The Fall of the Loved
"Sara, daughter of Lucien, son of Job, son of the Lord in the Deep Woods, took up the sword at Gerython's peak. As the six violent lords arced their bleeding fingers of damnation toward the Greywood, Sara was the first to defend, saving those hallowed lands from defilement. We honor her sacrifice, as in the slaughtering of all but two men in their fists of soldiers, she tainted herself with the red of the lords. She now rages with the six violent lords within the Vault at Blackriver. May remain imprisoned forevermore. Kr'ishtoon Lositar Asuundi."
-Phrase 1432 (Words from the Prophet Tongue), 'The Scripts of Ora'
Many go by many names. Rivers, mountains, the night itself. I myself have been branded multiple monikers, those of traitor, heathen, and fool. However, the name with which I am most imparted is Tongue.
It was many realms ago, in an age many freezes and thaws past. I lived through them all, selected by the losatar as the lone Witness. I was to be a hopeless voice of oncoming tragedy, with none willing to listen to my words. What crime could one such as I have committed such that I deserved so cruel a fate? It was I that brought the world to the brink of rupture at the hands of six violent lords. It was I whom created the dominion of Gerython, and brought about the eternal affliction of the Red.
Perhaps it would be appropriate to start earlier. Before I took on the name Tongue, before I compiled the ancient words of this world into the scriptures I hold dear, I was a boy by the name of Seth. Seth, son of Moore, son of Michael the great smith, son of the Witch of the Elms. It was my generation from which many great heroes were born, and many great villains were slain. Three generations after the people left the old country of the Deep Woods, and the gracious Lord who loved them so, they forgot their origins. The people of the woods became as those of the rest of the world, as hard and as cruel as the dirt they walked upon.
I grew up in the Greywood, the region closest to the Deep Woods. My father, Moore, was a smith like his father before him. It was cursed into our blood to be makers by our matriarch, the Witch of the Elms. Where my father and grandfather were smiths of steel and soul, I became a loathsome smith of word. I tried to learn my father's craft, yet I could not forge much more than a crude knife, never mind the masterpiece creation that was required to be named a true smith. What I lacked in dexterity of metal, I possessed in dexterity of tongue.
It was often said in the Greywood that there was no greater liar in the world than Seth. All knew of my reputation as a quick-witted scoundrel, yet my silver tongue would always be able to persuade any person that I truly was honest. It was not until I was a young man, of marrying age in many cultures, that I would find interest in telling a story that was not my own. The story of Sara, daughter of Lucien, son of Job, son of the Lord in the Deep Woods.
She was royalty, and any who gazed upon her would have known. Her sunshine hair possessed a sheen like moonlight that could have sourced from no other place than the line of the Lord himself. Her eyes were of a grey stormier than the icy hurricanes far to the south. I met her the day she almost died.
I lived in the place called Singing Brook, a small village within the Greywood that only had my father's masterful metalwork to thank for its prosperity. Generally, anywhere within the Greywood was safe, by the fortunate charm placed upon the land by the Lord when his children first ventured out. Outsiders with dark intentions would quickly find themselves one with the trees. Despite this, monsters and natural threats still lurked between the ashy groves. One such monster, the gratta, was what chased Sara into my life.
I was walking along a pathway in the woods to my father's forge after having made a delivery when I heard a scream. I turned to my right with just enough time for a hysterical girl to tackle me. She began rambling about swimming teeth and ferocious speed as I pushed her off of and behind me. I placed my hand to her mouth to silence her shrieks and drew a smithing hammer than hung from a belt on my hip. I waited in silence, peering into the shaded woods from which this mysterious girl had emerged. Her claim of ferocious speed proved itself in moments.
A lithe form darted from the shadow of the canopy, like that of an otter, if an otter were the size of a man. The gratta paused a number of paces from me, considering this new individual between it and its prey. The three pupils of its eyes spun around one another, a couple focusing on each of us, and its mouth stretched into a wide Cheshire smile. Three rows of razor-like teeth rolled in wave-like motions along its jaw. The gratta clicked in a rapid pattern, signaling in its own tongue that I had best leave its prey behind and find my own hunting grounds. Luckily for the girl, the boy whose day she had just ruined was among the few in the world gifted enough in language to speak to beasts.
In my own sequence of clicks, I warned the gratta that it in fact encroached upon my territory, and that those of my brood had perfected the art of changing shape. It would be best if the creature moved on and did not return, for its own sake. The rest of my kin were not quite as prone to friendly chatter as I. My tongue enchanted the thing, and it slicked away into the trees with a hiss and a click, gazing forlornly at what had been its supper. After it had disappeared, I turned back to the girl.
"You may just be the most foolish outsider I have ever met. Congratulations." The girl stood up and brushed the dust off of her roughly sewn-together dress, attempting to hold herself with the dignity of a royal.
"I'll have you know, gratta-kin, that I am not an outsider. You are in the presence of royalty, and I expect you to treat me as such," she flared her pale hair back with one hand, "You will escort me to your place of residence within the Greywood, and from there direct me to the place they call Singing Brook." I nearly exploded into laughter because of her grandiose audacity. She spoke as if I had begged her for money, instead of saved her life. Despite my incredulity, I found myself captured by her, almost as though her tongue were as silvered as my own.
"Aye, I'll lead you to my home, and I'll lead you to Singing Brook all at once. Anyone with a modicum of experience in the Greywood would have known that they were coming upon the Singing Brook, as all of the birds are silent here, for the beauty of the brook need not be overstated." She rolled her eyes and waved me on. I won't lie and say that there was not a moment in which I considered clocking her arrogant head with my smithy hammer, which I still held tightly. But, my sense of hospitality and decency overcame me, and I replaced the tool at my hip. Without a word, I walked down the path in the way I had before saving her life. Using the minute amount of sense about her, the girl followed me.
"Those with sense are not the leaders, but the followers. Leaders are doomed to die tragically or elderly, and I could not tell you which is worse."
-Proverb 36 (Words of the Loved) 'The Scripts of Ora'
Singing Brook was close by, yet somehow the girl made the trek unbearable. She derived a certain sort of sadistic joy from asking questions I clearly had no interest in answering. I remained silent, hoping that she understood my disinterest, however she would not relent. Through her ramblings I learned more about her than she did me.
"I presume you dwell within Singing Brook, yes? I myself come from the Striped Tree. You know the Striped Tree of course? The seat of the Patriarch, Lucien of Greywood? I'll have you know he is my father, so you best not let harm come to me." It was difficult to understand how a girl could so clearly be clever to the degree of surviving travel through the Greywood off of the roads, yet still put off a pompous air. Fortunately, I did not have to entertain her display of regal flex towards a poor little commoner for long.
As we neared Singing Brook, Sara fell silent. Trickles of water sounded like strikes of the drums, telling of crusades and conquests. Splashes of animals and fish whispered great tales of heroes defeating villains. Wind rustling through the trees detailed great festivals and diverse peoples. A melody filled the silence between us, a melody of all that exists. It sang of times long forgotten, of civilizations built upon its banks, of wars coloring its waters red, of divinity being brought to rest by its beauty. The brook may have flowed through the Greywood, but it sourced from a land beyond, in a mountainous region from which a spring spilled forth the clearest water in the world. And from the Greywood it would continue outward, eventually forming into the great river Sahlanymph, known to the people of the age as the river Par.
Sara and I rounded a bend, finally coming to the place of my people. The village of Singing Brook was not of a particularly impressive façade. The thirty or so domiciles that followed the brook were shabby but homely. An old elm tree grew amidst a semicircle of dwellings, on the western bank, and an intricate pathway of stones encircled it. My grandfather, Michael, planted the tree when he first settled the area. Between two of these dwellings, a faint dirt path wound its way back into the woods and to my father's forge, the chimney of which could just be seen poking above the treetops. Smoke trickled out of the chimney like the water trickled down the Singing Brook. Gentle yet constant. Joining now the melody of the water was the brass of a town and the distant percussion of my father hammering away at one creation or another. Sara paused for a moment, breathing in the simple beauty of fresh air and rustling leaves. Then she turned to me.
"Peasant boy, tell me where I might find the Elder of this village, so I might pay them homage."
"Firstly, my name is Seth. Cut the propriety." Sara's face reddened. "Secondly, the Singing Brook is Elder to all those who water from her banks. If you want to meet the leader of the village, you're out of luck. The village is…" I paused for a moment, searching for a word, "Anarchist? We certainly don't bend knee to royals."
"How dare you!" I held up a hand, looking down at her. Unluckily for me, she was only an inch or two shorter.
"However, my father is often called upon to make difficult decisions for the good of the village, so I suppose he's the one you want. Savvy?" Sara's grey eyes widened and her complexion paled. She had best be more respectful to this supposed 'peasant boy'.
I walked in the direction of my father's forge, not bothering myself with whether Sara would follow or not. If she truly cared to waste mine and my father's time, she would come. I heard her soft footfalls behind me. She planned to continue pestering me. Fortunately for my own sanity, she did not attempt a conversation again.
We passed through a thicket of younger elms, and the babbling tune of the brook began to fade, slowly overtaken by the clanging beat of metal. The forge came into view after ascending a small, but steep hill. It was a squat thing, made totally of cobbled stone. All of the trees had been cleared away in a ring of fifteen or so paces from the building, which itself was close to ten paces wide. The raging furnace blazed at the center of the construction, with walls extending out and around the workspace. Thick wooden beams, the remains of the clear-cut trees, held a canopy of heavy fabric over the forge. No door barred entry, however, the intense heat of the flame provided barrier enough. Though the trees were gone, their stumps remained, and many a blade impaled the slowly rotting wood, kept company by mosses, lichen, and other fungi that had begun to overtake what was made by man. Yet not a scratch, a ding, nor even a spot of rust was to be spotted on the glimmering steel sentries.
I led Sara through this forest of steel, breathing deeply to prepare myself, and pushed through the wall of heat. The inside of the forge took on a reddish hue, as though the furnace were the mouth of a tunnel leading through the earth to Sadyr itself. My father stood at an anvil, bringing down a hammer upon a glowing bar of steel with such strength as to rupture an untrained eardrum. An impressive figure, my father, built like the elms for which my line was named. He noticed my presence, though you would be hard pressed to have seen him react in any way. My father's hair glowed with the same red ferocity as his forge, and it had a nasty habit of hanging over his eyes in such a way that one could never know what he was thinking of or looking at. My father let out a long, sad sigh. He set his hammer down and quenched the still glowing bar of steel in a barrel of water from the brook. What may have become a blade hissed and squealed before being cast aside into a pile of similar scraps, followed by a mournful glance from my father.
"Few sing like they used to Seth. Recently, I have only heard vile hisses and the screams of innocents in the quenching of the steel, and my hammer falls not to the beat of the song of the world, but rather to the marching and drums of war. I feel it in my soul, in the very soul of the steel. War will come." We stood in silence. My father had a poetic spirit, be it a poetry born of metal. Unfortunately, his words were not just an artistic flair. Every member of the Witch's line possessed an amount of foresight. What my father heard in the quenching of steel was a warning. He sighed once again and tossed his tongs onto the anvil. For the past couple of years, my father had felt a growing sense of danger, and even the brook began to play a more panicked and rushing tune. Surely something was coming, but how long we had was a mystery to all. My father pulled the hair from his eyes, carefully tying it back with a scrap of fabric. "I see you have brought a friend with you." There was no questioning in his voice, only observation. We walked out of the forge to find Sara resting on one of the tree stumps, her back resting against a thick great sword on which moss grew and insects scrambled.
"Hello miss," my father said as she jumped to her feet, "What might you be here for? I don't take it my son has begun courting you, as he is not necessarily known as a charmer." My face flushed and I glared at my father. His amber eyes sparked with amusement at his own wit. I glanced at Sara, noticing that her face bore what I figured was a fairly similar expression to my own. We both quickly recaptured our composure.
"No, master smith. It seems that your son may have been mildly inconsiderate in acknowledging the significance of my presence here. You stand before," Sara made a standing bow of sorts, "Madam Sara, daughter of Lucien, the seat of Striped Tree, of the direct line of the Lord in the Deep Woods. And I have come with a request." My father did not look impressed and did not move to bow in any capacity, and I followed suit, crossing my arms and maintaining my visage of indifference.
"Aye, I know you're of the Lord's blood. Those eyes do you no favors in subtlety." Sara stuttered for a moment, before pulling herself into a standing position.
"Then, master smith, might I inquire as to why you feel no necessity to follow custom and bow to one descended from the Lord?" My father laughed a deep and slow laugh, like the groaning of old trees in the wind.
"My apologies miss Sara, but those born to the tree of the Witch of the Elms do not tend to offer such formalities. In fact, it is often the other way." Not for the first time that day, Sara was silenced in embarrassment. Generations ago, the Witch of the Elms had done a great service to the Lord in the Deep Woods. The Lord's bride was undergoing difficult labor, and it was unknown if mother or child would survive. The Witch appeared, guiding the woman through the process and safely delivering the child. Unfortunately, even the Witch's capabilities were limited. The Lord's bride passed. As a tribute, the Witch created the Greatest Elm at the place of her burial. Since those times, any descended from the Lord in the Deep Woods would pay respects to those descended from the Witch, in honor of her kindness.
Sara stuttered out a few words before bowing her head solemnly.
"I offer an apology, great master of elms. Humbly, I invoke the eternal gratitude of my patriarch towards you and your line." My father put his hand on the middle of his chest and I did the same, as a sign of thanks. I could hear just a few bitter notes in Sara's voice, knowing for certain that she despised having to bow to one she had thought of as a simple 'peasant boy'. We all returned to our natural postures, exchanging a moment of uncomfortable silence, though my father's eyes glimmered with amusement at the interaction.
"As wonderful a title as is 'master of elms', I do ask that you henceforth call me Moore." Though moving the interaction into a more casual air, my father began speaking in a more archaic dialect, one that many considered proper. I suppose he attempted to put her at ease with a small amount of decorum. "You claimed to bring a request, no doubt a request from the Patriarch Lucien himself?" Sara nodded and opened her mouth to explain, but my father raised a hand. "No need child." Sara balked at being called 'child'. "An escort bearing the mark of the Striped Tree passed through naught but three days previous, telling of their charge who had fled the safety of the road in search of adventure. Handily, your worry-stricken attendants provided a list of the wonders your father wished to commission." Sara instinctively uttered a word very unbecoming of royalty. My father raised a bushy red eyebrow. The young royal flushed, and I found laughter climbing my throat. My father silenced me with a stern glance before saying, "Now, Lady Sara, tell us of this adventure you so longed for."
Surprisingly, she did not resist. Sara began to spin a tale so fantastical that I had no choice but to believe her. Every word from her mouth rolled over me, entrancing me. Sara had been assigned by her father to journey to the village of Singing Brook to ask the master smith there to construct a number of wonders for his wife's birthday. This had been a number of weeks ago. Sara described loathing the purity and pomp of her life up to that point, which inspired her to run away at the first opportunity. She had seen many a wonder. Only two days in, Sara had fallen into a cave system covered in beautiful gemstones of all types and sizes. It took her two entire days to find the way out, and upon entering the sunlight, all of the gemstones she had picked up along the way vanished. From this mysterious cave, Sara found herself in the midst of a village of monoliths.
Nasty things, those monoliths. Somehow, even after every cycle of the river, they return into being. Malafta is a cruel god at times, I think. Monoliths are great stone behemoths, roughly in the shape of a man, yet stockier and more bulbous. Monoliths come into the world with a preordained hatred for humanity. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be due to their connection to the earth, Rara-Shon. A modicum of the hatred Rara-Shon feels for humanity must impact the minds of the monoliths, as their very brains are made of Rara-Shon's body. Regardless of my speculations, the monoliths truly plague humanity, and have done so in every age I have lived through. Though they may be ill-intentioned monsters, monoliths are not without their honor. If they were not honorable, there would have been no way for Sara to have survived.
Should any individual successfully make their way into a monolith village, they are not immediately killed. Anywhere beyond the village, where monoliths patrol and set up traps, that is a different story. However, should one find themselves within a monolith village, they will be challenged by the elder there. These challenges can be of any manner, though they are often physical in order to put the human at an insurmountable disadvantage. Sara's challenge had been to beat the elder at a game, specifically Pai Sho. The daughter of the patriarch could be surprisingly crafty, winning not through skill but rather through cheating, unbeknownst to the monolith people. For her victory, the monoliths awarded her life, and escorted her to the edges of their territory.
It is a funny thing, though, beating a monolith. They never forget. Vengeful thoughts are a trait unique to humans and a number of gods. As such, Sara's victory over the village elder did not incur wrath, but rather great respect and admiration. We may not hear of the monoliths for some time, however I implore you to not forget them.
Unfortunately, Sara's victory over the wilds did not last. It was at this time that the gratta began stalking her. She had caught sight of the feathered beast one night as it snuck around her campfire. The fire kept it at bay for the night, but soon she began noticing signs of it continuing to follow her. Eventually, this stalking broke out into a full on chase, and the events of the day played out.
"That is quite a tale, Madam Sara," my father said, "however I think from now on you should stick to the roads." Sara nodded but her scowl betrayed her defiance.
"Well Master Smi- I mean Moore, if you know about the wonders my father desires, I presume-" A bloodcurdling scream sounded in the distance. I knew that voice. It belonged to Hild Valtheldotir, an aged widow who often knit next to the old elm. My father looked up, alarmed, but I was already tearing off down the dirt path. Father followed close behind, leaving Sara along amongst the glimmering weapons.
We emerged from the trees to a grizzly scene. Two bodies lay still on the path about the elm. Blood poured out from beneath one, and the skull of the other had been crushed, grey matter displaced across the stones. My father, of a weaker constitution than myself, paused and retched. The aroma of fresh blood was intense enough to smell from several paces away. Guttural gagging and shrieking sounds accompanied a squelching followed by limp cries of pain. I slowly walked around the elm.
Hild Valthedotir sat with her back resting against the elm, arms limply at her sides. Her silvery hair was caked in blood. A man stood over her, or the remains of a man. His veins bulged and blood gushed from where chunks of flesh were missing. He wore shredded rags, though they were so little that they granted him no modesty. His entire body was disfigured, covered in tears and scratches. The man's eyes glowed scarlet, and his mouth worked to chew something. He leaned over Hild, wielding what looked like a wolf claw, gouging out one of her eye sockets. Pieces of her eye lay scattered about their feet. The old woman was uttering something intelligible, her remaining eye wide in horror. She reached up an arm to attempt to push away the man, but he kicked her in the chest, causing her arm to drop and for her to cough up blood. He stomped on her arm, shattering the bones. He resumed digging around her eye until he seemed to find what he was looking for. He set both hands firmly on the talon before shoving it upward into Hild's skull. She stopped muttering.
I could do nothing. I stood in shock at what I saw. A level of brutality which I had thought could only be imagined in the minds of traveling storytellers. Though I hadn't vomited previously, the scene left me with no other possible reaction. The blood soaked man began walking towards me, a sick grin on his face. I couldn't stem the flow of vomit, my disgust and horror overwhelming my sense of self preservation.
"Fath-er… help m-," I managed before falling into another dry heave. At this point, there was nothing left in me to lose. Malafta be praised, for my father came to my aid. He had managed to defeat his own bout of illness and stood in front of me bearing a heavy mallet.
"Stay away from my son," he growled. The smiling man had no reaction and kept walking slowly toward us. "Bastard," my father said, "Seth, go now. Fetch a chain." There was no room for argument, and I had no desire to. I took the chance and darted back down the path toward the forge. As I went I heard my father's first grunt as he swung at the man.
I knew what it was. Everyone knew what it was. The Red. A plague of man. It had originated in our age, stemming from a lust of violence never seen before. Any who took the life of another would soon find themselves incapable of thought or rationality. There was no recovery for the Red-Stricken. In the times of great war, the plague of the Red became so great that Linlotar itself intervened. It created the Blackwater Citadel and the Vaults within to contain the Stricken. Since that time, it had been a matter of human survival to banish the Stricken to its walls.
It had been years since a Stricken had been seen in the Greywood. Thinking as I ran, I realized that I knew the man. He had passed through Singing Brook a month ago, selling furs. He left to go towards the mountains, specifically the city Gerython. As I ran, I must have passed Sara, though to this day I have no memory of her. I simply ran into the forge of my father, sought out the heaviest chain and pitons I could, and lugged them back toward the elm.
My father engaged in a fierce bout with the Stricken. The problem with the Red was that you could not defend yourself from a Stricken lest you kill them and infect yourself. The Stricken would lunge at my father, swinging wildly with his claw. My father sidestepped him and swept his legs out from beneath him. The Stricken attempted to climb to his feet, but my father grappled him, putting him in a choke hold. The Stricken saw an opportunity in Moore's bare forearms, sinking its teeth deep into his flesh. My father was a tough man, but deep wounds hurt. He let go in a reaction of pain and the Stricken crawled on top of him, stabbing him with the claw. My father swung at his head with the mallet, but missed. Looking back, his missing likely saved his life.
The hammer slipped from Moore's blood-slicked grasp, landing next to the Stricken. Despite their plague of violence, the Stricken retained a level of cunning. The man took advantage of the weapon which rest on the ground within his reach. He took the long wolf claw and pierced Moore's hand with it, driving it into the ground. My father managed to get a left hook off onto the side of the Stricken's head, but found his arm pinned to the ground by the man's foot. The Stricken grabbed the mallet on the ground and smashed Moore's elbow until his body went limp from the pain. Satisfied, the Stricken threw away the hammer.
By this time, a crowd had gathered. Though many wished to help my father, the fear of the Red kept them away, safe of the other side of the brook. They could only watch the animalistic brutality before them. The Stricken saw that it had an audience. Judging that my father's pain had incapacitated him, the Stricken moved off of him, scrambling up to his head. The Stricken smiled at the audience before bashing my father's face with his fists. His nose broke and gushed blood. I thank Malafta that he did not choke on his own blood.
The Stricken decided he was done with this plaything. He moved his mouth over my father's throat, spitting the thing he had previously been chewing on. The mangled tongue of Hild Vatheldotir. The crowd gasped. The Stricken reared up, preparing to put on a show. But, before his jaws even began to descend, gold glinted in the sun, and a razor sharp blade decapitated the Stricken. His head felt onto Moore's body before rolling off. Sara pushed his body off to the side with a boot covered foot before kneeling down beside my father. He managed to regain enough consciousness to see her blood splattered face and stormy grey eyes. And then, for a moment, he saw it. Sara's eyes flashed crimson, and her face contorted in rage. But as soon as it came, the Red vanished, leaving a look of fear and concern. She looked at the shocked crowd across the brook.
"What in the Lord's grace are you waiting for?!" she yelled at them, "Someone help this man!" Hesitantly, a few of the stronger men and women of the village came forward, but they stayed back from Sara. She stood, blood still dripping from her golden sword. Beautiful, yet gruesome. The blade was thin and the length of her arm, mildly curving. Intricate engravings along its length acted as tributaries down through the blood of the Stricken flowed.
I emerged from the woods, dragging the heavy chain with me. I froze, unable to comprehend the sight before me. I had not known what happened, and just saw my father lying still on the ground, Sara standing over him with a bloody blade.
"W-what do I-," I started. My father must have heard my voice because he pointed at Sara.
"Her," he rasped. Five townspeople converged on Sara. She cried out, telling them to stay away, but they managed to pry the sword from her grasp and restrain her. I stepped forward slowly. This stupid girl. I kicked the head of the Stricken as I passed it. In hopes of saving another, she doomed herself to a fate worse than death.
"Against the tree." The townspeople complied. I approached.
"You fucking bastard!" Sara shouted, "I saved his life! Deep Woods take me! LET ME GO!" I ignored her berating and, with the help of one of the townspeople, wrapped her in chains, driving the pitons into the ground and the tree. The rest of the town began to move more freely, and the village healer and his assistants came and carried my father away.
(Sara was given the responsibility to travel to Singing Brook to ask Moore to make a number of gifts from steel for the wife of the Patriarch. She ended up journeying through the woods after ditching her regal escort, as she had an itch to experience adventure. She visited multiple settlements and random farmsteads throughout the woods before encountering her first real challenge, that being a village of monoliths, the stone giants. Monoliths hate humans but will challenge them before outright killing them. Sara managed to win her challenge, winning the respect of the monoliths as well. She started being stalked by the gratta a few days after leaving the monolith village. She was very lucky that it decided to attack so near to civilization. She divulges a lot of this information to Moore after Seth brings her to him. Moor knew that she ditched her escort because they arrived without her. While the three of them are talking, a commotion occurs outside. Bloodcurdling screams fill the air, and Seth runs around the corner of his father's smithy to see what is happening. Three people lie on the ground, covered in blood. A ragged-looking middle-aged man stands in the middle of the bodies, bare hands and torso covered in blood. He turns to Seth, and his eyes are red. The man was a trader who disappeared a time ago after venturing out of the Greywood towards the mountains. Seth calls for his father who comes quickly, Sara close behind. Moore confirms what Seth feared; the man is stricken with the Red. In his age, the red was a disease which would overtake the mind of any who took the life of another human. Some could maintain their sanity in the Red, if they were of profound will. Most could not, resulting in a vile creature that served only to kill others, bathing in the blood of their prey. Even those who maintained some amount of sanity would feel an incurable desire to slaughter everything before them. The Red was the greatest scourge of the age, and in fact it was what finally led to the end, with Linlotar and the losatar themselves descending from the sky to slaughter all those tainted with the Red, including the gods who fell to its influence. The true fear of the Red was that even those who slew only the red-stricken would become tainted. Moore ordered his son to fetch a chain whilst he distracted the red. Moore held the red down, but it broke free through breaking its arm. It lunged for Moore's exposed throat. Moore would have died if not for the quick intervention of Sara, who brought down a sword on the neck of the red, swiftly decapitating it. Moore looked up at her and saw the red flash briefly in her eyes, before subsiding and being replaced by the storm-grey of royalty. Sara had had a sword hidden beneath her dress as was customary of royalty. When Seth returned with the chain, his father ordered him to chain Sara. Several other towns folk emerged from their hiding places and helped Seth restrain the struggling royal. They chained her tightly to a tree, obviously confiscating her sword. Moore then called a council of the members of the village of Singing Brook to determine what to do. Custom dictated that Sara be immediately sent to the Blackriver Citadel, to be imprisoned within the Vault, which held a great number of red-stricken. However, Sara had managed to fend off the red, for the time being. Moore and a majority advocated that she should not be sent off, however, word would be sent to the Patriarch, Lucien, of the event. Seth thought that when they were unchaining her, he saw her eyes flash crimson, but it was quickly replaced with stormy grey. Throughout the story, Seth notes that there are slight flecks of ruby in her slate eyes.)
Ideas
Sara, daughter of Lucien, son of Job, son of the Lord in the Deep Woods took up the sword at the city of Gerython's peak. As the six violent lords pointed their bloody fingers of damnation at the Greywood, Sara was the first to defend, saving the sacred land from defilement. We honor her sacrifice, as in slaughtering all but two men of their fists of soldiers, she tainted herself with the red. She now is sealed with the six red lords within the vaults at the Citadel of the Black River. May she remain imprisoned forevermore.
'What the Sky Saw' tells the story of the creation of the losatar and Ramses, the Hopeful Star. The losatar were created by Malafta in order to serve as a neutral party to cast judgement on the actions of Rara-Shon. The losatar are a hive mind, although they do possess independent wills. As a cycle comes to its end, the losatar begin to die, though the hive mind remains intact within Ramses. The losatar are reincarnated and have their mind restored at the start of every new cycle. Ramses is also referred to as the King of the Losatar, or Linlotar. Specifically, Ramses is called Linlotar when referencing his position as the Sun when the cycle restarts. The Hopeful Star of Ramses is hidden behind the Sun of Linlotar. When all of the losatar vanish, so does Linlotar, revealing Ramses.
The shadow used to be a friend of humanity, keeping them safe and cloaking them from the dangers that hunted them. But then humanity found a new love, fire. So, in jealousy, the dark conspired to try to kill this fire and when that failed, the dark began to work against humanity. The dark became their opponent, the force that hid humanity's most dangerous of foes.
The Toppo people are a nomadic river tribe that ventures down the Black River in the summer and the river Par (Salanymph) in the winter, camping in the respective reservoirs of the two in the seasons between. The Toppo lend a heavy spiritual and social value to water. People are born in the reservoirs or rivers, which determines their names. When two people wish to marry, they do so in the winter reservoir, wading into a freezingly cold body of water together. The Toppo people believe that the soul is trapped within the body, except when looking at a reflection. Should a person die while looking at their reflection, their soul will be set free into the water. Otherwise, the soul will remain trapped in the body for eternity. All of the people of the world are the children of Salanymph, but the Toppo people are often called the Chosen Children. As such, whether Salanymph is aware of it or not, the River does not allow the Toppo people to die from age or illness if they are not gazing into its banks, so that their souls may rejoin the flow. (Possible narrative about someone killing a Toppo away from the River).
SSS Prompt Ideas
-The Wrens' Empire has fallen, and the Raptors and the Corvids vie for power in a bloody contest.
-1920s mobsters, but they're birds.
-The dreams of a dying eldritch god.
Because of their cybernetic implants, as well as a not insignificant amount of magic, L3ah and S4m have inhabited the Library hundreds of years. S4m arrived in the Library near the middle of the Gryphon's Archival tenure, while L3ah arrived just after the appointment of Caduale Mezerizo. S4m was unaware of L3ah's presence for the timespan of the seventh Archivist's tenure. S4m has served as the unofficial head cook of the Library since the burning of the Stacks, and L3ah has served as the Coat Collector since her arrival at the Library.
Reginald's Reign P.2
The crew stepped through the portal. When emerging, they feel a strong blast of wind and a spray of mist strike them. They find themselves in a large and beautiful underground grotto, with exotic plants and mosses adorning the stone walls and large clusters of luminous crystals lighting everything up. There is a large cluster of orange crystals in the center of the chamber providing the majority of the light. A waterfall runs down one side, hence the spray of mist. Across the chamber is a hole in the wall covered by some sort of organic material. The crew stands for a moment in stunned silence before the hole opens and a blast of wind shoots through the grotto before it closes once again. In this space, the crew will find seven pathways leading out of the grotto, including the giant sphincter. One route is also underwater. They discuss for a time what direction they should go. Suddenly, Frank spots a bunch of red praying mantises that begin climbing out of cracks in the walls. They all begin to move in the direction of one of the more easily accessed doors. Frank points this out, but no one else sees the mantises or their bloody footprints that they leave behind. The mantises begin moving more quickly, so Frank begins to run after them. Jish follows close behind him, but the doorway collapses as soon as Frank went through, crushing Jish's leg. Frank helps his friend up and continues on, leaving Craigory and S4m behind. Jish ignites a lighting ward and they follow the footprints that only Frank can see. For a while the corridor is an extenuation of the grotto, but it suddenly becomes a deep red stone and heat begins to emanate from the walls. Jish's ward eventually fades, leaving the two in darkness for a moment. Frank and Jish both feel the dripping of some warm, stick substance falling on them from the ceiling. Suddenly, thousands of small orange eyes open on the ceiling, illuminating the duo. It is the mantises, one large eye per mantis, glowing bright orange and raining little drops of blood on the duo. The heat in the hallway picks up, so much so that the blood from the mantises begins to congeal quickly and let off steam, causing everything to look hazy and dreamlike. Jish begins to profess a profound desire to fall asleep, and collapses even though Frank is supporting him. Frank crouches down to try to help his friend back up, but the mantises swarm down from the ceiling and engulf his body. Frank tries to pull the mantises off of Jish, but they begin moving the lump of his body away under a sea of bugs. Frank cries out and reaches for Jish, but then he blinks and the whole scene vanishes. Frank finds himself alone. He pauses for a moment of despair before sitting up and observing his new surroundings. Where the hallways had been overwhelmingly hot, this place was rather cool. Not freezing cold or anything, but chilled, like an early fall night. The world was monochrome, from the sand he sat on that had a silvery sheen, to the varying shades of grey that covered the expanse before him. Frank is basically in what looks to be an endless desert, but without dunes. Wind is blowing rather strongly, but the sand remains a flat constant. Frank is resting with his back against an infinitely large black wall. The wall seems to stretch infinitely up and in both directions. Frank collapses onto the sand and waits, trying to understand any of what is happening, recounting how he got into this situation in the first place. Whatever is going on now feels very disconnected from Reginald. Frank gives up, lost in a desert unknown to anyone. He lays on the ground for what may have been a subjective infinity in despair, becoming buried by the slowly moving sand. The sand was sharp, in fact it was ground up glass, so it cut Frank as it buried him, but he was too far gone to care. His friends were lost, Jish was dead. Frank almost died. His body went cold and limp, like the landscape around him. Only one part remained warm. Stabbing into Frank's leg through his pocket was the scalding red shard of Reginald's crown.
A figure slowly emerges from the dust storm, walking up to the lump in the sand that is Frank's body. The figure was clad in a hooded cloak, under which only six red eyes and a strange symbol were visible. The figure knelt down before the lump that was Frank and put its fist in the sand. A whirlwind spun up around the figure and Frank, and all of the sand was blown away. They were in the eye of a vortex of sand. The cloak whipped around the figure, though the hood remained in place. A scarred hand reached down to Frank's now uncovered body and fished around in his pockets. It found what is was looking for. The figure pulled the shard of Reginald's crown from Frank's leg. The little warmth that had barely kept Frank alive began to quickly fade. The figure wasted no time in arcing the shard above its head before violently driving it through Frank's heart. The whirlwind of silver glass began to bleed red and a swarm of mantises crawled out of the ground, staining individual grains red with their footprints. Their eyes were wide open, casting orange spotlights around the cone of wind and glass. The warmth returned to Frank's body and he began to breathe again. The mantises crawl over to the edge of the whirlwind, to the black wall. They shine their beacon-like eyes at the wall, causing the space to shatter like a mirror and bleed. The mantises march through, followed by the figure who hoisted Frank's body onto its shoulder.
Frank awakens on a classy leather couch. He is in a victorian-looking sitting room with a roaring fire place in front of him. To his left is a large leather armchair in which sits a man. Rather, a fellow Kthulian. The Kthulian walks over to Frank and crouches down in front of the couch. He smiles. "Welcome back you big fucking baby. You almost died." The Kthulian goes on to explain a few things to Frank. First, his friends are all alive, though Jish definitely isn't at 100%. Second, the mantises are called mantiseers and are servants of the Scarlet King, like himself. Frank freaks out and stands up quickly looking for a way to escape, but the room has no exit. Frank gets ready to fight the Kthulian, but the man raises his hand and Frank finds himself sitting on the couch again. The scent of ozone and a ringing in his ears is all Frank noticed between his transition. The Kthulian said, "I think we started off on the wrong foot. I am Barnabus, or Barney if you wish." Barney goes on to explain what the Scarlet King is, not the pure evil that most think of it as, but rather the imprisoned, sleeping deity that watches and waits with its mantiseers and his servants, waiting for the day that it is set free. Barney tells Frank that the Reginald beasts are indeed constructs powered by the Scarlet King, but they are not willed by the Scarlet King. Due to the King being imprisoned, his power is ripe for the exploiting, and that is what is happening now. Barney does not know who the mastermind is, but what he can provide is a temporary solution for Frank and his Library. He tells Frank that all of the places that he has been since passing through the portal is the Labyrinth, a dimension powered by Barney that lies under several worlds. He says that he can arrange a meeting with a powerful force named the Hanged King of Alagadda.
Though the Scarlet King slumbers, it views the world through its only loyal acolytes, the Mantiseers. The Mantiseers are small praying mantises that leave bloody steps as they walk, and have dark red or black exoskeletons. The Mantiseers also have connections to Linova, the embodiment of time, giving them limited divination capabilities.
Reginald is being powered by the Scarlet King's Power, but the Scarlet King's Power is being utilized by the Hanged King to continue his assault on the Library. In fact, every circumstance in which the Scarlet King was the cause or source of a disturbance, it was another being using its power, often times the Hanged King. The Scarlet King was thrust into slumber early into creation, thus the Hanged King, the Usurper, used its power to attack creation, especially targeting Alexandria, in order to gain dominion over life. The Scarlet King has not actually impacted any of existence since the very birth of most every universe. Instead, the King has had heralds and prophets in many universes that act out its will. The Mantiseers serve as the King's eyes, the prophets as his hands. Examples of prophets include the demigod Dionysus, the Sandman, the emotion of Rage, Barnabus, and Erik Vultus, also known as Morpheus. Though the Scarlet King's prophets act as its hand to impact existence, many of the prophets still actively work to keep the King asleep. Vultus describes the Scarlet King as a divine toddler. Sweet at times, but prone to tantrums of cosmic proportions. So, like any good parent, Vultus and Barnabus, the current prophets, work to enact the will of the Scarlet King while also doing everything in their power to make sure it remains in slumber. Basically, the Scarlet King is Azathoth, but it can see what is going on through the Mantiseers. The Mantiseers are also only powered by the King, but they were created by Relil as a favor to Barnabus who saved their life. So, Barnabus actually controls the Mantiseers.
A bunch of staff and various characters of the Library camping in a region called the Park. It is basically an enormous section of wooded landscapes. Everyone is sitting around a campfire, and a number of characters tell some ghost stories. Potential collab?
A "Way" into the library, where it is accessed through an open world video game. Have a private investigator investigating a murder come across the video game in the effects of the victim. First he doesn't think anything of the game, but he finds information about himself and his life in the library, cluing him in that something strange is going on. (Also, he sees a live feed of the library when playing, and he appears in the library physically as a pale blue ghost made of binary code and other symbols). The investigator obsessively plays the game, searching for information about the killer in his murder investigation. He becomes so obsessed that his life in general degrades. Think very depressed and obsessive basement dweller. He becomes paranoid, due to a lack of sleep and paranoia about the information being in the game, since he doesn't actually believe that the library is a real place. He is in the middle of a late night session in the library, combing shelves for useful information, when a knock comes at his door and he answers it. A man in shadow is in his doorway and the lights in his apartment's hallway is flickering and the lights closest to his apartment are completely out. The man is in a trench coat and has a wide brim hat, shading his face. Investigator asks, "Who are you?". "Nobody," the figure replies, pulls out a Walther P-38 (stereotypical WWII german pistol) and shoots the investigator in the stomach, and leaves him to bleed out on the ground. Investigator goes for his phone in his pocket, but finds that it is fried. He tries to exit his apartment, but the door is locked and no matter how hard he turns the latch it won't budge. In a last ditch effort, he goes to the game still on his TV and yells at the controller for help. The sound transmits into the library and gets the attention of staff. A grouping of docents gathers around the digital figure of the investigator and one runs off. Twenty minutes later, a man in an FBI uniform breaks down the investigators door and transports him to a hospital. He is a UIU agent who has a bunch of contacts in the library, and he and the docents had knowledge of the machine that the investigator was using, and kept tabs on it. The docents informed the UIU agent that the guy was hurt, and using fancy magic shit, they knew his exact location, so the UIU was able to have someone pick him up and bring him to a hospital. After being cared for at the hospital, the investigator, we'll call him Simon Price from now on, is questioned by the UIU about what happened. He tells them everything and they become especially interested in the fact about Nobody. At the end of the interrogation, the UIU gives Simon the traditional red pill, blue pill choice. He can choose to be amnesticized by a SCP Agent that the UIU has access to for these kinds of situations, or he can join the UIU. No give or take, those are the options. Simon decides to join the UIU and continues investigating. (Make sure to develop a friend of his named Harry). He goes through traditional FBI training plus extra UIU stuff. He is infatuated with solving the identity of Nobody, and he continues using the library to figure it out. He learns that it is a real place and actually enters it, gets friendly with staff etc. etc. Simon and the UIU continue to investigate, finding more murders similar to the original one that Simon discovered. They get closer and closer to the identity of Nobody, and one man finds it. He is a member of Simon's team, and he somehow finally found Nobody's name, and was found dead before he could tell anyone. The only clue is a snake that he seemingly carved into his hand with a pen as he was dying. The UIU and Simon get into contact with the serpent's hand trying to see if they know anything. They refer them to try to find the black queen, whom cannot be found unless she wants to be. Simon decides to talk to the chief archivist, the Rounderpede, to see if he knows the location of the black queen. The Rounderpede inquires as to why Simon needs to find the Black Queen and Simon gives him more or less the entire story thus far. When he mentions that he is seeking the identity of Nobody, the Rounderpede becomes agitated, and lashes out at Simon as though it is holding itself back from attacking him. Strained, the Rounderpede tells Simon to venture the archives and there he will find his quarry. Simon, without any knowledge of the archives, delves in with three others. All but Simon and one other UIU agent die brutally. Through their area of the archives the duo find themselves in a previously unknown region of the Library. They are in Yggdrasil Progenitor, AKA the genealogy section, detailing every life to exist in every universe ever. They encounter a multitude of library staff attacking them, and Harry is critically injured in the fight. He gets dragged by his partner through the forest that is Yggdrasil Progenitor and they lose the library staff. Harry tells Simon to leave him behind as his leg has been ripped of and he is bleeding out. Harry watches as Simon runs away and lets the docents come upon him and start attacking. Harry rips a grenade and suicides to take out a bunch of docents with him. Simon runs for a long time, until he physically collapses and blacks out. He awakes in a jail cell with a short little man in front of him.
Figure out the real story of Frank. Figure out how he landed in the Library and how he became the Guidance Officer. Once you develop this and write a couple stories about his shenanigans in the Library, maybe write about Euclid's Sorrow, have him end up meeting Pann. Pann is Frank from the far future (Pann has mastery of navigating Ways, and successfully time travels with various Ways). He is older, taller, thinner, and has antlers. He became intertwined with a benevolent god of life (a servant of Alexandria) granting him immortality. He tells Frank that his destiny is to achieve this and sow life to new worlds in the multiverses and breed goodness among his subjects. Frank hates this and rejects Pann. Pann will appear at times, trying to guide Frank down the right path, and Pann forces a telepathic bond with Frank so they are in touch at all times. Frank doesn't like his destiny since he loves being a grumpy ass cynic.
Name; Francis Barnabus (Formerly Francis Barnabus Pann)
Height; 68 in., 1.72m
Weight; 185 lbs., 81.64kg (Elder Pann is nearly weightless and looks emaciated)
Species; Kthulian
Skin Color; Green with black splotches
Hair Color; Bald
Eye Color; Glowing yellow with no pupils or irises
Unusual Features; A bunch of tentacles around his head. Very reminiscent of an octopus on top of a human neck, but he's got a mouth in there somewhere. (Elder Pann has large deer antlers as well)
Abilities; Can telepathically communicate with anyone who lets him in and can pry into people's memories if they are weak minded enough. Can fall very far without getting severely hurt, due to very dense bones. (Elder Pann can time travel and is also a Herald of Alexandria, which means he can seed life onto worlds. Literally the equivalent of a weak god.)
Personality; Kind of a dick. Likes pissing people off, but will become serious if the occasion requires it. DO NOT MAKE HIM GENUINELY MAD. He has two levels of anger; cold angry and hot angry. Hot angry, he breaks shit and yells a lot but relaxes after a couple hours. Cold angry, he will start acting abnormally nice and act fairly normal, but he becomes cold and calculating, plotting his revenge, always eight steps ahead.
Frank was once a respected man in his community. He had a lovely wife, a son, and most importantly a well paying job. He had everything a Kthulian man could ever want. He just had to fuck it up, didn't he? Frank got involved with gambling which gained him some, how should I put it, unsavory individuals. These individuals got him into heavy drinking and eventually drug use, specifically caffeine. Caffeine is a dangerous drug to Kthulians, and they become incredibly addicted to it very quickly. Frank became an addict, lost his wife, job, and son from it. He was living on the streets. One day he was walking on a bridge when a bicycle rode past and knocked him off. He hit the river bank, and happened to land on a Slip 'N Slide, and slipped 'n slid along it, under the bridge, and fell through a Way located at the end of the Slip 'N Slide. The water on the Slip 'N Slide splashed in with him, and he hit a creature. The creature was made of salt and started dissolving from the water. This wound up with Frank being given the choice to be forced to become a Page or to volunteer and retain his Kthulian form. He chose the latter. Now he works in the Wanderer's Library, acting like a jackass to everyone, except for one time when an IRS agent somehow landed in the library. He was very polite and nervous around the IRS agent, and was heard muttering something like, "it wasn't *technically* tax evasion…" once the agent had been escorted out of the library.
Frank currently resides within the Library and serves as a Librarian as punishment for accidentally dissolving a Salt Golem. He operates the Guidance Desk, telling people where to go to find certain things in the Library, and how to navigate the stacks through desire. Occasionally Frank is ordered to guide someone to a Restricted Section, such as the Archives or Yggdrasil Progenitor, in which case he packs supplies and hikes through the Library with the authorized patron. Frank got one of his higher up Librarians in trouble because he had guided a servant of the Scarlet King to Yggdrasil Progenitor, which almost led to the death of every living creature. That Librarian was downgraded into a Page. Frank had another 30 years added to his sentence of working at the Guidance desk.
Frank has also met with his future self, who's perceived nagging drives him insane. The future Frank goes by the name of Pann. Pann claims that he is trying to guide Frank down the right path in life, a path which will lead him to merge with a demi-god, one of the Heralds of Alexandria. Frank thinks its dumb as hell and does the opposite of whatever Pann tells him to do. Because of meeting Pann and thinking he was pretentious, Francis Pann decided to drop his last name, and go by Francis Barnabus (Barnabus having been his middle name).
Elder Pann possesses two physical forms; His true form, and his resting form. The resting form is very similar to Frank, but far thinner, to the point of malnourished, with a series of deer-like antlers running along his head. He is typically seen wearing a red velvet vest with no shirt and form fitting black and white pinstriped pants. He has a pocket watch with him at all times. Its face looks like a large, purple eye. It blinks sometimes.
Pann's true form is that of an incomprehensible demi-god. The Herald is a tetrahedron with an open bottom with tentacles pouring out of it. The tetrahedron has two sets of three eyes running along one of the edges, which is typically what faces people. There is a broken halo that floats behind the tetrahedron that is inscribed with arcane lettering and projects a bright light. The Herald has two large white wings that seem to fade out of the bright light into existence. The body of a squid rises behind the Herald and two long tentacles stretch out of the bright light, usually used to interact with the environment. The Herald Pann is often assigned to aquatic worlds, hence its squid iconography. (I would have done octopus imagery, but it didn't look as good to me).
For fonts, go to google fonts and click the font you want. Click 'select this style'. On the side bar, select '@import' and copy the stuff in between the < style >. things. On your page or sandbox, make a module block (observe code of this page) for css, and paste the stuff you copied from google fonts into that. Then, on another line, add '.(insert spaceless name of font) { (copy and paste second line of code from google fonts }' and then close the module block. From then you can use div blocks to use the fonts. Just do (with brackets not parentheses), ((div class="(insert spaceless font name)")) and write all the text beneath, then close with a ((/div))
This code is so that you can make an image the background of a page and then you can write on that image
[[module CSS]]
.nameofdivclasshere {
background: url(insert imgur image url here);
}
[[/module]]