0499 - EPISTOLARY

SUPerIOR Records

0499--MANUS-ABLE-FETOR-SCARLET-GLADIUS-TRIDENT-000001

From the Desk of Grand Librarian Iohannes Faustus

WARNING: MESSAGE CONTAINED IS RESTRICTED TO THOSE DESIGNATED WITH AL (Arch Librarian) CLEARANCE. REFRAIN FROM ATTEMPTING TO BREACH REDACTION CURSE ON THIS DOCUMENT IF NOT PERMITTED ACCESS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THIS WARNING MAY CAUSE VARIOUS FORMS OF HARM, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, IMMEDIATE EXPULSION AND FROM THE RANKS OF THE LIBRARY; THE CONFISCATION OF ALL PROPERTY KNOWN TO BE IN POSSESSION OF A VIOLATOR; IMPRISONMENT FOR LIFE, AND FAILING IMMEDIATE CAPTURE, A BOUNTY, DEAD OR ALIVE, OF NO LESS THAN 140,000 CLEONIAN THELTS OR EQUIVALENT VALUE PLACED FROM THE PERSONAL DESK OF HIS EMINENCE, THE CAPTAIN COMMANDER OF THE KNIGHTS; IMPRISONMENT AND TORTURE OF ALL KNOWN CLOSE CONFIDANTS AND RELATIONS OF SAID VIOLATOR; A PRIVATE DETACHMENT OF THE FURIES ASSIGNED SPECIFICALLY TO SAID VIOLATOR; EXECUTION, EXTREME PAIN, AND ETERNAL DAMNATION. IN ADDITION TO PUNITIVE MEASURES, OBSERVANCE OF THIS DOCUMENT MAY RESULT IN DRAMATIC PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE, WHICH MAY RESULT IN SCHIZOPHRENIC HALLUCINATIONS, NIGHT TERRORS, WAKING NIGHTMARES, PARALYSIS, DEMONIC OR SPIRITUAL POSSESSION, SUICIDAL IDEATION, AND DEATH.

BREAKING SEAL

Dearest Reader, I presume, from the mightily worded warning, that you are, in fact, one of my dear Arch Librarians. Brave student, I, or one of my successors, have trained you with all the confidence and pride of fathers and mothers dedicated to your success. We have the highest faith within your inevitable futures, and the future of this organization in turn. This document is to serve as somewhat of an orienting fixture, and a rite of passage for those who ascend to the privileged ranks of my office's assistants. I consider myself only the first officer of this chamber, and by no means the last. I foresee an arc of passing millennia which shall seem to go on into deepest infinity. My beloved libraries shall serve, for all the continuations of these precious Isles of ours, as the repository of all the ponderings and knowings of the most gifted and loyal minds these lands have known. Yet still I fear.
I will give a short anecdote of myself, my origins, my life's work, and my purpose now. I fully believe that I am undeserving of any such grandiose soliloquy of this notation. I came from the soil, a poor boy elevated to a position beyond my destiny by a flux of the K'Reai. I remain determined to compose a message for those who may follow me, and those who remain curious of me; a lowly soul who was granted by the grace of the Watcher, the privilege of being the first, to my knowledge, to discover a horrid inevitability.
I was born in the South of Occhid, before the Collapse of the Banner Lords. I am now, as of this writing, approximately 4,745 years old. I suppose, however, despite my rigorous academic obsession with the necessity of proper recordkeeping, I may in fact have let the number slip a few greater or lesser. The name of the town in which I was born was Fennottin, the parents to which, Lorig & Hilde Faustus. I remember now, quite little of my birth parents. The few passing semblances I have are preserved with Photoloses and Auditoria that I have bound together with a private scrying stone in my quarters. Our life was one common to Men, meagre farmers and tradespeople. I remember my mothers cookies, her ever-floured apron. I recall my father's nails, stained perpetually black with dirt and charcoal. I remember the creaking of the floorboards on our stairway to attic quarters, and the soft dust that gathered in my socks. My brother remains the primary marker of honest memories from the period of my life. It was furtherly he who aided to facilitate the dramatic change that led me to this desk where I write this letter.
On a night in Kilinth, the 14th I believe, my brother and I were tending to the fields, sowing roots of milgray, when the ground burst in a fiery crack. When we had fallen back to solid earth, a cavern had opened, with waves of flame bursting from within. As we stood in horror, without warning, it widened in scope, swallowing us into the world beneath. I discovered only far later in my studies that such was a "wearing thin" in the boundlines, a flux in the K'Reai - a portal to the hells. Down we fell, we innocent children, for what felt like, and may very well have been, hundreds of miles. Not a moment did our terror cease, not one second did we cease to scream. We were seen, and heard, and watched over by hundreds, if not thousands, if not tens of thousands of devils, each more menacing to our child minds than the ones before. They began to fly a few dozen yards behind us, those whom were able, and were overwhelmed by their curiosity. In an instant, most departed back to their gruesome tasks. Only the largest, the grandest, those appearing to be leaders remained to tail us, as if commanded by that same vicious growl to follow us ever more vigilant. The next minute we were caught, in hands and and arms impossibly strong and firm - yet we were still falling. The figure slowed our descent, in a whirlwind of flame, and wind, and ash, and wings. We were held by two hands, four hands, a hundred hands, untold. And soon we rested in the air, held only by one hand each. My eyes were shut tight, unable to face the terrifying reality that I was sure awaited me. When I finally opened them, I was met with the most imposing figure perhaps in all the Isles. The Red Emperor, Lord of the Damned, Prince of Death itself, God of Flame and Blood, Master of the Ninth Circle; King of the Hells. We had descended now to the courtyard of his House of Blood, where he tossed us to the ground. A thousand feet away he rested in the air, drifting slowly towards us - merely to tease and toy with our fear. My brother and I stood, stepping back in utter horror, til the god darted towards us. I fell to the ground, and my brother tossed himself atop of me. We screamed in mutual terror, yet noted soon that we had not yet been burned to a crisp or eviscerated in a tide of metal blades. We turned and stared, into the face of a puzzled deity - shocked at us. I held my brother close and tossed him behind me, screaming into the red, beastly face "Take me! Let him free!" The god lunged backward, in seeming shock. He seemed surprised in our mutual acts of sacrifice. The fire in his skin calmed, and his expression softened. Suddenly, a trumpet sounded behind him, which he turned to face. A gray-white carriage came over a path, ghostly pale. He turned to face us, and pondered a moment more. He eyes flashed with flame again as he spoke to guardsman stationed at the door to his home. "Bring the Humans inside. Grant them aid, and give them what they please, they shall have comforts til I return". The guardsmen marched to their tasks without a moment's hesitation to serve their master's order. We were escorted within, and the heavy bronze doors shut behind us. We were taken to bedchambers. That day was the last time I saw the light of the overworlds for many, many years.
The carriage that halted our pursuer was that of Cyndiran, the Dread Queen of Asphodel - chosen lover of the Devil King. Hidden away within our chambers, we listened to the hum of mythic voices - in the presence of legends mortal man were not meant to face. We heard the voices come near, and huddled near the doorway. They paused beyond it and we backed away, when in a moment the door swung open.
"These, dearest, were the cause of my being late. They have fallen from soil, down to where we are. My ensigns noted their appearance hours ago, and they have been observing their descent for some time now" "Well...will wonders never cease. And what do you propose we do with them, sweet?" Cyndiran curled her fingers around the waist of mephistopheles, and pulled him closer to her. The flint-ish expression of the Blood King did not change. "They will be killed" My brother and I cowered in terror; small, yelping screams erupting from our mouths. The face of Asphodel's Mother fell in sorrow and shock. "Killed?! How dare you, Mephon. These poor lads have done no harm; who knows how they have come here, surely not by deception or treason. Look at them...they're terrified" As she said this she slid across the floor of the grand bedchamber as if she floated weightless to the air; her silvery, billowing, silken gown wrapping us within its grace. It was a thin, yet heavy fabric, impossibly warm and soft. Instinctively I hid beneath it, as if compelled by some instinct beyond my knowledge to take comfort in her grace. The blazing figure that stood in the doorway didn't move. He seemed to consider for a moment, and then stated, confidently, as if he would not be challenged further: "Then they shall be returned to whence th-" "No, no, no, Mephy - they can't go back, they'll be traumatized, they'll cause problems, they know too much! They've seen Hell and if you send them back, well, you know what happens to them" It took a strength that I knew not I had within me in those years of my youth to stifle my laughter. Mephy, the Lord of Hell had a pet name! Dazed by the challenge to his verdict, the Prince of Death stammered a moment, and stared at the scene before him; his lover and two filthsome humans staining his precious marble floors - dyed ochre with what obviously must have been fortunes in precious stone. "I..I will consult with..." "You know I always wish for the good of children" The Cursed Mother flew up to her love. "And I know you've always favored the children of Chavah, at least a tad" "I will consult with my Princes", he said. "Now?" "Now, as you please" And with that the King was gone. A moment later, the loudest, most horrifying, yet most powerful sound I had ever heard erupted overhead: A call to his lieutenants. The Princess & Queen who had taken us to her mercy stood us up. We rose almost only to her hip, she must have stood 10 tics. In those days I stood merely 6 and 52 centics. "Be not afraid. He will concede", a smirk rising in her pale silver face, "He always shall"
At the council following, it was conceded, after a few glaring flashes of Cyndiran's eyes, a few snickering comments from the Red Emperor's governors, and more than a few tired and worn-down sighs from "Mephy" himself that we brothers were adopted; the Children of Hell. We would be raised, for the next several thousand years, by the King, his Queen, his Princes, and his Subjects. Over those years, my mind and body were altered in ways I could not have estimated. It was a pure and lovely life. My brother and I would serve as our newfound father's assistants; pages and clerks. We would aid our newfound mother in tending to her flocks in Asphodel. We would aid our "uncles", who in truth were our brothers, as they were children of Mephistopheles as well, in processing those souls who passed into our realm. During this, my life was preserved long beyond its years, as I had no threat to my life nor my soul in Hell. My father came to love us both; and I suspect my Uncles and Mother did already whence they had first laid eyes upon us. I was granted all the wealth and pleasures of Hell, all the wonders and comforts that could be granted to me. I used to believe the Lord Mayor of Fennotin was the wealthiest human that lived. As I grew, I presumed the king of our nation was. Yet I believe now that, at the time, I lived as the most privileged of all the nations of Man - gifted what must have seemed trifles by my godly new parents. I feasted on roast Owlbear every night, dressed in the gravy of the blood of White Harts from Sirius; bread from the Elvish kingdoms, dressed in syrups and oils from the gilded grapes and olives of Olympia. I wore shimmering soft silken cloth from Terran, and leather shoes from the caravans of Northern Arcadia, raised by half-drake farmers and blessed by Leviathan himself; whom I met, as he was one of the justices of the courts of Limbo, underneath Lord Hades, Third of Olympia. Yet I was quite proud that I, as Prince of Hell, as I would make appearances before the nobility of all the gods and rulers and noble and mighty of the Isles that I would wear gold jewelry dressed in ruby and garnet from the mines of Occhid, my homeland. I loved my mother and father, my birthparents - but I must say I had forgotten them in the fray of the centuries I spent beneath the flaming walls of the Nine Circles. They passed a few decades after my brother and I fell beneath. I could have sought them out. I didn't. My brother and I, simply by being in Hell, lost our humanity.
I spent many centuries, millennia even, studying in detail the wonders that past into my realm. If I chose, my father and his lieutenants joyously permitted me to hold a soul indefinitely so as to examine its details, its life story, the world's changing above me. I organized myriad surveys, experiments, internments, discoveries. I became the image of a mad scientist. My brother, however, became not a researcher but an officer. A figure of such remarkable stature within the ranks of the bounty hunters they called the "Furies" that he became the envy of every archdevil or magistrate or captain in Hell.
And it came to pass, nigh a half-century after the collapse of the Bannerlords of my elder home that my father and his lieutenants gathered all of Hell to learn of what was to come. He told my brother and me that we were to decide what path we should take. We had, by this time, transformed nearly completely into the physical perfection of demons. We each stood the rival of the most imposing of archdevils - towering over the imps at 10 tics tall. My father told us that we may depart Hell, to serve those who would preserve the peace on the overworld, or remain in Hell, to aid in the clearing of all that rotted in what violence he had foreseen. My brother chose to remain, and I to depart. My father granted my brother the second highest throne in the Damned seas. At his right hand in the courts of the Palace of Blood rests my brother, Baphomet, commander of the Furies; Huntsman and Herald of the Nine Hells. To me Mephistopheles granted my freedom, and wealth and power in the realms of the living - and the seal of his protection. Any beast, or king, or armada, or god who sought to harm me would suffer my father's, Mother's, and now my brother, his ensign's, furious wrath. And thus I was lifted, in the tearful arms of my Mother, to root of the Spire of Cleon - where I would build this library soon after.
Thence came the Second Tirades. Oh the horrors I was faced with. I was a documentarian, a physician, and an arbiter. I, with a team of scholars and warriors whom I recruited to my cause of study and aid, sought to tell and preserve the stories of the names and bodies whom littered the fields and obituary reports. Then came Videt, may his gaze preserve us all, and Alweyn, may his wisdom guide us ever forward. I was the fifth to whom the Watcher visited and charged, with the creation of these records in which you, dear Arch Librarian, now serve. I finish my soliloquy and continue on, now, with the intention of revealing to you a terrifying truth I believe I have discovered.
In the course of my studies, my purpose has been neutral observation. I forsake the protections of my father, and swore never to unjustly call upon the powers of hell to come to my aid; so that I may serve the Watcher and the Isles without undue disturbance to the natural order. In the course of my studies I have come to know in grand detail perhaps every culture, kingdom, shape, and name of importance in these little lands. Revealed to me have been some of the secrets we know of, we lucky few, as the "Realms Forbade" - those beyond the boundline of aeons. I have seen the depths of the seas of Jeriir, I have climbed to the peak of mount cerulius. I know of, although very few know that I know, of Gewsik's flight to the top of the Spire of Cleon (though I tire endlessly seeking to discover how he did it). I have even paced the length of Anibok, all 4,000 Ultics of the Ringed-realm, almost twice. Yet never have I encountered a though so intimidating as the one I reveal to you now.
In every major folklore or tradition, I have examined a common theme. I have become more confirmed in my confidence that I am not merely imagining such coincidence over the years. I will explain it hence.
Observe the following paragraph, as it is as directly transliterated from the native Elvish In those days beyond the 499 shall cometh a fury untold to the realm the earth shall tire and the trees shall slumber and it shall be the need of every elf to raise their sword their shield their voice to defend from he as yet unknown thus sayeth he who sang first of the trees by word of the sickle he knows it is so
Observe the following, as it is transliterated from its native Orkish Blood shall come. Earth shall shake. Four shall seal the bed. ....Waacgh shall die. Orks shall rise. 9 shall seal the sleeping head. ....Earth shall shake. Blood shall come. The same shall seal the Days of Death
Observe the following, as it is transliterated from its native Gnomish I sing of a time that is past. I sing of a time that is coming. The die of the priests, it is cast. The bedchamber is made for the longest of sleep. The strings of the lyres, they are humming....For past the edge of long infinity....We shall hum no more for four stanzas....we shall live no more for 99 breaths
Observe the following, as it is transliterated from its native Old Faey How beauteous it is to die. How terrible it is to reign forever. How full the hearth seems when it is dimmed. How satisfying the last dregs of wine from a cask. How full is four nights of slumber. How kind is a king who shall grant you land. How empty yet how full seems 9 acres, or 99. How empty is the edge of the realms.
For posterity's sake, observe, finally, the following, as it is transliterated from its native Old Vestor In that year it was that Mother Chavah first sang her children to sleep. It was known in that time of birth and death, and how the first blood had been spilled and how the last was soon to come. And Chavah led her children in song to preserve the realms and abate the sleeping god. And the children of earth and wind and blood all assembled in spirit, and their dreams flowed into the sleeping god, and still he slumbers - hidden in the dreams of all the Isles. One day that song shall cease to be sung, shall be spurned from memory. And then shall the sleeping god awake, and end the Isles, across the four sisters and the ninety nine children.
As one can plainly see, this, as a collection of a few examples of such similar themes, portray the story, somewhat plainly, of an apocalypse. The numbers 4 and 99, or 4 and 9 and 9, or something similar. Furtherly, there are mentions of such subjects as a "king who shall...land", and "nights of slumber" (Faey Prophecy the "bedchamber...for the longest of sleep" (Gnomish Prophecy "trees...slumber", and "earth..tir{ing}" (Elvish Prophecy "Seal the sleeping head" (Orkish Prophecy), and other such allusions to sleep. The most explicit of which is, of course, the Human Prophecy, which speaks directly of a "sleeping god". If the story within such a message is to be believed, then during the period in which Chavah was born, the same dreams that birthed her may have lulled the "sleeping god" to slumber - a form of hibernation or something similar. I am as of yet unconfident as to whether the so called "song {spurned of memory" is an allegory for awareness of the "sleeping god" or some form of ritualistic defense against the deity lost in ages past. I, in my explorations and investigations, believe these prophecies to be the communication of some form of apocalyptic deity that shall end the Isles as they are known. There have been, of course, many such events that mimic the so called "Death's Day scenario", that pedants and pessimists speak of in the Prophetics and Chronologic Defense Department (PCDD, (a branch of this library that has known both my ire and admiration). They have came around from time to time and have been dispelled so far. However, the resigned tone with which these tales have been presented suggests to me that such cultures anticipated, by prophetic means we are as of yet unaware of, such a threat that could not be overcome by even the greatest defenses of the Isles' highest gods or armies. I anticipate that the references to 4, 9, and 9, represent perhaps the 499,000th year of the Isles. This, the 2,375th year of our Watcher's grace, represents the 227,375th year of our existence, if the current structure of the eras is accurate. We are, to my understanding, halfways through. I believe it is necessary that this be obscured. Were this prophecy to be revealed, it has the potential to cause more strife over the years. A concrete timeline for destruction has the potential to raise a strange collection of political and economic crises. Furtherly, as generations come every closer, they will be driven mad with the knowledge of a crisis they may have no means by which to prevent. With this letter, I am founding a group that is dedicated both to the obscuration of this truth, and the discovery of means by which to prevent this apocalyptic event. The Office of Paper, Office-supplies, and Inking Devices (which shall be a cover for the real office of Prevention and Obscuration of Inter-Isles Destruction, AKA "POID"), shall be granted an extreme amount of hidden funding for such projects as may be needed to defend these Isles. I have spoken to the current Headquarters council of the libraries, and Alweyn, Captain Commander of the Knights, and his Blessed assisstants. I have revealed this prophecy to them. The current total population that may be aware of this prediction numbers only 632. I have lived a good life, and served as best I may as the Grand Librarian of these records. I know not what shall drive the dozens of millennia that shall surpass me, but I hope that what efforts I make here will prove to be useful. If fortune should have it, all of these prophecies shall be naught but old tales. Yet if they shan't be, may the K'Reai bless those generations of the 499,000th year.

Type

Report, Scientific