The Book of the Damned
The book of the Damned is definitely the most egotistical creation of the Archlich himself; it contains all of his madness, his hatred, and his darkest memories. The book itself is an abomination; at first, it appears like a normal book made of black leather and metal ornaments. The closer you look at it, the more it appeals to you; you start to see runes and weird inscriptions on the ornaments. On the center of the cover lies glowing symbols. The more you gaze upon it and the stranger it gets, undecipherable symbols shifting with every passing second. Only the abomination itself knows what they mean. All of it is but a trap for the curious souls. In fact, you are condemned the moment you look at it. This cursed book feels like a normal one yes; picture it as a spider web, and you're the fly ready to get devoured.
The grimoire will feel cold at first as any regular book, but you will feel it warm itself. I assure you that it will feel like touching another person's skin. You will start to feel things crawling under the cover, like insects under the leather, but you will be unable to release your grasp on the grimoire. It's already too late, the book needs sustenance and it has already started to feed on your curiosity and your ambitions. Now, it requires your blood, your flesh, and finally your soul. Slowly but surely you will feel like a thousand tendrils entering your body, filling your very being and devouring you from the inside. Your eyes and your mind will be the last things to be consumed. You will remain conscious during the whole...experience and beg for it to end. As once the Archlich was blind to the truth, now it wants you to feel and experience, but a fraction of the pain he has endured. As you are devoured by the book, your skin will replace the cover. Your blood will serve as ink for the older sections of the grimoire, and surely to write new ones. Finally, as you disappear into it, you will be blessed with the truth and will have eons to mediate on the knowledge contained in this book; as you're slowly digested by it.
Then the Archlich will know your secrets as you know his, and feast on your torments. He always leaves the book unguarded for the next fool to take it. As empty as your motivations are; curiosity, righteousness to destroy the Archlich, steal his secrets, or even power it matters not. In the end, you're nothing more than food and knowledge for the abyss. I dare not to speak about what happened to the unliving that tried to take the book...
The grimoire will feel cold at first as any regular book, but you will feel it warm itself. I assure you that it will feel like touching another person's skin. You will start to feel things crawling under the cover, like insects under the leather, but you will be unable to release your grasp on the grimoire. It's already too late, the book needs sustenance and it has already started to feed on your curiosity and your ambitions. Now, it requires your blood, your flesh, and finally your soul. Slowly but surely you will feel like a thousand tendrils entering your body, filling your very being and devouring you from the inside. Your eyes and your mind will be the last things to be consumed. You will remain conscious during the whole...experience and beg for it to end. As once the Archlich was blind to the truth, now it wants you to feel and experience, but a fraction of the pain he has endured. As you are devoured by the book, your skin will replace the cover. Your blood will serve as ink for the older sections of the grimoire, and surely to write new ones. Finally, as you disappear into it, you will be blessed with the truth and will have eons to mediate on the knowledge contained in this book; as you're slowly digested by it.
Then the Archlich will know your secrets as you know his, and feast on your torments. He always leaves the book unguarded for the next fool to take it. As empty as your motivations are; curiosity, righteousness to destroy the Archlich, steal his secrets, or even power it matters not. In the end, you're nothing more than food and knowledge for the abyss. I dare not to speak about what happened to the unliving that tried to take the book...
He's the bearer of all their sins.
He shares their thirst, but he's not a parasite.
He's consumed by a burning rage, yet that doesn't drive him.
He craves for the unending knowledge from those beyond the veil.
He's a master over flesh and bones, metal and souls.
His brethren are but children before him, for they lack true vision.
He's the Chainbreaker, the Devourer, the Liar.
He's the great maw filled with void.
The Schemer, the enemy of all.
He's the herald of the eternal silence.
-Preface, Book of the Damned
"From the shadows I've observed through rock, blood and time.
War is but a game played by insects blinded with pride.
I've observed the rise of the restless and the decline of the living.
In the end, both are blind to their real purpose.
There's only eternity, above life and death, above conflict and pain.
Once the final spark of life will be extinguished,
the final being put to rest, only I will remain.
I will wait for the ages to pass and wait for the cycle to begin again.
The eternal silence."
~1:6 - Eternity
Vesrael, The Herald of the Eternal Silence
I remember when it came to me, the first time it filled my very being. I remember when it whispered the truth. I was once flesh and blood, fear and rot. I was filled with doubts and clinging to childish hopes to escape my own mortality.
I've spent my whole mortal existence searching for a way to cheat death, searching for an escape. I once traveled this very world. It was an ancient version of it, a version that's now similar to a fleeting dream forgotten by most. Few of us remember how was the first world, its glory, and its power. Now Spellcasters are but a mere shadow of the true masters from the past.
I remember my ascension, the fear and the pain replaced by hatred and a vision. I remember how ignorant I was. I was too afraid to disappear, and I've summoned the name of many beings to extend my lifespan. One by one they turn their back to me; the few gods that were listening treated me as nothing more than a madman. All but one.
Imagine having the power to create and destroy, to summon beings from other planes and separate the flesh from the bones in an instant, yet unable to cheat death. It was when I've lost all hope that it appeared. I felt like drowning in a pool of darkness, surrounded by emptiness. I was nothing.
I heard it, whispering, screaming; it was every voice ever heard and now long gone. It was everywhere. I felt it in my ears, in my head, in my bones, to the depths of my very soul. It knew what I wanted, it gave me eternity and I've paid the price. For seconds that felt like eons I've felt my very own flesh rotting; my own eyes were taken since I was blind to the truth.
It explained everything to me, the great lie of life and the purpose of the restless. The living and undead are each a face of the same coin, they both serve a purpose in the great scheme. One side fears the end, while the other makes it a reality. In the end, even the undead must sleep to fill their purpose.
They see themselves as evolution, but lack the vision to truly understand it; I will open their eyes. Undeath is just a part of the great purpose. Every being must be extinguished to join the void, to welcome the eternal silence.
I remember how I felt when the great illusion was broken and the truth showed to me, the never-ending hatred burning in every part of my being. I remember the pain I've inflicted, and the horror I've unleashed. I still remember his screams while his skull was melting from the inside.
A century, a millennium, it matters not; the flesh will rot, life will decay as it is the natural order of things. Then I'll carve a path to the beings above mortals, these cowards hiding from the end as I once did. I will take everything from them and impale these mongrels with their own pride. I will watch them wither without their followers as they join oblivion.
Do you now understand what must be done? Do you understand the futility of this cosmic betrayal? Do not fear, I will break your chains and you will be one with the void once again.
~2:5 - The Purpose
Vesrael, The Herald of the Eternal Silence
I was once hunted by members of the Thacean Empire. I believe I was nothing more than another evil lich for them to defeat. I'm never sure with the living; they're always filled with delusion. They began their journey, their crusade with a party of 20 foolish and pathetic members. Some were simple soldiers, hunters, spellcaster and there was an inquisitor. He was leading them in his righteous crusade against me.
I was quite surprised at first, how can they hope to defeat me with such a small number ? How can they possibly think themselves strong enough ?
I was... curious. I wanted to know how they will deal with me. So, while they were marching towards my domain, I toyed with them.
First, I've sent my mindless servants to test their might. I weed out the weak in my first attacks. Few have fallen to my servants, but it was more than enough. I knew they were sufficiently prepared for a direct assault, so I've tested them differently. I've raised the fallen from the dead and sent them to attack the living during the night while they were resting.
I've instilled fear in the heart of these cowards; more died during that night, some cried after seeing their friends, loved one raising to kill them. It was truly delightful.
The less they were the stronger became their resolve. They were so convinced that they were making progress, that all theses sacrifice will be worth in the end. It was nothing more than another delusion.
When they were only five left I made sure they find the way to my lair. They deserved a reward after all, don't you agree?
Unfortunately, only three of them make it, a mage and his nearly broken spirit, a warrior that felt more like a barbarian, and finally the Inquisitor himself. I've let them enter my inner sanctuary while I was watching from the shadows. When they arrived the first thing they saw was my book, it was at this very moment they sealed their fate.
I remember the joy on the inquisitor's face; he was thrilled to have found this book. Thrilled to discover my every secret, maybe even new powers to defend his precious empire. Before he could touch the book I've made my entrance and lift him above the ground in my cold embrace and looked at his companion. The mage tried to cast the spell that I deflect easily. Finally, he broke before seeing how hopeless it was to face me.
Then I gazed into the Inquisitor's eyes, corrupted by lies, avidity and false hopes. I felt the hatred boil within me and press his head on my book. He screamed when he felt the tendrils entering his face. I repetitively smashed his head against the object of his desire as patches of flesh were stripped from his face until nothing remains. Then I let my precious grimoire feed on the remains...
It was when I heard the mage crying and screaming for help that I remember they were still there. I turned myself slowly to the mage, calmer than before. He reminded me how weak, I once was...
I slowly caressed his face with my right hand to calm him, just before putting my left and middle fingers in his eyes burning them as I plunge my fingers in his head.
Once you were blind to the truth, now you see how futile your quest was. His screams were divine, his struggle was a pure symphony to my ears.
Then it strikes me... The warrior watched without saying a word, without flinching. He was on his knees, surely waiting for his turn.
No... there was something more about it, something odd... He was not waiting, he was submitting to me. His silence was his prayer to me, his understanding.
I gave the mage the true blessing he deserved. I gave him... burning knowledge in his very skull, melting it from the inside. Granting him true death.
Then it was finally the warrior's turn to receive his reward. He was a machine of death in life, fighting his brethren, and undead without fear. He didn't fear death, he was embracing it, feeding it while waiting for his turn. I simply touch his chest where his heart was and stopped it in an instant. He stared at me until the end, but it was not the end yet for him.
I poured my hatred, my cold rage in his heart, I shared my dreams and replaced his every thought with mine. I've made him my executioner, giving him the great honour of ushering the arrival of the eternal silence.
~6:1 - Memories
Vesrael, The Herald of the Eternal Silence
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