Grim Collection of the Lords
| Type | Book |
|---|---|
| Discovered By | Haggard |
| Discovery Date | 2024-10-08 |
| Discovery Location | Eaglin, Atamara |
| Abilities | Prestige +7 +6% Spellcasting |
| Current Owner | Haggard |
A slim volume bound in ivory yellowed with age, overlaid with vellum of the finest gauge, supple in the hands and soft as silk, lettered in a flowing black script at once easy to read and yet strangely fatiguing. A history of the lands aforetime, and of the dreadful fate which befell it when the God-Kings of old turned against the very Powers of Heaven. So dark were the records contained within, so unwholesome the knowledge which they retained, that it would in later years be called the Grim Collection of the Lords, and men would fear to speak of it lest the same evil fall upon their world...
"Gather around the fire younglings, and hold your mothers close. The night draws in. The snows fall thick. And death stalks on the wild wind! Yet not all is ruin and damnation... Come closer, be still, and listen to the tale of Haggard, black sheep of the Hardacres... wanderer... vagabond... god-killer..."
Following his expedition to the catacombs of Barad Falas, and the recovery of the Black Canon of Time for Pirate King Scion, the wanderer Haggard scaled the Central Peaks and in the Eagle's Glen uncovered another curious book, a journal of a former age when these lands were warmed by an alien sun and Lords of Great Renown ruled as gods amongst mortal men.
Within that book Haggard found a key to the location of a certain tower in sleepy Eaglin, a building reached by uncertain paths which defied the senses of those who sought it unless they possessed the courage to face many traps, and a particular melody to dispel the enchantment which lead all others astray.
Thus armed with knowledge, Haggard came to the city on the morrow, his knapsack slung jauntily upon his shoulder, whistling a wild aire unknown in those parts. Though the guards at the gate thought him a rum-looking fellow, still they let him pass without delay, for he had the look of one who had mastered both steel and death.
Thus it was that he entered that maze-like warren of streets which guarded the Tower of the Badger God, defying the enchantments which turned men hither and thither from its ancient pock-marked ivory walls, and at each challenge his wits remained sound and his blade undefeated until he came at last to the crumbling stair which wound within the tower's ambit, upwards to the long abandoned quarters of the temple priests, and down, down, down, into the vertiginous depths of the Badger God's lair, feet crushing the husks of long defiled nuts.
None know of the fierce battle which raged in those depths. Of the armies of long dead worshippers who scurried to their furry god's defence. Who could fathom the evil which had sealed the fate of these once mortal men and women? Of the depravity which had caused them to worship so foul and licentious a monstrosity?
Haggard pressed on regardless, his sword cleaving and slaying, howling with joy as that ancient melody rung from rock to rock, from cavern to cavern, until he came at last to the Badger God's fane. And there in the darkness he saw his prize! A book unlike any other!
A slim volume bound in ivory yellowed with age, overlaid with vellum of the finest gauge, supple in the hands and soft as silk, lettered in a flowing black script at once easy to read and yet strangely fatiguing. A history of the lands aforetime, and of the dreadful fate which befell it when the God-Kings of old turned against the very Powers of Heaven. So dark were the records contained within, so unwholesome the knowledge which they retained, that it would in later years be called the Grim Collection of the Lords, and men would fear to speak of it lest the same evil fall upon their world...
Still one last obstacle stood between Haggard and that most noisome reliquary of fate. An obstacle somehow conjured from the antediluvian world, it's hulking form covered in a thick pelt of black fur, streaked with white stripes, rearing to it's full height, colossal and elephantine in scale, it's snout bared to reveal fangs longer than a man is tall and easily as broad.
The beast let out a fierce and triumphant roar, bounding across the chasm in a single leap with murderous single-mindedness. Yet where Haggard had stood but a moment earlier was empty air, the wanderer tumbling expertly to the side and rising with his bloody sword at guard, a thin stripe of red staining the dreadful beast's fur.
It howled with rage and hurled itself once more at the intruder, glassy eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, white foam streaming from its curling lips.
Again Haggard dodged, and again his blade cut a thin stripe in that impossibly thick hide.
Thus the game of cat and mouse persisted for long minutes, stretching seemingly to hours in the darkness of the vaulted chamber. And with each subtle blow, Haggard stole a little of the God's vitality, until in the fullness of time the madness dimmed in its eyes, its ragged breaths slowing as it slumped to the ground.
Haggard looked at the cyclopaean horror with a mixture of sorrow and relief. He had no intention of dying in this forgotten den, yet the beast which lay within his power was surely the last of its kind...
"Kill me, human."
"No," Haggard wiped his blade on a scrap of cloth, taken from the remains of one of the corpse-priests, and slid his sword back into its scabbard.
"Then you... will wish... you had..." the hulking Badger-form struggled for breath, "before the end..."
Haggard placed his hand upon the beast's snout, "Are you so eager for death?"
"I... am eager... to rest..." the breaths were laboured, "in the... greenwood... where my... cubs..."
The light dimmed in the creature's eyes and his mouth hung slack, a noisome reek emanating from his rapidly putrefying corpse.