|
And Lem Fell Beneath the Waves
Tomes of Amaxathroth > Ink, Blood and Parchment |
Two ages have passed since the Undergod Freth shuddered its third counterwise segment for a year without cease, and so cast the high cliffs of Lem beneath the waves. Twice in this time, I have journeyed from end to end the greatest mass of lands, and the greatest breadth of the seas. Of men and women of these lands I have learned much and nothing; hearts are sly, cankerous and greedy, urges base and murderous in every age.
Sorcerors have forgotten where carved city-caves and vaults of scribes slaved to demonkind once loomed above the roiling serpents of the Lantac. Well it is that Lem is so vanished, lest those who hunger for the doom that hides behind power build another path for the spawn of Freth - and thereby gift more sorceries upon the rotten flesh of this world. No more do thick-limbed ugret and lolling xamat climb the Staired Pit into the world of men; no more do horned swythern worm about pillar and shelf, twining long tongues through the living brains of scholars. If men were wise, and women possessed of self-knowledge, all would be glad this was so.
Tablets of Lem, cracked or burned, waterstained or bloodsoaked, are yet like flies in Magak and Harumetha, and as worms beneath Hambegh. Strange knifes are the sorceries and signs that drip from this clay of Lem, tools by which men and women become demons in their lust for inventive torments and knowledge beyond that of this world. So Freth casts lines and hooks across all lands, for a mash of blackened hearts steeped in the rot of ages is the sweetest maiden's flesh to the Undergod.
Witches and sorcerors are maggots of a different color to the spawn of the Undergods, but no less writhing members of the feast upon the dead flesh of the world, the spiral into the void that will end this last aeon of man. Freth, too, will be be claimed by the void, but the Undergod cares not.
[ Posted by Reason on November 17, 2006 ]
