<aside> đ From the Raving Sermons of Iphigenios, Mad Prophet of the Fractalis, Speaker for Unity
It is in the benefit of a spider to scatter the bees. For a spider has no issue trapping a single bee in its web. Sometimes, it may even capture several at once. But against a hive, the spider would be overwhelmed, stung to death by the combined, multitudinous force of those that would be its prey. Just so some of these Elders saw fit to scatter all beings. They knew the threats that would develop should men unite with fae, should men unite with fiend, should men unite with celestial. They knew and they feared. So they Fractured reality, breaking the once whole and perfect into the partied and segregated. Crippling us all by dividing the hive. And in this division the spiders have flourished.
They claim that they placed a yoke on the chaos, that they gave solution to a problem. But one who gazes into a hive would see what seems like chaos. Hundreds of bees crawling over each other, so many varied things occurring that it can be overwhelming. But it is not disorder. It is a complex, well constructed order, and one who would destroy such an existence is either too foolish to ascertain the patterns and the order, or is lying for his own benefit.
Just so the Elders lied. They are not fools, I would never say such a thing. Ney, they are crafty beyond measure, and they spin their webs to keep us separate. But we are not defenseless, we have stings. We may poke holes in these webs, we may begin to deconstruct this system that is antithetical to true order, to true nature. And though this correction will be painful, when we bring about the Great Rift, uniting all things as they were meant to be, then and only then, will things be as they should be.
-Submitted by StormtideSkywise
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<aside> đ§ Records of the Cold Pact This works contains every mention of the Cold Pact or it's articles that can be found in my rift. Since I lack the means to stop it's destruction, I hope it will guide you onto a path that I was unable to find.
- Hijyaaros Nimkalar, final master of the Bnyebbik temple Fith book of Zjinar, fragments of which were found within the bay of Thos: "... three days it took for Bnuth's army to arrive on the shores of Yenthoth, and when the coast came into view this oracle was bestowed on him: 'Woe the war of tomorrow as it is not yet time for you to get sent to the depths of Byural. And as Bnuth was shivering from head to toe, his advisors were able to convince him. The battle for Yenthoth was postponed to another day on which, their fate was sealed in Byural's icy stream..."
- the oldest book of the Codex Huralcon "... this torrent of war we called: the Cold Violations. It was allowed to go on for decades without the world facing judgement as the Thorthian Temples were able to fullfill the Clause of Preservation during their years, giving up all the possesions of them and their acolytes, their souls can still be seen in the night sky, a reminder of both the beauty of a virtuous but also the necessity of its protection..."
- the Eternal Codex of Hural "... and as part of this mission, that every child is to visit Hural before adulthood where they will be bestowed the wisdom of Hoth. Our priests shall in time good and dire, through tears and tire, in reverence to the Keeprt of the Cold bestow them the rules they shall follow for the rest of their life. As we shall not let the end draw closer by feeding its bloodlust."
- the Cry of Bonthanor it's master copy stored in the Hulron Library "... Hulracians! Even upon my greatest enemies within your borders I do not wish this fate. Make sure to never again open the doors you closed on us. Our legacy as your enemy shall forever be frozen in history as our people will now go to see the Yith. However you shall not escape your Violation forever and the Article of Doom shall claim your lands as it did ours".
-Submitted by Redst0neking
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<aside> đŁ The Elder known as Chilling Silence
The conclusion of âChioniaâs Lament,â a short account of Chioniaâs journey to the Frozen Wastes and the influence of the whispers of Chilling Silence
â⊠but woe to those who go beyond the realm of warmth, to the icy peaks and stoic glaciers of the Frozen Wastes. The winds will steal your breath and blue your lips, and the warmest are those fortunate enough to envision fires of the hearth in their dreams, for no such flame can be stoked in the unforgiving chill. No man can best the frozen heart of the world, at least not for long. The howling beasts, the unrelenting snows, the starvation of companions, all of these make this land impenetrable. And yet it has a master. What it is, we know not. A god on earth, a blizzard given life, cold itself personified. But something lurks in the depths of the frozen seas, something howls atop the mountain spires, something whispers haunting melodies on the wind. Anyone who has spent time in the Wastes knows that one is never alone. Some sleepless, enervating gaze is always watching, and a mouthless voice mutters to the mind. It is heard in the roar of a blizzard, felt in the caress of a snowflake. This voice speaks no language, but to hear it is to know cold, to know that you will die gently, life ebbing away, and you will become one with the Wastes. Even those who escape know they have only delayed the inevitable. Something calls to them forever, drawing them back, thinking continuously of the voice, and we are no more fit to fight it than a child is to strike the wind. I know my fate. The voice even now whispers, seducing me back to lie with countless others in dreamless sleep. I only leave this to tell others that they should not follow my path. That they should turn back to the sunshine and the warmth, for if they go further, they shall never again be satisfied with these things. They will want only to return to the ice, and will know they can only be at peace when, just before death, the overwhelming silence will allow them to hear the words, and know what it was all about.â
-Submitted by StormtideSkywise
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<aside> đ The Nightâs Mower, a traditional childrenâs poem. Compiled and commented on by Bard Bracy.
The shadows grow and twilightâs glow
Is gently fading away,
The nightbirds howl and the nightbeasts growl,
And monsters frolic and play.
Hang up your cloak by midnightâs stroke,
Leave not your home âtil day,
Or in her grasp, with a baleful gasp,
Youâll be stolen forever away.
She never sleeps and always creeps
Over the fens and moors.
Her face is gaunt and nightâs her haunt,
The mistress of nighttimeâs horrors.
She wears a gown of ravenâs down
And a hood pulled over her head.
And with her scythe sheâll steal your life,
Sending you down to the dead.
She bears the blade her own hands made
To harvest the souls she finds.
And six feet under sheâll cleave you asunder
As your soul to the blade she binds.
She once had hair, golden and fair,
And a smile to light up the world.
But betrayed and crossed, her love she lost,
And hatred in her unfurled.
Now strong as hate, unstoppable as fate,
And cold as a winterâs night,
She seeks her vengeance, hunting the temptress
Who put her lover to flight.
She prowls the land with her weapon in hand,
With the souls of the dead adorned.
So beware the strife and beware the scythe
Of the woman monstrously scorned.
A truly tragic tale, one of the most morose yarns ever woven. While I believe this particular poem was written by a rather anxious group of parents hoping to keep their children from sneaking around at night, I have discovered certain references in the lore to a once great queen who ruled equally with her husband, both powerful elders. However, another jealous elder saw their happiness, and she decided that she would ruin the queenâs. This elder seduced the king away from his wife, and the queen was broken. The vileness of the betrayal infuriated her, and her fury even frightened the king, who left with his lover. What became of them is not known, to this bard or to the queen. She began seeking vengeance against the world that had cost her her love, and became a creature of hatred and violence, crafting a weapon just as ugly as her heart. The tomes have given names, both to the queen and her weapon. She was called Gaudia (joy) before, but came to be known as Dalora (sorrow), and her weapon came to be known as the Nightâs Mower. A pity, that one so great could be brought so low.
-Submitted by StormtideSkywise
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<aside> đŠ Claw Weapon: The Tidings
Extract from âCruel and Unusual Weaponryâ - Academically Cataloged with Annotations by Mical Shrike
These talons were forged on the Seventh night of the Seventh moon by the Sorceress Skardi. Why should this Elder do such a thing?
Perhaps by examining the properties of these items we can discern her intent? The black and white coloring evokes images of the Magpie, a mischievous creature with a penchant for acquiring shiny objects. It is certainly true that wielders of The Tidings are never short of coin but we must remember that correlation is not the same as causation.
It has been observed that The Tidings have powers of weather manipulation. We should combine this with what we know of the Sorceress. The legend of her separation from her children brought about by the Fractalis. How did she navigate the Eldritch storms to be reunited with them? I propose that it is The Tidings that explain the mystery glossed over by the Bards.
More worrying for those who face wielders of The Tidings are the whispers that they drain potency from their victims and confer the power to their owners. It is here that I suggest we find the original intent behind their creation. The Sorceress Skardi would seek such an advantage over her bitter enemies.
-Submitted by Richard Mortimer
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<aside> đ ECHOES OF THE KNOWN: Anthology of instructive stories for children compiled by Madam Botshelo.
Before the Universe was fractured all things existed in the same Realm at the same time. This included the Bleaks and the Sols, the Hopes and the Fell: fey creatures of the Seasons.
Can you imagine the Chaos? The Elder called Epoch understood that this could not continue. Winter and Summer, Bloomcall and Winterscusp would be forever separated.
What a tragedy! Opposites attract; This is Known. The Bleaks and the Sols, loved each other dearly. The Hopes and the Fell felt just the same.
Epoch wept for the sorrow he knew he would cause and vowed to alleviate their suffering. The Elder crafted rings for them. Each was imbued with elemental energy that could evoke the Seasons. It was a great work by Epoch who made so many that there were enough for all of them.
Even so, the fracturing of the Universe felt most unfair to the Bleaks, the Sols, the Hopes and the Fell. Some declared that they would never forgive Epoch and cast aside their rings, unwilling to accept any gift from him. To this day they ally themselves with the Fractalis trying to reunite the Realms.
RING OF SEASONS Effects linked to the opposite season that the player is in. Bloomcall & Winterscusp Whilst activated and using Augmented Reality this triggers flowers to blossom, plants to spring from the sidewalk, baby rabbits and lambs to appear. Alternatively: leaves turn to shades of amber and red; and there is a gentle mist.
Summer & Winter Whilst activated and in a Dungeon the Summer effect weakens undead opponents and those vulnerable to bright light. Passages that had previously been blocked by ice are now accessible. Alternatively: the Winter effect creates ice in the dungeon which causes creatures to slide. Damage from fire is reduced.
-Submitted by Richard Mortimer
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<aside> đ„ The Egg of Plague and Providence
Losifer of the Midlands
While exploring a cave in the vast Odessan Desert I found this egg in a hidden tomb. It glowed brilliantly with its colors shifting like an oil slick, but was cold to the touch. I wanted it. I wanted it more than any other glittering gold object in the tomb. I wanted to take it & run. It was that which gave me pause.
I stepped back & noticed runes carved into the pedestal. I looked through my scrolls and books to see if I could find something which could help me translate them & finally found that they belonged to an ancient kingdom that was long lost to the sands.
The runes described a dark magic that used the life and soul of a dragon still in its egg to produce a magical item that was intended to bring great fortune to its owner. It did just that, but at a terrible cost. A selfish court mage had created it, craving power & wealth. He got it. Through the eggs magic he gained luck, renown, wealth, & the hand of the princess of the realm.
However, the source of the luck, power, & fortune the egg bestowed was leached from everyone & everything around it. It started slowly at first. Little accidents here & there, misfortune to those surrounding the castle; & then the town, & then the land surrounding it. As the power of the mage grew, so did the misfortune of everyone and everything. The princes in line to the throne died, & the sickly old king went mad.
The mage & his wife ascended to the throne after having to overthrow the mad king in a bloody coup. The people had hope that he could stop the encroaching darkness, never knowing he was the source.
The mage king became more powerful still, but so did the hunger of the egg; & his desire for it. The land, which was once fertile and bountiful began to have less & less rain. The proud people of the country were stricken with plagues & misfortune. Soon, he, his kingdom, & the egg were swallowed by the sands.
I thought to myself, I could take the egg. Maybe if I wander & never settle in a place it wonât ruin everyone & everything around me. I wanted it so badly. I went outside to think & the distance may have loosened its hold upon me because I realized it took weeks to get through the desert I was in the center of. No, this egg is too dangerous. It is the reason for this desert, this lost kingdom, this lost man from which the egg took everything.
-Submitted by Losifer026
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