From the recovered journals of Asrael Nessarat- on awakening:

I awoke to a violent expulsion of wet sand and dirt from my lungs. I was in agony, nauseous and my skin stung as if large strips had been cut from my flesh. Every nerve ending in my body fired simultaneously- sparking in what was to be my new existence. Between the violent fits of coughing, I could feel my teeth shatter the grains of sand misfortunate enough to get caught between my jaws. I was alive... approximately so, at least... At that moment, I felt as if death would have been a sweet release from the agony of my rebirth. Despite the simultaneous discomfort of pain disabling all my other senses, I was thrilled to see that my eyes could still discern color, shape, and form. Perhaps not all had been a failure.

As my coughing subsided, I took a moment to survey my surroundings. Strange trees hung over the desert sands around me, not like the ones of the City. In fact; they were fundamentally different from anything I had ever seen before. They were shorter and their trunks were far fatter. The trees I had been accustomed to had grown in segments from the ground up over the seasons, but these seemed to have grown, shed the top nine-tenths of its length, and then grown once more to repeat this cycle. The lower segments of the trunks were substantially older than the next, but the largest difference was in the crown itself. Whereas the trees lining the great forests of my home were covered in needles and leaves, these were covered only at the apex by a few, elongated and massive leaves of green. Behind me was a vast body of salty water with no land in sight, and in front of me lay endless plains of sands.

Where was I? This place was unlike any other I had ever seen, only resembling some recounted tales of old. Such was my frustration, that I cradled my face in my hands in a futile attempt to break free from what surely had to be a post-mortem illusion or a hallucination. Had I perhaps drifted down the river and into one of the rifts? Had I resurrected myself only to become maddened by the mysterious energy, just like the commoner filth I had studied? Surely, my superior intellect should have protected me from such ill effects. But this could not be insanity. There was no denying that, at least some of these perceptions were real. The scorching sun hung high above me, burning the sand that surrounded my naked feet. I had never felt such heat before, such intense, smoldering heat. My face felt familiar to my exploring fingertips, but something sharp scratched my ear, right above where my painful hand was cradling my weeping face. I looked to inspect my arm and found, to my horror, that the tip and part of the shaft of a broken arrow protruded from the interior side of my lower arm. With a startle, I remembered that I had, in fact, been killed by a barrage of arrows... and that my last memory before awakening on the riverbed had been of my murder.

I quickly scanned my corpus to inspect the rest of the damage and found, to my relief, that no vital organs aside from my left lung had been pierced by the arrows... did I even need vital organs anymore? I had sustained damage in my right leg, having been shot in the thigh and lower leg. Since the arrows had stopped against my bones, I considered myself lucky that only my arm had been truly pierced, yet the tips were deep enough in my wounds, that I held off on any celebrations... This would require attention at some point.

The shaft of the arrow piercing my left lung still stuck out from between my ribs, but the arrow that had, at some point, cut through my abdomen had long since rotted away. I attempted to estimate how long I had been unconscious… or rather… dead… but in the traces available to me; I could find no definitive answer. I had theorized that the process of dying and being resurrected would, of course, cause some disorientation, but I had not expected it to be so all-encompassing. Choosing to deal with discovering where I was at a later time; I chose to instead focus on tending to my wounds.

The general numbing pain had been replaced by a profound sense of discomfort in the tissues surrounding the arrows, but I hypothesized that this was merely a byproduct of simply knowing that they were there. With any luck; I would find myself more resistant to pain than before my transformation. I could move my arms, neck, and toes with ease, yet I found standing to be a near-impossible task. Every time I attempted to stand on my legs, they would merely give out below me and after having had a particularly painful fall on the arrow embedded in my thigh, I decided to instead reduce myself to a crawl. It was all I could do to escape the scorching tyrant above.

I sat leaning up against the tree's trunk as I pulled the first of the arrows out from my flesh. My femur released its iron grasp around the metal tip with an ungodly, fleshy sound, audible even through my violent, throat-ripping screams. The tips were nothing short of masterfully crafted, but the shaft had suffered greatly from its submersion in my flesh and the water. I made certain to celebrate each arrow with a ceremonious, salty globule of spittle into the sand, in which I had imagined the faces of the Emperor and the self-proclaimed “Inquisitor”. Although the damages were relatively minor, I was at a disadvantage. I was not bleeding, but I was quite certain I would not be healing, either. In my rush to display my discovery, my Magnum Opus, I had neglected to properly study the tissue of my resurrected subjects. In other words, I knew nothing about my new body aside from the fact that it could somehow move by my own machinations. Albeit somewhat slowed by pierced muscles and collapsed lungs, it seemed to function as well as I could ever have expected it to.

I was ecstatic to see that I was still in control of the magics, but less so as I set to mending my flesh. I now understood why my subjects had protested so violently to my… modifications… but there was no denying that there were none better at it. As the last of my wounds closed, I celebrated the first achievement of my undeath. I was dead. There was no denying it, yet I had a hard time accepting certain aspects of my state. For one; the quiet was close to unbearable. Certainly, the ringing in my ears was still strong and the soft winds carrying the strong fragrance of salt could still be heard blowing on the giant leaves above me, yet… a sound I had been so accustomed to, so addicted to, was now absent. The rhythmic beat my mind had been filtering out of my auditory perception my entire life had now ceased. My heart was no longer beating and aside from the ringing, my body made no sound of its own. I had expected to at least be able to hear the gasses traversing my gastric system, alas; there was nothing. Seeing as I no longer needed to breathe, I could easily be mistaken for dead if I sat still... I released a profound exhalation as I began to fear that it would be long before I could find someone to whom I could play such a trick.

With my leg now functioning to some extent, I could move once more. But lacking any sense of direction or any discernable landmarks I opted for merely enjoying the scenery for the rest of the day and quietly studying my new existence. The sun cooled as it set on the horizon above the sea, yet I was none the wiser of where I was. The creature I had seen during my brief death still plagued me in between the blinks of my eyes, just as it had every other time I had been misfortunate enough to lay my eyes on it. Its grin held such malice, such evil. None of the Manuscriptae Demonicae I had studied during my earlier years at the Tower told of a satyr, but nothing short of one could hold such power. If I could only understand its words, I could know more. If only I could remember where and how I had met it before; I would be wiser. I theorized that murdering myself would give me another chance at studying it, but I concluded I should praise the creators if I never had to see it again.

The sun had now set and in its absence, the world had been filled with a profound, cold darkness. Though my tattered robes had dried throughout the day, they did little to isolate me from my cold surroundings, and before long, I found myself attempting to get to my legs. I had hoped walking would create some heat. In retrospect, however, I realized that I would be unlikely to create any energy save magical, as I doubted I could still metabolize the biochemicals my previous body had required. Standing proved to be a valuable function, as I discovered that the sands in front of me held a source of light.

I considered my options before I decided I truly had no choice. If I were to become as cold as my surroundings, I would likely freeze solid before the sun rose once more. Walking towards the light, however, proved to be a much more challenging task than I had at first evaluated it to be. Walking, or rather; shambling, turned out to be an ineffective mode of travel, but I had to see if the distant light would reveal something that could boost my chances of surviving the night. As I crept ever closer, I could feel my muscles become less and less responsive and by the time I could discern odd shapes around the source of light, my femoral muscles were cramping and spasming in turns. In a desperate attempt to regain control, I resorted to channeling my magics to contract and extend the muscles of my legs. It was far from gracious, but I was taken aback by how effectively my flesh moved under the stimulus of magic.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed the source of light was indeed a very large fire in the middle of an encampment. I was thrilled to see that there may still be humans in this strange place, but my thrill was short-lived once I saw that the odd shapes were indeed tents. I had hoped to find civilization, but the prospect of spending the night in whatever primitive accommodations they would offer was not unappealing… especially when contrasted by the prospect of freezing to a solid state. In a desperate attempt to make my existence known, I screamed and shouted to varying degrees of success. My collapsed lung would still need some more work before I could successfully shout. For now, hoarse whispering had to suffice. I was now close enough to discern some shadows in the light of the fire and to my delight, they were of humanoid shapes. For a moment; I pondered whether they could somehow have been frozen or turned to stone, as they seemed to stand perfectly still. A brief panic hit me as I wondered, for a moment, whether my surroundings were truly real or some illusion forced upon me by the creature in my dream. I was briefly relieved once the shapes started moving, and even more so when I realized they were moving towards me. At long last, I must have managed to get their attention. Certainly; the kind spirits of the common folk of… wherever this place was, would help me in my time of need. Yet I could not help but think that there was something sinister about the shapes moving towards me.

It was as if they were jogging, but the impenetrable darkness blocked my attempts to discern their features as they moved closer and closer. “Thank the makers. I thought I was alone in the world-” I managed to express through my croaking vocal cords and a collapsed lung. As I spoke; the silhouettes surrounding me stopped dead in their tracks. Unmoving, but for their heavy breathing, they stared at me, studied me. They were enormous from what I could gather, a good two heads taller than me and two body widths broader. As I managed to focus my scattered mind, it dawned upon me that these men may not have been the salvation I sought. In my desperation; I had completely overlooked the selfish nature of men, an oversight that could cost me dearly. From the darkness, a dark, solid object materialized and struck me in the head before my cold, dead limbs could move to block it. I fell to the ground, unable to move or cushion my fall. All I could do was look at the fire until the darkness consumed everything.