Forsaken Eons

Books of Forbidden Mysteries

[forsaken-eons]

Some things become two things, one in this world and one in another, like temporary twins. What makes the connection is just as mysterious as what breaks it. A song can be a river, a fear can be a kingdom, a death can be a door.

They will write about me, Aurora. I will survive my death in the terms they invent to describe me and in the tension between their certainty and the truth. Unlike those of the ordinary dead, who live now only in memory, my survival will be real. The way my death opens will change more worlds than this one. This is the gift and the horror of what I've done.

There will be no more mirrors. The reflection of beauty is sinister. When the glass between the two is gone, they are free to become the same thing. When they talk about me, they will say that I had a special way of thinking. The truth is that anyone could have done this. That I was anyone at the right moment, Aurora, is attributable exclusively to dumb luck.

The Hoath Sigil waited in that midden pit, where humans buried it at the dawn of their shame, for hundreds of thousands of years. What did it think in the dark while we waged wars above it? It's gone forever because of me. They will see irredeemable cowardice in my greatest acts of courage. It doesn't matter whether I accept that. This hasn't been for me, Aurora. All of it has been for you.

-G. Conti, Ravenna, Papal States, July 1321

La Bestia di Arezzo's last letter was never sent. Translated here by Prof. Paul Quinn Taylor III in 1968 from Conti's whimsical reconstruction of Raetic. Until the 20th century, Aurora was believed to refer to Eletta Boccaccio, La Bestia's eleventh victim. New evidence suggests that Aurora was, in fact, his niece's cat.

[forsaken-eons]

I begin to see it, and then I see it. All at once it's so bright and clear that I can't remember the dimness that hid it anymore. I am simultaneously old and born anew.

When mathematics failed, I looked beyond it. At last, that was where the truth lay. There are indeed other realities. Some interact with each other, and others are partitioned from the rest. Our reality is among those that are set apart.

White, Barère, and the hated Romanov each understood part of the truth. Even Aoyama was close. White in particular, in his Eo In Tenebras, laid much of the groundwork, but he was far from revelation. Would that my forebears could see now where their work has led! I found the last pieces in old Verdun, when the gate of al-Mu'tazz finally admitted me: The Druid Barham really touched the veil between universes. And now have I, for longer even than Barham did, and I am yet the better for it than the old wizard was in 1082. What yet waits ahead for me, I cannot know, but I'm strong and I have the books and the Ishtar Black Nail. Over certain borders of truth, fear is an indulgence.

There is however a terrible suggestion. It's becoming all I think about. It seems ever more likely that those segregated realities are meant to be empty of anything alive. Perhaps all of humanity is a mistake, like mold in a petri dish left unlidded. This is a naive possibility; there are worse others. I can't bear to think of them any more than I can stop myself from doing it. Someone or something will come looking for us. How will they find us, and what will they do? Will I live to see it? There are parts of The Silver Bastian that I hesitate to read. I've glimpsed the diagrams on those accursed pages and the rubbings Lindh made in that Somalian well. Despite all fear, I must look further. I'm loath to return to darkness. It's better to die intruding upon light divine than to embrace man's native gloom and thereby live forever. If there is aught in this liminal universe to pray to, I hope it will protect me now.

-from the journal of B. Aaron Baird, c. 1937. The later entries are untranslatable.

[forsaken-eons]

The monster king was once something else. He committed a grave sin and was banished to an unforgiving land. There he tried to gather power, but he found only suffering and death. Then those who'd banished him were sorry and they raised him to life again, but as he rose he took on a monstrous form. At last, he murdered his resurrectors and returned to the place of his exile to dominate it.

Now he kills humans as a matter of course because we resemble the first creatures he hated. He is the endling of the people he loathes, and his sorrow that, in him, those people shall endure forever creates the eternity that torments him.

[forsaken-eons]

Hvis du drømmer om et uhyre, og du siger dets konges navn til det, vil det flygte, og du vil aldrig drømme om det igen. Monsterkongen er en frygtelig skabning, og selv dens egne undersåtter er rædselsslagne for den. Men du skal være forsigtig, for navnet er en invitation, og hvis monsterkongen kommer ind i din drøm, vil han dræbe dig.

"If you dream of a monster and you say to it the name of its king, it will flee and you'll never dream of it again. The monster king is an awful creature, and even its own subjects are terrified of it. But one must be careful, for the name is an invitation and if the monster king enters your dream, he will kill you."

-Børge Spurv, Leipzig, 1895.

[forsaken-eons]

Found on a loose gilded leaf in a galley copy of Parver's Compendium Daemonicus, c. 971. The substance of the ink is unusual, but the hand appears to be Parver's own.

My race evolved on a planet called E'm. For a thousand years, we sailed the sea. For the next one-hundred billion years, we sailed the stars. We colonized our entire universe, and then we looked outward. A group of us entered your universe long before the birth of your star. The first sentient beings worshiped us, and we abandoned colonization for more religious endeavors.

Here, we were gods. We built a paradise and peopled it with souls, the life-beyond-life of all you small, crude creatures. Our ships brought glorious light to primal darkness as we made your universe what it is. You have us to thank for life as you know it.

But our paradise ruptured. Rebellion became war, and, in the tumult that shook the universe, your Earth arose. I was a lord of light and beauty, but, as one by one my realms darkened and fell, I came to find solace in the administration of pain. I learned to use living souls to power what engines of destruction remained under my control. The war ended, and there were no winners. The great obscured themselves, and the debased, who'd been my brothers in light, became my children in darkness.

This is the prophecy. My kind are diminished. We are almost all dead. Heaven has lain forlorn, but its gates are open again. The Time of Return is nigh, a billion years of war foreseen by eons by every king of Hell, and no sentients endemic to this universe will endure the reckoning.

[forsaken-eons]

-from the preface to an unnamed work by "D. F. Marsden," c. 1191. No more of the text survives.

There are many realities. The savage gods that began creating our reality wiped themselves out in a civil war before they could finish. Thereafter the universe languished, forlorn and godless, for eons of eons. Its vastness became wild, and the dark became sentient.

Into this chaos came silver people, planestriders from beyond its bounds, to prepare fallow worlds for new seeds of life and to wake primal things that had been sleeping since the old gods died. And they brought to the flowering universe light by blood and order by brutal caprice until they reached Earth, where they stopped a while to rest before they disappeared, leaving all their arcane instruments behind.

Now Earth was under the aegis and rule of angels whose provenance is unknown. These being added to their own celestial magic many of the instruments the planestriders had abandoned. Thus they were able to create the prehumans, whose Supplicant Empire would endure for millennia.

The fall of the angels with their creations and the advent of true humans is well explained in del Pulgar's Las Guerras de Astrales. Missing from that proscribed manuscript is a true account of mankind's oneiric quests into the dead gods' living dark, into the remnants of the planestriders allotrius empire, and even into the highest temples of the fallen angels to find in every place the horror and madness that alone can be their inheritance. The following text shall finally describe that folly and, I hope, plot the one good path through this god-haunted universe which humans, debased though they are, may finally follow to ultimate power.

[forsaken-eons]

This missive was delivered under the door of the Luxembourg Institute of Bathymetry in 1938. The clerk who discovered it disappeared.

Before the gods separated and took each its own form, they were one being with one mind: a living light. When as such they entered the universe the mind of the light was made dark, and in the darkness was a dream.

Far from Alo, in the heart of the Red Fields of Tabash, there is an ocean in a tower. There live water things long lost from the place of their creation, deities once and now mindless, eyeless, and wrought by merciless time into terrible shapes. Those few left who still worship the blind deep things have betaken themselves to crude deeps of their own drowning and have there come into secret power, and they are spoken of in fear even by the tombpriests of Er Emoyath.

All I have seen, but I cannot render it. My hands refuse to draw any lines to that might describe the blasphemy that I saw at the forgotten Library of Dogroth. Even my worst nightmares are afraid to show the Cursed One. The mind lies, mere words falter, dreams and drawings can only suggest and distort. The grave of fearsome truth is ever opening, and there is naught for those who would peer inside but to see and know the horror for themselves.

[forsaken-eons]

From the journal of Captain Charles Littman (1830 - 1906)

Though I'd thought myself rid of it, the sickness has followed me from Sicily. My fever is worse now than ever. The shadows move about my room like prison guards. Every night, new scratches appear on my bedroom door. Nonetheless, I remain determined to finish translating this lost chapter of the Benveniste Adamic Catechism. The sections I've completed thus far have revealed secrets the world must know, horrific as they are and however they continue now to poison me.

This ancient document names the true god. Its magick is alive on its pages. I know why Modrovich was willing to kill for it. The Church found him before he could. Martin Hodel has seen that they won't find my hiding place before I'm finished, but there's no future for me. Whether I finish my translation or not, I am dead. I won't see the light when it finally emerges or the way it will change the world. I can only imagine the devastation.

And I will finish. I only have three more quatrains now. This sickness empowers me even as it consumes me. It's my honor to be the first of many who will die in the coming Illumination.

[forsaken-eons]

The Illumination of Hell

From the journal of an unknown author. Translated from Lower Hittite.

I have done it at last. After decades, I have found a window into the Outer Dark. I have done so many vile things and left so many dead behind me. To think that I hesitated at first. At the precipice, I was afraid. I am another person now, and I hardly know who I was before. The face I see in the water is almost gone.

I began this work because I was curious. Now I see that the task was laid before me especially. Unique among all seekers, I was chosen for it. The Darkness wanted to be found, and I alone could find it. Now, as it commands, I will soon show the world the way.

The Maraxiis works no better than any of the other magics. Ignore the prevailing theories. To bridge the gap, I had to reinvent spell geometry. Mine is a new way, and it is the only way that works. It's by my blood that I have the key and by no harrowing but mine that I finally saw the sigil. The lesser pilgrims have too long been killing each other when they would have done better to kill themselves.

The gates are tall and black. Their planks are coffin lids, and their locks are beating hearts. They open only for enterprising self loathing. My flesh is torn for the toll, and my eyes see only that Great Fire. The body is consumed by fire, but it does not burn. The heart is sealed in ice, but it does not freeze. The throat is full of blood, but it does not drown. The Outer Dark is not a place but a thing, and it is alive. As its one mind is made manifest in its demonic inhabitants, so is it its own mind and infinitely more. The spirit is split, but it does not die.

The window is closed, but I hear them scratching at it. They wait there like lovers for me, and I can't help but throw it open to hear their longing entreaties. Their faces are lost in horn and flame and maws that gape eternally. Some walk upright, but others have no one form. You'll know when you see them why I must listen when they speak. And they are never silent anymore, these ardent whisperers.

I cannot write so enraptured. Wait for my sign, cousin, if you are still alive. It will not be long. Meet me next at the head of man's new way into Hell.

A sigil is attached:

[forsaken-eons]

The Nearness of Another World

Translated from Aramaic by a Dr. H. Mantel c. 1845.

Reality is not like a house with walls between rooms. It is like instead a perpetual sunset of bleeding colors. The clouds of many worlds cross each other at different times, fading and brightening, their edges limned and hued in the same light forever. They are not always distinct from each other; some worlds mix, and some mixed worlds separate, but the sky of the real is not inchoate. There is a level of predictability to be seen by the mage who knows how to look.

At this time of year, in certain regions, our world overlaps another: Dagon. This is a mystic realm rather than a natural one, and it contains many symbols and powers. It is ruled by Nath the Manlike Shadow, who holds all of Dagon across his broad antlers. When Dagon is near us, we may feel its empty cold and its strangeness. We may feel the sorrow of Nath. A mage may sense the exchange of energy between that world and ours; this exchange is useful in working autumnal magick.

There is convincing evidence that the extent to which Dagon permeates our realm, when it does, is greater than even the most powerful mages know. Evil is drawn to mystical realms, and Dagon especially is hospitable to many flagitious powers. Dagonic evil is dangerous, and autumnal magick, as tempting as it is to perform with a ready source of independent power, is to be avoided. In fact, many magickal circles prohibit its use entirely.

The closeness of Dagon provokes a feeling. All-Hallow-Even is one of many traditions that grew up around this feeling. If you are sensitive to it, be some time quiet and let it live in your stillness. Know with appropriate fear that you are at the threshold of magick. Thus you learn the lie of the clouds and their bright lines, the light of the sunset, and the nature of the dark that is eternally waiting.

[forsaken-eons]

The People of Muuz

From the notebooks of René Gerard Rousseau. Translated from Igbo by William Hess c. 1587

Ile'ek, daughter of Ilek, was at first the least of the gods. At her father's behest, she went out from Rakaya to find Mour on Earth, which was at that time still burning with the fires of creation. Mour came to her there, and she worshipped him, and he sent her to perform the 19 Labors of Beya. The first of these labors was to retrieve Beya's Mirror, and when Ile'ek found the Mirror she looked into it and had a vision. She saw the first man descend from the Upper Sea with no spirit inside him. He was beautiful to her, so after she had brought the Mirror to Mour she made from the fires of creation a spirit and she went to the Upper Sea to find the first man where he was yet sleeping.

After 707 days, the first man awoke and Ile'ek named him Ez, the First One. And she gave to Ez the spirit she had made for him. But the spirit burned him up, and Ile'ek despaired that Ez was gone. Then Ile'ek took the remains of Ez's flesh and made another man and she filled this new body with a weaker fire for a spirit that he would not burn up. This new being stood fast against the fire. He was beautiful to Ile'ek, but he was not Ez, so she named him Muuz, The Container. Then Muuz descended from the Upper Sea and he brought with him sons and daughters to the Earth where they met Mour.

Mour disapproved of Ile'ek's creations, and he saw in the People of Muuz a great darkness because they were imperfect and because their spirits were weaker fires than the one which had consumed Ez, so he marshalled the gods against them. For 707 years, the gods made war on the People of Muuz, but they could not drive them back nor kill them. On the last day of the 707th year Muuz himself killed Mour in battle. After that the gods withdrew, and Ile'ek led them in their confusion out of the burning world and back to the Halls of Kalak where they had their thrones. Seeing Mour's throne empty, Ile'ek sat upon it, and the other gods worshipped her. And for 707 centuries Ile'ek was queen of the gods and her father Ilek was her vizier.

But on the last day of her reign, the People of Muuz invaded Rakaya, and they breached the Halls of Kalak, and they killed Ile'ek and her father Ilek and suspended her corpse in the Upper Sea as a reminder of something. But it is forgotten now why they killed her and what happened to them, for there is no record after that of the People of Muuz and the gods if they yet live have ever since been silent.

[forsaken-eons]

A Tale of Gol

From the 'Er Book of Creations, 17.8. Translated by Ka'iulani Lalihi, c. 1906.

When the world was young there was a spirit upon it. When men came, the spirit found them beautiful and it took a shape like unto theirs and walked among them. And when men found language and began to name themselves, the spirit learned to speak to them and it named itself Gol.

Gol taught men what it had learned before time in the abyss of Chaos, and they raised Gol up as a king for them. But Gol fell, and men loved it no more and condemned it, and their new king sent 77 priests of renown to banish it. They used the Great Magick but because they were impure Gol was not driven out and the world was sullied.

A light came upon all then that was terrible, and Gol fled from it, forsaking his fair human shape. And men fled from it as well but salvation was denied them. In time the light died, but in some places it remains, and its embers are the source of the vile power. And Gol remains bitterly in the world as well, formless now and with another name.

[forsaken-eons]

The Yellow God and The Seven Deaths

Recorded by Såbn the Younger in the White Book of Mek c. 8115 BCE; translated from Rebine by Sir Hale Middleditch

The Yellow God came from outside into the new void. And the dark was thereby made alive and its mind awake with thought, and its souls begat themselves. Then the Yellow God made the living dark to sleep and from the silk of its dreams He wove the Seven Deaths, and they named Him Ka.

The Seven Deaths walked apart in the void, and they made and unmade many worlds and souls between them, and when Ka called them to come to Him they were the masters of all they had seen. Ka saw that they were greater than He, but He bade them kneel and they were cowed and obeyed, and He told them:

"Because you have bowed to your lesser, I name you."

And Ka named the Seven Deaths names of power, but all their names are forgotten now save for that of Lash. Ka sent the Seven Deaths away to perform a glorious work for Him. Lash rose up in defiance of Ka and for this the other Six made war on him.

The Seven Deaths' armies fought until all the worlds they had seen were ravaged and became horrible, and from the fires of their battles further horrors emerged. At last the Six bound the One and brought him before Ka for judgment. They beeseched Ka to unmake Lash and they showed Him the grievous harm that had been done in their war. But Ka rebuked them, saying:

"The Six are greater than the One, and you have done six times the harm, and all of you have forgotten when you knelt to me."

Then Ka saw that the sleeping void was in pain and its dream had become a nightmare, and from the silk of the nightmare He remade Himself greater than the Seven Deaths. Thus He rose up in might against them and what became of the Six is not told, but the One fled.

Then Ka woke the void once more, and He went through it healing its wounds and unmaking many terrible things He found in its dark. The human world was in the void and Ka found humans upon it who worshiped Him, for by His power the void was made mostly whole again. But some wounds were too great to be unmade, and some horrors yet remain from the War of the Seven Deaths.

[forsaken-eons]

The Seal of Shaol, used to invoke the Lord of Forsaken Places for the revelation of mysteries. To be painted on the caster's birthday on the floor and ceiling of a chamber containing items of power specific to the caster including items of iron, cedar, and fulgurite . Once the sigil has been painted, the caster must fellate a virgin. The caster must then spill their own blood onto the sigil, smear in counterclockwise, and spit the virgin's seed so that it mixes with the blood.

Warning: this is a powerful and dangerous casting that involves self-harm and sex magick. Shaol is reluctant, and the casting may have to be repeated. Once it appears, Shaol is not to be addressed directly or looked upon, as sight of its visage invariably causes severe neurological disturbance. It will listen only to requests that are whispered with the caster's back turned while they bow in reverence. Feigning reverence is not advised.

As Shaol is one of the Dead Pantheon, it is to be considered a Mortal Peril.

[forsaken-eons]

The Seal of Paphaes, discovered in the ruins of Nevali Çori during an expedition lead by esotericist Våle Eroth. To be drawn by moonlight for the banishment of summoned entities.

[forsaken-eons]

The Seal of Maerokh, used to invoke the Lord of Fallow Fields for the manifestation of licentious desires. To be painted on stone on or near unconsecrated ground during a gibbos moon using a medium mixed with caraway and rose.

Maerokh is especially responsive to left-handed female casters, whom she is more likely to drive mad upon her appearance.

Casting this sigil while menstruating may cause auditory hallucinations after the fact. Casting it while pregnant is forbidden.

[forsaken-eons]

The Sign of Goraiah. Protective against psychic nightmares, spectrophobia, and forced transplanar shifts. To be painted with a medium mixed with ash.