Dungeoneering journals

Journal pages and books are found while exploring the Dungeoneering dungeons at Daemonheim. They are dropped as loot from normal enemies, or at the ladder down to the next level once the current level's boss is defeated. Journals that have been read are automatically stored, and can be accessed again by talking to the Dungeoneering tutor on the surface near the entrance (previously accessed through the Ring of kinship). Journals are found by certain monsters. Documents mentioning the history of Daemonheim only such as Mysterious Chronicles and Marmaros and Thok are found by random drops of minions and bosses. The rest are found by the boss(bosses) mentioned in the text of the document such as the Diary of Astea Frostweb being dropped by her.

Part 1
Year 1225 of the 4th Age:

Finally! After four long years of bringing in weak-minded fools to follow my cause unknowingly, today is the day - the day I begin the great descent. Today, my research pays off and the journey begins; today, I journey down towards ultimate victory.

My power is as true as the whispers calling. Today, I begin.

Praise be to Zamorak!

Part 2
Year 1241 of the 4th Age:

After years of evading detection, my research finally led me to the castle above. It seems similar to that of the dragonkin of old: protectors of the artefact, enders of the Great Wars. Of course, I should have suspected It to be hidden in a manner as straightforward as this! fools to abandon such a place; why would they move on? It must all be linked in somehow, but time does not allow for further investigation. My power now is to be used on one thing: forging through the very earth that separated me from my goal.

Praise be to Zamorak!

Part 3
Year 1266 of the 4th Age:

Many of the weak minded servants and slaves are moving with me as I go deeper. What curiosity or purpose drives them? I didn't even have to force many of them. I cannot dwell; as much as I hate to admit it, I need them for now. I must have the rearguards and the servants to dig the early sections out. I wont be wasting any of my power doing this; I'll save myself for a challenge worthy of me taking a more frontal role. For now, I'll have to settle for the role of slavedriver.

Praise be to Zamorak!

Part 4
Year 1285 of the 4th Age:

There has been acceptable progress since my last entry, but still I crave for more. I will have to work on re-awakening my lost power. While my mighty slumber restored a large amount of power, it was once again lost in my great search for this place. Evading detection required some interesting methods and many disguises, which has again left me drained. I have faith. In time, my full power will return once more and, when it does, I shall break through the world with such a fury as to make Him proud.

Praise be to Zamorak!

Part 5
Year 1313 of the 4th Age:

Those fools! I pity the imbeciles of my kind. To think they looked down on me and doubted the extent of my power! Pathetic. Zemouregal, if he could only see me now, he would not be so quick to judge my abilities. I have no doubt that he'll be wasting his time on some lost cause for power that he'll never obtain. They'll see my true strength in due time; they'll see who will be sacrificed, they'll tremble at the mention of my name!

Zamorak be praised!

Part 6
Year 1324 of the 4th Age:

The area I've broken into below is beginning to exude more heat. It might even be suitable for my minions to dwell here, to more efficiently serve my cause. Those who refuse to move here out of fear of my power, I will just force or kill. They dare not to question my rule. They dare not stand up to a Mahjarrat. They dare not question me, Bilrach, their master.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 7
This is an Easter Egg put in by Jagex, the year being 1337. Year 1337 of the 4th Age:

The soil I tunnel through is like no other. Someone or something has created this place as some sort of safeguard. Sometimes, when I use my magic to carve through, the areas behind collapse and reappear elsewhere. There is some magical force at play here that is hard to comprehend. Recently, many of my servants were cut off - they said the dungeon I'd forged had a different layout from when they left.

On the topic of servants, they are more frail than I feared. The giants last longer, but they can no longer fit into the small tunnels their human counterparts dig. I'll just slay them all and use their meat to feed the other slaves. Hah! How I do amuse myself so!

Zamorak be praised!

Part 8
Year 1403 of the 4th Age:

It turns out that I was right: the area above has begun to cool to freezing. My servants are moving deeper with me; it was pleasant to see them do it voluntarily for a change. Perhaps they believe themselves to be with me in this great descent? Ha! They'll last as long as their use permits, and they'll follow me deeper if they want to survive. As if I'd stop to maintain an area for them to live in!

Zamorak be praised!

Part 9
Year 1424 of the 4th Age:

If memory serves, I've passed the two-century mark of tunnelling into this place. I feel the pull of the pour below. If I reach the bottom, great reward will be mine and the world will burst open as I dominate the kingdoms of this frail world. Enough, I must return to my work. I cannot guarantee that I am the only one seeking this, and must beat any who also seek it, as if they could stand up to me.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 10
Year 1446 of the 4th Age:

Yet more meatsacks have perished under these conditions. Why they insist on sleeping and eating once or twice a week irritates me to no end. They leave me no choice but to mate them up and breed new offspring to continue my journey.

The depth I have reached is of a different potency to the above. The rock and heat are suitable for simple beings to survive. Obviously a powerful being such as myself has no problem moving on, but this would probably be the best depth for my slaves to settle so they can serve me more effectively. For my purposes only, I will slow my progress to extend a hand in helping them set up. They'll make up for this later.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 11
Year 1464 of the 4th Age:

I'm as clear of mind as the day I started this descent. My methods and the nature of this place may seem random, but I've yet to use the more dangerous and unstable side of my power. My sanity is unwavering; hearing whispers from the earth below is not a sign of my mind breaking, it merely confirms I am getting closer and should continue down. Should I be concerned that the whispers try to guide me?

Zamorak guide me!

Part 12
Year 1505 of the 4th Age:

Progress is frustratingly slow, as of late, but it is progress at least. I'm nearing the end with every day and I must retain my focus, my drive. I know what dwells at the bottom - there is only one thing powerful enough that can emanate power across planes of existence. I must be right.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 13
Year 1533 of the 4th Age:

Finally, those fools near the surface who refused to follow were forced by their need to survive! To think I didn't have to lift a hand in the end.

Today, I hear of a mass exodus, all moving down to this depth. I know this is a higher power's doing, bending the will of the world to my cause. I continue.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 14
Year 1573 of the 4th Age:

Forty years have passed since my last entry and finally, this area is completely self-sustaining. A working chain of production has been created amongst my slaves. The digging should be far more efficient and, more importantly, I have a solid rearguard if any choose to come after me. As if anyone would try to follow in my footsteps now!

On the subject of slaves, I've had great success in my breeding program. I've taken the strength of the giants, the skin of the goblin and the size and basic intelligence of a human, and created a barely adequate but much-improved slave. Conditioning has sped up progress also. I've even bred them to believe pain is good for them! They'll literally work until they drop dead where they are!

Zamorak be praised!

Part 15
Year 1641 of the 4th Age:

Is it fate that significant progress is made on the anniversary of my start date? Four-hundred years of careful destruction and here I am, nearing the half-way mark! If I can make it half-way, I can make it all the way.

I swear my power increases the deeper I go. It will not be long before I unleash on this earth. I will be closer to the end than the start. Soon, I will be at the Rift!

Zamorak be praised!

Part 16
Year 1645 of the 4th Age:

Centuries have passed since I awoke, but, still, there has been no sign or word of the others. Pathetic. I see now why He chose me as his second in command. If the creation and summoning of the mighty Tsutsaroth demon for Him wasn't a sign that I am worthy of that title, what I am doing now will be. None of the others dare to do this; none of the others have power to do this; none of the others have the focus to do this.

They settle for scrabbling around with what is left and they will be punished for their lack of faith. Curious, I still feel the presence of K'ril in this realm...

Zamorak be praised!

Part 17
Year 1693 of the 4th Age:

It turns out that I have been rewarded for my time creating the area above for my workers to inhabit, as it will serve as a powerful hub to the surface and help speed my progress. Even so, the fact that they fear the depth below is a concern. Thankfully, I can force a lot of the cowards, but I fear it won't be enough to make quick progress. The time may be coming for me to use some unstable methods.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 18
Year 1724 of the 4th Age:

A disgrace! I thought losing servants out of fear to the depth was bad, but now rebellion? I quashed this before it had a chance. Two treacherous fools dared attack me? History will mark this day: the day Astea Frostweb and Lexicus Runewright were enslaved by the mighty Bilrach and split for all eternity. They thought their combined magical ability could stand up to me? Small-minded fools! They will never be together again and will serve my purpose as guards of my great dungeon forever. There will be no further uprisings after that demonstration.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 19
Year 1730 of the 4th Age:

A new depth has been reached and it is weak to my magic. Using portal magic should be safe enough here. If the portal network is successful, I can not only dump our waste and effluence into another realm, but I can search for powerful creatures to enslave and defend my great work here.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 20
Year 1824 of the Fourth Age:

Nearly a century passes and I have been rewarded. Portal magic was the best move I could have made, and it has reinvigorated my enthusiasm for this project. Not only am I able to draw power from the portals as I once did, but I've managed to enslave ever-more powerful and destructive beasts. The stalkers, the lumbering behemoths and the curiously noble Kal'Gerions are all creatures of my will now, defending my great work as if it were their own. Those who search for me and follow my footsteps will have brutal obstacles to overcome. Now, to find something even more powerful!

Zamorak be praised!

Part 21
Year 1890 of the Fourth Age:

I hazard to call it a disaster, but something grossly unwanted has happened. One of my portals malfunctioned and a race of troublesome creatures crept through without me noticing. They refer to themselves as the gorajo and they manoeuvred against me from the very start; their culture despises the reanimation of the dead and the summoning of demons, it seems. The backward fools. While my powers are great, they have a habit of keeping out of sight, so I fear this will be a long fight.

Zamorak guide me!

Part 22
Year 1911 of the Fourth Age:

Curse the gorajo! The air here is turgid with magic, and no matter how many times I close the portal to their realm, another reopens. I've decided to forge on; those pathetic creatures will pay later. I will reach the Rift soon and come back to destroy them once and for all.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 23
Year 0 of the Fifth Age:

I've heard that some are calling this the beginning of the Fifth Age; it would seem suitable if they weren't calling it The Age of Man. Bah! I rename it The Age of Reckoning! I will allow the humans three hours to celebrate, and then we work again. I will not allow them any longer than that: revelry leads to rebellion, and I cannot afford to massacre them as we get so close.

Zamorak be praised!

Part 24
Year 5 of the 5th Age:

This is it. The area below is weaker than the bedrock I have been forging through, and my magic carves through it like saw through flesh. This must be fate's reward for seeking the interplanar portal below, the portal that separates me from my Masters realm of banishment. To think He could have been banished and contained! Vile trickery...

I, Bilrach, will find this Rift, where the barrier between realms thins.

I, Bilrach, will re-open it and release my Master upon this world once more.

I, Bilrach, will release Zamorak!

Part 1
Little sister, Cheating, blasted, cheap magic! I've said it before, but I mean it more then ever. Our paranoid seers have waved their magic wands across the dungeon entrance and made every item that crosses it, save our undercrackers and overclothes, too heavy to bear. Thok lasted a few steps, of course, but even he had to make his excuses and ditch the battleaxe. Still, it's not only our seers who think we're at the source of the wave of power: Thok's shackles have raised too. Strike me if I don't believe 'em all: we're a few floors beneath an ancient castle in a dungeon that's soaked in magic and lively with beasts. Got me thinking: if something is here, you can be sure that Thok'll find it first. I'm going to find a moment to break from the clan and go it alone with just Thok. Where there's power there's money, and I plan to carry away armfuls of the stuff.

Your older brothers,

M. and Thok

Part 2
Little sister, Hell, I miss you. I know that doesn't sound much like me, but I have good reason. Since we split from the rest of the clan, we've been getting by with our plain clothes and fists, but there's been one close call too many. Time has come to arm us, dress us and feed us, and you do that better then any I know. So, I'm scribbling this on an anvil, having made a battleaxe, sword and a couple platebodies. The workmanship is about the shoddiest I've ever seen, but I get a buzz from looking at them! It's the materials, though, Bryll; there's stuff here that you've never seen: metals strong and completely alien, and strange plants that can be spun to make boots. Since you're what keeps us moving, we've named the boot material after you. I ain't told Thok yet, but he's wearing Marmaros armour; couldn't resist giving my name to the metal.

Your older brothers,

M. and Thok

Part 3
Little sister,

Thok has gone berserk. The lughole won't wait for me now, and I'm following a trail of ash and creature bones. Only yesterday, I'd been slipping out of Thok's shadow to carve into the bats, shades, and warriors that would try to flank him, and he's been spraying the walls with their innards. But today, we came upon something out of a hellish fairy tale. Hanging from the ceiling was an eyeball, swaying on its stalk and dripping goo to the floor. Thok was on it from the start, but the eyeball secreted some terrible spittle that kept me rooted. I would have retched if I could move any muscle in my body; instead, I could only watch as Thok wrestled it from its stalk. Problem is, Thok reckons I'm in over my head, so he's blitzing a clear path for me to follow. Only thing that stops the sentimental, thuggish fool is the keys, puzzles and locked doors; if they didn't slow him down, I swear he'd be at the bottom of this dungeon by now.

Your older brothers,

M. and Thok

Part 4
Little sister,

We met someone today. That's 'met' in the talking sense, rather than the stabbing, crushing and gouging way that we've gotten used to over the past week. (Has it really been a week? Damn, what a place this is.)

That someone was a she, and, in her own way, she was pretty. Said she was a gorajo, and she wasn't new to seeing humans like us. We parted on good terms and she handed Thok some 'primal gloves', given to any gorajo who braved the 'warped pits'. Looks like fancy-pants gauntlets, but Thok's wearing them with a gormless smile on his face. The hairy fool is in love.

The good news is that I held my own. Thok had to rein in his huge swing, for fear of hitting 'his lass' with the battleaxe, so I was able to nip in and do most of the work. Who knows, perhaps Thok is happier about fighting by my side now?

Your older brothers,

M. and Thok.

Part 5
Little sister,

Honestly, who would be crazy enough to use a book as a weapon? Mad Melzar maybe, but there's no telling if he's even alive any more. Just our luck, then, that we stumble on a crazy libraromancer, or whatever you want to call him, who pelts us with books rather than, I don't know, rocks, weapons or the bones of the dead. This place must have a hell of a grip on the mind.

The books got me thinking about why I write these letters. There's the obvious reason: it takes my mind off this endless dungeon, but I think that's missing the point. Even with Thok, the human shield, I can't help but feel that we won't make it. These letters are little scraps of our story, and I naively hold onto a hope that you'll get them, or someone else will find them useful. With the rest of my illiterate clan above us (hell, they make a lot of noise) that hope seems misplaced, but you never can tell,

M. and Thok

Part 6
Luttul sister,

Marm got stomped, but not so bad that he dead. I protected him best as I could, so please dont get mad at me. The big stomp creature so strong and fast, faster than Thok, but not as strong. I mashed up eels for Marm as they made me upchuk anyway. I hope Marm will live and will write to you again. That always makes him feel better. I can't hear the noisy feet of my friends above us anymore. Whoever at bottom of the dungeon is Thok's now.

Your older brother,

Thok

Part 7
Little sister,

Guthix bless Thok! He's looked after me in the most random and unexpected way! I came back to consciousness with the body of a dead icefiend tethered to my leg. An icefiend! Which of the line does that fall on: madness or genius? So, thanks to the wayward logic of my brother, my pain has numbed and I am up and about again.

From Thok's broad smile, he has missed me. He looks thinner, having had no one to cook for him, and there is a deep gouge in his side from a fight that must have come close to besting him. I try not to think about how far upwards he must have travelled to get the icefiend for me. Thok may not have a brain, but his heart could beat for both of us.

M. and Thok

Part 8
Little sister, Thok's wound is festering, be damned! I could have...should have...noticed and cleaned it earlier, but I got distracted by my own wounds: and so here we are, in dungeons that are fetid and rank with corruption; sores have welted on the side of the wound, and it's in a bad temper, giving off a rotten aroma.

It gets worse, little sister. The wound is like catnip to the undead on this occultish floor, and they stagger after us in their hundreds. With Thok flagging and more enemies than ever coming for us - even as we sleep - I worry that we have reached our limit, as I've certainly reached mine. My concern is that Thok will not turn back until he has reached the end of this place, like a pebble striking the bottom of a well. Is there glory to be found in that?

M. and Thok

Part 1
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Plane-freezer Lakhrahnaz.

4th Age, year 1832. Date unknown. Of all the creatures our master has brought through from other realms, the stalkers are by far the greatest triumph. Their very form is weapon in itself, floating grotesqueries that are essentially giant eyeballs, or clusters of eyeballs with vicious maws in places none would expect. They also command great control over magic; even the rank and file stalkers and the smaller seekers have great resistance to the magicks of our world. The dark, twisted energies that are so rife in their home plane, coupled with the inherent magical nature of the beasts themselves, have allowed several unique and powerful stalkers to develop from chaotic evolution. One such unique example calls itself 'Plane-freezer Lakhrahnaz' in our tongue. I regret asking it to state its name in its own tongue, as the resultant combination of both audible and inaudible sound from its many lipless mouths gave me a huge headache and caused blood to cascade from my nose, which Lakhrahnaz then froze. This one has great power over temperature, and I believe the best place for it is near the surface, where the environment is cold, barren, and most importantly - far away from me.

Part 2
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Night-gazer Khighorahk.

4th Age, year 1832. Date unknown. The stalkers build nests formed of a combination of debris and biological matter that they produce and spit from their gaping maws. They mainly use their nests for resting and growing, but also to spawn in them. The creatures reproduce asexually, from what I have witnessed; a single eye with a snake-like optic nerve slid out of one of the creature's eye sockets, burrowing into the nest and out of sight, presumably to grow. I have such knowledge of stalker nests because a particularly powerful one calling itself 'Night-gazer Khighorahk' has set one up in what used to be my private chamber. I came back to find my enchanted torches extinguished, and an unnatural darkness. When I lit one of the torches, the creature shrieked and recoiled, lashing at me with its tentacles. I extinguished my light source, and the creature regained composure. It seems this creature is at home in darkness, and uses the cloak of shadows to its advantage. I have decided it is in my best interests to requisition new private quarters and leave the beast to its doings; we will soon be moving further down to rejoin the Master anyway, and this creature will act as a powerful guardian against any daring to follow us.

Part 3
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Shadow-forger Ihlakhizan.

4th Age, year 1832. Date unknown. The stalkers are intelligent creatures, and are capable of startlingly intellectual conversation in our tongue. The varying magicks that the different types of stalker use also shows that they are each capable of independent thought. The creatures also seem to react to others far away from them, indicating some kind of shared consciousness. The stalkers are a strange and powerful race, and I am glad they chose to ally with us, instead of rallying against us. Such powerful, intelligent creatures could have caused our Master serious hindrance. The stalker I saw today was, as usual, different from the rest by some degree. For a start, this creature cannot, or does not, fly. It drags its mass along the ground when it is forced to move; however it tends to suspend itself from whatever is available using long tentacles. The creature has positioned itself above the ladder shaft that leads from this floor of the dungeon to the next; a perfect position to guard the only point of access to the next floor from interlopers. This stalker calls itself 'Shadow-forger Ihlakhizan' and wields both light and darkness to attack its foes. I witnessed it disposing of a slave who tried to flee the dungeons. While the slave was fighting it, Ihlakhizan let out a brilliant flash of light, disorienting the fool. In a panic, he fled and took refuge in the shadows, which engulfed and devoured him, leaving no trace that he was ever there. This creature is by far the most unnerving and grotesque of the stalkers I have witnessed thus far. I will be glad when we abandon this floor tomorrow, and move on to the next one.

Part 4
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Flesh-spoiler Haasghenahk.

Fourth Age, year 1832. Date unknown.

My studies into the stalkers have given me a reputation among the other mages, as if my findings are less worthwhile than their empty parlour tricks. They cannot see the magificence of the stalker, the repugnant wonder that fills you whenever you stare into their eyes. Just yesterday, I strumbled upon another reason to admire them. While I sat and sketched in a stalker nesting pool, a bovimastyx wandered in. Before I could shepherd it back out, a large single-eyed stalker rose from the pools and began circling it, its single pupil flashing with some form of luminescence. I sat back down and took notes, while the bovimastyx whinnied and looked understandably uncomfortable. Halting suddenly, the stalker flashed a red pupil and exploded with a thunderous crack, knocking the mastyx to the floor, bloody and stunned. I could only watch in fascination as smaller stalkers slipped from the larger stalker's carcass and began to devour both the body of the mastyx and what must have been their mother. A wondrous sight.

Part 1
Note: This journal may only be dropped by the Gluttonous behemoth.

4th Age, year 1824. Date unknown. our master's experimentation with portals to the other realms has brought us many interesting creatures. One of the most significant races discovered are the ones we call behemoths. These vast creatures are physically powerful, and some even possess latent magical powers. Unfortunately, they are not evolved to the point of communication, and are capable only of following natural instinct, not instruction. A pity, but they still have their uses. We shall place them throughout the dungeons as guard dogs. There is a particular strain of behemoth that is well-suited to the frozen-over areas near the surface. It has a thick hide, and is entirely driven by a natural desire to feed. In these barren, frozen areas, food will be more scarce, and I believe this creature will fight all the fiercer for it.

Part 2
Note: This journal may only be dropped by the Bulwark beast.

4th Age, year 1824. Date unknown.

The more I see of the behemoths, the more impressed I am with the diversity of the sub-strains within the same race. The analogy I gave of dogs is more appropriate than I had imagined; numerous creatures of various sizes and psychological characterics are all part of the same genome and share only a basic shape. The latest strain brought to my attention is one I have affectionately dubbed the 'bulwark beast' on account of its hard, rock-like outer shell, and the adorable shield-like mandibles it employs to protect itself from incoming attacks. These creatures are essentially invulnerable, so long as their shield remains intact, with only magic having even a modicum of effect on them before the shield is removed. These creatures make excellent guardians, so, I shall place them in areas of the dungeon that we no longer concern ourselves with inhabiting, in order to ensure that even the areas we have long forgotten pose a challenge to interlopers.

Part 3
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Stomp.

4th Age, year 1824. Date unknown.

The plane the behemoths come from is a vast, open wasteland. It stretches as far as the eye can see in every direction, and different areas have wildly differing climates - permanent blizzards to scorching deserts to salt marshes devoid of all life. This has allowed for the astronomical difference in physical attributes the creatures display. Their skeletal structure remains the same throughout strains, but the hardness of their hides, shape of their mandibles and claws, the bulk upon their bones and their size vary greatly. The specimen that I was brought before today is one extreme example of these creatures' diversity. I was brought before it and not the other way around, because only part of it could fit through the portal to our realm. What I stood before was a huge face with claw-like mandibles, angrily thrashing about and trying to force the rest of its ample frame through the portal. I was decided to leave it as it was; the portal it had come through was directly in front of a door we needed guarding, and, as long as we bait the portal daily, it will spend most of its time guarding it. I have instructed my underling mages to set up similar 'arrangements' with other specimens of similar size, all over the area we now inhabit. They will keep us well-protected from interlopers and cannot get deep enough into our realm to devour anyone of intelligence level that renders them worth keeping. In the event we need to get through any of the doors, all we need do is close the portal to be rid of the beast, in an admittingly horrifying, albeit amusing, manner.

Part 4
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Runebound Behemoth.

Fourth Age, year 1824. Date unknown.

The behemoths have never been a stable race, or particularly predictable. They may be useful, but their influences and actions have meant losing two years of digging through cave-ins and countless resources being spent on taming them, often with no luck. Our problems stem from them being near-impossible to kill or herd back through their portals should they become unruly. Once they are here, they are here permanently it seems. Runebinding is the elegant but expensive solution, whereby a behemoth is infused with rune magic and then controlled by magical pulses through a series of pillars. Lexicus came up with the system, before his mind wandered, and we haven't been able to improve on it since.

Part 1
Note: This journal may only be dropped by To'Kash the Bloodchiller.

4th Age, year 1837. Date unknown. The Kal'Gerion demons that our Master has brought to us through his experimentation with portals are powerful allies indeed. These demons were already an army when they were contacted by our Master. After a brief demonstration of his power, their leader, Kal'Ger the Warmonger pledged allegiance to our Master, and began ordering his armies as he instructed. The rank and file Kal'Gerion demons are essentially lesser and greater demons as the rest of the world knows them. The significant Kal'Gerions are the generals in the army. The one known as To'Kash has great magical powers, and can manipulate moisture and temperature levels in his environment. He has been stationed in the cold upper levels of the dungeons, where he can make most use of his powers - with the amount of cold moisture already in the air, he can encase anything in a large block of ice with a mere snap of his demonic fingers. His favourite party trick is to freeze something alive, and scatter it with a mighty blow of his fist, leaving a pile of fragmented ice, bone and blood in his wake.

Part 2
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Har'Lakk the Riftsplitter.

4th Age, year 1837. Date unknown.

The Kal'Gerion army has a very simple military structure: Kal'Ger is the leader, his five generals immediately below him, and the lesser and greater demons make up the rank-and-file fodder. These order themselves by strength, constantly battling for supremacy, competing to rank the highest amongst the lowest. One general in the Kal'Gerion army is Har'Lakk, known as the Riftsplitter. This demon uses portals to other planes in a very interesting and unorthodox way. The one time I witnessed him fight, he opened a portal in the ground of this plane to the point above an erupting volcano in another, and the explosion of flames, ash and magma, incinerated his opponent effortlessly. This ingenious and unpredictable use of portal magic makes him a highly effective combatant. He can control his combat environment and create deadly hazards for his opponents at will, making the ground beneath them as much their enemy as Har'Lakk himself.

According to this journal there are five demon generals and a demon boss. This can maybe mean that if there come more floors we get two more demons and one demon boss called Kal'Ger

Part 3
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Bal'lak the Pummeller.

4th Age, year 1837. Date unknown.

The Kal'Gerion demons hold power of all forms in high esteem. The generals brought before me, up to this point, have been users of various kinds of magic, and it is good to know that raw brute strength is recognised and held in high regard among the Kal'gerion. Bal'lak the Pummeller, the latest of the Kal'Gerion generals to be placed in my charge, is everything that epitomises a raging demon. He smashes things with his two huge hammers, as hard and as fast as he can. His blows are so powerful and the rage running through him so fierce, that his hammer blows carve cracks in the ground, out of which bubbling magma and noxious fumes rise. For this reason, I have decided to post him in the abandoned area of the dungeons just above our current habitation and ritual area. The potential for collateral damage should he get into a fight is large, and I would like to keep our current habitat, well, habitable.

Part 4
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Yk'Lagor the Thunderous.

Fourth Age, year 1837. Date unknown.

Bilrach was presented with face of a dead Kal'Gerion at banquet today, which intrigued me. It seems that, when in the presence of a superior, a Kal'Gerion will offer a gift from the body of a demon they bested in combat. The more powerful demons, meanwhile, know that they cannot be bested in one-on-one battle, so taunt and belittle the smaller demons, goading them into fighting each other. I think of one Kal'Gerion as I write this, Yk'Lagor the Thunderous, who thinned his ranks by forcing them to kill each other, and then demanded new troops to be brought in from the Kal'Gerion realm. Mages report to me that Yk'Lagor is still in occult floors of this dungeon, being bled of his power as a lesson to those greater demons who would question Bilrach. The display of power should mean that Bilrach receives more Kal'Gerion body parts in the future.

Part 1 - Astea Frostweb's Journal
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Astea Frostweb.

4th Age, year 1724. Date unknown.

Entry 1

It has been five years since Lexicus and I first signed up with Bill to assist in his work. It pains me to be away from my Lex. He is deeper beneath the ground, but I prefer the temperature up here as I am used to the cold climate. I shall visit my Lex later in his library; I have gone starved of his embrace for too long. Bill claims we are digging toward the biggest magical discovery in the history of RuneScape, and, with what I have witnessed here, deep beneath the surface of the world my love and I left behind, I become more convinced every day it is true. I can only postulate to what awaits us at the culmination of all our efforts.

Entry 2

I have been asked to perform some peculiar tasks today - troubling almost. Bill has asked Lexicus and I to create various magical traps and obstacles on the floors of the dungeons above us. The reasoning he has given is to ensure progress continues unhindered from uninvited guests, but the traps and mechanisms he is asking us to build seem just as capable of keeping people trapped inside the dungeons as they are keeping unwanted visitors at bay. I am beginning to grow suspicious of Bill's motives. I will take my concerns to my beloved; perhaps, together, we can make sense of this.

Entry 3

Lexicus has uncovered a truth too horrible to comprehend. We must kill Bill. We go now to confront him, and put an end to this madness. May the gods protect us.

Part 2
Note: This journal has yet to be released. It is also possible that this is a glitch that Jagex has yet to fix. These notes will likely be dropped by Icy Bones.

Part 3 - Environmental effects (Part 1)
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Luminescent Icefiend.

5th Age, year 46. Date unknown.

As we get ever-closer to whatever it is our Master seeks at the bottom of this place, the effect it is having on our world becomes more apparent. The very materials around us have warped under its influence, with previously unknown materials emerging constantly. At first, we began discovering small deposits in the deepest areas of the dungeons only; however, shortly after, similar discoveries were made further up the dungeons, until even the frozen-over areas built nearly 1,000 years ago were populated by these strange deposits: Metals, new types of tree, new plants. All of these have emerged since we started the dig. I can only postulate that whatever lies at our destination, deeper still beneath the ground, is something of such great power that it can change, alter, and dare I say, taint the physical properties of matter in our world.

Part 4 - Divine Skinweaver's journal
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Skeletal Horde/Divine Skinweaver.

Each day my shame gets harder to bear, like an ox dragging a mountain to which a pebble is added every day. Of the skinweavers, I alone was chosen to accompany the party that my brethren sent through to the Dark One's realm. My task was to keep them alive. I am all that remains. The failure of my task is as clear as mountain spring. I cannot return to the gorajo. I will not inflict my shame upon my people. I will remain in this world, and do what I can to aid those strong or foolhardy enough to challenge the Dark One. This area is full of unstable passages to other worlds that bring unspeakable beings into this one. I seek to stem the flow of evil, to protect the ones from this world from the fate that befell my brethren. Perhaps they can succeed where I could not, and I can take some semblance of comfort from knowing I helped the ones who may one day avenge my fallen brethren, and lift even a little of this mountain of shame from my shoulders.

Part 5 - Hobgoblin scrawlings
Note: This journal may only be dropped by the Hobgoblin Geomancer.

I wake up today and me have thought. I am hobgoblin. I have magic. Hobgoblin don't normally have magic. I special. I chosen by Big High War God to lead army! I lead big tribe, have big army, and conquer tall ones with keen blades world for Big High War God! I make rules of army.

1 - Big High War God better than everything

2 - Me better than everything (but not Big High War God)

That enough rules. Finish later. More smelly tall ones been spotted. Why they keep coming in my house? I make big house underground so I be left alone, but tall ones keep coming down in my house. I go teach them a lesson.

For Big High War God!

Part 6 - The Price of Betrayal
Note: This journal may only be dropped by the Unholy Cursebearer.

To all who read: beware. This is the cost of defying our Master's will. Give yourself to the Master, or he will take everything that makes you human, and, in unliving servitude, you shall spend the rest of time taking the lives of others to slow your decay to nothingness. If you refuse to work in life, you will work forever in undeath.

Hail Bilrach!

Hail Zamorak!

Part 7 - Equipment requisition orders
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Rammernaut.

Requisition Order: #739

Name: Rammernaut Hoskins

Position: Captain of the Rammernaut Guard.

Requested: Big mace

Fulfilled: Yes

Notes: Reasonable request. This man is huge; our standard maces are like a child's toy to him.

Requisition Order: #1025

Name: Rammernaut Hoskins

Position: Captain of the Rammernaut Guard.

Requested: Bigger mace

Fulfilled: Yes

Notes: The last mace which I could not even lift was like a one handed hammer to him. This calls for drastic measures.

Requisition Order: #1036

Name: Rammernaut Hoskins

Position: Captain of the Rammernaut Guard.

Requested: Biggest mace

Fulfilled: No

Notes: Any bigger and he'd have a balance problem. The last one was more than sufficient.

Part 8 - Lexicus Runewright's journal
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Lexicus Runewright.

4th Age, year 1724. Date unknown.

Entry 1

These past five years have elapsed so quickly that, were it not for the calendar hanging on my wall - each day marked off with a tally drawn by my own hand, or that of my beloved Astea, I would refuse to believe it had been five years at all. Silence and solitude have been available in ample amounts as I chronicle our descent towards what Bill believes will be the magical discovery of a thousand lifetimes, but their appeal wears thin. Later, I shall don my fur coat and brace the cold nearer the surface; I can bear the loneliness no longer, I must see my Astea.

Entry 2

I am growing suspicious of Bill's intent. I fear paranoia has addled his mind; he has tasked Astea and myself with sealing the way from the surface, to protect the discovery from those who would take it from him. He trusts me enough to task me with this - perhaps I can get him to confide in me further. I would feel much more at ease if I knew what it was we are digging towards, and why it is so important to prevent anyone else getting in, even at the cost of their lives. I will speak with him tomorrow, but for now, I go to Astea. She has been acting strangely since we were given this task. I think she shares my concern; perhaps we can find comfort in each other's words.

Entry 3

We stand at the precipice. Bill would cast us all over into the darkest of darkness, and bring ruin to us all. Astea and I must confront him. May the gods give us strength.

Part 9 - Ammunition requisition orders
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Sagittare.

Requisition Order #782

Name: Sagittare Bolton

Position: Captain of the sagittare archers

Requested: 1,000 Sagittarian arrows

Fullfilled: Yes

Notes: This unit goes through arrows like we go through water, but they are necessary. Arrows delivered.

Requisition Order #1012

Name: Sagittare Bolton

Position: Captain of the sagittare archers

Requested: 2,000 Sagittarian arrows

Fullfilled: Yes

Notes: Need to increase resources devoted to arrow production.

Requisition Order #1023

Name: Sagittare Bolton

Position: Captain of the sagittare archers

Requested: 3,000 Sagittarian arrows

Fullfilled: Partially. 1,250 Sagittarian arrows delivered

Notes: Arrow reserves have run out. Did not have enough arrows to meet request. Put forward request for training saggitare [sic] unit to fletch their own arrows.

Part 10 - Bellefleur's journal
This journal is dropped by the Skeletal trio.

Journal, year 1845.

''It's been two weeks since Griss, Radgund and I were moved from the furnished floors to stand guard in this place, and it ain't got better. Aside from messengers, the only humans here are ill and old, shipped to the necrolords, who poke and crow over them as if they're buying up meats at market. Griss is hardly ever about. He's spending his evenings looking for Radgund, who's been lost for three days now. Griss don't suscribe the the notion that the necrolords have butchered Radgund for parts, so he's up and about when he can. Just wants the three friends back again, I guess. Perhaps I shouldn't be so down; there's every chance that we could be a trio again, surviving alone is this wasted place. Perhaps. Bellefleur.''

Part 11 - Tombstone Transcription
Note: This journal will only be dropped by Grave Creeper.

I have transcribed the words written on Grave Creeper's tombstone: 'Here lieth Altus Creeper, grave digger. His riches were bones, and he stole liberally. We ask that you steal his riches with the same abandon. May his grave be toiled, his body spoiled and the worms grow tired of being turned.'

I believe that, by reading the gravestone, I have been gripped by a terrible curse, wasting my body. I can only hope that, by reading this transcription, the curse has been transferred to you. I apologize, reader, but my situation calls for desperate action. Please do not take it personally - Radgund

Part 12 - Arch Necrolord request
Note: This journal may only be dropped by Arch Necrolord

Dearest Father,

We bow to your power and understanding, but ask that healthier bodies are brought to us. The plague wastes the humans, and gnaws at the bones of the afflicted making their reanimated bodies similarly weak; as skeletons they topple and chatter their teeth in complaint. Although your purpose is great and the Ultimate Task is approaching, we ask, as one, that you send firmer flesh and sturdier bones for us to sculpt into an army for you. Praise be to Zamorak!

Arch Necrolord.