The gate is opened, and by one of my own. The enemy is within. Hope is fading.
I take these precious moments to make this final entry in hopes that, should my journal survive, it will provide some clue as to the nature and identity of our enemy. Red armor. Black cloak. Short and broad, like a dwarf, though neither face nor beard can be seen beneath the demon mask that he now wears. He wears no crest, nor symbol.
May the gods help you.