Please note, there have been minor edits made of this text (first posted 12th May 2005 on Aoyn. The edits are only in the final OOC in which the name of Aoyn was substituted for Eden and the names of two characters who shall not be participating and had no part in the creation of this work were removed.
This was written by Dy and myself in conjunction to set the scene for the world of night to be created and on rereading is completely appropriate for what is planned in Atra'Lamia's realm...
|The Testimony of the Sacred Scrolls- Library of Eden|
(https://i.ibb.co/vXYmcRt/EF697-B98-EB64-442-D-848-C-EDBD40-C7262-B.png)
What God have I offended? What unknown evil have I committed that my tortured death be thus accompanied by the fearful howling of wolves? My time is short, and I must complete as much as I can before my soul is torn away by a thousand claws. The moons days are numbered upon the earth, and the stars, the sun shall turn black and light shall be forgotten. The heavens look to be uncontrolled, with no order and the spheres are unbalanced, wandering. The Abyss a pit of pandemonium without the rule of chained monarch- we are lost. I can hardly recognize my own voice. The Abyss yawns wide before me! A gate has been broken! And I fear that all I have seen is nothing compared to what is yet to come. Within these pages is all I have seen, I pray they reach safe hands.
*[OOC Note: ( A letter folded and placed in the leaves of the books pages)]*
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For all that I have seen in the flickering flame of candle or gazing into the smoke of hemlock and nightshade shrines of loathsomeness. Lands ravaged by evil conjurations and spells, scorched black by flame and burning embers that descend from the sky. Fire from the heavens and panic among the people, Priest and holy men must calm them and take this book of which he must copy in the writing of his own hand and read the exorcisms therein that his people may not be harmed for a sword will appear in the sky; a signal to the darkness that one has left has thus returned and entered back into the world as a God. These shall be an omen that great destruction of cities will bequeath unto the hands of darkness and blackened sun, fire shall rain from the spheres- no plight will quell the uprising of the evil plague which dawns.
Watch well the stars for the Sword of God shall strike the heart of Draconis causing the bloodshed of many sacrifices, not only of animals, but of men. When the Sword of God pierces the throat of Sirius, there will be great difficulty in the houses of kings and brother will rise up against brother as war and famine ravages the lands.
Remember that thou purify thy temple and dwelling with the branches of cypress and pine, from evil you shall have sanctuary.
The night has now grown silent, the howling of wolves grown quiet and scarcely heard- perhaps they searched for another? My fever has once again broken over my brow and a shadow casts demonic images over these pages as I write. A sign that God is no longer within these monastery walls and my cross holds no power over the ascending darkness; no longer do I dwell in a house of light, my books have lost light- they settle upon their shelves like animals fallen asleep, or dead. I am sickened by what voices I hear in my head, my family and the voices of my brethren. Did I not understand their untimely, unnatural death? Of course, it was my copper dagger that danced over their throats during the hours of sleep. Can these demons who wait without in the darkness take on so viciously the human voices of souls my hands have severed, necks snapped...eyes torn from sockets where I have placed shards of crystal so they see what my eyes reveal, the black sun and the arrival of eternal darkness...what death shall be wrought in his black ephemeral hands?
Through the smoke of my delirium mind the stars grow dim in their places and the sun is eclipsed by the moon as though a veil were blown across its flame, the Black sun. Tiamat has swallowed the solar sphere and no light dawns to dispel the creeping darkness. Demons approach the circumference of my sanctuary, strange lines appear carved on my door and walls, and the light from the window grows increasingly dim. A wind has risen, its unfurling maws grinning with hatred, dark waters stir and now I am but a minion to this awakening god...a madman, a murderer, a fiend. Again the wolves carry my name in their midnight speeches and that quiet, subtle voice summoning me from afar with unholy impatience. The weight of my soul will decide its final resting place. This book of the Black Earth that I write at the peril of my life, on the planes of IGIGI, the cruel celestial spirits from beyond the Wanderers of the Wastes.
**
*[From the perspective of the sane mind]:*
Surely it is an illusion that now stands before me, and an angel smiling and serene reaches out for my forehead and I attempt to flinch away from the touch of those fingers encompassed in a glow of silken gold. He is to swift and his hand rests upon my fevered brow easing my soul but for the tiniest of moments, the words not gone, but hidden, buried in the hearts and souls of goodly men such as thyself come unbidden to my mind, and I feel a wetness and realise that tears fall from this celestial creature onto my rainment. I go to speak and he shakes his head stopping me then the terrible words I had not wished to hear fall upon mine ears. "Thou dost see the truth beloved child, record it accurately for it may be all that saves those whom walk in light" then he vanishes and again I am left feeling alone and naked before this onslaught of misery.
An angel broke my fevered brow but I cast its name into the pit of my damnation as more fevered visions engraved on my mind. I am now the wanderer in my solitary confinement. I pray the Gods that I am saved and not perish, but I have broken the Chaldean Covenant by seeking power over the Zonei. I have set foot on the moon, and the moon no longer has power over me nor does the warmth of sun. The lines of my life have been obliterated by my wanderings in the Waste, over the letters written in the heavens by the gods. I fear for my flesh, but I fear for my spirit more. May the Gods be ever merciful unto thee! May thou escape the jaws of Tiamat but may the Gods grant me death before the darkness rules the earth once more.
Her breath and voice coerce me into the night; she is the air and wind. I have no hope to control the of Deaths darkly curtained halls. Then can I hope to have power over the demons that plague the mind and body, screaming vile names into the air of the night. For what comes on the wind can only be slain by he who knows the wind; and what comes with the darkness can only be slain by he who knows darkness and thus it is written.
Again the black sun crosses in deathly omen, but also a grinning Dark Angel whose blood should never be bequeathed; she rides the tempest bearing the mark of the lilit. I burn aglaophotis this midnight hour for the stars of the great night show the bear is slain; this month of ABU. Four spirits of the four spheres manifested- The first key, the Dead shall be summoned in the hour of an Emperor made God...hear the brushing of the wings. He that takeths of her blood shall be the second key of mans fall.
**
*[From the perspective of the sane mind]:*
The shadows fall across the land
From where shall man take his last stand
When sun does fade and light does go
To where shall souls life doth finally flow
The angels weep for chaos walks
And souls of men eternally stalks
This doom shall rise from greed and pain
Till light does shine on earth again
An angel's heart shall reach for she
Fruit of the furthest fallen be
And by her side firmly will stand
As she claims Eden's hallowed land
His brother's horn shall sound out loud
And death shall loosen from its shroud
As far away in distant empire
A potent evil will aspire
Comets move through darkened skies
The land is full of hate and lies
The final touch a drop of blood
Will break the bonds allowing flood
Of hidden darkness to mortal plain
And that day shall see hope be slain.
I read what my hand has written and I wish to tear it to shreds but my hand is stopped. How much longer can this nightmare last. My voice sounding as if it comes from the very tomb tries to scream to He that has been my strength and eventually I somehow croak, "Why hast thou laid this upon my shoulders?" but I know that I shan't be answered.
Again I hear the voices of my brethren, crystal shards embedded in their eyes. Broken necks and skulls beaten in by the chapel's heavy golden candle-holders, they too shall be forced to see what my eyes are cursed with. I wish the carrion crows would peck at the remains; it would save my scent from the smell of rotting corpses. Alas I have used the last of ink, and I have to resort to the use of blood- though it isn't thine.
No light of thine will raise our fallen sun, and we are already dead, because his light is gone. Thy light as well must dim for want of breath, Yet enter: share our darkness, and our death.
Again I scribe another scrap from hells table or hallucination from the spirits crouching inside like a poisonous toad, eating what little remains of my spirit- there is nothing left to light, nothing to praise but deaths kingdom, the perfect universal dark where there is no need for light and there we shall be made perfect.
Rise to the darkness, reborn, And feathered in the colours of his godly fire: For what was true at day is true as well at night: The universe is ever an immortal phoenix, Whose death is but his birth: Nor is the earth an exile from his breast, Where he spreads darkness in obsidian wings across all space: Where his radiance eclipses the very sun, there dwells all darkness by the moon: Flawed, fallen, mutable. Yet still immortal through eternity, dying never, Yet no less the flesh from whence springs night: And where the light ceases. Where even one poor mote of dust, shall flaw the sphere of silence; There may grow some feigned sun, some earth, and fairest life. And I, the burning eyes of darkness, chaos and abyss, see all of these, and give to thine own eye all that I see. Rise then with me, Rise to the immortal phoenix of darkness I proclaim, and snuff that radiance in the hands of war.
The chains of chaos shall bind sun and moon, the darkness triumphs over light...the Black Sun, smothering the world in darkness for untold years. 'Sol obscurus Mihi Potentiae tuae' Those words chant in my head, such tormented spirit I am feasting on the rotting flesh of my brothers, boiling skulls of my nigromantic rites, bones for sortilege my divination tools. A red-rusted nail struck thrice won't save me, baneful influences and emanations now rule these vast halls coveted in blood and gore... lynched wind chimes of decaying hides and mutilated bodies. The last drop of blood spilled, shall be mine.
**
*[From the perspective of the sane mind]:*
Again a spasm would wash over the monks body as an opposing force drove home the next envisionment of a future yet to occur.
When those who carry a leech inside
Shall walk the lands both far and wide
And blood be given and blood be stole
Then darkness finds its dangerous goal
The wails pain and evil grows
The suffering loss and mortal woes
On raven's wings shall death alight
Throughout this woeful, dreadful plight
Such lamentation and such pain
Doomsdays melodious refrain
A groan emerged from lips chewed to a bloody pulp, the rasp of my breathing so loud that my brethren must soon come to see if I need aid, yet somehow, I feel them ignorant of my plight torn between heaven and hell as the potencies guiding my sight and hand wrench my soul back and forth amidst realities and terrors not made for the eyes of any man.
My body trembles as a laugh escapes, the chuckling of a madman rattling bones to Kashaptu chants. What perversions of the spirit were engaged in the decrepit husk of this broken man? Demons assault me, pressing and parting my threshold of endurance, my theatre of pain. Images taint my waking hours and I dare sleep to the tune of stagnant blood dripping, splashing over the clay-earthen chapel floor. Do they see the darkness? Do they speak the names of darkness with tongueless maws? In clay urns I keep those tools of speech in case the dead wish to speak. Again I hear the wolves howl my name or does the scent of my brother's blood excite them as it does me.
Visions and dancing images drift, talons of smoke twisted to form vivid pictures when hells gates open and evil walks the earth. The banners of Chaos flagging in the hot breath of grinning unfurled winds of hatred; life smothered by thousands of blood-drenched gleaming swords raised high to the coming of darkness. The moon crossing the sun in the golden hour of Horus, no longer shall his gilded chariot journey, bringing day to darkness. The Black Sun signifying the end of day and the coming of Dark Gods, the Sword of God has fallen-severing the ancient Elders, nature and elements retaliate, selection and extinction. Where light once ruled it shall no more...Black Sun, Black Moon. Brooding over countries, realms and kingdom- the Kings already fall from the skies like fallen angels crashing upon the stars. A crown broken, begot to riot and revolutions. Blood bequeathed and blood bestowed, talon and by thorn it shall spill-stain the earth, a sea of blood.
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[From the perspective of the sane mind]:
Doom, oh doom thy face I see
I know thou shalt ignore my plea
To save this world from thy disgrace
I would give up souls hallowed place
But knowest deep within my heart
That souls shall be but ripped apart
In manifest ways of pain and woe
Oh for death could I but go
The death of kings the death of men
The death of lovers, hopes and friends
The dark of sky the sun hidden
Dreams vanished harm unbidden
Oh my soul doth scream in pain
I wish that I could just refrain
Of watching babes and youth so torn
Amidst the throes of doom reborn
The blood, oceans of blood awash
The lands shall shine under the red gloss
The dead shall walk upon the land
And evils laughter oh so grand
One drop of blood is all that waits
One drop of blood raises the stakes
One sired by angel, mothered by doom
Her blood shall fall and start the gloom
And on that day oh woe for all
That tiny drop of bloods long fall
Onto the earth below its path
A shudder and a painful laugh
The world will slip from lights strong sway
And love and hope shall run away.The dripping of blood from where sweat would normally flow, my heart pounds violently in my chest, so hard is its pounding that I wonder if I shall die before I get to write all that must be said. I shudder and see that where I have cut myself so that I have something to write with has ceased its flow and scratching at its surface until rich red blood appears again I dip my quill into the thick liquid so that I may continue this work of such despair.
My shadow lurks on the wall an effigy of darkness produced by the overture aura of candlelight. With each written word my burden weighs greater. Such distress, there is no Lord, God or salvation in this House of Pain; hope contained in that precious crypt held in the grasp of a goddess. If I do not finish this task, what is there left to hold onto? Time is short and mankind does not know nor understand the evil that awaits it from every side, from every open gate, every broken barrier and from every mindless acolyte at the altars of madness. Let all who read this scroll be warned thereby that the habitation of men are seen and surveyed by the Ancient race of Gods and Demons from a time before time. They seek revenge for that forgotten battle that took place in the Cosmos and rent the Elder Gods walked the Spaces, the race of Marduk as he is known to the Chaldeans and of Enki our Master, the Lord of Magicians. Know then that I have trod the Zones of the unspeakable darkness and that of the Azonei, descending unto the foul places of Death and eternal thirst- beyond the Gate of Ganzir which was built in Ur in the days before Babylon was long before the year of Christ. I have found fear in the hour past time. These secrets I give at the pain of my life and never to be revealed to the profane, banished or the worshippers of the Ancient Serpent or to those hands who wrought darkness; then all will be lost and my words written in vain and fruitless in attempting to warn to save mankind. My dark hour grows darker still; I am no man without any soul... "Cras mors hodie sol. Clavus ferreus malleus ferreus, ferrum rufulum ferrum nobilis"
My shame is now the dead, the blame my hand and the blight my heart.
Earth awakens my crimson gem and winters bed, on the limbs false light be shed. On ones face as cold as stone and silently dreaming of the moon, he shall come to claim his own and they shalt waken to him soon. In shadows and darkness stained by fiery streams, they themselves shall meet Death in dreams. I am no poet, and I have no muse save for the wolves in nocturnal requiem. What is this sound and what is this light, bringing an end to day and night? Whence this music? Who's this flame who wakes the earth to damnation again? Let her prepare her flesh most fair for his desire whose flesh is fire.
I do not see this dark bride born of night and light, she would live in darkness- she who creates and destroys. She who changes from death to life; and from life back to death, hiding her face of cold fury, marked with the wine of blood the fruit and the flower of life and death. Marked with lust and power- let this be a mark of her existence in the hour of the horned crescent. The sun tarnishes, his ruddy fire cools the haze and darkness veil his rusted gold giving way to the crossing of the moon. Stars will topple down from the heavy sky, falling and flail- their rays like giddy fools fainting drunk from summer?s draughts; falling with a muted chime like angelic choirs choking cast out from heaven and wafted on the air trailing their veils to meet mists before
they die.
So bleeds the sun in sparks of withered dust and bleeding darkness nothing now but a void whose deepest wound may yield the coming of squamous fiends on leathered wings. There is no remedy for me or mankind for we have shared his golden throne and we must share his fall: his sovereignty now rusted to an arid rain of stars. Those bonds were golden wreathes and golden vines, now they are cruel silver reins leaving silver scars. Drink of that fallen blood, elixir venom-tainted. Drink of his tarnished wine wherein the sweet has fainted and shrunk to wormwood and to gall: one taste brings death now ended all and we are left with the mean prize of poverty and dull decline, to fill the silences between the ticks of time. Whither fled our strength and our ascending leaves? Whither fled our laughter and our foolish bells? Where now stand those scaffoldings of fire, those limbs of light whereon we climbed, wherein we played? All are now pulled down, all our senses, our delights turned pale and leached of taste- paled to a scentless draught that rusts the heart to a mere foolish ticking clock. Upon us all down from his wound the universal dust falls upon the earth and meets our further drought. Where wisdom curls and glints beside the road in sly conspiracy and scrawls its words for all to study and who must learn to die or welcome slavery well. The sun overwhelmed and earth left alone to die: with all the faded trees, the wasted flowers- do we also fade and waste? Our birth, our youth, our prime, our proud excess, our cosmic now ended all and we are left with the mean prize of poverty and dull decline, to fill the silences between the ticks of time. Whither fled our strength and our ascending leaves? Whither fled our laughter and our foolish bells? Where now stand those scaffoldings of fire, those limbs of light whereon we climbed, wherein we played? All are now pulled down, all our senses, our delights turned pale and leached of taste- paled to a scentless draught that rusts the heart to a mere foolish ticking clock.
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[OOC Note: Thius was a shared effort by both Atra'Lamia and myself. However this is part of the Prophesy written by a Monk named Sonelion 200 AD. It is the prophesy of the 'Black Sun' or 'Eternal Darkness' and part of the plot to bring the world of Eden into 'complete' darkness for a long period of time, if not forever.
This prophesy is the mark of the events which some have come to pass and some yet to pass. The Chaos Wars and the spilling of Atra's blood- the rise of human's worshipping Atra'Lamia by sacrifices and the other dark events which are currently happening throughout Aoyn. This
IS a prophesy...and it
WILL come to pass. This is an ongoing role-play, Scott and I working on the different aspects of Sonelion's mind.
This topic is locked simply due to the fact it is a scroll in the library of Eden and not yet discovered by those who reside in the Palace of Eden- only those who have access to the library could possibly find this. Once it is found an entirely different role-play will be opened and the events yet to befall shall begin.