THE WAR LOG OF SKYRIE VOLUTIUN

God is here

WE ARE BETRAYED!

Nothing works.

No pattern.

No Trump.

No spells.

We have traversed the winds

of the second circle. Still

nothing works.

I don't understand. But this does not mater.

God will suffer for this place.

I will have revenge.

Through a rain of offal and putrescence

Why does nothing work?

Are we dead?

The third circle is traversed. Cerberus!

Our assets, then. What do we have? Rope. Telescope. Food. Water. Weapons. Clothes. I wonder if we might make a parawing from these and other things we find?

Shirts and ties. Tins of beans. A bible. A penknife. A figurine in

a gift box. Victoria. A pair of reflective eyepieces - Caitlin says

they are to protect against the sun. A carriage clock? A pine cone.

Across the fourth circle and to the fifth.

A swamp.

A river.

Mist.

I cannot think how we will find Arun, Jhyx, Lillian, Connor, Nemain, Gerard, any of them.

The swamp is a truly grotesque and yet pathetic place. I am glad to be rid of it. Where has my strength gone? We reach a city of burning metal, surrounded by bird-women who call themselves the Furies. Who are not pleasant. They are going to have to be destroyed. A lot. These vultures call upon a snake-creature they call the Medusa. We do not stay to learn more of this beast. We are so weak!

I tire of this place. It is becoming most tedious attempting to cross through this city of Dis.

We return to the fifth circle.

Parawings!

Ah - the experimentation hurts a great deal, but since it seems our wounds heal in record time, and we do not tire, nor suffer from hunger or thirst, we progress. And time, it seems is one thing we have in great abundance. We persevere, and we succeed.

To glide gently through Hell. Over the city of flaming Dis. Over a plateau of tombstones made of iron, set in flint and glowing with heat to make us rise still further; vats of fire, marble mausoleums, out over the sixth circle, over the Phlegethon, the river of boiling blood and on, across the seventh circle, tangled trees with black leaves, toxic wastes, burning sands with flaming snow, all this lies beneath us. Over the edge, over pits and ditches and bridges, people whipped by demons, people with their feet on fire, their heads on backwards. We pass over Connor, Jhyx, Nemain. We would land nearby them, though not by choice. If I had my way, we would glide all the way to the deepest depths.

But then, Jhyx, he knows how to get out when we get there!