A specter came for Bolton in the night. The Deadwood would take him if we did not impede its every effort. It hungers for him.
I awoke to the same sense of terror as the night before. This specter was different. It was at least nine feet tall, pale white, armored in ashen rust and draped in a deteriorating cloak. It carried the single largest sword I have ever seen, even greater than the legendary Cleaver. I could not see its face.
It looked as one of the Seven Deaths made manifest.
It floated towards us, then stopped next to Bolton. None of my companions moved. I was the only one awake. The specter of death raised its sword and I had to scramble just to intercept the blow with my own.
There was a flash of white, the weight of the blade more than I could bear. It ground down upon me, forcing me to kneel. Then Balthandar was there. He shouted in his booming voice and thrust his spear into the specter’s side. Nothing happened.
It withdrew its sword from mine and swatted his spear away, then lined up another blow for Bolton. As it raised its arms I saw four symbols etched into its armor. Four symbols I recognized.
Its blade came down on mine again, driving me straight to my knee this time. And then I realized where I’d seen the symbols before. They were on the map that Prestorn gave us.
Dionus’ attacks were proving as futile as Balthandar’s, so I shouted for him to get the map. The symbols, I cried, read the symbols. But Dionus couldn’t read them, so he ran to us and held them up before the empty mask of the specter.
And in the greatest mystery to occur yet, it relented. It withdrew its sword, then angled off to its left and floated between and off through the trees. We haven’t seen it since.
Bolton awoke shortly thereafter, none the wiser to what had almost befallen him.
We will move on as soon as we have recovered. None of us know what to make of this place, even if we have this one clue. We need out. Now.