From the journal of Edeneeze Milkaverian

It took months -long, mosquito infested, humid months -to find the ruins we sought, but at last!, we have found them. The rumors of their existence came from the most unreliable of sources, Arkham Asylum, and I was mocked by my colleagues for even considering their validity. But as the black doors leading into the underbelly of the jungle were finally discovered, I was comforted by the knowledge that I had proven them wrong. This may establish itself as the discovery of my generation: the ruins of a dead God. This deity, whose name is unknown, was likely never a great power- his following was barely more than a small cult, and that even his name has not survived the ages lends authority to my hypothesis. I was laughed at for taking the ravings of a madman at face value, but their validity appears to be established.

=============Day 15, Month of the Old Forces=============

We have descended into the ruins despite our setbacks. Billi was found dead this morning. There must have been an attack by the lizard folk -their village is not far from here -but as to how they made it past our guard is beyond me. And the nature of Billi's death... I cannot fathom how his screams did not wake us.

We have come too far to turn back, however, in spite of this. I try to keep my men calm, but I cannot ignore the inexplicable terror that twists my own insides since setting foot on this site. Only an advance on their payment kept them at my side, and then only grudgingly. This place is unholy, and unspeakably ancient, yet only vaguely resembles a place of worship. The altar, a grooved, coffin-shaped slab of obsidian, is placed in the center of the vast, underground chamber, and there appears to be no place for a priest to lead a following. The walls themselves are covered in glyphs that I barely recognize. The appear to be some sort of ancient offshoot of a barely- remembered Changeling dialect. I can decipher only a modicum of what it relates, and I feel uncertain of my translation. It speaks of a God as old as time without ever mentioning its name. It was a savage God of Murder and Terror; a lurking, Invisible God that embodied the most primal feelings of horror that accompany life's need to murder in order to exist. I begin to understand the nature of what I had thought to be an altar within this place: it is no altar at all, but a place for sacrifice to be made. This does not appear to be a place of worship at all, in fact. This God (whose name I have not yet found, instead it is named only as variations on the term "Unspeakable One") seems to have suffered no followers, per se, but rather created avatars of itself of those it deemed worthy- I shudder to think of the nature of its scale of worth, and thank all the Gods of the Light that this being is extinct.

There is so much more to discover here, but we will leave at first light. This place is unfit for the living, and my stomach churns at the notio nof staying yet another day. I'll spend the evening attempting to see what little else I might decipher. I hope to leave here with the name of this forgotten God, at the least.

From the journal of Ueween Evens, Caretaker of Arkham Asylum

=============15, Month of Futility, yr. 180==============

The wild-eyed, wolfish man now in our care is only a sad shadow of the Edeneeze Milkaverian I once knew. We found him this morning, just before dawn, clawing at the gate. He'd worn his fingers down to bloody nubs. By all that is holy, we had to subdue him in a vest just to keep him from tearing himself apart. He is almost completely incoherent, except for... except that his rambling is nearly identical to those of Patient 23, who he had been in much contact with prior to setting out on his search. He repeats one thing, in particular: a single word, always whispered, which sounds like "Abdieso." I'm unfamiliar with it, but will begin asking around, to see what I might learn. Any lead must be persued, if I hope to help my old friend.

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