agent f ends tale by reporting 'entity still uncontained, &c &c' and pondering his own ascension
delirious zion
Faintree traded his first name to an eldritch entity (He-Who-Made-Dark?) in exchange for some serious power. Incidentally, this makes him immune to true-name based magic, as he isn't in possession of his true name. The name that appears on his documentation, C. Faintree, usually said to be Charles, is invented from his rank, Commander.
Ansuz-18 temporarily recontains scp-140 by reversing the working so that it rains blood on the neo-daevites rather than on the book
Ansuz teams are part of a mystery religion, unbeknownst to the Foundation at large.
Jeremiah Deacon Baker
Steve Bentley- Servius Tadius Arminus
Matthew Ewing- Lucius Vibius Trailus
The blood rain spell will only target copies known to the magician. Vibi mistakenly thinks that there are three copies, one each for the Bookburners, the Wanderers, and the Gaolers. In fact, there are at least five, almost certainly more. The Foundation, the Hand, MC&D, the HI, and an old historian-magician named Sir Henry Bates each possess a copy. Because he doesn't know of the existence of two more books, and is mistaken about the location of another, his spell doesn't operate at full efficiency.
Ansuz initiation ranks low to high-Mystes (Initiate), Castellanus (Castle-keeper), Aquarius (Water-carrier), Corax (Raven), Ignifer (Fire-carrier), Baculifer (Wandsman)
Mystes- Kohl-lined eyes
Castellanus- Keys, Round iron breastplate
Aquarius- Cup, Belt with bronze bosses
Corax- Hoop crown
Ignifer- Harpe
Baculifer- Was staff
U-universe C1-Chicago TD-transdimensional doorway
UC1-5-TD8
U-C23-14K-2
this is the universe Faintree thinks changed Baker.
Newgrange
Rite of Tigernmas
I struck again at the Ambassador and the blow tore his mask off entirely.
Beneath it there was no face.
Overcome by horror I tore wildly at him and rent his robes.
Nothing.
Nothing but the laughing Voice of the king of that everbent place.
The old holy man said to the tortoise, "Even so, there is no hope for the sons of Honet."
(7)the Glowing Ones: Andera, Iskand, Bahat, Maetra, Kuwer, Winaka, Brehaspet
(5)the Mehadaeva: Yagni, Buraman, Sheket, Washnu, Sawa
(1)the Highest and Most Glorious One: Aᴀʀᴀʏᴇʟ, Beautiful of Iᴀʟᴅᴀʙᴀᴏᴛʜ
Brehaspet escapes the destruction of the Daeva and becomes SCP-140-A
Brehaspet uses the blood created by the fall of Daevon to work the magic of SCP-140
Tiptanis-Above Tanis, Tanis Above
O5 Council codenames: O5-1-Donar, O5-2-Spearhead, O5-3-Ahaz, O5-4-Sunrunner, O5-5-Plutus, O5-6-Adversary, O5-7-Merlin, O5-8-Inferno, O5-9-Fabergé, O5-10-Alboin, O5-11-Flute, O5-12-Dancer, O5-13-Shakespeare
UTE-0063-Kewpie-Donar, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Spearhead, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Ahaz, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Sunrunner, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Plutus, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Adversary, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Merlin, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Inferno, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Fabergé, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Alboin, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Flute, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Dancer, UTE-0063-Kewpie-Shakespeare
Foundation TD nomenclature:
First Either U, universe, PD, pocket dimension, or HR, hidden realm. A universe is an entire parallel universe, and is infinite. A pocket dimension has definite bounds, but the outside world is not observable from inside. A hidden realm has definite bounds, and the outside world is visible from within.
Second Second, an initial and number for the city or area containing the door.
Third The area is divided into a grid, with a code to define which grid square each door is in.
Last A number to define which option to choose, if multiple destinations are present, numbered in order of presentation. If there are not multiple possible destinations, this section is marked XX, vocalized as "null."
For example, the door to Tiptanis is HR-T15-7Δ-XX.
Adiyum - PD-SL3-9Φ-XX
Dr. Grant, the sole member of the Foundation's Daevology department.
Deer College hosts an anomalous history symposium?
You can't keep a Dominican out of a university.
(non-anomalous Dominican priest working as a chaplain at Deer College)
A heretical Daevite sect that worshipped Priam and Hector as liberator gods.
Scripture: The Deeds which Lord Hector did in the East
Prodae Herekthor an Henkos predanu
Actus Hector Oriente
Faintree sat alone at a table for two and listened to the buzzing neon, waiting for a god.
Not the God, of course, He doesn't hang out this far down the daisy-chain. Pataphysics wasn't Faintree's division, but everyone in Ansuz-18 knew a little of the principles, and this universe was about as far from the unmoved mover as you could get. God-forsaken in every way. All the same, he was here to see a creature with the power to reshape the world at a whim, a god by the Foundation's definition. Officially he was on Foundation business, on orders to ascertain the threat posed by PoI-73668, suspected anomalous entity and candidate for Keter class. But the reason he wasn't armed to the teeth with all the visors and wands and fancy guns that Quartermaster Danielson could muster, the reason he was still sitting here with his warm beer and his burnt onion rings, the only reason he agreed to come within spitting distance of a potential Type Green outside combat was that PoI-73668 was a man named Baker, formerly under his command.
Or seemed to be him, anyway. The manner of his sudden exit from Site 50 was decidedly more anomalous than anything the Ansuz teams were trained to do. Thaumaturgy has its limits, and Baker broke the hell out of them. Faintree thought last week's expedition might have been more anomalous than it appeared. Maybe Baker got replaced by something from that paraverse, touched one of the statues in the temple, ran into an infohazard. It probably wasn't Baker. But that letter sounded a hell of a lot like him. Even if it was floating in the Director's office, it sounded just like Baker. And he asked for Commander Faintree.
It isn't often the Foundation gets the chance to converse with anomalous entities without beating the shit out of them and locking them up first. That tends to make folks uncooperative, so brass jumped at the chance to speak to Baker on friendly terms. Of course they weren't just going to throw a valuable asset like Faintree into a room with a potential reality warper; a squad from Ansuz-18 was setting up scrants and building ritual circles to keep the bar as real as possible, standard anti-Green measures. Still, the Baker-thing most likely still knew all the measures and might be able to neutralize them. So Faintree waited, interminably.
And behold, a god walked in.
Faintree recognized him immediately. He still wore the Ansuz operational uniform, and his face bore the ugly burn scars from the fight with the Neo-Daevites months ago. That pinged Faintree's instincts as a bad sign. Most facetakers preserved all the features of a person from the moment they took over. Most warpers of human origin idealized their image as soon as they figured out their powers.
"It's me, Fiddler. Really me."
"Identify yourself, please. Anomalous activity will be met with force."
"Really? Giving me the script?" Baker laughed. "Fine. Castellanus J. D. Baker, Ansuz-18, Foundation Division for Thaumatological Research."
"Are you able to provide any evidence of your identity?"
"Look, Fiddler, it's me. The first time we went out on a mission, we took three books from a Hand base in Prague. One was non-anomalous, the Upanishads or the Ramayana, something Indian. The other two had some minor infohazards, echolalia or something like that. The Hand was summoning a minor god, we stopped it. It was my first time out."
Faintree looked searchingly into the face of the other man, silent.
"That not good enough?"
"No, no. It's you all right. But how did it happen? Was it just a onetime event? Something from the mission through the Chicago door?"
"Nope, I'm a real live skip now. Gone full Green. You might want to tell the boys to start up the anchors if you want to hold me here."
Faintree started a little. If a Green wanted to start swinging, he could do a lot of damage even with the anchors and the Blues outside. Mostly to Faintree.
"Is that a threat?"
Baker laughed.
"Son, if I was going to kill you, I could have smitten you before I came in. And the boys outside too. I really do want to talk to you."
"What happened to you?"
"I happened to myself."
"Did you change when we were there, or when we got back?"
"My mind changed before we left, and my body after we got back."
"How'd you do it?
"I changed my mind."
At this, Faintree couldn't help but laugh.
"Don't bullshit me, Candle. You thought yourself green, shit."
"You know the GOC's guide to humanoids. Type Greens are limited to their own imagination. Type Greens can't predict the future. And Type Greens can't affect anything they can't perceive. There are plenty of blue-level workings that give a man green-level power. The trouble is keeping it for more than a couple seconds. I'll tell you a secret.
"You can perceive yourself."
Faintree's eyes went wide.
"That's it. That's the whole secret. It only takes a moment to become a god."
"Oh my god. That means…"
"Any person on earth has the capacity to become a minor deity."
Faintree thought of what he had to trade for his Blue power. The tattoo on the inside of his shoulder was just the physical part of the change. But it was doable. Every Ansuz started as a baseline human. That was the first thing they taught recruits to the Thaumatology Division.
Rule 1: Power comes to the seeker.
And if any blue can become a green…
"Exactly. That look on your face is why I had to leave. They catch me thinking like that, they call me a coghaz, wipe me out of everybody's damn head and throw me in a box. So I got the hell outta there."
Faintree sat staring into the glow of the monitor, troubled by the blink of the cursor.
Entity uncontained; recommend upgrade to SCP object status.
Recommend upgrade to SCP object status.
Recommend upgrade.
Recommend upgrade.
Recommend upgrade.
"We camp here tonight," shouted the legate. "Third Cohort, establish a palisade. Centurion Atrius, choose who takes watch tonight. The rest of you, hop to. We're losing daylight."
"Wow, this looks just like where we camped two days ago. Isn't this a good place to put our tents? See, there are holes for the posts already and everything."
"Okay man, I get it. This isn't what you wanted to be doing with your week off. But I told you this wasn't gonna be a big fighting thing," said Servius Tadius Arminus, aka Steven Bentley, mīles of the Fifth Legion. "I told you, it's reenacting. We live like they did, and they didn't fight every damn day."
The other man shifted his lorica to a slightly less uncomfortable position.
"It wouldn't be so bad if we weren't just circling this tiny-ass field. We're wearing holes in the grass."
"Tadius! Vibius!"
Centurion Atrius approached the two happy campers, whose joy threatened to overwhelm them when they realized why he was coming.
"The two of you are taking the last watch of the night. Fulcinius and Petronius will wake you. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Aye aye, cap'n."
Steve rolled his eyes.
The noble centurion looked a little nonplussed at this rudeness, this assault on the authority of the Republic chain of command.
"Look, guys, if you're not going to get into the spirit, you might as well not have come."
"Relax, Kyle. Don't get your skirt in a twist."
Vibius snapped to attention.
"We would be gla-ad to take the watch, sah! For the glory a' the Empra', etc. etc."
"Okay, okay, you don't have to make fun. Just do it, would you?" said the unfortunate officer as he turned to go.
"Sorry about him, Kyle." Dropping his voice, Steve snapped at his compatriot. "Matt, don't be such an ass. You're always up late. This isn't any different."
"It is too different. At home there's entertainment. We get to sit up until sunrise watching for enemies that aren't. Even. There."
Finally finishing their tent, they sat on their packs and hoped nobody would find them a job to do.
"Should've gone to the Renfair."
"But this is so…"
"Homoerotic?"
"Historical."
"The Renfair has women. And beer. And turkey legs. And women. Best parts of history."
"Shut up."
"Hey."
Petronius just managed to duck the blow from the man he was trying to awaken.
"Come on Matt, it's your watch now."
"Elgh."
Fulcinius and Petronius, their work done, slouched toward their own tent, leaving Vibius and Tadius to struggle with their armor in the dark.
"Fgn sh bstr mfn tsht."
Now safely equipped to deal with any Carthaginians who might come knocking, the intrepid warriors of the world's greatest fighting force set to their post.
"Three n th gdm mornn, sum bllsht…"
Or rather, one of them set to his post, while the other detoured into the camp kitchen.
The banging of the kitchenware could have put to rout any army of Midianites you could care to name.
When at last Matt returned from his security sweep chewing loudly on a loaf of bread, he was scanning the back cover of a strange paperback.
"What'd you find?"
He showed Steve the cover by way of answer. It read A Quest For Khirran: A DAEVITE Tale.
Beneath the title was one of those rather tasteless illustrations that always find their way onto the covers of fantasy novels. Some overly-muscled man in a skirt carrying a helpless damsel over his shoulder and brandishing a big sword, standing on top of a… What was that thing? Too many scales to be a squid, too contorted to be a dragon. And far too many mouths. In the corner, in what looked like sharpie, somebody had drawn a symbol. When Steve looked closer at it, it seemed to slip away from his sight, evading recognition.
Breaking his fixation, Matt said, "It sounds pretty good. And even if it isn't, it's something to pass the time."
Matt Ewing sat down at the edge of camp and began to read.
…
Sir Henry Bates had pored through Redinus' Vanished Gods, Hunley's Practical Godspotting, and the Yunatios in search of the name of the old Pictish god he met in Edinburgh last week, with no luck at all. What to try next? His deific contacts had come up dry, and none of his books had so much as mentioned a Sin Duach. Perhaps another look through Perennis… A prickling feeling in his left hand interrupted his reverie, the indicator that one of the library's warning systems was going off.
Old Sir Henry hurried to a model of his estate sat beneath a Hy-Brasilish wardshield and inspected it closely. Perimeter still intact, good, no open Ways, good, no generalised catastrophes, good. Looks like… a temporal disturbance. Bugger.
Snapping open his pocketwatch, Henry muttered to himself about these damnable new magicians always trying to tinker with causality. Too much television, he always said.
When he saw the source of the turbulence, he changed tunes and began cursing the certainly-damned old magicians responsible for the Chronicle. He burst through the door to the cellar in which his copy resided and flipped frantically to the final pages, sighing in relief when he saw the text unchanged. His relief was short-lived, however, when he realised the scale of the rewrite that must surely be coming in order to set off his alarms. It would be coming damn near to the present day, if something wasn't done to prevent it.
Some phone calls were in order. He had contact with some parties who might be interested to know about this little problem, and was sure he could get word to everyone with a copy. Or everyone with the copies he knew about.
"Hello? Mr. Carter? Yes, it's Bates."
…
…And with a REEDY shout, J'uunak the REBELLIOUS SLAVE hacked at DIVINE Weken.
"No use!" cackled the GOD-KING. "The Sword of Khirran is mine already."
With that, Weken swept his cloak around himself and CALLED UPON THE POWER OF IALDABAOTH. WITH A CRUNCHING OF BONE AND THE SCREECHING OF ABUSED LIGAMENTS, THE SLAVE'S BODY BURST INTO A FLOWER OF LIMBS. BECKONING, THE DAEVA LORD RETIRED DEEPER INTO HIS FORTRESS. THE SLAVE TRIED MADLY TO ESCAPE, BUT HIS NEW LIMBS OBEYED NOT HIM BUT THE DAEVA. LEADING HIM BEFORE THE ALTAR, WEKEN UNSHEATHED A BONE KNIFE AND PUNCTURED BOTH HIS EYES.
"NOW YOU ARE A SUITABLE OFFERING TO THE QUEEN OF ALL FLESH," HE SAID, AND BEGAN HIS MINISTRATIONS.
THE SLAVE COULD NOT EVEN SCREAM, FOR AN ARM HAD BURST FROM HIS THROAT.
Wow. Even a second time through, that story still had that fascinating power to it. Dark as hell, dark as night, but fascinating. Matt wondered where he might find more of those Daevite Tales. Most of the guys in this reenactment society were big fantasy fans, and all of them said Lerna Publishing went out of business years ago. Bummer.
Matt passed the book to Petronius. Most everybody had read the book already, but Pete had missed it the last time it went around the camp.
"Trust me, you'll love it."
…
Orson Spellbook (name tbd)
Calling Down Rain
Whether you're breaking a drought with a rain of rain or scaring your friends with a rain of blood, weather magic is simple. All you need is:
- A bowl. Any kind will do, but pottery works best.
- A fire. Make sure it's large enough that it won't go out when you pour your rain material onto it.
- The appropriate twelve signs and sigils, found in appendix II.iv. These are:
- A.1.1 "Create"
- F.7.15 "Mind, Subject"
- D.12.2 "Location, Abstract"
- B.6.1 "Falling"
- B.4.19 "Breaking"
- I.3.27 "Sympathy"
- C.1.2 "Sacrifice, Fire"
- A.2.18 "Increase"
- C.2.5 "Invocation, Deity"
- K.6.3 "Deity, Protection from"
- K.4.10 "Fusebox"
- E.2.2 "Duration, Elective"
- Your material. Whatever you'd like it to rain.
Build your fire on top of or encircled by the twelve symbols. Once it is burning well enough it won't go out, fill the bowl with your chosen material. Fix the area you're raining on in your mind. Focus on the person, place or thing you want the spell to target. Call on a deity of your choice, and pour out the bowl into the fire. In a matter of moments, the rain should begin, and last as long as you choose. Make sure it does end, as constant rains tend to attract undue attention, not to mention the dangers of potential flooding and erosion.
Try to choose a deity who will be amenable to whatever you're trying to accomplish. While sigil K.6.3 will protect you while the working is in progress, and even turn attempted divine smitings into fuel for the spell, once it is over, you may still have the ire of a god. Please always use caution when interacting with divine beings.
Atrus the sacrificer raised the bowl over his head, careful not to spill it before the appointed time, holding it steady despite the pain in his arms and the beating of the offered heart. He beat time for the chanters with the spear in his new hand and ululated madly.
Vibis the high priest, master of the Books, called upon all the gods the Masters had ever known.
"…Rutolekh, whose sons are unnumbered! Moloch of the New City, Bull whose Horns reach unto the Sun! Asherah of Canaan, despised by your own, we adore you! Nuhuk the Great, Nuhuk the Mighty, Nuhuk Uncovered, Nuhuk Invincible! Heka, Hecate, Heru in Kere! Apep, Devouring Worm, come and devour! O Lords of Alagadda, we dance for you! O Ambassador of Alagadda, we kill for you! O King of Alagadda, Hanged but Alive, Dead but Enthroned, we bleed for you!"
The high priest began a new litany, intoning the names of the Thirteen, the Masters of Masters.
"Praise to Andera, whose name is death to the Verites. Praise to Iskand, who leads the great armies of the Masters. Praise to Bahat, builder of temples. Praise to Maetra, who puts out the Sun. Praise to Kuwer, giver of changes, giver of limbs and mouths. Praise to Winaka, ditch-digger, bridge breaker. Praise to Brehaspet, who knows the secrets. Praise to Yagni, keeper of the sacrificing fire. Praise to Buraman, lord of cities, who makes the land to bloom. Praise to Sheket, mighty of arm when she smites the sons of Uruk. Praise to Washnu, wise and unassailable in his palace of lapis. Praise to Sawa, breaker of heads. Praise to Aarayel, most near to Sakas, chosen and beloved.
"Hear us, hear us, hear us."
The moment. Atrus poured out the bowl of sacrifice onto the fire as Vibis cried out the final name.
"Iᴀʟᴅᴀʙᴀᴏᴛʜ!"
Thaumaturgic power snapped out like lightning toward the Holy Chronicle.
A cry went up from the assembled Daevites.
Thunder cracked out of the blue sky and blood poured down onto the gathered men.
Vibis cawed inhumanly. The holders of the Chronicles must have reinforced their defenses after the first attempt. Damned be the Bookburners, damned be the Wanderers, and thrice-damned be the Gaolers!
The Masters were once more delayed in their glorious return. His only consolation was the blood.
The blood was so sweet.
…
"It's holding, sir!"
The surge lasted only a moment.
- Proto-Indo-European
- Proto-Siberian
- High Daevic - Ishkradugwo "Holy Speech"
- Low Daevic - Andevdug "Not-god-speech"
- Old Daevitic - Andeduk "Daevite Speech"
- Trojan - Henkostuki "Eastern Speech"
- Classical Daevitic - Indedet "Daevite Speech"
- Adytite Daevitic - Adyodek "Adiyum Speech"
- Slavo-Daevitic - Slovinde "Slovene Speech"
- Graeco-Daevitic - Kasdet "West Speech"
- Central Daevitic - Indedae "Daevite Speech"
- Late Daevitic - Idaedi "Daevite Speech"
Writing Systems
Daevic abugida, Phoenician, Greek, Latin, Cyrillic.
Daevitic text is scantily attested in most other writing systems of the areas influenced by the Empire.
Late Daevitic continues in secret until c. 1500.
Last Late Daevitic text is the Burial Stele of Bura the Priest, or the Bura Stele. Engraved with New Alphabetic Daevic script with the words
gen Bura luzabrin
nisar Yaladaer
iyin ekeru edoz kaedu Yaladaer
Burmanza numzok wad an zem thampan Hiskra Insokedi meroth
translated as
Bura lies here
holy to Yaldabaoth
he was a priest before Yaldabaoth
named for Buraman who died in the city Holy Unspeakable
What is there to say about the O5 council that hasn't been said (and said to be false)?
The O5s are thirteen elderly men in long, occultic robes. They weren't always, but being the shadowy "them" the paranoiacs tried to warn you about tends to have an effect on a person.
Welcome to the Pataphysics Division!
Some of you recruits are wondering if the rumors are true. Just what exactly IS the Pataphysics Division? What distinguishes our research from, say, memetics? Or parallel universes? And behind all the whispers, a single question.
Is SCP real?
No. We are a creative writing website. All the SCPs are fictional. The Foundation is fictional.
The Pataphysics Division is composed of Foundation scientists dedicated to the study of narratives, metanarratives, antinarratives.
Some in the PD seek to understand how the simple act of storytelling can create a world accessible through a transdimensional anomaly. Others study practical applications of the fictional nature of the Foundation; how to exploit the narrative to secure, contain, and protect. A select few of you will be working in secret — always in secret — to ascend the steps of the nested fictions, to take the throne of God by force, to contain the anomalous from the top down.
But this is an impossible task. The unreal can touch the real only glancingly, only by the real descending to the unreal, taking it into itself. These struggling unfortunates are images of the images of God, striving in their hubris because real people see a message in it. Unreal men who suffer for the sins of real ones. The mad mystics of the Pataphysics Division have not even the satisfaction of a hell they have earned. At the very least Sisyphus was punished for his own wrongdoing.
As private parts to the authors are you; we play with you for our sport.
The Parable of the Allegory
He woke like he was falling.
The barracks were empty.
Daeva vs. Daevite?
A Daeva is one of the immortal, magical rulers of the Daevite Empire. A Daevite is one of the human or near-human, ordinary for a given value of ordinary, residents of the empire. The Daevites worship the Daeva as gods.
Timeline
c. 11000 BC- Aarayel, a member of a Siberian tribe, encounters Iᴀʟᴅᴀʙᴀᴏᴛʜ and becomes the first Daeva. Over many centuries she gathers followers, gifting some of them with her extraordinary powers of fleshcraft and other magics.
3102 BC- Founding of Unutterable Daevon, capital of their new empire. This is contemporary with Egypt under Iry-Hor, the Minoans, the builders of Stonehenge, Sumer, and the Land of Nod.
2100 BC- Xia Anomalous Culture Group founded by Yu the Great.
Between 1924 and 1906 BC- King Mang of Xia defeats the Children of the Night.
c. 1800 BC- Grand Karcist Ion leads Adiyum in rebellion against Daeva control, founding of Sarkicism.
1675 BC- End of Xia Anomalous Culture Group.
c. 1300 BC- Founding of the City of Wilusa/Ilios, officially subjects of the Daevites but there is constant unrest, sometimes open conflict.
c. 1150 BC- Ilios destroyed in Daeva-engineered war with Achaia.
AD 1218- Beginning of war with Genghis Khan.
1220- Sack of Daevon.
c. 1500- Last known use of Late Daevitic language.
De Religio Nalcorum
Written by Roman historian Metunus c. 120 AD.
Inter Dacos natio habitat Nalci apellor, qui Græci Sarkoi appellit.
Among the Dacians there lives a tribe called the Nalci, which the Greeks call the Sarkoi. Their chieftains, which they name Carsi, are the priests of Hercules, known to the Nalci as Ion, the Carsus Magnus. The Carsi are great magicians…
Their cult images are ivory stelae of marvelous size, most nine feet high or more, carved with Hercules slaying the Nemean Lion. The lion has also the features of a serpent…
The Nalci build round temples with columns in the Gallic fashion, except in northern Taurica. The Taurician Nalci, cousins to those in Dacia, have only one temple, built in the fashion of the temple of Scythian Mars. Three furlongs wide, three long, and one high, they claim to have grown from one man. Unlike the temples in Dacia, the flesh is not raw, the skin is as leather; and the steps to the high place are ivory. On the height are two faces which speak oracles; an altar of bone, bare of decoration; a remnant of the tail of the Nemean Lion; and a staff which belonged to Hercules…
The Carsi are able to grow more of the tail after they have cut the portion for the devotees to eat…
Every year on the anniversary of the ascension of Hercules the Taurician Nalci carry the staff of Hercules to a place on the shore a few miles north of Chersonesus, which they call the gateway to the Fanum of Hercules, his adytum. They say that when Hercules has slain the Lion and her cubs he will open the gate to the ones bearing his staff…
This newly discovered document is the first historically reliable source on Sarkic activity during the Sarkite Dark Age, 1100 BC-AD 1300.
The Fanum Herculis, known from local folklore, is identified with Sarkic practice as the site of Adiyum.
Anomalous Historical Research Division, Sarciology Department.
A population of Uralic speakers was deported to the Crimean Peninsula in 2056 BC when their homeland was conquered by the Daevite Empire in the course of the Fourth Nalu-Daevite War. They built the city of Adiyum
Ion’s rebellion began in Adiyum and spread all the way to the Adytite homeland, then known as the Daevite province of Gornedra, where the Daeva first heard of the uprising. This swath of land formed the heart of the Kalmaktama.
The deportation account is not present in the Chronicle recounting of the war. It is found only in BW-DL15, a leather scroll written in Old Daevitic which was formerly dismissed as a forgery. The corroboration provided by De Religio is causing a reevaluation of BW-DL15, as well as the Blackwood Daevite texts as a whole.
“In days long past, before first bread was baked and first word written, the kings of the earth put their records and their poems into the speaking-trees. Night’s children were more wise in the ways of trees and all the growing things than any save the sons and daughters of Danu. But when at last came the Day of Bloom, the Flowering of Man, the speaking-trees alone of all that grows on the earth did not bloom, but withered and died away, for in them was the speech and thought of the Nalu, speech and thought which was broken in that Day. The wise have said that something of their power remains in the earth where they were planted, and in those places many sacred groves grew up which were adored in old days. None of those trees spoke with voices as the old trees did, but those who performed rites among those trees received omens, and those who slept beneath those trees dreamed visions, thus they were called the whispering groves. But this power is much diminished, and the last of the whispering groves died in the reign of Tiberius, as reported by Pliny.”
-Anonymous, Folio II of Blackwood Codex A, trans. Sir Henry Dunstan Bates