"And in my fever-dreams I saw it - or rather, it saw me. For though it had no eyes, I was at once terribly aware of its soul-flaying omniscience, and deep in my dreams I cowered and bowed to its might. It flared its spine-choked maw and wailed a profane dirge that tore the barriers between the worlds.
"I woke I know not how much later, clutching the tattered pages of the manuscript I had written in my sleep. Horrified, I cast it from my ink-stained hands - for I recognized the writing to be the same as that which I had encountered in the silent city, all those years ago..."
- Preston Mandragora, Diaries of a Dark Thing's Host