《Damnatio Memoir》 Ⅰ – 地 Today is Pungenday, Bureaucracy 14, 3176 YOLD. How I can be so sure of that, I do not know. But I am. This seems an auspicious day, though I know not why. Accordingly, it seems fitting to me that while I have the time I should take note of my story, for it seems to me that great things are in the works, though I know not how I know this. I suppose this knowledge must be akin to the way animals know of an oncoming storm and take shelter. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The tools I spent a portion of yesterday crafting make it much easier to engrave on wooden surfaces, although I am somewhat concerned as to their durability. Perhaps I shall transcribe these writings to stone if I can find a surface of sufficient smoothness. But I digress. Best to begin at the beginning and then to proceed from there until the present time. After that? All is in the hands of the Goddess. To my best count, 316 days have passed since I woke up in a tavern. Well, it called itself a tavern Ⅱ – 水 Today is Boomtime, Bureaucracy 18, 3176 YOLD. In local time, it is Late Winter C I do not know the year as it is reckoned in these parts. Time passes strangely here C the sun seems to always shine, and there is no cloak of night under which to rest one''s head or perform deeds in secret, yet I still grow weary after exertion and consciousness eventually slips my grasp. When it returns, with it return memories of events that happened in the meantime. But if my consciousness was absent, who is it that observed these things? Passing strange. But this is far from the strangest shore I have found myself on. Today a man has joined me in my retreat. He was sick and delirious, poor fellow. I have fed him tea C one of the last brews given to me by a kind lady C and wished him well. This is a calculated act: though from his appearance I believe him to possibly be the most feared man* who yet stalks this valley, hospitality to strangers is a sacred obligation in the mountains and I would be remiss in my duties were I to leave him. Besides, now he owes me his life. Let me hope that he in turn will honour that obligation. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
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Speaking of tea, that was the only drink available in the so-called "Hillside Tavern" outside which I awoke to find myself on first arriving in this place. I confess, my first acts were taken out of sheer survival instinct, taking all the essential supplies I could carry from those stockpiled in a rough rock cairn, then scattering the stones so as to muddle my trail and fleeing southwards. There I found a rough assortment of huts, stockpiles, signposts, and campfires amidst the trees, along with a few fellow wanderers. Here I met the first of my sometime companions, she known as Grey. A finer cup of tea I''ve yet to taste. It was there also that I encountered a man whose offering was to shape my destiny C though I did not take him up on his offer, to my lingering regret. Ⅲ – 火 Today is Pungenday, Bureaucracy 59, 3176 YOLD. In local time, is Late Summer, Year 46, to the best of my knowledge. It has been some time since my last entry, and much has happened. What concerns me most is that I appear to have hit a plateau in personal development C for every new skill I learn, an old one slips from my brain, and I wonder what else has similarly slipped from memory? Accordingly, this journal has taken on a new importance, and I have begun to seriously contemplate finding a more permanent medium on which to record it. Alas for this valleys seeming complete lack of metals, caves, or anything protected from the ravages of Atropos! War has come to the north. Well, and gone, mostly, after splashing sanguine & scouring the snowy slopes settlements. The man I revived proved to be merely the first of many intent on a great cleansing. I recognised some among their number who had also been in the St. Germaine Nexal Breath. Possibly out of gratitude for my deed, and possibly out of basic primal recognition of the common Void lurking in our hearts, they made me an offer: join them in their enterprise, or perish on the cold slopes. What choice did I have? I joined. ??
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I must confess, it was gratifying to be sweeping away the debris of human civilisation and returning things to their natural state. Especially odious to my sight was a highway of huts despoiling the depths of the Westwood. Know not these people of honest roads and waystations? If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. In addition, my companions were among the most congenial I have yet encountered. Hard, yes, and swift to violence, but possessed of a depth and intelligence uncommon in this world. Truly, they were not as simple as some of them professed. One among them, a historian of sorts, filled me in on the local calendar and some interesting facts, myths, and legends. Apparently Hillside Tavern, where I had first found myself, was at the time the oldest standing settlement that had not been razed. (I say was because I, yes, took part in its razing. And I will not deny that it felt good.) Citrus Hill was the home of the Red Lemon Empire, which they said was in conflict with their Nexal Empire, the remnant of a once mighty collective which had arrived in force after the ending of the last Nexus War and, amazingly, largely banded together in mutual support against both this harsh world and the other inhabitants. (Perhaps the Nexus was too kind to its inhabitants? I have never before considered such thoughts.) Sadly, most of them had vanished during the Great White Fog, an event of which I have only vague memories as I, too, fell victim. (Alas, had I only proceeded to Foghaven when invited, perhaps I could have prevailed during that time? Ah, but second-guessing is a fools game. Alea iacta est.) Was it, also, burned, and its supposedly famous lemon tree with it. Although neither I nor any of my companions sighted said elusive arbor, the scent lingered in our nostrils for days.
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As I write, I share shelter, fellowship, and tea with my companions, and prepare for further struggles that no doubt lie ahead. It is good to have a purpose, although I know not its ultimate end. On reflection, perhaps the destruction of Oro Percorso was the best thing yet to befall me? As a former inhabitant of the previous village to occupy that ground put it vehemently (and repetitively), You cannot kill an idea. We fight in order that future peaceful villages may remain untroubled. As goes the adage, Sic [sic] vis pacem, para bellum. Let it be so. Ⅳ – 風 Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Ⅴ – 空 So many things have happened since my last entry that I struggle to decide what to include. Heh. The previous entry is gone, and good riddance to it. At the last, do I admit? No. Those who know, know. Those who guess, or ask, or wonder, can continue to do so. It is not in my nature to openly admit my nature. Rather than continue the narrative as I left it, it seems more fitting to paint with broad strokes. After all, this is most probably an exercise in vanity. The likelihood of anyone from those days encountering this who does not already know it and actually cares is infinitestimal. And yet. Broad strokes it shall be. If even a single person expresses interest, I can expand or expound as seems fitting. Perhaps I even will.
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So, then. When I left off, we had defeated the Red Lemon Empire, and completed the Purging of the North, with the only surviving settlement in the vicinity being the ancient ruins of Foghaven, somehow still standing. After that? Well, we looted the place, of course, and after sacrificing most of the loot to the local water spirits and dragging the high-value items back to the stockpile of Foghaven, we rested. For longer than anticipated. Upon our return there was a settlement built upon the ruins of Hillside Tavern by the name of Garhapsted. This displeased us. It burned. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. There was a nearby settlement called Babylon, to which many of the inhabitants fled. They attempted to parlay with us, but grew angry when we took sustenance from their stockpile. They fought. They perished. Their town burned. The inhabitants of Garhapsted, it turned out, had been building a castle, nestled in the lower reaches of the Dark Forest, to which they fled. Upon scouting it, we observed that it could be closed in by the application of a single cunningly-positioned block of stone. After looting their stockpile and dazing many of them, we made it so, and condemned them to starvation in the prison they had made for themselves. Subsequently
No. This is too slow. Forget the play-by-play, and the foreplay. Skip to the good parts.
The Creator had published a blueprint to creating a universe. Upon perusal of it, I was able to divine the obscured True Name of His Avatar, and seize control of it. Using His indefatigable vessel, I undertook to search for Valhalla in Gods Glade, the home of the gods themselves. But my spirit, which animated it, was not indefatigable; and as I searched, the approbation only grew: would the Creator, or one of the other gods, notice my use of his Avatar? Alongside it, the temptation: how much damage could I do, if I were to unleash its power? At first I sought ivory, but even gods can be wounded, and thyme is scarce in winter. Then I thought it over, and laughed: what need had I of better weapons, when I could simply stab twice as many times? It was the simplest of things to extort weaponry from a tiny settlement in return for sparing them. After that, I corrupted His appearance to be as Death, quoted the Apocalypse, and got to work.
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
I should have quoted the Bhagavad Gita.
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As it turned out, I was able to slay exactly one quarter of the population before my own mortal shell became tired and I had to stop for food. When I returned to my work, it was to find that the Maintainer had discovered my perfidy, and conducted perfidy of Her own. The Avatar was now rendered all but useless anyone with the requisite knowledge could render it disabled for a prolonged period with but a thought. The following day, scouring the blueprints of the world, I found the hidden planar coordinates of Gods Glade. And, exclaiming out loud, I was overheard.