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Author Topic: Journal of Stygian Achnuman  (Read 4872 times)

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #20 on: February 07, 2007, 01:52:20 pm »
Leaning against my old, gnarled weeping willow, I gazed at the rock. It sat about fifteen feet from me and looked to be some sort of sand stone or other sedimentary rock. The edges were worn smooth, and a good portion of it projected into the damp earth, being reclaimed by the putrid swamp that gave it birth. Atop its red-streaked surface sat the book. Sweat was beading upon my brow, and I was unsure I would be able to accomplish that which I had resolved myself to doing. I walked slowly to the natural pedestal holding the book, and dropped to my knees at its edge. Was I strong enough? Would I survive this act? I slowly caressed the cover with my bare hand, the whispering in my head rising delicately in response. Before I could change my mind, I struck. My arm was a blur of movement and force. The blade of the dagger clutched in my hand struck deep into the pages, and I pushed with all of my might. The reaction was instantaneous. A glass-shattering scream issued from the book, not only in my head, but audible. I was flung onto my back by an unseen force or energy and watched in horror, and glee at what I observed. A face was trying to push itself through the cover, a face I loathed beyond words…the face of Acron. It was in pain, mouth wide, a high-pitched wail still issuing forth. Fear and hatred again welled up inside of me and I quickly scrambled to my feet and began uttering an incantation. The book erupted into an inferno of flame as the pillar of fire from my combust spell erupted from the black cover. As the fire died away and left a pile of ash, there was silence. Utter silence. The voices in my head were gone, and as I had promised myself before, I would never be the slave of another. Not even to a book.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #21 on: February 18, 2007, 07:00:36 pm »
I have been holed up in this library for three days. My legs are cramped and my eyes are bloodshot from squinting. One of my contacts in Prantz was able to provide me with a very old scroll with some important information relating to the language of the Devil-kin. Not very cheap either. I have made stunning progress through, cross-referencing the material with some of the old tomes here. I am very happy with the progress I am making.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #22 on: February 24, 2007, 10:39:26 am »
I had a brilliant idea today. I created a whole stack of cards made from parchment with infernal words and phrases written on one side and the common translation on the other. I have been quizzing myself since dawn this morning and feel comfortable with my retention. The pronunciation is getting better and I feel like I am on the right track.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #23 on: March 07, 2007, 02:07:28 pm »
My head was aching from my recent bout of studying. I was walking by the fountains in Port Hempstead and spied Ozymandias sitting next to the water, deep in thought. I sat across from him and leaned against one of the stone benches.
"I have hit a brick wall in my language studies." I uttered what was probably a badly mangled string of curses in the infernal tongue of the baatzu.

Ozymandias replied: "You need to work on your sentence structure. Jaoj' yrj dyza jaoj myva ky ca yd rrymj orj vyym ky cayd..."
I furrowed my brow, "Jaoj, I remember that word but cannot place it."
Ozymandias replied: "The simple first greeting in infernal is the first words you should know. There are nine all-important phrases. Without them you know nothing. Jaoj is dead or death."
I replied: "Ahhh, of course. I remember now."
Ozymandias said: "However, what you said is not that greeting. The first simple greeting is Knaadyrkk."
I spat the word back: "Knaadyrkk."
Ozymandias said: "As you can imagine, it is informal, inconclusive, and leaves everything open for the imagination. How infernal is structured is not like elven or common. It is mechanically formed. Greeting in a sentence is usually followed by another sentence or phrase in any even remotely official event.
The next greeting is one of the supplicants. One in which you would address a person far superior to yourself...what am I looking for? Ah yes...your master. Even someone who is your master's master, or to the extent that you serve them not directly, but several places removed. Jakyna"
I rolled the word over my lips: "Jakyna."
Ozymandias said: "It is a single word instead of a phrase because you are addressing someone that is much more important than you. You do not want to annoy them with unnecessary words."
I said: "It is rigid, like their society."
Ozymandias said: "The basics of the language are rigid. It is when you converse between equals when it becomes fluid. Also, insulting in infernal is easy. You use as few words as possible to express something. As a master will convey his orders to a peon in as few words as possible because his peons are of no worthy intellect to note."
I said: "So, the word is like a wave of the hand?"
Ozymandias said "Exactly. The less words you use, the less respect you accord those you speak with."

Soon after I excused myself and wandered off to practice these principles.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #24 on: April 09, 2007, 02:18:55 pm »
This is a notation of worth. I was sifting through piles of dusty tomes and stacks of scroll tubes in a small bookshop in Leringard when I came across this information. It sparked my imagination and opened up new doors to potential possibilities. I have never been one to rely on gods, have been irreverent, and have always counted on my own faculties to obtain whatever I desired. The small book I discovered was bound in shriveled and dry skin, the type I am very familiar with. *Chuckles* I wonder if the shop keeper knows he carries wares bound in human skin?

I cracked open the pages of the little book and began to read. I am sure my face paled consideraby as realization of what I had in my possession crept across my face. The following is a small excerpt:

In service to the Black Lord, wreak havoc and let death follow in your footsteps. None that live shall hold sway over the harbringers of death. Let the cold embrace of darkness and night hold and protect you during your unholy rites. Offer the living unto death as sacrafice to your Black Lord, and adhere to the seven tenants of the faith, for these cornerstones will be the foundation for everlasting existence.

* Do not fail, for failure is weakness and not tolerated by the Dark One.
* Fear nothing; fear is weakness and a weapon of your enemey.
* You are the instrument of Corath, seek always his will and to spread his influence.
* Obey with utmost diligence.
* Let hatred and malice feed your fury.
* Master oneself that you may master others.
* Mercy is weakness; exact your punishment with the cold malice of death.


I tapped my lower lip in apparent thought, pondering the phrase "the foundation for everlasting existence." Hmmmm... To stave off or defeat death. Interesting. I meandered to the counter and passed a handful of true to the shopkeeper for the book and quietly left. The thought briefly flashed through my mind that my purchase had probably saved his life.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #25 on: April 27, 2007, 12:44:22 am »
Someone, or something, is trying to tell me something. I am sure of it. Coincidence is merely webs in intricate plans, some ours and some others. Odds are two are more than chance...
Today I was raiding an area infested with giants near Prantz, and after mortally wounding one of the pathetic brutes made an astounding discovery. The nasty creature was staring into the sky, his eyes already filming over with that familiar white coloring that accompanies death when he spoke my name in a rasping death rattle. "Stygian..." I was shocked at first, for few know my name. And how could such a brute know of me? As the creature died its left hand opened revealing a small leather pouch. I picked it up, loosening the drawstrings to peer inside. Sparkling dust greeted my eyes, black as night, and it seemed to move with a life of its own. It looked similar to other dusts I had found, yet this type I had never seen before. They say the Gods drop magic from their constellations in the night sky, and I have in fact found and used many types in the past. Pursing my lips, I wondered which god had dropped this into the realms of mortal man...
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #26 on: May 29, 2007, 08:40:03 pm »
I finally have a little time to transcribe another lesson received from Ozymandias on the infernal language.

He was humming a tune when I walked by him near the memorial in Port Hempstead, and he said to me in infernal as I passed by: Knaadyrkk, iy'rk okknyrdyra. M'ngyrk Y kaa?
I replied: Knaadyrkk.
He said: Shall we continue our lessons?
I replied: Yes.. If you have the time.
Still humming he spun his staff a couple of times and said: I do have some, at least for awhile. Questions then?
I said: Yes, we left off with greetings.
Ozymandias said: Ahhh, yes.
I said: The last being that of the supplicant.
Ozymandias said: Yes, the equal, and that of the supplicant and the master.
I said: Jakyna.
Ozymandias chuckled and said: The master and the supplicant varies. However, hmmm I suppose. *coughed softly*
I said: Varies? By inflection, or structure?
Ozymandias shrugged and said: That is what the last five truly are. Five different inflections or structures one uses to address a subordinate.
I said: ahhh.
Ozymandias said: In truth, only the first two are utterly important, the last are instinctual. Once you grow more accustomed to the tongue they will come to you naturally using the other rules of the language.
I said: like the peon analogy you used before?
Ozymandias nodded and said: A simple yet elegant tongue once you are past its bite. If one can use logic before speaking then it is merely application of logic. Which is why I call it the tongue of dark logic. *he laughed softly* There is little to be misiterpreted. Where do your questions truly lay, I can spend decades teaching you various words but I have taught you most of the root words anyway. The language is simply an assembly of syllables afterall. There are not a particularly large number.
I said: My true questions lay in aligning my mind with the energies and intents behind the words, to feel the language as if it were a hand or finger... I wish to be a master.
Ozymandias said: That is the true challenge then. He leaned on his staff and closed his eyes. Order in everything, order is absolute, the better a person is the greater their achievements and the more power they will wield in maintaining and controlling that order. Focus on those things, the very essence of the society that lives the language. Of order and of using that order to benefit oneself and using it to end ones enemies. Not a hard concept really, you do it day in and day out within your society. But it takes a conscious step to recognize, acknowledge, and accept it.
It dawned on me and I said: Yes, I see...
Ozymandias said: Power is gained by the strong, smart, and otherwise worthy with the fiends, and then held only by those strong, smart, and otherwise worthy enough to hold it. A single simple concept that is truly dark, that people should benefit from being better.
I said: To gain power one must indeed be better.
Ozymandias said: Mmmmm, to maintain power one must either do so by beastly brute strength, or by methodically arranging all around them. That is how their society came to be, and their language reflects it. Focus on those things while speaking it and try not to lose yourself to it * he hummed a short tune* The language is more darkness then order. The language of dark order now infects those who speak it, but the weak succumb to it. They become the devils you see now in majority.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #27 on: March 07, 2009, 02:22:19 am »
I strolled through the main gates of Port Hempstead and drew in a deep breath, savoring the familiar clamor of the vendors and taking in the sights I had abandoned so many years ago. The murmuring of Acron's book in my mind had quieted as the walls of the city crept into sight. This is what it wanted, what it had been pushing me to do for several months, a return to the lands of the weak and corruptible. The little book I purchased from the shop turned out to be very valuable and led me to the war-torn city of Arnax. That is where I have spent close to the last decade learning all I could of the Mad God. It has given me direction and reason. Ironic. Every day seems to be leading me closer to becoming what I once despised so much. *chuckles*
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #28 on: March 08, 2009, 03:45:24 am »
Within days of arriving in Port Hempstead, opportunity seemed to fall at my feet like long amber stalks of wheat in the field to the scythe of a farmer. Being an opportunist by nature, I grasp at all opportunity, like a drowning sailor to the flotsam and jetsam of a shipwreck. After walking through the main city gate under the watchful gaze of two City Watchmen, I encountered an old man loading a pack animal near one of the vendors with items I recognized from my time with Acron. He was stowing the paraphernalia of the embalmer and mortician; Canopic jars, natron salts, linen rags, alchemists fire, and small iron tools unique to the trade. These things were for use in treating and preserving a corpse. I casually walked up to the old man and introduced myself, asking where he purchased his "trocar", a nasty little device used for draining a body of vital fluids. He looked rather surprised at my casual reference to something rarely seen by anyone without formal mortuary training. I knew it would raise suspicions. He would view me as a potential competitor in the trade, and I would coerce him into taking me in without raising so much as an eyebrow. Over ale at the nearby tavern we discussed the science and techniques of the profession, and I discerned he had no arcane inclinations or knowledge. He soon offered me a job as his apprentice, provided I could obtain a permit from the Gravediggers and Embalmers Guild. As I followed him out of the tavern, I grinned evilly. If he saw the look on my face, I am sure his offer would have been withdrawn in fear. He didn't... Poor him.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #29 on: March 26, 2009, 01:12:04 am »
The old mortician's name was Greace Stellon. He was very prosperous and rented a spacious flat not too far from the Port Hempstead docks. He had few friends and acquaintances, which was perfect for what I had in mind. I was pleasantly surprised. His business would become an integral part of future schemes. I was unsure though if this was the path I was going to commit myself to. There would be no turning back. The whispers of the book prodded me though, urged me to put my feet onto the road.

The first three months were routine. I assisted Greace with embalming, mummifications, cremations, and burials. He had an annoying habit of constantly muttering and pointing out reasons why he was the superior mortician, and how lucky I was to have a master such as himself to take me in. I had to be very careful to conceal my necromantic tools, and I often caught him snooping about, asking pointed and probing questions.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #30 on: March 30, 2009, 12:00:03 am »
*I sat down at my large wooden desk in my suite at the "Arms", leaned back in my chair, and tapped my lower lip with a forefinger, deep in thought. A strange occurrence took place a few days earlier in the craft hall at Port Hempstead. For some reason I could not get it out of my mind, returning to it and reflecting. A robed and hooded stranger had approached me. He asked me in a low voice what I thought of another crafter at a nearby station, and if it inspired me. The other crafter was a rich merchant, the adornments of wealth draped around his body in the form of rare gems, gold, silver, and expensive clothing. The closest to a peacock a man could come. "My initial response was that what he had should be mine." The stranger had asked "but should a man not be able to enjoy the fruits of his labors?" I of course agreed. Yet it pulled at the edges of my mind, and I knew not why. Why would it inspire me? Why? Perhaps it was because the foolish merchant was treading a pointless path. He was mastering his craft and gathering wealth to impress others. Flaunting what he had and his accomplishments to his peers as a testimony to his prowess. I on the other hand endeavor to master my crafts in order to master others, for by mastering others lay a road to power. *I chuckled coolly* Men like that would think they were enjoying their fruits, but they would in fact be puppets on my invisible strings, dancing to my song, and walking to the beat of my drums...unknowingly of course. I pursed my lips and mouthed the words... "Master oneself that you may master others." I walked to my bed, reached under my pillow, and confirmed that the small black book was still there. I laid down and tried to go to sleep, the encounter still vivid in my mind.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #31 on: April 12, 2009, 08:11:43 pm »
The stranger appeared again in the parks surrounding the craft halls in Port Hempstead and asked an intriguing question while I was contemplating a family standing next to a fountain, a small child frolicking around the cool water. I wonder why his presence and questions do not bother me or make me suspicious. The whispering of the book has also quieted since my return. I do not understand why. He asked me what I felt when I watched the family...

A child obeys as it is directed, diligent in pleasing a greater force in its life, and reaps rewards or punishment according to its actions. Parents look pleased when directions are followed, and become forces of pain when they are not. One lesson so few learn. By obeying with utmost diligence, one can often obtain a position of great power and thereby command that same subservience of others.

How did it make me feel though? It made me feel very little. It was as if I were a scholar looking at a test subject, objective and sterile...
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #32 on: April 26, 2009, 02:40:25 am »
The stranger appeared again at the bank in Port Hempstead and slipped into the alleyway behind the building. I thought he was watching me again. Strange. Why is he following me and asking these questions? I meant to find out. He led me deep into the slums, an area infested with cutpurses and thugs. It did not concern me though. After a few twists and turns we came to a narrow side street that culminated in a small cul-de-sac. There was a man and a woman bound and gagged sitting next to a wall. Their eyes were frantic and full of fear. He asked me in a low voice, "Choose one to die." I asked if there was a reason and if I was to be privy to it. He simply said "If one were to die, which would you choose." I thought about it for a minute. It seemed the man would have more tangible value, so I said the woman. It was a surreal moment. The whole incident left me numb. The stranger pulled out a sickle, walked up to the man, and casually slit his throat. He then laughed, no... giggled and walked away leaving me in the alley with the twitching and bleeding corpse of the man and the bound and gagged woman. She looked at me intensely, her fear tangible like a thick coastal fog. She saw my face. I was sure of it. I thought about my predicament for what seemed like an eternity and could come up with only one option that would preserve my freedom, and perhaps life. I knelt by her and smoothed the hair back from her forehead and whispered a string of arcane words. Her skin immediately began to blacken, wither, and fall away from the bone as the magic I called forth sucked the vitality and life from her body, transferring it to me. In moments she was dead. I could not afford a witness placing me at the scene of a murder. It made me feel a little sadness and remorse... but it was necessary.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #33 on: June 12, 2009, 01:52:25 am »
The hooded figure with no name appeared at my home near Prantz. Why was I not surprised? He walked into my home as if he owned it, and I felt anger begin to burn in the pit of my stomach, an incantation on the tip of my tongue readied to turn him into a pillar of flame and pain if I so chose. I indulged him though, in order to learn more of who he was and why I was being watched and followed.

We sat in front of the warm fire in my comfortable chairs and I listened to his words. The sounds and syllables he uttered were quiet, almost reptilian in their quality, but the meaning behind them was profound. He asked me what The Mad God valued. And the crux of the matter was laid bare... He was a servant of the God I had been worshipping in silence and darkness for years. Corath was opening a door for me. I knew this with a certainty as solid as the stone foundations of dwarven halls. The Black Sun had visited his favor on me three times over the years, dropping the dust from his star at my feet. Those ebony sands containing the essence of death's hands were stowed safely away in my bags, but they paled when compared to this new revelation. The words that were whispered in my ear burned my soul and coalesced into divine truth in my mind's eye. Hatred. My god valued hatred. And I was full of it. Hatred had made me into who I was. Hatred for my previous master whom I had killed with his own knife. Hatred of myself for being weak enough to be made a slave. Hatred of Toranites. Hatred of those with more than I. Hatred for this fool whom I needed to tell me what was so obvious because I was too blinded to see.

He departed and said I would be watched. After he was gone, I leapt from my chair and flung a small ball of fire at the table in my dining room accompanied by a shriek of rage. It blew into shattered pieces. A small rivulet of spittle ran down my chin as my hatred diminished into a low smoldering slag. A small hoarse whisper emanated from behind a room divider, "Master, shall I follow him and report to you?" Long fingers capped by razor sharp talons and a small red fiendish face showed around the edge. I regained my composure and said "No, he will return. He is not deemed a threat...yet."
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #34 on: July 29, 2009, 01:56:06 am »
Several months ago a traveler in the outskirts of Port Hempstead approached me and offered me three tasks. He was gifted in the Al'Noth because he could see through my invisibility spell as if it were a cantrip. This was rather disturbing, and I was immediately on my guard.

The first task was to find an individual by the name of "The Slavemaster and give him a message that his master wishes him to return to the tower in the land covered in shadow. The second task was to acquire a heart-feather of The Bird Lord and deliver it to Milara's tower. I was awed, and also keen on surviving this encounter because at that point I believed I was actually speaking to the ruler from the Mountains of Madness. The third task was to find the Blood of the Statue of the Islands.

I immediately dispatched agents to begin seeking information. One of my better ones may have found the lead I have been looking for on the "Slavemaster." He uncovered a connection to a man named Revone Star. I penned a message as "Adder" in the hopes of sending him to the shadowed land, if it is indeed him.

**This message may be intended for you, and then again, it may not. At great expense I have obtained your name from one of my agents. If the words that follow ring true, then hasten to do your Master's bidding. If not, burn this note and forget that you ever laid eyes on the runes contained within.

This letter was to be laid in the hands of the "Slave Master", and I dearly hope that you are he. Your Master tasked me with delivering you a message. Return to the tower in the lands that where wrapped in shadow, for he waits for you there. When he asks who set your feet back on the path, respond " A humble traveler in the outskirts of Port Hempstead named Adder."**

I can now only wait and see what muddy water swirls to the surface.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #35 on: August 20, 2009, 02:29:56 am »
Interesting how fate can throw you a bone once in a while. I had made my way into a small revine looking for a cave that might produce some copper ore when I was ambushed by goblins. Vile little creatures. Their arrows snapped as they hit my wards and I quickly dispatched the archers on the cliffs with a volley of energy. They died writhing in pain, and I grinned. I turned and cut down the next group following me into the small canyon with a stroke of lighting. They crackled and burned. The smell of roasting flesh laced the breeze. There were only two left, and the most curious thing occured. The smaller of the two lifted his hand and pointed at the other goblin. A single magic missle materialized and hit the other goblin, killing him.

A goblin with a talent for the Al'Noth had just betrayed his fellow and was now simply looking at me. I chuckled to myself and watched him for about a minute. He was simply waiting for his death. I motioned for him and said "Follow." Corath has provided me with a tool it seems.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #36 on: November 28, 2009, 02:04:14 am »
I instructed Eyebite, my goblin servant to sit in one of the wingback chairs in my living room. "I require you to begin instructing me in your native language, do you understand me? Eyebite replied "Yesss.. Mastersss."

I nodded my head, "Very good. We will start this by you translating these words from common to goblin." I gave him a long list of place and person names. We spent several hours perfecting pronunciation and practicing translation back in forth for both languages. After we were finished I gave him a large piece of meat and told him to go to his quarters for the night. We had business to attend to in the morning.

//OOC This was approximately 30 minutes of in-game RP.
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #37 on: December 12, 2009, 09:33:15 pm »
The message is left inside a canister sealed with wax, the seal is stamped with an ornate insignia which is almost abstract. Upon closer inspection, you may notice that it may either be a Dragon or a Demon devouring a withered head.

I am in need of your enchanting services, and I will patronize your services should you be able to enchant emeralds and diamonds without failure. Name your price and conditions, leave your message at the One Eyed Harpy, and I shall respond in a timely fashion.

Naster
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #38 on: December 12, 2009, 09:39:56 pm »
*Stygian receives the message, and after some time examining the insignia in more detail, he carefully removes and preserves it for further research. He pens a quick response and glances up as the small devil crawls into the chair next to him, wrapping its double-ended tail around it's body.*

Naster, I can perform those services for you. If you provide the materials, diamonds will cost you 50 true each, and emeralds will cost you 1,000 true. Any risk in enchanting the emeralds will be borne by you and will not obligate me for replacement or compensation.

-Adder

*Stygian hands the letter to the small devil. "Deliver this to the One Eyed Harpy, and insure that you are not seen by anyone."
 

Ravemore

Re: Journal of Stygian Achnuman
« Reply #39 on: December 13, 2009, 12:08:13 am »
I met with this "Naster" in Vehl today to discuss his enchanting and alchemy needs. The same insignia on his initial message, a Dragon or a Demon devouring a withered head, was seen through the folds of his cloak on his armor. He was hooded, so I could not discern any facial details. I made a decision to test the waters and see what he is capable of, and what he would be willing to do. I had been planning a ritual for the Mad God and offered to exchange my services for him providing a young elven male freshly killed during the "witching hours." He agreed to look into the matter and inform me if he would be able to complete the task. I provided for his needs and told him to send word when my "order" had been filled.

I head out from Vehl to the libraries in Spelgard on the morrow to research the symbol he uses. I want to know who he is, after all, knowledge is power.

//In game role play with Gelooo's character Ni'haer Helvivirr.
 

 

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