Madman's notes and Vamhelaphron (1)

Aldher Remist

The Tales of the Journey and Life of the Saintess and the Ctimasonal Knight.

It's quite a long story, 9 acts in total. Quite repetitive after a while, ending with the death of the Saintess during a War. It is the story in which the foundation of what a "Promise" is was made.

Each and everyone has their own interpretation of what it is, but the general consensus is that a Promise is rooted to one's life, Promising something to someone is promising to write your own life into a binding sentence inside a page in the 7 Chapters of Promise on the Illeariautheon Diktom Amnis"Milis.

The first Chapter is Binding.

The basis of all promises, It can be a promise to yourself for the future, a promise to family or even a lover.

The second Chapter is Shattering.

"False promises" as they say. Jinxed, Annulled, Broken, Forgotten. It can be any of these or none of these.

The third is Birth.

The promises written on this chapter is subconscious, and permanently paradoxical. Made from the continuation of your unfinished promises from what is to have been your last life.

The fourth— Greying, Fifth— Permanence, Sixth is Seclusion, And the Last, Death.

There's no need to explain the rest.

What is more important is what happened after the story, The real purpose of this diary, and what is to be my last memory.

What I am about to write in this page is something only Scholars of the Library above Eldheic specification know.

The event known to many as the Saint War, for the non-religious, The Battle of Pholian Valley. The war that ushered the start of the Marionest Calendar.

A religious war that started its First and its final curtain in a single fight.

Causalities are unknown. Since no-one… other than me… escaped that hellscape…

After that war... The world mourned, which most would come to know as the "Crimson Azure Dusk"—... However, That's the limit as to where most people would remember becoming oblivious to what actually happened as if they were locked into a permanent trance.

And this—…. note from me will be the only record of what actually happened.

Yes.

After the final arrow was shot straight into the Saintess’ chest.

The world mourned, It screamed, convulsed and rained blood.

That's when the realization hit me.

Her Holiness Millivaerna Galya S’Dtroan Jquisty dir mil Cilla Probent Valeurhaus was not supposed to die there.

Her Holiness might have said that she had forgiven us all our sins... But the world... the world… she… It most certainly did not.

First thing to happen after the quakes and rains was...

The ground consuming everyone that was there, innocent or not… it didn’t matter, and the one to do it was a Maw made out of Void. The Wæßnir that has always ever only been seen in the Empyrean Fiyelands— The Night's Sleepy Maw — consumed everything voraciously, living or not, and spat it back out as clumps of mixed flesh, a living rot.

The next was the Planting process...

The clumps of living rot… People that were mixed both dead and living… all of them were cacophonous in their incessantly screaming... begging for help.

This is when they appeared. An odd group of 6 people.

An old man knocking on death's door holding up a book, a masked man toying with the flesh with a grin of self-derision on their face, two hazy figures— one covered in bandages and chains, the other hooded with the cowl covering their entire face—, a young man with a carefree look, and lastly her.

The religions and churches everywhere will know who she is the moment their eyes would lay upon her...

The Witch of Phanactis. She who is life itself.

She caressed the thing. Fed it something the masked man gave her and whispered something to it before cutting it into pieces and burying the pieces one by one, leaving some aboveground alive.

From there, each of them slowly went their ways. Except for the old man and the carefree young man.

I couldn't hear what they were talking about but the young man was gesturing something to the ground and the skies.

Then after those strange movements, The ground convulsed, pulsed, and shook again while the sky warped, cracked and broke.

The third, and the most horrifying last part. The Sprouting.

From the ground, lay and came— the Crawling Mountains —whereinst rested itself around the plains turning it into a valley and atop the newly formed valleys, came, a sprawling forest— the Vanishing Forest —hid the location from the entire world.

And from the skies came— the Flame Blue Clouds —rained down luminescent raindrops on to where the blobs of flesh were planted and leftover, nourishing, steaming and burning them.

An unpleasant cacophonous choir of scream hollered around the valley for quite while…. Turning what was once the leftovers into a thick fine red mist, while the planted flesh grew....

Into something that shouldn't be seen... Vines thicker than the trunks of Frahl Veleirs in the Western Coast… Cirrus like appendages protruding from orifices in the one where one could discern eyes should've been... Mouths with arms as tongues…. Eyes lidded with teeth or pulsating like a beating heart...

It was maddening..— They were calling me... Until now of this writing... I can still hear them... It should not exist... It should not... And yet... The mother of life herself made it... Is this our judgment from them? For killing the Saintess? Quanshielts —Children of Order and Disaster — two of them... Were born... these were Ajnieth...

The Wæßnir we now know as Fier'ein Lyrrck Anstur and Un'rithein Seer'Pholia— The Forest of Giant Fingers and The Red Mist of Pholian Valley —were born.

And unlike the others, these twins bourne today— were unlike the other Ajnieth's we known —these children... Were intelligent and they can learn.

And we can only hope that they are like the rest of the other calamities.

∞

You closed up the tattered book after reading the last page, You picked it up during one of your walks in the labyrinthine halls of the Library out of curiosity. After all it was the only old, musty, and tattered book that you have seen in the Library from the entirety of your 2 weeks living amongst its walls.

Calling upon the help of the hexapodal Klitrae that you saw passing by in front of your room to call Vamhelaphron.

Thinking back on the book you’ve just read. You remember some seemingly familiar yet strange words written on the last page you’ve just read. After a while of pondering you hear a flutter of pages behind you, knowing from experience you’ve come to assume it being Vamhelaphron.

You turn back and greet the book-turned-young boy. “Vamhel! Thanks for coming, I need help on this.” You called as you waved the old diary in front of him.

Vamhelaphron went wide-eyed looking at the book in your hands, warily he asked you. “Where did you get that?” clear disdain dripping from their voice.

Seeing the seriousness from their voice, you toss the book towards them and answered. “The bookshelf on 4th hall, just 2 shelves before the 3rd hub, 18th book to the left on the 8th row.”

Adding to what you’ve just said, you ask. “Why? Is it important?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you ask about it?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be taking this back, call for me if you need something from me again.”

As Vamhelaphron said that, he made his way towards the door walking out of it in a hurry. You sat there thinking of what to do next when you forgot to ask him about the unfamiliar terms used in the diary.

Not hoping to bother Vamhelaphron for the second time you went out of your room and walked into the labyrinthine halls of the Library once more to seek answers you need.