_Souls wandering the library may happen upon incongruous scraps from time to time; fragments and remains. Unfinished or sundered works.
Folios, scrolls and patches of paper that may have been forgotten or simply misplaced. Or perhaps assiduously tucked away for the sake of some odiousness…
And may well prove to be either a bounty or altogether fruitless to their finder._
_Folded into the spine of an otherwise unremarkable account of winter stores for some aristocrat's estates, is a charily folded page, apparently shorn from some altogether different work.
Within the margin of the header:
Tales from the Lake of Steam. Mythical Blades & Lost Arms_
_It is told that the bard Monan strode the shores of the Lake of Steam like a man forever smouldering of fever.
Bedeviled by the fleshless lust of an unnameable Dream from beyond the Veil; coaxed and called by his soft, sweet song-making.
In a twilight place where he crooned quiet to a broad and bright moon, she slipped, listening and longing from where the Walls Between Worlds had grown thin between the silver sheeting slats of moonbeams.
Like a roping cord of ink she ran into the shadows between his thighs, where lay his blade and the brass harp across his knees. Charmed by his strumming and soughing, round she twinned herself, bound by the thinness between worlds and the art of moonbeams into the steel that pressed against his thigh.
Unable and unwilling to part herself from his arms, she made secret, sibilant matters known to him of such potency as to set his heart and loins a'light with a dark, feverish fire that knew no surcease.
Spending her very life-stuff to fence him from harm and drive him mad with longing.
In time, when his perpetual pace across the land could offer him no succor from the unspeakably tender ministrations that silently ravished his conscience, breast and body, he dashed himself upon the hungry granite below a high precipice hard-by the ever steaming shore of that southern land.
Monan's Loving Shadow, pining plunged into the deeps._
Scrawled almost aimlessly across the foot of the page:
Inside a flaking curl of papyrus like material.
_Hard-by the Plaza the place of His name.
Semanina's Pool, that was not a pool.
When Her Father, He passed a sad man.
Somasa's, the Sad Lord, who cursed His finest friend.
To stand forever a burning stone.
When He passed, Semanina knitted His bones with gold and silk and finery.
Beneath those stones, beneath in secret turns She lay them.
Low halls of bones and worms and unholy things.
And filled the pool that was not a pool, a fathom deep.
With salt from a long, long bitter weep._
Beneath what would appear to be a hastily discarded heap of empty scroll-cases…
This document was transcribed from a fragile curl of vellum discovered by Elodie Duskwood in the cavernous recesses of the Underdark. As such I have decided to dub it the Duskwood Vellum until the proper title of the larger work can be discovered. The text of the vellum was faded, blocky and diminutive. It had the appearance of a lost or discarded draft meant to be part of a larger work. Any errors in spelling and punctuation are true to the original text as far as these eyes can discern or so this humble scribe shall claim to his dying day. Praise Oghma and Ilmater.
The Duskwood Vellum
Lord Meshiis Tephoon, father of Ikiish and brother to Yuchiin, master smith of House Col of The Farther Darkland Marches, was wooed by both the mercurial Court of the Laughing Lord Below and the cold, insouciant promises of mendicants of the Lady of All Sorrows, both who coveted his unspeakably fine faculty for bringing shape unto the ever shapeless.
The subtle overtures of the Lord of All Umbras at last claiming his fickle Heart, Tephoon forged a silky instrument of sleepy, sentient shadow upon the breast of the Forge of C'oom, which he named simply The Rivet, in the obscene House of his patron.
In the unnumbered ages that passed since its shaping, both Tephoon's Rivet and the Forge of C'oom have been imbrued in the Laughing Lord's uncounted machinations.
However none stranger were those beginnings woven and tangled amongst the upstart Netherese and one hapless bloodline that trickled from the ruins of their hubris: the House of Ecem'Horpa and their tragical entwining with the tribe of Old Sheptet of The Wastes…
This last name was written apart from the rest of the text and in a calligraphic hand. It may or may not be apart of the original work. - Mathias of Ilmater
Pressed carelessly like so much soiled water-closet paper in the midst of a stained, dark folio.
Buried behind the foot of a dusty, leaning bookcase. A raucous collection of notations.
Some appear to be transcribed. Some, perhaps original…
Lady of the veil - KF - we shall see. Missing
Mister Sand - Sniffing around the Sapsucker. No word back.
GF - Treats and trinkets. Looking for more.
The Cap'n - Dry Pirate trade route with the strong drink. a line is scratched through this sentence Touched and unveiled.
EL - gave two fifty, five back. only took two fifty. - No return
MR - gave two hundred and bardic armour. To meet EL. - No return
VC - Trusty Trout
Lisa - Promising. Adverts for auction. - no word
Whistling gent - Stamps, or something more? For Dry Pirate trade route. Numbers got his card.
A pressed flower is placed between the folds of each note
May you find peace and solace in the days ahead,
May you achieve all you seek to accomplish,
May your words always be spoken from your heart,
and may you always keep your word.
a small circular drawing resembling a moon, no signature
MM - Jewels, brews and enhancements - Lost in the sand?
HD - Fields and forrests. Once again offered me aid when none other have.
MotC - Links to strong drink and rotters baubles. Contacted again.
HoBM - Pad's and bravo's.
**_I'm hearing there are a number of gents about looking to get their fingers into pickles and pies.
Get them proper and on board and I'll see that they're paid.
Oh and Longshanks.
Get in bed with the Sembians. Get in real deep like.
They breathe gold like we breathe sweet sky.
I'll find you.
Azure - TR, eight to ten short. Sorry old friend. several numbers are crossed out as the tally is updated
Check on the caretaker - Make sure buisness is taken care of.
Follow the words of the man - "Brick by brick". Bleak times ahead? Need a wheadle more than ever.
Yeri'atam - Used up or on the lam?
- never speak of the a portion is scribled out.
- no actions are to be made against our a word is scribbled out, our allies, those protected by the a word is scribbled out. All others are the mark.
- a word is scribbled out are obligated to defend there fellow brethren to the point at which the Beef show.
- a word is scribbled out are encouraged to keep quiet when touched. Rewards for those loyal. Those who are not…
- Freebooters are encouraged to join or be basted.
- any actions should be presented to the a portion is scribbled out before engaging in the game
- the a portion is scribbled out gets his due of 10%
Seven birds. Fly far away.
The shadow consume.
The dark keepers of justice hold cards and make their hand.
The Curse of Feldan'Kazak spreads.
Split in twain, the object of all desire comes to those that lead - and those that dwell in sands of madness…..
The Noble that dwells among the dead, will become such. Zaglil shall be freed through her efforts.
There... there isn't time Sian.....
-The Shadow that Consumes.... Grows.....
**_The following opuscule appears to have been at one time part of a larger body of work.
Which now amounts to no more than a few leaflets, bound by rough cord and smelling of loam and weedy earth. As though it had lain interred for some long while.
Portions of words in places, have been marred and made unreadable by the creeping of mold, the mounching of worms, and ruinous dry-rot. This dissolution appears to have, for the most part, affected only the latter pages._**
Formed years ago by a sect of the Jergalite Church, who took it upon themselves to scribe the names of fallen heroes onto parchments known as the Deadscrolls. They were absorbed by the Kelemvorite Church who came to realise these scrolls, when read correctly, would release the souls of the dead as an unholy army - the Jergalites sanctioned the use as a way of ensuring their Order would remain protected. A disaster within the Chapter concerning the scrolls caused the Jergalites to be all but destroyed
The scrolls were considered blasphemy by the Kelemvorites, who made it their sworn duty to protect the scrolls and keep them from the hands of those who will use them of ill means. They were not destroyed as they deemed the souls of the fallen would be destroyed with them, never allowing them eternal rest.
The Chapter arrived in Eveningstar after being saved from invading lizardfolk by a combined force of Red Hart Knights and goodly adventurers
…Hidden away deep in the Hullack forest lies Castle C-----, the ------------------- bloodline. Lost ages before the birth of even An---- Ca----, ------ --- --------- matriarch o--------------- house, the castle once stood as a triumph of man against the savage forces of orcs and of the self importance of elves...
…I -----ine Alu------ ------------ - ally and follow----. My devotion to this man,--------------------------- his vision -----------------------. When A--------- -------, the matriarch of my name ------------------ foul ------------------ A crusade was launched ---------------------- unspoken chaos in our realm, ---------------------------- changed me forever: --------------------; my lover slaughtered --------------------- slew all those who held my name and my blood. -------------------- abducted ---------------- grandmother, who-----------------s refused to permit ---- -- death. --------------- her blood ----------------------- --- ----------------- Deceiver, stopping at no cliff or barrier. Time has taken this man ----------------------------- most wicked of methods is so required...
A scrap betwixt a curl of sanded scrolls…
Thousands worship the Great Sentience. They dance in the streets, under the streets. This cult cuts their arms in adoration, that offers infants for sacrifice. A group here is dogmatic, another group active. I have even heard a woman preaching that the nature of scratched out viciously is justice, which is four, and that you must avoid beans in order to ensure the transmigration of your soul after death.
Let others do what they will. It is of no consequence to the work we are doing ourselves- we will rend open the Tear and crumple, freeing the Great Sentience from its prison, and we will be rewarded for it.
Lord Chancellor Se- shredded
A long neglected sheaf of yellowing, soggy, official-seeming documents, bound up and rotten. For the most part unreadable, but for a few assiduous leafs…
Suspect(s): Private Mal–-- Dy'n--- Blot
Crime(s): Dereliction of Dut***Blot***sertion, Resisting Blot
Encountered the Private, in Blot***and a helm, in East Way. Be***Blot her missing status, and the finding of some of her equipment, and recognising her ar***Blot*** to remove her helm. ***Blot***and pursued. Having used a speed potion to close the distance, I subdued her with a holding wand, and arrested her.
When searched, a wolf's-head uniform ***Blot***vidence was found.
At the jail, Warden Dutha***Blot***ess she would be facing a court martial.
Recom***Blot***rm, coded speech to Du'eir in jail, close relati***Blot***iner Mugen of Ho***Blot***hond and the location o***Blot***erious connection with the 'wolfcormyrmen' gro***Blot***a treason i***Blot***