He wanders a wide, snowy, open land. Gray covers the sky. Remnants of war surround. Frozen limbs reaching for Aten. Old Megaliths, forgotten and unanimated, surrounded by soldiers floating, faces long since worn away, tethered to the ground by frozen pylons of rot. He looks to the mountains. Once green, now white, and lifeless. A flash. The Godcundlic of Man shines at him invitingly. Adrenaline. He sits, and prays. He sits for many hours, the snow melting around him. When he is finished, he stands, and sets up camp. When he awakes, he hears howling from not too far away. The Megalith. He quickly wraps his legs, slips on his bearskin cloak and pulls on his hat and facemask, and then wraps a scarf around his eyes. Relics. He takes down his tent with ease, as he has done it blind many times before, and places it in his pack. Then he races, quickly, towards the glowing light in his soul, the Godcundlic of Man. He walks, imagining the warmth of a hearth, and the joy of community. Crunch. A jolt in his soul. He stops. Crunch. Crunch. He feels a warm breath on his neck, despite it being covered by his cloak. They had followed. They never follow. Crunch. Crunch. A whisper. He bolts. Tearing across the snow. The crunches follow, surrounding him. They must be sustained by the Godcundlic. He runs. Crunch. SLAM! He stops. They ran into something. He holds his hands out in front of him, looking for a dilapidated house, or a Megalith. A hand grabs him. A raging smolder consumes his arm. It screeches at him, and he runs away. He had never touched one before. He kept running away, but didn’t hear the crunches around him anymore. Maybe… Maybe it was something else? Something that scared them off? He couldn’t see. He was glad, honestly. He sat, and held his pendant, and prayed for a few moments, thanking Aten for his survival, and asking for protection. He moved the scarf from his eyes to his face, and looked around, and there was nothing but a sigil burned into the snow around him. He was glad Aten was so graceful. He looked up. He was much closer to the mountains, and the Gondcundlic of Man shone bright over him, Impossibly tall, shining as a fraction of what the sun once was, Although this light provides no warmth. He stands, and walks into the mountains.
************************************************
The mountains are much more barren than what surrounds it. He wanders up, and up, jumping over crags and cliffs, stepping over rocks. He takes shelter in caves when he needs to, Aten keeping him going. After days of travel, He sees it, the bottom of the glowing Godcundlic, The thing that has led him. At the base, the glowing sigil, A small settlement in the center, the Godcundlic sprouting from it like a tree. He falls to his knees. After years, a settlement. A tear freezes to his cheek. He descends the mountain. The wander wanders no more.
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LOG 1146 - YEAR 3
Juma. 31st, monday, GCO 32/465, combat 91+10, Sta. 74
ENTRY AS FOLLOWS:
Relations with Aten have soured past reconciliation, I believe. No amount of sacrifice or prayer can save us from this war. The jungle is gone, blackened and barren, with sands approaching from the east. There hasn't been a harvest in years, and although that means my family is better off, that doesn't mean it is good. The rain has stopped, and even now, the sun beats on me relentlessly. The bright flat land does make it easier to see those… things. Gelb calls them soldiers, but they are unlike anything that I've ever seen. An older man of the calvary came in today, with news of the fall of Jerusalem. It was silent all around. He told us these horrors seeped through the walls of the city. Fascinating, although terrifying. I shouldn't worry though, the action probably won't come all the way out here. In better news, we were blessed with a beached whale today, so we can save our provisions for a few weeks.
H.G.
ENTRY END
OFFICER SIGNATURE:
Abrumlem Gelb
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"Hello darling, I'm home!"
"Greetings honey, I've prepared some Essene for us."
"Wonderful, what else were you burdened with today?"
"Besides the collection of Manna, I cleaned the house, swept the ash, and collected your metal shipment from Ptah."
"Great news! I nearly ran out today, there was no limit to my customers. Where is it collected?"
"Just past the out house my love."
"Lovely."
*********************************************
"I quite like your Essene. You are truly blessed by Aten. Nobody else can rival your cooking!"
"Aw, Thank you sweetie. I forgot to ask, have you any news I have yet to hear?"
"Yes, actually, I do. A newcomer happened by today, I saw him enter from the mountains."
"Really? A newcomer to Assipattle? I believe the last wanderer who came here was Ptah, so many years ago."
"Yes, and I am glad he graced us with his skill! Today, the newcomer came to the shop, and offered a piece of Archica for a sword of Ensis, saying he had been recently attacked by demons that had roamed past their domain!"
"That's worrying, I thought they never wandered past their homes. Perhaps he is cursed."
"Nay, he entered the seal with no trouble or prayer. Although, he did smell strongly of smoke."
"Well, perhaps he prayed out of sight, he did smell like smoke after all."
"Or he prayed to fend off the demons."
"Nay, he prayed for entry! We haven't seen man, women, or child of strong enough faith to enter a seal without requesting passage since before that horrid war, and even in those days folk of that sort were rare."
"That is true. We should introduce ourselves tomorrow, when he comes to collect his sword at noon, and determine if he is of a strong faith."
"Very well. Put away your plate please."
____________________________________________________________________________
~An excerpt from The Speech of Creation given by Arch Pharisee Aaliyah~
“His is a city of Altars. The scar on the land causes all Sinners to falter. Those Creatures of War will all balter. No soul can be altered, in this city of Altars.”
That man stands in an ancient, wordless city of monuments, a grim smile on his face, barely visible beneath his black greathood. This is the place he has lived for all his days. Oh, that great city of light, yet now lies empty. Barren, excusing the great monuments to the dead, Columbarium reached for his most high seat in the heavens surrounding. Though constituents are far and few, faced to the snow and wandering, impossible to track, one lays now, struggling on a bloodied altar. His yells and screams pierce the sky, That once golden light slowly turned to gray, with every soul abandoned each day. That man stands over him, with a triblade of tarnished gold. The poor man stops his yelping, and the man pauses.
“Behold, Oh Sun, a worthy soul, and a treasured heart, beloveth more than all the stars, made for heaven, by design, worth your glorious rescue every time!”
Gold pierces flesh, and screams echo through the city, as so many before it. The man’s compatriarchs come to the Altar, and lift the body, singing hymns and cheering joyfully. The man sheaths his knife, and unknown to the other Pallbearers, It would never again pierce any hide. The body of that unfortunate man is quickly ashen, and given a place in Columbariums towering so tall.
********************************************
When the evening comes, indistinguishable from the day in this place, the man buries his knife. He collects a sword, provided by his fathers long, long ago. He goes to the coals of the unfortunate wanderer and burns the bloodied knife’s sheath. In the fire, he places the hilt of his Ancient father’s sword. He lifts it, and brands the back of his hand with the engraving of the hilt. Light. Darkness washed. Burning, White, Golden Purity, Oh, beauty of Aten! His altered soul tears gold through the night. Souls of thousands turned onto him, and given one quest. Return all to that place since designed.
He stands, slowly. Lives flashing in and out of his eyes. The pallbearers are present now, cowering in terror. “Ereshkigal! Ereshkigal! Oh, come rescue us Ereshkigal!” Ereshkigal shivers. A scream of power roars from him, and the pallbearers are no more. The energy returns to him, and he glows slightly. With a flip of a robe, Ereshkigal departs the Monument city, seeking his quest from below.
____________________________________________________________________________
“Ah, welcome, welcome wanderer! Are you here for your Ensis sword? I've been hard at work on it.”
“Yes.”
“Very good! Let me introduce you to my wife, Caitlin.”
“Good afternoon! How are you liking Assipattle?”
“Good. It is warm here. The hostel is comfortable.”
“Glad to hear that. Is it cold outside The Gondcundlic?”
“Impossibly so.”
“How long have you been wandering?”
“Not sure.”
“Easy to lose track of time?”
“You could say that.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Jerusalem, the fallen city.”
“How did you get out?”
“Not sure.”
“What's your name?”
“Not sure.”
“Did you forget?”
“Nay.”
“I'm very sorry sir, but I don't think my husband can sell you this sword.”
“What?”
“Let us not jump to conclusions, darling! He is paying quite a bit for this weapon.”
“He is not fit to wield it! A true follower of Aten would never lose track of time, and certainly not his given name!”
“If you think of me as a man of little faith, come with me to the Gondcundlic, and I will show I can permeate without requesting passage.”
“Nay, certainly that is not necessary, you can just collect the sword!”
“No, Husband, I think this is most necessary. Let this man prove his faith!”
*********************************************
Three figures venture to the edge of town. Two men, and a woman holding a sword. One man and the woman stand and watch, as the second man walks out of the Gondcundlic, and some words pass between the two. Then he enters again without praying. The woman falls to her knees. The man takes the sword, and bowing, presents it to him. The wanderer collected his sword.
The sword of Ensis was beautiful, well crafted, and razor sharp. The hilt of the weapon was golden and virgin ground, and wrapped in leather cordage to provide grip. The pommel was a golden orb, with the symbol of Aten engraved on the bottom of it. The blade itself was silver, like any other blade, and made of Ensis. An engraving across the center of the blade showed, “Y mae'r un sy'n dilyn yn dy daro” written in a tongue long lost, but still able to be read and translated. The wanderer sheathed his sword in a simple leather sheath, and named his sword “laeib muhajim”
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LOG 2457 - YEAR 7
Safa 8th, Wednesday, GCO 12/465, combat 45+34, Sta. 23
ENTRY AS FOLLOWS:
We have been under relentless attack for over a month. I haven't, couldn't write anything until now. The night has fallen, so the opposing army has let up. Normally this would mean recovering our dead, and caring for our wounded, but tonight we retreat. Any unable to walk will be left behind, to those Megaliths. I've seen those things fight, falling from the sky, ripping entire platoons apart with the fury of Aten. This addition to The Phosphorescence may very well spell the end for all of us. After 3 days of continuous booms against our defenses, we have nothing left to do, so we retreat. I hope we find somewhere not scorched and blackened. How I long for the green of the Sahara, to be home again with Arkram, Bilal, and Caoimhe… but for now, we must focus on retreat, quick, speedy retreat from those Megaliths. I leave you here, with hope of my survival.
F.V.M
ENTRY END
OFFICER SIGNATURE:
Ronan Ali
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Them. It. The amalgam. Ereshkigal. They wander the waste, going from blackened Megalith to blackened Megalith, abandoned town to abandoned town, playing as the reaper. With none left to cause conflict, it simply collects. This ancient being of slaughter and death, they created the magnum opus. From a time before creation, Ereshkigal looked to turn against it. The Sun. The phosphorescence. Their ancient, begotten enemy. That bright radiant star. Alas, though forgotten, the funeral pyre still burns brighter, ever reaching for the sun. Collecting, building, as they have for all eternity. But victory is now a hair away. All that's left is the phosphorescent. Ereshkigal looks up from its snowy feast. A shake, a twitch from the avatar. Suddenly, a scream, a powerful beam of retribution and hatred. A scream of pain that is continuous. The kind of pain only a child divorced from his mother can understand. Souls swirl, and scream up too, with the pain of a million billion lives lived and fought and killed. The collective turns the sky with power, and a black tear rips the sky, and freezes space. For the first time in centuries, the stars were visible. Certainly this will provoke him.
************************************************
“Oh holiest of the stars, you've seen what your kin has done to our sky.”
“Yes, yes, of course I have Gadreel. He is trying to provoke the phosphorescence. What does he want? What is the purpose of praying for destruction?”
“Perhaps it has lost purpose, Oh most radiant, they made their domain of death to oppose you, so little are left to die now.”
“No, he never wanted death. He's only ever wanted power, to take my place. He wants the phosphorescence to make an appearance, so he can try something, but I'm not sure what.”
“Maybe, Oh illumination, they wish to engage in combat? Combat is its delight.”
“Perhaps, but this feels like more, Gardreel, he already tricked me into war with my own creation. Surely he has a plan.”
“Oh star, Oh star, what is your plan?”
“The phosphorescence will make no response. Devotees are few and far, but there is one that is perfectly positioned. He will seal the sky, and thus, it's opener.”
“Very well, your radiance. And of the amalgam?”
“They will meet their fate soon. Too long have I let them oppose me.”
____________________________________________________________________________
They were sleeping when it happened. An unearthly screech echoed across the valley. Some mistook it for a sign from The Radiant. Most didn't. What was most interesting was the tear. They could see the stars. Things only the elder’s elder spoke of. Things of legend. The stars. The Way. Orion, The Ursas, Pegasus, Capricorn. Heroes of the past. All would be good, it would appear that humanity was in Aten's good favor once again, but, an unease crept over all. A film over the stars. They felt trapped beneath the sky. Beneath the sins of humanity. This feeling pierced through all living things, but one more than any. The wanderer in Assipattle found himself desirous to close the tear, the portal. He reasoned that worship of Gods other than Aten was grotesque, but he knew that there was a deeper reason. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it. So, after hours of praying, he packed his things from his room in the hostel, and brandishing his gilded sword, laeib muhajim, The wanderer boldly set out into the wastes once again, towards the mountain.
************************************************
Once the wanderer was well out of Assipattle, he noticed something strange about the mountain peaks. They had shifted. The peaks of the mountains were now shifted to the left, as if looking at a reflection underwater. The peaks were now reaching for the blasphemous tear he wished to seal. The wanderer pondered this for far too long, and eventually he grew weary. He was too far from Assipattle to go back, and too far from the mountains to stay out in a cave, so he set up camp. After he'd finished, he lay on his bearskin cloak, wrapped in skins from Assipattle with laeib muhajim by his side. He woke in a few hours. He could feel ashen things moving about outside his tent. He prayed. Corruption. Corruption and Death are afoot. The wanderer put on his blindfold, and left the tent. He could see nothing, but he could feel the dull, dark glow of tarnished phosphorescence, a rotten leftover from that war so long ago. Why is it still here? It must have been attracted to the Gondcundlic. The wanderer squatted patiently outside his tent now with laeib muhajim in his hand. Surely it wouldn't be here if Aten hadn't forsaken it. The wanderer will dispatch of it. The tarnished thing moved closer to him, Aware of the presence of life, of light. The wanderer stood, And brandished laeib muhajim. The corruption ran towards him now. Swiftly, the wanderer dodged to the right as if dodging a bull, spun around, and lifted his sword and slashed the rocky exoskeleton with Ensis. The darkened creature screeched and swiped at him. The wanderer blocked with his sword and rebounded off its claws and cut down at the shoulders. He could feel the dulled phosphorescence get up again, and jumped to bite at him in the torso. This time the wanderer was not as swift, the darkness reared its teeth and went for his belly. A golden barrier suddenly appeared, and broke the creature's teeth. The creature let out a screech that echoed through the valley, and scurried a few feet away. The wanderer took his opportunity. He sprinted forward and ran Ensis through the corruption, into mouth, through spine, and back out again. Much time was spent praying afterwards.
____________________________________________________________________________
LOG 3987 - YEAR 11
Muha 20th, Friday, GCO 37/465, combat 19+20, Sta. 47
ENTRY AS FOLLOWS:
It's starting, just like the prophets said. There's no way we can recover. The sun shone so bright our cities were overcome by the sea. Now, The sun leaves us, and the frost is overcoming everything, not just the cities. Our provisions are gone. Our men are diseased and frozen. We have been driven from our station by the frost. This is the beginning of the end. Our great flame has dwindled to a small spark. The only thing that illuminates the skies now are Oneiric Graves, in blues and purples. At least in our dying days, the sun gives us something to gaze upon. I'll write until I can't anymore.
H.G.
ENTRY END
OFFICER SIGNATURE:
Abrumlem Gelb
____________________________________________________________________________
Corruption's heart lies in wait at the top of the peak. It stands, staring at the stars. Old, forgotten, Pagan gods. Why isn't it coming? What is his plan? Come here, Come here, Ye old disgusting man. It stands, looking up, souls swirling in its eyes. This vessel cannot contain me for much longer. Why isn't he here? White anger. A scream, once again, creating a Tenebristic beacon to the sky. Most obviously a trap, but it had no other choice. Rage brighter than a funeral pyre. It pumped more and more power into the beam. The vessel began to tear and break. More souls drawn into the dark light. The vessel is destroyed, but the beam lives on. A sudden stop. A wall. A response. Subtle, for now, but a clear barrier blocked the beam. all that remained under that blockade from the heavens was a figure. Pure energy, glowing with power.
____________________________________________________________________________
He continued on, pushing forward and along this final ridge. He could see that wretched tower, the Monument to Sacrilege. As he walks, the air suddenly becomes colder. The sky darkened. The winds blow, and the stars disappear again. A slight brush against his leg. The wanderer looks down. A face stares blankly up at him. A body. Fully clad in gold armor, a spear and the sun emboldened upon his forehead. A human warrior. One of a kind not seen for ages. A human warrior of the Luminaries, a legion defunct long before the fall of Jerusalem. The phosphorescence mourned their loss, But were stronger without them. He pushed forward, no longer wishing to Ponder the fate of his comrades. He looked up at the Pyre. Its snarling disgusting maw made his blood boil. A light was produced from laeib muhajim. He looked around. Another body. Another. And another. The wanderer quickened his pace. How old was this battlefield? Another soul. They started to appear in stacks, as if melded together by a surviving force. More and more bodies stacked upon each other. He quickened farther, into a run. The piles of bodies began to increase in size until a wall had formed. And a doorway, and then a window, and a roof, and eventually a house. The wanderer was now upon a street, composed of fleshless faces. The air reeked of carrion, and the weather worsened. The wanderer was sprinting now, into the final city. Y Stondin Olaf. The buildings, The skyscrapers shone of golden armor, every body, no matter what state, shone with the emboldenment upon their forehead. This city was a store of undeserving souls, those who died for a cause not yet realized.
____________________________________________________________________________
Screaming, shrieking, over and over, like the pounding of a drum. The animated war, the animated death. Fight, fight, rip, tear, destroy until every fleck of matter has been converted. An absolute, total, consuming evil and opposition. The death of the world looks upon the city of rot. And upon all the dull useless sigils, one shines. Laeib muhajim.
“DO NOT BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS”
“yet i am still fed”
“COMMON GRACE FOR THE DECEIVED”
“Yet My Desolation Abounds”
“ALL SHALL BE REDEEMED”
“YET I STILL LIVE”
____________________________________________________________________________
The wanderer sees it. Finally, Ereshkigal gazes upon him, and shivers. A thousand thousand years of torture and pain. A thousand thousand years of rejection and longing. An age, ending. The sun is on the horizon, Oh ye lowly wanderer! He shall be destroyed, and your brothers in arms shall live! Push, fight and do not fear!
Have mercy on me, Oh Sun. like a sword of light, pierce the corrupt heart, Oh radiant one. I'm not worthy of you, for I am but smoke. The Judgment of Aten remains forever!
Amen! Amen! Amen!
____________________________________________________________________________
There it is, the end of my journey, I believe. That pillar. And what a suiting setting for the striking of heresy, among my brothers of the first blood.
“RAISE YOUR WEAPON”
The weapon is raised.
“RAISE THE FIRST BLOOD, AND HERALD THE LAST.”
All around, the buildings collapse, as bodies reform by the blazing sigil in their skulls. Armor is equipped, swords are raised, and words are spoken after many years. An army, the Luminaries fall in line behind the wanderer, and a radiance of true believers not seen for ages shines.
“UNITE WITH YOUR PATRONS”
A lightning strikes the clouds, and the sun is seen for the first time in many, many years. Plant life surrounds the army, and snow is instantly melted. Finally, like a dove, The phosphorescence descends upon the army, and supports them from all angles.
“AND DO WHAT IS TO BE DONE”
The united army moves forward like a sunbeam piercing a cloud. A shriek is heard all around the earth.
____________________________________________________________________________
LOG ____ - YEAR 1
____ __ GCO __/___, combat __+__, Sta. __
ENTRY AS FOLLOWS:
We've done it! I can't believe it has happened! The Sun shines brightly on the land once more, now devoid of heresy. Few remain from the war, but without Ereshkigal in control, I believe Aten will leave the heavens to him and come to live on earth like the days of old! Oh, most joyous day! I knew through the power of Aten that all rebels would be rebuked and that we may one day live! Praise The Radiant One! Let this be a testament to all to never let history repeat, and to go in peace.
Shams Phospher
ENTRY END
OFFICER SIGNATURE:
___________________
____________________________________________________________________________
He and his wife live in a wide, warm, bright, and lush land. The sky contains no sun, but only bright, fluffy clouds. All memories of war have become monuments, or live again. Light beams from the mountains, where Aten's temple has been constructed. Ereshkigal looks down in contempt and in shackles from the sky, a stark reminder of the world before. He sits in prayer for many hours, listening to the rivers flow around him. Suddenly, a call disturbs him.
“Daddy, Mommy says it's time for dinner!”
He smiles, stands, and bows to the setting sun, as Aten enters his own rest. He walks to his young boy, pats him on the head, and they walk together to their quaint cabin. They enter, and he sits at the head of his table with Laeib Muhajim hanging on the mantle above him. He smiles at his wife, and grabs a spoon full of beef stew.
Assipattle had never looked so beautiful.