The following is an excerpt from a transcript recorded within Multiversal Courtroom 52522. Various sections of this excerpt have been rendered illegible due to environmental damage.
[ILLEGIBLE]
-ection, two counts unbecoming conduct, one counts disruption of library processes, twelve counts emotional distress of fellow patrons, seven counts physical distress of fellow patrons, and three counts willful disobedience of librarian instructions. How do you plead?
Defendant: Not guilty.
Judge: Acknowledged.
Lead Prosecutor: Honorable Judge Ezekial, with the court's permission I would like to question Mr. Exceptional regarding their memory of events.
Judge: You may proceed.
A Conversation About Being
"Time is a terrible thing to waste. Do you plan to wait there all night?"
She froze, holding her breath while remaining completely motionless.
"I know you're there."
She had lost the element of surprise, but just because he knew she was there didn't mean he knew exactly wh-
"The rock shaped roughly like a pyramid, the one closest to the edge of the cliff. You're crouched behind it and trying to watch me indirectly by looking up at shifts in the reflections on the roof of the cave."
…
"If I wanted to fight you I wouldn't be talking to you like this and I definitely wouldn't be making dinner as I did it. So are you gonna come out here or not?"
Damn. Well since he knew where she was…
"If you're not looking to fight, why do you want me to come over there?"
"Because I'm not gonna serve food to someone hiding behind a rock? Also it's much more comfortable to sit over here."
"Do you really expect me to believe you're willing to share a meal with someone sent to kill you?"
"No, I don't expect you to believe it. But it's still true, regardless of what you think."
"Oh please. Were you willing to have a friendly chat with all of the other psychopomps sent after you?"
"Yes actually. Of course most of them never gave me a chance to offer, and the ones who did never took me up on it. But I really would prefer to simply talk."
"About what?"
"Do they still call me a heretic? Or have they started calling me something else?"
"… The Divine only refer to you as 'the enemy'"
"Oooh, the 'Enemy' eh? I actually like the sound of- wait, am I just an enemy to them? or am I the Enemy?"
"You aren't often discussed."
"Ah. I would hope that means they're finally forgetting about me, but considering you're here, I suppose that is too much to hope for."
She emerged from her hiding spot, and slowly approached the figure sitting beside the small lantern. The description she had been given was accurate: tall, old grey cloak, hooded with a featureless mask. The mask seemed to be composed of some sort of dark stone, and…
"How did you see me?"
"With my eyes of course."
"What? No, how can you see while wearing that mask? It has no gaps for your eyes to see through."
The figure bowed their head forward, and their face was obscured by their hood. A hand reached beneath the hood, and came away with the mask. The inside of the mask was turned towards her and-
"Wait, where did it go?"
"My mask? Its right here."
The figure turned their hand back forth, illustrating that the mask was not disappearing but was in fact transparent, yet only from the inside. With that established, the figure donned their mask once more.
"You said I'm not often mentioned?"
"You're not often discussed. The Divine only speak of you to prepare warriors like myself, and hearing them speak of your betrayal is more than enough."
"My 'Betrayal' hmm? And what, according to your masters, was my betrayal?"
"Oh spare me. You know exactly what-"
"Put it in your own words."
"You resisted the course of nature itself. You rejected the holy cycle! You spat in the face of the Divine who uphold all creation! Your eternal soul was offered salvation everlasting, and you chose damnation."
"So choosing to continue existing is damnation? No wonder the psychopomps they send are so deranged, if that is the dreck they are feeding you."
"How dare you-"
"I don't want to die."
"What?"
"That's what they tell you isn't it? That I was afraid to die, and even though they offered me a chance to be 'reborn' I selfishly chose to continue living?"
Yes, but-"
"It's true. I don't want to die. But I don't fear dying. What I fear is oblivion. I do not resist growth or change, in fact I relish the freshness of new experiences. But I refuse to willingly embrace the void. I refuse to become nothing."
"But you don't become nothing! If you know that your soul goes on, why do you-"
"NO! You don't simply 'go on,' you reincarnate. Rebirth, renewal. Reset."
"I… I don't follow."
"What is it about your soul that makes it yours? Is it a special color? Is it shaped to look like you somehow? No. Your soul is like any other: radiant, sublime, ephemeral, mercurial, and fragile. But above all else, it is malleable. Who you are, your identity, it is carved onto the face of your soul by memory. The decisions you have made, the things you have experienced, the concepts that you believe in. It is not merely the soul itself that forms your self, but the landscape of memories that have been constructed on top of your soul too. If you strip that away, if you wipe your memory clean in the fires of rebirth, YOU cease to exist. Your soul will go on, but YOU will be negated."
" … "
"That was my grand 'betrayal'. I refused to sacrifice my identity so that the gods could fashion me a new one. That is all."
"But… but the Divine say that… it is written that our spirits are eternal! That the gods shall preserve us, so long as we have faith in the cycle!"
She suddenly felt the pointed tip of a blade against her throat. The figure was now standing, holding the sword to her neck. When did he-
"So tell me: if the gods can truly be trusted with safeguarding who you are, you have nothing to fear from death right? Or, if you truly want to be, if you want to continue to be as you, then the only way to avoid oblivion now would be to ask me to spare you. So?"
She opened her mouth to speak.
Change of Being
Dust drifted through the air. The weather in this part of the canyon was always hot and dry. The stakes that marked the Old Road lacked the consistent spacing they usually did; the hardened stones of the ground meant that the stakes had to be driven in between the sandy plates, wherever cracks could be found. Near a small boulder at the end of the path a longer, larger stake had been wedged into the ground. Various charms, chimes, windvanes, signs, and flags had been affixed to this taller stake. It marked the spot where the Old Road met the outer limits of the city of Selsta.
"Do they not tire of this? This futile game of-"
"BE SILENT HERETIC!"
The air whistled as it parted around the blade of the scythe. It flowed forward with considerable speed and finesse, but a quick step backwards took the figure just out of its reach. The servant in the black cloak brought his weapon back around in a wide arc, but once again his target managed to slip out of range. A third attempt at connecting with the scythe's head, and a third near-miss. And a fourth.
As the figure danced at the edge of the psychopomp's reach, the knight positioned herself behind them. The sun glinted off of her zealously polished armor as she tracked the figure's head with her eyes. Years of training made themselves visible, and inaudible, as her advance produced no sound; this holy warrior had spent enough time fighting in a suit of armor that she could move silently on certain terrain. Instead of the flat clack of boots on flagstone, her steps mage gentle taps on the desert sand as she closed the distance between herself and her opponent. Her grip tightened around the handle of her weapon as the figure took another step backwards. They were within her reach, and she raised her mace skyward.
You will taunt us no more heretic.
She brought the hammer down, and-
whoosh
As the figure sidestepped, her mace came down on top of empty air. Expecting to meet the resistance of a target, her momentum carried her forward just a bit more than she anticipated. She yanked her leg back to keep from faltering, and as she-
Without looking, the figure unclipped a blade in its sheath from their waist and thrust backwards. In one fluid movement, they let go of the sheath and brought their hand forward before pulling back and gripping the sword's handle. The blunt end of the sheath struck the knight in the center of her forehead and she reeled backwards, her vision blighted with a sudden flash of pain and color.
Small clusters of buildings were huddled together at the base of the canyon's wall, but most of those buildings were stables and old guard fortifications. The bulk of the city was carved into the wall itself, with certain structures exposed to the open air. Like vines creeping up a column, windows and balconies filled out the face of the canyon wall. As the windows into the city stretched higher and higher, spinning wheels began to jut out of the upper cliff faces, suspended on rigid metal trunks. The windfarms occupied the highest spots in Selsta, and if one perched atop the arm of a wind wheel they could see most of the great valley below. and Most citizens of Selsta lived within dwellings carved into the canyon wall. While th
Dust to Dust
Dust drifted through the air. The crashing of waves and the cracking of foundations could be heard in the distance. Most worlds had been blanketed in oceans of ash, and the ones which had not would soon be torn asunder and scattered to the winds. The trees of life had been uprooted, and all fertile orchards had been set aflame. As the mountains crumbled, colossal abominations clawed their way through the debris. But even they would be drowned beneath the coming snow. Above the barren valley, the floating city of Brosdt cast its shadow over the surface of the world. A bolt of lighting, tinged with a violet afterglow, struck one of the flying Monumentals, and for the first time in its existence, it began to fall. Stretched thin against the bulk of the universe, the fabric of reality began to rip apart. As it fell, the Monumental struck Brosdt, and the golden ring encircling the city was shattered. With the magic that stabilized it gone, Brosdt careened downward, following the path of the slain Monumental. Strained to the breaking point, all of creation fractured and crumbled.
But over the cacophonous symphony of destruction, she a sang a half-remembered lullaby. She sang until she could no longer find the words.
When she opened her eyes, Diama looked down on Sen's face, cradled in her lap. At some point during her lullaby, he had slipped away. Like she had before, Diama clenched her fist until her arm had ceased trembling. Then she reached down, and she closed his eyes for the last time.
"This one's all for you Sen."
As she stood, Diama felt a groan flow through the chamber. As the sound bounced off of the slanted walls, she turned her head towards the far end of the room. Slowly, though not particularly carefully, she trudged through the debris and detritus scattered throughout the space. She spared no glances towards many of the corpses and abandoned constructs littering the ground; at this point Diama couldn't be bothered to even acknowledge her sworn enemies. But she pointedly avoided looking at the familiar bodies; at this point Diama simply didn't want to think about the allies she had led to their deaths, or the friends who had given up everything for her.
They sacrificed everything so she could have a chance. No, not just a chance, this chance. This moment, right here.
"Well."
Diama stopped before a wall made of scales. Scratched, burnt, dented and sundered in a few places. But most of the whole was dominated by a spherical bulge set into the wall. With a low creaking noise, the bulge parted down the center, a vertical gap expanding to reveal a pinkish membrane. Armored in damaged scales, the outer eyelids could not fully retract, and were forced to bunch up at the far ends of the enormous sphere. Instead of being pulled upwards, a hole formed in the center of the inner eyelid's membrane. The hole bloomed outwards until the iris itself could be seen behind the inner eyelid; shooting stars of emerald light streaked across a vast ocean of blue and grey, and in the eye of the storm stood a thin slit of total blackness, as if the pupil itself was a doorway to the void. The eye looked down at her.
Diama was staring into the eye of a being far older, far wiser, far crueler, far greater, and far more destructive than anything else she had ever seen. But this time she wouldn't look away. She couldn't look away.
"Well, Diama?"
She tensed up. It didn't speak to her, it didn't utter words aloud. It took thoughts straight from its fathomless mind and forced them up against the universal barrier between its mind and hers. She could read its thoughts through the razor thin fabric of reality.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know many things about you, daughter of Kae-"
"SHUT UP!"
Diama glared into its open eye.
"Why do you know my name? Why do you know anything about me?"
"To defeat your opponent, you must know your opponent."
Diama gestured to the battlefield around them. "Clearly not, since I beat you."
Then she felt a low rumble reverberate through her bones. No, not a rumble. Laughter.
"You owe your victory to luck, but still: you know enough of me to-"
"I don't know anything about you! No one does! I don't even know your accursed name!"
"There is none to know."
"You're just some mon- what?" Diama wondered if she could read the patterns in its eye instead of hearing it in her head.
"I have no name. I abandoned names a long, long time ago."
"What? Then what do you even call yourself?"
"The same thing you do Diama. I am the Leviathan."
Diama stared at the Leviathan, and it stared back at her.
"You destroyed my home. You destroyed everything."
"Not everything. I have failed to destroy you, for example."
"If I don't kill you, you'll just try to destroy all that's left."
"Indeed."
"So this is it then. I'm going to finish you off, once and for all-" Diama turned her back on the Leviathan and began to survey the battlefield. With the Leviathan immobilized, she would only need one well-placed piercer shot. Every piercer she could see was either spent or broken, but she knew there were countless numbers outside, and she only needed one. She began to search through the rubble.
"-then this will all be over."
"Quite. The end is nigh, and you shall be the final witness."
"Oh screw you. 'you shall be the final witness'" Diama turned back to the Leviathan and tried to spit into it's eye, but failed to hit her mark. "You say that like I should feel honored."
"You should feel honored. You will get to see the birth of the universe."
"You mean the death of the universe."
"The death of this one of course, but the birth of the next as well."
Diama paused in her search. Silence enveloped the chamber, and ice bloomed within her lungs.
"What are you talking about?"
"I was like you once, did you know that? I was once mortal. Fleeting. Transient. But beyond that, I once stood in your place. A long time ago I fought to save everything that I loved from a world-eating monstrosity. We called it the Grand Wyrm, and it threatened to bring an end to everything."
At first the Leviathan wasn't sure what it felt creeping into its thoughts, but even after countless millennia it could still recognize that defiantly triumphant taste. Pride crept into its voice.
"I killed a god. Do you understand? The Grand Wyrm forced reality to stretch around its massive bulk, but I held it in my fist and crushed the life out of it. The entire world, from the tiniest pebble to the tallest mountain, was spared. I was the savior of saviors, and all the people of all the lands sang their praises to me. But I didn't understand then."
"Understand what?"
"It laughed. When I crushed the Wyrm into nothingness it just… laughed. The sound of its laughter was buried beneath the symphony of praise for me, and I forgot the Wyrm and its laughter quickly. For a dozen ages I sat on the greatest throne, and I ruled over everything. Anything I saw was mine, anything that I heard of was mine, anything I could think of was mine. I conquered every land, then I grew the ones at the borders of my kingdom outward into new territory. When new kingdoms were found, I made them mine. When new lands were discovered, absent any civilization? I built new kingdoms where none had stood before. I constructed cities atop the tallest mountains, and when more room was needed for more monuments? I cracked the earth open, and I built new kingdoms beneath the very ground. I pushed the boundaries of my empire until my borders all met the ocean. And then I built cities beneath the waves. I expanded my ocean kingdoms until the ocean came up against new lands that no one had ever seen, and I conquered them as well. When everything beneath the sky was part of my domain, I sat on my throne and ruminated on the Wyrm's laughter. But before I could begin to truly understand, a heretic was brought before me. He claimed that no gods could be found within the heavens. Before the Wyrm, I would have thought the heretic mad for blaspheming the divine. But I had killed a god for the throne I sat upon, so what did I have to fear from the divine? I humored the blasphemer, and do you know what he said to me?"
"No idea," Diama sighed as she scavenged for a piercer in good condition. "but you're gonna tell me anyway."
"Hmmph. He said the world was like a marble"
Dust swirled around, settled upon itself, and shifted higher until columns of dust and ash could be seen from anywhere in the grand valley. As the lesser and greater suns fled behind the horizon, long shadows stretched across the dunes of sand outside the city of Breavemont. At sunset, the long shadows once clawed their way from the desert expanse all the way to the base of the Helm Mountains. But the walls and spires of Breavemont that once cast those shadows were no more. As fires careened through the city streets, the light of the suns retreated from sight, as if hope itself had decided to cut its losses. Like indifferent spectators to an ongoing tragedy, the stars creeped forth from behind the clouds, emboldened by sunlight's absence.
The city was not dead, it was not dying, it was being destroyed. Desolation had come to Breavemont, and it scraped against the confines of reality as it came. Like flies hovering around a corpse, the stars seemed to blur and spin, until a storm of starlight loomed over the city. From within the eye of the storm, a sudden gash formed in the flesh of dusk, and from within the tear came the final doom.
Even amongst the all-consuming calamity of the city, soldiers could be found fighting a losing battle. In the courtyard of the royal palace, an unrecognizable amalgam of tendons and bone released an ear-ravaging scream as a barbed tongue burst forth from a flower of skin atop its misshapen head. But despite the speed and ferocity of the new appendage, a warrior brought his blade downwards in a wide arc, slicing off the end of the tongue before it could skewer him. He had crafted his weapon himself, and not only could the broad edge hack through exposed flesh and scaled hide, but the pointed tip could be thrust forward. As the stump of it's tongue sprayed a sickening mixture of green and black fluid across the courtyard, the monstrosity reeled backwards and became unbalanced: the moment had arrived, and the warrior lunged. The end of his sword buried itself between the creature's mismatched ribs, with the flat of the blade facing skyward. A spray of bile burst forth from the wound, but before it could stain the sword's blade, before the warrior could tear his weapon free, before the blood could cover his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the sky above in the reflection of his blade. Just a glimpse, but it was more than enough.
In the eye of the storm of starlight, something shifted behind the heavens.
The Old Prophecy
From beyond the wound in the world
the Leviathan shall speak unto the city
what will be said is known to us
but it shall not be written here
A bolt of lightning, made of violet fire and as wide as a river, struck the castle, and split it in half.
Perched upon a sand dune not far from the ruins of Breavemont was a figure, cradling another in her arms. Before, a spire's shadow would have creeped its way up the dune as the suns set. But now, a jagged line of footprints and blood flowed across the sand, from the tops of the dune towards the shattered remains of the city. Unable to look upon the husk that she had once called home, the figure looked down at the person cradled in her arms, and wished she hadn't. Gazing upon the hole where her life had once been was painful, excruciating, unbearable. But looking at the hole where her love had once been… that was far worse. Her trembling hand slowly curled into a fist, and she held it firm until her hand no longer shook. She unfurled her fist, then reached up and closed Keavima's eyes for the final time.
The figure stood up, turned her back on the city, and began to walk away, carrying Keavima in her arms. But before she made it to the bottom of the dune, she turned her head and gazed at the sky above the ruined city. The stars no longer whirled about, the vortex having dissipated already, but there was something there. Where the eye of the cosmic storm had once been, there was now a subtle flaw in the sky; a scar etched into reality itself.
It was in that moment, glancing back from where she stood, that Diama first felt it. Through the sorrow and anger swirling around her, she felt a ruinous determination take root in her soul.
"Um, 'Dreggs'?"
Oh great, something else. It's like I'm famous.
With a pitiable groan, Dreggs sat up in his bunk and rubbed at his good eyes. As blur gave way to focus, the shape of a woman standing by the door became discernable. Before he could make out further details, his gaze was forced into a squint as a yawn leapt out of his throat.
The Southern Expanse, 307 PC
Dust floated through the air, suddenly made visible by a thin blade of sunlight cutting through the abandoned space. The sunlight widened, and the dust was dispersed with a gust of desert wind from outside. Once the opening stretched wide enough, a silhouette occupied the entrance before stepping forward. Almost like a shadow, a second silhouette followed the first inside.
As the light from the opening poured into the passage, it reflected off of patchwork armor held together by small metal plates, loops and threads of tightly woven string, the persistent (if flimsy) belief that the armor would protect its wearer, and a few swatches of hardened leather. A black glove that did not cover the pointer and middle fingers reached up and pulled down a mouth covering composed of overlapping bandages woven tightly enough to keep sand out. A tanned and youthful face was revealed, though it was dominated by a pair of rapidly-moving irises filled with amber.
Broad sheets of cracked stone locked together to form a wide hallway, and rusted panels covered the walls from floor to ceiling, coated in enough rust to make the metal comprising the panels unrecognizable. In the dense silence of the abandoned shaft, each footfall sent a loud report sailing forward through the space. Anything lying in wait deeper inside would hear the intruders coming long before they could see what awaited them. Anticipating this, Razt reached down to his waist and gripped the handle of a sturdy metal tube. With a flick of the wrist, the tube telescoped outwards into a long, solid shaft as a sharp spike locked itself into place at the opposite end.
This maneuver would have been quite impressive if the momentum of the shaft's telescope movement hadn't jerked the weapon out of Razt's hand and onto the ground with an unceremonious CLANG. With a small but distinctive volley of short and angry words, Razt scooped his weapon off of the ground and desperately tried to pretend that he couldn't feel his companion's judgmental look all over his back. As the pair continued forward, a shift in the passage became visible in the distance. After creeping forward, it became clear that the far end of the shaft had been forced downward by the weight of earth and time, causing the rest of the hallway to slope downward at a sharp angle. However, the angle was not sharp enough to make traversing the passage impossible, and the pair began to descend further.
Once they were beyond the reach of the sunlight pouring in from outside, Razt produced a small stick, with one end wrapped in a thick covering. After its cover was torn off, the peculiar stick was held up to the nearest wall, and the weapon was struck against it.
Nothing happened.
As the sound of the first strike echoed through the passage, Razt raised the spear again in preparation for another blow.
The wall was struck, but nothing happened.
Frustrated, Razt hit the wall with more force.
Still nothing.
Razt struck the wall with considerably more force then he had before.
Yet nothing happened.
Onnabrea tried to offer assistance, but was interrupted by Razt hitting the wall again.
Once more, nothing happened.
"Razt just let me-" THWACK
The desired event did not occur.
Razt hit the wall again.
It did not work.
"Razt-" CRACK
The latest blow produced a bit more sound than prior ones had, but still failed to accomplish the relevant task.
Razt hit the wall again, but did so while trying to force the world to change through sheer force of will.
No dice.
"RAZT-"
At this point, your humble narrator ran out of different ways to say "nothing happened" unfortunately. My deepest apologies. Oh and nothing happened of course.
Razt struck the wall again, but he did it really, really, really hard this time.
Can you guess what this accomplished?
As Razt brought his weapon back for yet another blow, Onnabrea deftly pulled it out of his hands. Before he could register this, Razt swung at the wall once more, an effort that was even more futile than before.
"The Buried Peoples knew the ways of making?"
"Well, they called the ways of making things like 'construction' and 'development' and 'industry', but yes, they knew how to create greater forms. They understood the fundamental elements of the world, and they could master even the most complex ideas. In fact, they knew more than you."
"What? Wha- What do you mean? My knowledge is indeed limited but-"
"There's no need to dance around the issue Onnabrea, I will not judge you for saying what is self-evidently true. I'm not referring to you specifically, but the entire caste of Elders. The Buried Peoples understood more about the world then even the Elders, and they created wonders and horrors that the Elders could never hope to stand against."
Ignoring Onnabrea's shocked expression, the Ancient continued: "The Elders tell all those beneath them that questioning their knowledge, their authority, is heresy. They say that their knowledge of all things is total and absolute, and to question that would be to question knowledge of everything. But this is a lie. Not a mistruth, a lie. The Elders know that their understanding is not absolute, not total, not complete. That's why they treat any skepticism of their knowledge, their authority, as unforgivable sin. If their understanding is incomplete, if there are truths that they do not know, then there is still more to learn, and if there is more to learn then others could potentially learn more than them. What authority could the Elders claim then, when others understand more about the world than them?"
"The arrival of the Leviathan heralds the end of ages. It is the eruption atop the tallest mountain before the land is buried in ash. The Leviathan brings destruction, yes, but it will not single-handedly destroy the world. It does not need to, in fact it may not even want to. Can desire be ascribed to such a thing?"
"What in Mvencia's name does it want then?"
"It does not want, it simply… is. The birth of the Leviathan begins the unbirth of the universe, but the great one itself does not- cannot unbirth anything. The only thing that may unmake the world is its maker: The Abyss, our great Mother. The Leviathan is merely the last and greatest of her children. All creation shall return to the void, for it is the womb of the Abyss Mother. "
"Dust, scrap, crawlers, dust, maybe a dead reacher, dust, and more dust."
"Ok…"
Onnabrea and Razt shared a look as they stood beneath the tower jutting out of the sand.
As Razt attempted to force open the door built into the tower's outer wall, he glanced Onnabrea.
"Well?"
"I'm not going to help you get inside, there's nothing wellworth even in there."
"What? No not that! Aren't you gonna ask me what I think is inside?"
"No. I don't really care what you think is-"
With an exaggerated sigh, Razt allowed his staker to slide back towards him, before leaning on it and subjecting her to his signature expression. Despite seeing it scurry its way onto Razt's face multiple times in a single conversation, Onnabrea still found herself incapable of describing his signature look with any specific words. It was always just "Razt's expression" in her mind.
"Onna, when someone asks you a question like that, they expect you to ask them the same thing."
Razt was far from intuitive when it came to reading other people, but he could always tell when something he had said caught Onna's attention. Her posture shifted. Her hands came out of her pockets. A glint appeared in her eyes, first the left, then the right.
"What kind of questions do people expect to be asked? If rhetorical questions aren't meant to be answered, they're not expected to be asked of-"
"Whoa whoa whoa hang on. Before I answer that, could you actually help me with this?" Razt asked as he shifted his weight back into pushing at his staker.
Life.
The Grand Hall was filled with the essence of life. Love. Laughter. Light. All these things and more. The celebration of all that was, all that is, and all that will be was well underway.
After an eternity of preparation, the banners were unfurled, and their ends were dipped in jars of water. The candles, braziers, lamps, and chandeliers were lit one by one, as the attendants struck their stones against the cold skin of their irons. The pillars that upheld creation were wrapped in the finest silks, and whisps danced between them, stringing gossamer from each pillar to the other. As the first and second golem legions brought masses of solid to be shaped by the quill of the Great Seer, the third legion knelt before their altars, and they painted starlight onto their backs and palms. The dancers donned their scales and rings, and the path to their stage was finally illuminated. Fertility plucked the violet threads of her lyre experimentally, preparing to weave an unforgettable song amongst the multitudes. Even the traitors and the faceless were shown a rare mercy, their souls returned to them at last. After an eternity of preparation, all of creation was made ready to herald the All-Celebration once more.
Before any guests had even arrived,
The first to arrive was the life of the party herself, The Dawn. If fun was to be had, and memories were to be made, then she would be the first to taste of them.
The next arrival was Fenasmorae, the industrious. Ever busy, ever present, their work is never done.
Then came the Duals, Nigh and Naghn. Every day its night, every sun its moon, every defeat its victory, every joy its sorrow, and every winter its spring.
Then the doors were thrown open.
Wind blew through the grand hall, and Silence came in its wake. Forced to scurry off into the shadows at the first sign of life, Silence had never even set foot within the grand hall. And yet here it was, during the annual nadir of its power, flowing into the grand hall like it owned the place. And for once in the history of everything, it did. Every being in attendance was wreathed in the infinite blanket of Silence, as it wormed its essence into every cranny and nook. Once it had closed its suffocating grasp around the base of the grand hall, it unfurled its inky bulk skyward, licking at the canopy of stars with tongues of void. Silence dominated the celebration of its every antithesis.
And within the doorframe stood the figure who had brought it.
Even if the scribes and the scholars present had been willing to take action, even if they had overcome their fear of rippling the perfect surface of Silence's still ocean waters, there would have been precious little to note about this figure. A weathered and torn cloak of black and grey clung to a vaguely humanoid frame, shifting in the wind that blew in from outside. A long and ragged hood obscured the figure's head and face, while the rest of the cloak covered their form down to where their feet (presumably) rested on the floor. The mysterious arrival cast a silhouette indistinguishable from a common vagrant, beggar, refugee, or wanderer.
The People of the Hills brought the sick and the dying to the banks of the river, and there they were washed clean. Those whose skin molted and ripened were embraced with open arms and open hearts and flowing tears, but those whose skin cracked and blistered were not. Those doomed to die were granted some final, fleeting moments with their loved ones. The parents, and the lovers, and the children of the death-bound begged the elders to spare them: make an exception, show some mercy, change the course, wait and see! But the elders knew that those who did not rally would slowly die; this way at least, they would not suffer for long. The onlookers were told to return to the village, but a few stubborn souls would not budge. They screamed and they cried for the people they loved, but the elders knew that this only made things harder. The warriors forced away the villagers who had stayed, and…
He did not enjoy this. No one did.
But it had to be done.
Amjalka tried not to sneer or grimace at the woman as he shoved her back with the butt of his long-axe, but the spirits had chosen thick arms and strong hooves for him. They did not choose for him a stony face, and they did not let his lips stay together when he sucked in the air. He hoped his anger at the weeping mother did not show, but he could not stop himself from being angry.
Do not wound me with those sad eyes of yours, do not fill my ears with your pitiful wailing! It is not my fault that these people have been blighted, and it is not my fault that the blighted die so slowly.
A Decree-Compliant Description of the F.E.L.RexTM Model Nullrifle
The following document describes the schematics for the F.E.L.RexTM Model Nullrifle. According to the parameters established by The Sixth Conflagrator's Decree, no visual information has been included in this document. The reader may view this document with a 93% certainty that they will not suffer type-E temporary brain-death.
Diagram A depicts the F.E.L.RexTM Model Nullrifle in profile, with a series of numbered points corresponding to specific components.
- Central delivery mechanism. Like most Nullrifle designs, the F.E.L.RexTM Model uses an Obrachtian subliminator for projectile propulsion. The subliminator's housing is located in the center of the Nullrifle's structure for both stability and ease-of-access.
- Activation interface. While a trigger and reflex-grip are factory standard, the activator input of the F.E.L.RexTM Model can be modified in order to accommodate the unique fore-limbs of individual operators.
- Subliminator exhaust port. Located on the underside of the subliminator housing, the exhaust vent is fitted with a rear-mounted heatshield in order to prevent damage to the operator.
- Stability counterweight. Situated behind the subliminator housing, and embossed with the the F.E.L.RexTM logo. The counterweight is necessary as a balance for the length of the de-synchronization lens.
- Temporal de-synchronization lens. Affixed to the outward-facing side of the subliminator, projectiles passing through the de-synchronization lens are "unmade," and re-materialize on contact with the target. The aperture of the de-synchronization lens is of considerable length.
- Chitin lens-guard. Protective coating made of chitin (typically harvested from Yglotylozians) surrounds the de-synchronization lens in order to insulate it from destabilizing energy reactions.
- Rangefinder tracks. Symmetrical accuracy marks mounted on both sides of the Nullrifle.
- Arcane censer. Warding apparatus affixed to the top of the subliminator housing, activates automatically when the Nullrifle is fired.
Diagrams B through E depict cross sections of the F.E.L.RexTM Model Nullrifle's individual components.
Excerpt from Chapter 5, section 3 of An Introduction to Advanced Deicide by Shwalmel of Crannn
… and this is where the Rahllifme Method sadly falls short. While certainly effective for improving thaumaturgic targeting in more direct forms of deicide, the Rahllifme Method uses some "shortcuts" in its analysis that can lead to subtle details being overlooked when it is applied to theoretical un-genesis. Astute readers might be surprised by that justification. Yes, I have stressed numerous times in this volume that one of the key advantages of theoretical un-genesis is that it does not require the same level of careful precision as Gestalt Displacement or vessel incision (as well as all of the other deicide methods that are heavily reliant on thaumaturgy). However, this is one of the key distinctions between more conventional avenues and theoretical un-genesis: Gestalt Displacement may fail entirely because of poor accuracy, but theoretical un-genesis will be rendered less-effective by it.
A weak theoretical un-genesis working can make the target deity harder to kill in many cases. Remember, the first offensive ritual working used against the deity is often the only one, especially for powerful target deities and complex rituals. The opening salvo in your assault is essential, and you must not waste it. Even if the deity cannot immediately retaliate, you have lost the element of surprise, and they are likely to anticipate further attacks. This is why the un-genesis of the deific concept should be carefully attuned for maximum effect, and the Rahllifme Method is simply ill-suited for this purpose. In chapter 6, I will discuss other methods of fleshing out the un-genesis particulars that are more thorough and consistent than the Rahllifme Method. An excellent cautionary tale to mention here is the Demise of Vice-Admiral Theodoros.
As many readers are aware, Theodoros was the Vice-Admiral of Gester, and an accomplished hunter of deities and their deific manifestations. His eradication of the shore-serpent Drajjo seemed to be his magnum opus, due to the destructive display of power put on by his working of theoretical un-genesis. But as destructive as it was, the working done by Theodoros was not total, and Drajjo just barely survived. After healing its wounds and hunting down information about who attacked it, the shore-serpent exacted cruel and terrible revenge on Theodoros and his entire bloodline. The story often ends with the tidbit about how to this day, the descendants of Theodoros each have a random limb shrivel and wither, before falling off after their 15th harvest. But what is often left out of this story is why the late vice-admiral's working failed to kill Drajjo. Theodoros managed such a swift and meteoric rise through the ranks because he exclusively relied on the Rahllifme Method. The Rahllifme Method was more than adequate for theoretical un-genesis workings on lesser deities and their servants, but Drajjo was no lesser deity. If Theodoros had been more meticulous with his preparations (and had used something more thorough than the Rahllifme Method), the decimation of Drajjo would have been more complete. Theodoros made the mistake of assuming that his un-genesis had fully annihilated Drajjo, and it used this opportunity to go into hiding and regain its strength. When the fate of Theodoros found him, he was not expecting to see the shore-serpent ever again. The only thing more dangerous to a deity-hunter than an angry god, is an unexpected angry god.
With that out of the way, another dimension of theoretical un-genesis to dissect is the…
Commentary on Nernosal's Account of The Kraumsdingir Campaign
Nernosal is an obscure and little known historian, even by the standards of The Library. Their body of work is, on its own, not worthy of any particular notice or scrutiny. However, the few texts that are attributed to them almost universally describe events of relatively great significance. The magnitude and potential consequences of these events would suggest that there are numerous other accounts of them, but this is not the case: most of these events are only ever mentioned in Nernosal's work. This lack of any corroborating sources has led some prominent historians and archivists to suggest that Nernosal's "accounts" are simply elaborate works of fiction, but the obscure nature of Nernosal's work has prevented any consensus from forming. Regardless of the truthfulness of this claim, multiple historians have written exhaustive commentaries on Nernosal's works, especially The Kraumsdingir Campaign.
This tome contains a reproduction of Nernosal's The Kraumsdingir Campaign, with passages separated by relevant commentary from various sources.
The Kraumsdingir Campaign
by Nernosal
In the eighth year of the Great Scorching, the third son of HE-WHO-BREAKS-KINGS led 500 warriors to a holdfast on the southeastern border of Urompha. The third son of HE-WHO-BREAKS-KINGS, who was called Hembrocht, laid siege to the holdfast. The holdfast's defensive force numbered only 120, and so the holdfast's custodian sent a messenger with a request for assistance to Urompha's capitol, 12 kalecs north.
Despite the ostensible purpose of a historical record being to answer the reader's questions, the opening of Nernosal's account raises more questions than it answers. What was the "Great Scorching?" A military conflict? A natural disaster? If it was the latter, what kind of natural disaster persists for eight years? Why did the third son of "he-who-breaks-kings" attack that holdfast? Because of the Great Scorching? Did the Great Scorching not affect Urompha? Sadly, this opening sets the tone for the presentation of the rest of Nernosal's account: totally devoid of any relevant historical context.
-Amelia "Amy" Amethyst, 29th wandswoman of Neo-Yorkshire
Alongside a dearth of appropriate context, the opening of Nernosal's account introduces the reader to another one of their bizarre authorial quirks: using obscure terminology without even attempting to define any of it. As far as I can tell, in this context "custodian" is used to refer to a low-level bureaucrat that oversees a specific location on behalf of a larger nation-state. I can say with more confidence though that a "kalec" is a distance measurement roughly equivalent to a kilometer.
-Oornki
The siege was broken on the fourth day, and the third son of HE-WHO-BREAKS-KINGS was forced to retreat along with 94 warriors. The casualties were thus: of Hembrocht's 500 warriors, 79 were killed, 287 were captured, 112 were wounded, 22 remained able to fight, and of the 120 defenders, 6 were killed, 39 were wounded, 2 were captured, and 73 remained able to fight. The damage to the holdfast's structure was negligible.
Even though they outnumbered the defenders 4-to-1, Hembrocht and his warriors seem to have been grossly outmatched. It seems like the defenders weren't expecting an assault since they sent a messenger to ask for help, but by this account they didn't really need any.
-Samuel of Samuelia
The third son of HE-WHO-BREAKS-KINGS retreated 23 kalecs south to the village of Tatatarmo, but complications arose. 3 kalecs south of the holdfast, the 2 captured defenders escaped captivity and managed to kill 18 and capture 4 of the warriors. Of the 72 warriors who were wounded during the siege, 9 succumbed to their injuries, 44 were left behind during the retreat, 11 were killed by the 2 escaped defenders, 3 were captured by the 2 escaped defenders, and the remaining 5 continued south. Of the 22 warriors who were not wounded during the siege, the escaped defenders killed 7, captured 1, and the remaining 14 continued south. Two weeks after the end of the siege, the third son of HE-WHO-BREAKS-KINGS arrived in the village of Tatatarmo with only 19 warriors, 3 of which succumbed to their injuries shortly after arrival.
Considering how specific some of these statistics are, I think Nernosal either got their information from someone who was there, or Nernosal themselves was present for this. Also, even with wounded soldiers and captive enemy combatants, it took them two weeks to travel ~23 kilometers?
-Oornki
3 days into the siege, the messenger from the holdfast arrived in the capitol of Urompha, whereupon they delivered the request for aid. The request was heard and answered by Walma, the chief venator of Urompha during the latter half of the Great Scorching, who promptly mobilized a force of 1750 venators. The chief venator and the force of 1750 departed the capitol 5 hours after the arrival of the messenger, and preparations were made for a force of 4000 additional venators to depart the following day.
The following day, as the 4000 venators passed through the city gate, the messenger was invited to speak before The Cooperative. Upon hearing the messenger's testimony, The Cooperative declared a state of calamity on Urompha's southeastern border by unanimous vote, and all sentinels within 20 kalecs were called on to serve. Though not yet codified in law during the Great Scorching, Uromphan rules of gratitude were widely observed as common courtesy at the time. In accordance with Uromphan rules of gratitude, the messenger from the holdfast was offered a bond by a fertile member of The Cooperative, which they accepted. Their bond would be the genesis of the House of Swift Words, and they would bear 3 children over the next year.
Walma and her force of 1750 venators arrived at the holdfast
Yularala's Lament
A curse and a pox upon the betrayers
May their harvests be foul and tainted
Let sorrow fill their every pore and orifice
No mercy for betrayers
A beautiful city in the valley, with walls of iron and streets of obsidian
The gleaming jewel of the northernlands, a city of prosperity
The traders and merchants and travelers gathered in the market
The scholars and archivists convened in the library
Smiths, craftsmen and mages worked their trade in the new quarter
Nobles and their servants looked on from the old quarter
The city was resplendent, and the envy of all its neighbors
Yet its name is forgotten, and its people are dust
A curse and a pox upon the betrayers
May their harvests be foul and tainted
Let sorrow fill their every pore and orifice
No mercy for betrayers
The royal palace sat atop the old quarter, and stood above the whole city
There Queen Yularala held court, and She would listen to the people
When Nobles came before the Queen, She gave them counsel
When the common folk asked for food, the royal chef would serve them
When the merchants asked for safe passage, Her guards would patrol the roads
Even when the afflicted begged at Her feet, She offered them solace
Queen Yularala was known to be kind and fair
Yet the betrayers took advantage of Her generosity
A curse and a pox upon the betrayers
May their harvests be foul and tainted
Let sorrow fill their every pore and orifice
No mercy for betrayers
Many refugees came to the royal court, and the Queen offered them sanctuary
Though many came before Yularala, She granted mercy to most
One day amongst the refugees, there were aristocratic nobles
While their names are known to us, they are not to be spoken
The betrayers arrived in the city, and sought an audience with the Queen
Before Her they said; "We seek safety from those who pursue us"
There in the royal court, the betrayers sought amnesty
Yet their words were false, and their souls were twisted
A curse and a pox upon the betrayers
May their harvests be foul and tainted
Let sorrow fill their every pore and orifice
No mercy for betrayers
6th day, Month of Harvest
We've arrived in Gersk-Na. Its about midday. Not the prettiest city, but as long as its got high walls then it might as well be paradise. The leader of those foreign mercenaries is giving our client an earful, thought I'd use the chance to write. Once he comes back with my cut, I'm going to look for a place to spend the night.
This was the last one. This has to be the last one. I can't keep doing jobs like this. Too much can go wrong out in the marshes, especially if you're out there for more than a month. I can't get the image of that one mercenary out of my head. What did the boss call him? "Nundasht" I think. The arrow just came out of nowhere, hit him right in the neck. Awful way to go. But whoever shot him never even showed up. No bandits waiting in ambush. No battle-cries from the madmen. Not even a hunting party apologizing for a stray shot loosed in our direction. Nothing.
How do you explain that? What do you tell Nundasht's family when they ask why he was killed? That someone just killed him for no reason?!?
Here comes the boss. Maybe I'll stop by the market, see what I can get for my pay.
7th day, Month of Harvest
Yesterday was quite the surprise.
Emen. Emen of all people. He called out to me at the market. I didn't know for sure that it was him until he came up to me; can't miss those teeth anywhere. We went through the usual blather: "How long has it been?" "How're you doing?" "What brings you to Gersk-Na?"
Turns out he wed the daughter of this fancy merchant 20 rotations ago, been living in Gersk-Na ever since. I tried to slip out of the conversation, I figured I owed him a favor or something. But I've never been good at stuff like that, and he insisted that I come to his house. It was a nice place I guess. His wife though, well she's just enormous. She could lift me up above her head with one arm, easily. I've seen ladies with more muscle, but I ain't never seen a lady with that much muscle in a dress. Emen seems happy though, guess he doesn't mind his wife being taller than he is. They've got a son, Randel, and I have to assume that Emen picked that name. Kid looks like he's 18 rotations old, but he acts like he's 15. Kept asking me about the marshlands, said he wants to guard caravans like I do. I humored him, but I figure that Emen has enough sense to keep that boy within the city walls.
Emen's wife -should find out her name- teased out that I needed a place to stay, and of course Emen insisted. I might have put my hoof down under different circumstances, but I really didn't want to spend coin on a room. A free bed is always worth it, even if Randel kept bugging me after dinner.
8th day, Month of Harvest
Gods curse me, I knew I should have put my hoof down. Emen's a bigger fool than I remember.
In the morning Emen gave me the "grand tour" of Gersk-Na (which ain't saying much), but after grabbing lunch I spoke to a contract manager at the Whisper House. Caravan leaves tomorrow, and at the time it seemed perfect: simple package security, no escorting diplomats or anything stupid like that. Destination is Brond-Na, and even with a caravan its still only a two week journey tops. Short trip, well-worn road, almost no risk. But that stupid kid: Randel. At suppertime I told Emen I only needed another night, then I'd be out of his hair-or, scales I guess. But then Randel starts going off about how he saw me at the Whisper House and signed on to the same contract I did. I thought for sure Emen would set the boy straight, but I was wrong. What is he thinking?!?! Letting his only son leave the only city he knows?!? And travel with a caravan into the MARSHES?!?!?!?
Emen's wife seemed to get that it was a terrible idea, but she couldn't get a word in. Emen just kept going on and on about how great it was that Randel's first gig outside the city would be with an "old hand" like me. Damn you Emen. He seems to think that I can teach the boy my "halberd technique" and get his name out there among the caravans. It seems Emen meant it when he said he hasn't left the city in 20 rotations. He doesn't know what its like now, out there beyond the walls. The marshlands ain't no place for anybody, especially a boy as green as Randel.
What a mess. I'll figure out what I'm gonna do about Randel in the morning.
9th day, Month of Harvest
Maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe.
Met with the caravan hands in the morning, they seem to know their stuff. Six wagons is small for a caravan I suppose, but it'll be enough to get to Brond-Na. The other hired muscle are the usual types, exactly the kind of mercenaries you'd expect to guard a caravan. They have experience with the marshes, and that's what you really need for this kind of work; Randel's easily the least capable person here. But that shouldn't matter, since we won't be in the marshes for long.
I took the boy to meet our client. That's the first rule: before you do anything, make sure the client is sane (and can actually pay you). Calls herself "Sadie." She's short for a human, but she seems nice enough. She's actually going with us, she just wants someone to help her move the "package." But that package…
The "package" is some kind of chest. I think. Its hard to tell what with all of the chains and locks on it. Its not too big, but its definitely heavy. The client won't tell me what's in the damn thing. I thought that would be a deal-breaker at first; looked like some kind of terror was locked up in there. But I looked it over, and there's no way for air to get in. Even if there was something alive in there, it couldn't be that big. So all of the iron and anzaltum bolted to the thing must be to keep people out. If she's going with the package, and if its that hard to get into, why does she need her own guards? If its part of a caravan, then the guards will protect it. Is she worried about the rest of the caravan?
Ah well. Second rule: don't ask a question unless you need the answer.
10th day, Month of Harvest
Made good progress through the plains today. Can't really know for certain until we get to the marshlands, but if we keep this pace up we should be in Brond-Na by the 19th.
When we circled up the wagons last night, Randel expected me to help him "train" before nightfall. I had a good laugh over it at first, but maybe I was wrong about Randel. He's still green as Mentzo leaves, but he might be cut out for mercenary work after all. He's got Emen's teeth, but he clearly got his physique from his mother. He's all about the hacking-and-slashing right now, but I told him the way of things. Looking tough and sounding scary does more for you than any blade. The hacking-and-slashing is your last resort when you're out of options, and he's got a lot of options. If we can find him a hatchet or something that he knows how to use (or at least if he looks like he knows) then only the crazy and desperate would try him.
Maybe an anzaltum saber? They're heavy, but that ain't an issue for Randel.