A Personal Account of the Fall

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A Personal Account of the Fall

Post by Admin on Thu Aug 05, 2010 12:59 am

By count of our noble keeper, four hundred seventy-nine years have passed since Brilliance. By personal reckoning, today is the twenty-fifth day of the fifth month. Editor’s note, granted permission by Blane Ferthing, author.

I know not where to begin... the sky was lit for what seemed to be days, though with day or night robbed from us we can only surmise from our cycles of exhaustion. The light is gone now, and so is the land beneath us.

There were earthquakes… the land splintered about us. We sought refuge in a southern village from the living dead. Great waves of water rose from the horizon, flooding over the land. Perhaps if we had lived in a city of stone than a hamlet of wood, we would have died. I am one of thirty-two that survive to the time of my writing. We are but the smallest fraction of the many refugees who lived in the village. Perhaps it is luck that we survived, or perhaps I am fated to record this account for the world to learn what has happened to us.

When I awoke from the flood, my left arm and leg were nearly useless to me and my clothes were hung on pieces of a broken roof… we were floating amidst destruction.

At one point I wrote poetically of the tragedy that befell us, of the dead led by a grim mage from Atimar. I witnessed once that they moved as if an ocean of decay upon the land, as if we fought against the tide of death itself. Poetry is useless. For a time I cannot recall, I floated upon a literal ocean of decay and fought against a true tide of death.

I must convey to you, though I know not who you are, what I saw. Words are my gift, my writing my calling in life and my profession… but there is nothing, I realize, that can truly convey what there was left.

Can one imagine a sea as far as the eye can see in every direction? Perhaps, if one sails far from the coast, but can one also imagine so much wreckage and ruin, of bodies and… mutilated limbs… of blood and bones and trees! Great, mighty trees that housed the village in a small clearing. Can one imagine that there was so much of this that one could only tell that they floated upon the water from the gentle rock of the waves beneath them ? Can one imagine floating on such water when all they can see about them is a film of horrible destruction upon the surface?

Can one imagine starving to a point that… one has to tear apart a child they found who passed from injuries just to sate a hunger, or the insects and disease had already affected the other corpses, and carrion had already been eaten by ravenous birds who flocked upon us?

I thought, before, while the sky was burning with white fire in the distance, that perhaps humanity was at its end, and that we were being taken back to the gods. I wish that were the case now, but I soon believed then that there could be no gods, or there were only gods of pain and sorrow.

My time was horrible. There were many of us who were lucky to survive only to die from our injuries or starvation or thirst, for we could not drink the polluted waters below us. For want of passing the scene behind me as it now haunts my mind, I skip the tale to our rescue… a galleon eventually found us, so tired and near death were we that we did not notice nor understand that newcomers were trying to help us. They brought supplies with them, fed us and quenched our thirsts, dressed our wounds and clothed our tattered selves. For their kindness… perhaps the gods do exist.

I am now on the recently declared ‘mainland’, in a kingdom to the south of what once was Atimar that I have yet to properly learn its name. Every day ships bring more survivors, and every day they are taken care of. The horrors of the dead that we escaped give way to the utter compassion of the living: for that, I believe, a new age of humanity will arise as the result of this good will and peace with love of fellow man will reign over our kind.

It is my fervent wish that future generations know of the tragedy that befell us, to know, to fear, and to leave well enough alone.

To my knowledge, these notes should be bound to other accounts and some histories—

______________________________________________________________________________

The bottom of the last of the bound pages appeared to be wet and the ink drained. Sid frowned deeply. This account was a remarkable discovery, one of the few accounts from actual survivors of the Fall. He sat down at one of the wooden tables in the ravaged camp, trying to drown out the noise of bustling and yelling outside the tent. He carefully placed the candle to the side of the bound notes, away such that if it did fall over it was too far to light the notes. Sid took a small piece of warped clear glass, a very rare commodity that many Archivists were able to attain for their inspection. He placed it on top of the ruined ink, trying to make out the remainder of the words.

______________________________________________________________________________

of --- death le----s ha----n- our –r—ms det—l—g the li-e – N-m—C-r-~
Some of th—e a-c—nt- po—ul-t- ~

______________________________________________________________________________

The writing was badly damaged, but he surmised that it discussed the creator of the living dead and some scholarly hypothesis of his work. Sid looked up at the Inquisitor standing near the entrance of the tent who was watching intently outside.

“It says that other documents were attached,” he said, squinting his eyes at the Inquisitor. “You’re sure there were no other notes with this? There’s not even a proper author’s signature.”

The Inquisitor looked annoyed for a moment before casually turning away and closing the flap of the tent. He was an intimidating man, large and tall for a mage and bore a large necklace that weighed down onto his decorated plate armor.

“There were no other notes discovered, Archivist. I’ve read over them myself, and the last page is damaged. The author’s signature was likely there,” the Inquisitor spoke in an almost condescending tone. “Besides, the editor wrote the name of the author at the beginning.” The armored man turned and drew back up the flap of the tent to again inspect the outside camp.

“I would think that it’s clear I’m unconcerned with just the Author’s name. These notes are part of a larger collection, perhaps even an introduction. They shouldn’t have been separated, as this appears to be the original copy. There should be more.” Sid paused, watching the Inquisitor intently, before speaking once more, “One would think that the damage to the last page even seems… deliberate.”

If the Inquisitor caught his lightly veiled accusation, he made no sign of it. After a brief moment, the Inquisitor closed his eyes and bent his head down, speaking roughly. “I told you again, Archivist, we found no other documents. If we found other documents, we would have brought them to you. If they contained information we wanted personally, we would have also placed a member of the Inquisition to watch over you and to receive the documents afterwards, as per our agreements. Are you going to complain any more, or will you simply accept that that’s all that was found here?”

Sid thought deeply for a moment, and just as the Inquisitor made a motion to return to looking outside, he countered, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

The Inquisitor half turned towards him, opening his eyes and focusing on the Archivist with a dangerous look. “It’s too warm outside for this armor.” Sid noticed the Inquisitor’s hand palming a pouch at his belt. He sighed and hung his head in defeat, deciding to follow the account’s advice and leave well enough alone. He would have to make his own account of this, though.
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Re: A Personal Account of the Fall

Post by CromTheConqueror on Thu Aug 05, 2010 1:24 pm

I thought the historical document was a bit jumbled but otherwise I liked it a lot. Particularly the interaction between the Archivist and the Inquisitor. That had a real nice natural feel to it. Like we really are starting to get a hold of that specific "this is what this guy would do and this is what this one will do" sort of feeling.

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Re: A Personal Account of the Fall

Post by Admin on Thu Aug 05, 2010 1:53 pm

It was supposed to have a jumbled feel, although sleep deprivation probably aided it more than was intended. The author would have written this shortly after arriving back on land in order to preserve his thoughts and observations (which would have been nothing short of a living hell, so he'd be all over the place). It also isn't meant to be the important piece, it's supposed to be more of an introduction to notes that go with it that probably extrapolate on some of the things he mentions.
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Re: A Personal Account of the Fall

Post by MidgetNinja on Tue Aug 10, 2010 5:22 am

I really want to know what that bottom note said...

Although I'm pretty sure it had something to do with how to make undead, and Nomen Carries, and other such things.

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Re: A Personal Account of the Fall

Post by Admin on Tue Aug 10, 2010 5:50 pm

It actually runs off (hence the tildes) because it's so badly damaged

"of the death legions haunting our dreams detailing the life of Nomen Carries~
Some of these accounts postulate~"

The archivist correctly surmised the meaning behind it.
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