200 paces from the outpost. How could this have happened without our knowledge?
Addition: I have taken the night watch. The men were right. Something moves amongst the dense, wilting forest. There are pinpricks of light moving in the dark. I questioned if they were torchlight or lantern-light, almost hopeful it meant support had found the outpost, but they move strangely, and don't seem like the light of fire. They lack any warmth. It's impossible to see anything else. For the first time in days, I hear a sound in this wretched forest. It sounds like the groaning of trees swaying in a violent wind. There is no wind to speak of. It seems to grow louder by the moment. What could make such a sound?
5th day of week 42, 24th year of the Republic
We have hardly any supplies left. Fights are beginning to break out over what remains of the rations. It's shameful what becomes of my men at the slightest adversity. I have been forced to carefully portion what remains, to avoid pointless fighting. The only thing to be done is to send out more patrols in hopes of finding anything. The withered vegetation provides nothing of substance. Strange grey flowers have started sprouting where the pale moss is closest to the outpost.
6th day of week 42, 24th year of the Republic
I can't stay within the outpost any longer. Tensions are growing, all I hear are the complaints of the men and the horrible creaking at night. It rings through the forest, through our outpost, through my skull. I can hardly sleep. When I close my eyes, I hear that dreadful sound, I see those cold orange pinpricks. I've had enough. I'm going to venture into these woods and slay whatever beast torments me.
Addition: I have encountered what lurks in the forest. In my many campaigns and excursions across the realm, I have never seen anything comparable. It is not one beast, but countless twisted figures of wood, with glowing eyes. They stood still when I looked at them, but moved when I turned my gaze. It didn't matter how hard I struck them, no matter the weapon, they resisted the attack. They took arrows that pierced their eyes, and the swing of a sword did nothing to them, the gashes bleeding sap. There were far too many to keep an eye on. I was forced to flee, but not unscathed. I am currently tending to several cuts from wooden claws, and my body is bruised from heavy blows of their limbs. I was lucky to escape. More men will be placed on the night watch to ensure they don't catch us off guard.
Unknown day of week 43, 24th year of the Republic
The men are questioning my decision, questioning my judgment, and my sanity. I have been quick to remind them of my place. I am their Captain and they are to listen to my commands. They haven't seen what I have.
24th year of the Republic
After careful observation, I have learned more of these monsters. They appear only at night, much like the undead. They do not appear to be a danger as long as the sun touches the forest. Given the desperation of our situation, we need supplies and numbers. My fleetest soldier is being sent to the outpost closest to us tomorrow at the first light of dawn. I have had him study the map extensively in preparation and cautioned him to avoid fighting these monstrosities. I don't know how far this blight has spread, but this is our only hope.
The strange grey flowers are spreading. Their bulbs open when the light fades, and I see those eyes. It hurts my head to look at them. I can feel their gaze piercing my skin.
24th year of the Republic
Our courier has been sent, and now we are left to wait. Despite our careful rationing of remaining supplies, we are left with nothing. In desperation, the men have taken to boiling strips of leather.
I have taken the night watch again. I can't sleep, not while the horrible creaking sound continues to grow louder and louder, not while the light of those horrible eyes gleams in the dark. The sound grows louder and louder. I swear I see the forest grow and spread before my eyes. It threatens to claim our outpost.
24th year of the Republic
The roots of the trees stretch closer to the outpost, and the canopy seems to stretch higher into the endless fog. The trees have grown closer together, forming a tight ring around our outpost, with little room to maneuver through them. The flowers are getting closer, staring at us with the same glowing eyes of the forest's monsters. Patrols have not been sent out. There is no need, and our strength dwindles.
The monsters of the forest always watch us. I can see them from the corner of my vision, I can hear their twisted movements in the distance, even in the day. The eyes of the forest floor seem to follow my every move. I won't be watched. I will cut them away.
At dawn, we were alerted to the sound of terrible screams. When the situation could be investigated, it immediately became apparent what had happened. One of the men had grown desperate enough to try to escape from the forest. An axe had fallen beside him, and the tree was gouged. His body lay twisted and broken, dark bruises marring his skin, and roots were beginning to curl around his legs. We brought his body back to the outpost. What I write next, I am not proud of, but it was done out of desperation. We had to salvage what we could.
I am disgusted by the men under my command, relishing with glee in their ill-gotten rations. It's sickening how eager they are, as if they've forgotten where it was obtained from.
I am solely the one that patrols now. It doesn't matter how many eyes of the forest I cut away, they return, I feel them stare, they know what I'm doing. The trunks of the trees around us grow tight like a wall. It would be a mistake to try to cut them. The forest is swift and vengeful. It watches and listens. It can sense my fear. But I will find a way to retaliate.
My second in command joined me on patrol this morning. He spoke of how himself and the men were concerned for my well-being. He was encouraging me to return to the outpost, to rest. I told him that I must remain vigilant, that sleep is no respite from the forest's torment. He remained insistent, and I remained resolute. I can tell he questions my sanity, questions if I am fit as a captain. He fails to see I am the only one remaining vigilant.
There has been a murder in the outpost. A fight broke out between two of the men during the night watch. It ended with one of them stabbed, a knife in his back. I have no doubt in my mind that would have been my fate if I had obeyed my second in command. The perpetrator has been locked away in one of the cells. The men argue if we should waste the 'meat'. This forest has turned them all into animals.
I remain diligent on the night watch. I can rely only on myself now. I spend time watching and waiting to see the forest's weakness. I know it has one. It is not so all consuming as it once seemed. It becomes clear to me as I look upon it. Those haunting eyes, the sounds of the beasts, the trees that threaten to claim everything. I will triumph over this forest. Despite it all, I maintain my sanity, unlike the others.
I can't stand it any longer. The terrible groans and creaks of gnarled wood are all I hear at night. I have no hope of anyone coming to our aid. Our courier is most certainly dead, cast aside to the forest floor like the scouts we found so long ago. The men devolve into animalistic shells of their former selves, committing vile acts against the dead and dying. I am forced to take matters into my own hands. I will prepare a torch, and I will set this forest ablaze. It may take me with it, it may take the men, but this evil will die here. This torment will finally be over.
24th yeer of Republik
The Captin is dead. We wached him run out with a torch and screem at the monsters in the forest. Before he could do anything, the cretures pikked him up by the neck and snaped it. We couldnt do anything. Becose I am the best at riting I am in charge of the logbook. No one can deside who is the new Captin. Vitus says he shood be Captin, becose he is secund in comand. But he wants to restrikt our meat.
This was the final entry in the logbook, the identity of the author is unknown. Despite Torquatus' suspicions, the courier did reach the neighboring outpost, headed by a Pillager Captain Atilius. However, when forces were sent out to investigate the courier's claims, they found the Pale afflicted territory and the outpost within. The Pale trees covered the structure in a manner that has not been seen elsewhere, many trees twisted around the building, reaching high into the sky. When Atilius managed to force his way into the outpost, there were none of the remaining soldiers under Torquatus' command. The only signs were clusters of roots that seemed to grow in the shape of the bodies. The logbook was retrieved in an attempt to understand these events and proved both vital in the discovery and research of the Pale Garden and as a cautionary tale of the paranoia demonstrated by Captain Torquatus and his men.