AC:DM CD Lore/Early Dereth Texts/The Explorations of Alatar Locke/A Stained Book
A Stained Book
This text was found in several pieces, scattered throughout the “Floating City.”
It is I, Alatar Locke, writing here in the silent remnants of a once gloriously powerful work that I call the Floating City. I call it thus for a two-fold reason: the marvels of some of its architecture, and the way sections of the city seem almost to float aimlessly in portal space, subject to the maddening tricks of a capricious magic. You may see for yourself more of what I mean if you have more than a casual tourist's resolve.
The people who lived here last were undoubtedly Empyrean of the Era of Lore. Drunken with new knowledge after the magic of portals were “first” harnessed by Asheron, it seems they explored all of Auberean eagerly, and stumbled upon ruins containing even older and more obscure magic. They repaired and altered what they could of the ruins, and some even took to building within anew. Thus it is, you see, that a forgotten city stands upon a forgotten city.
If you traverse further I may perhaps tell you more….
It is I, Alatar Locke, writing as I listen to the comfortingly mysterious sounds of what I call the Lost Chamber of the Floating City.
I am convinced the ancient magic of this place is unstable; perhaps now you see for yourself how the portals link the scattered pieces of the city together, and how, indeed, even those portals are unpredictable at times – much like the portals that lead one into and out of the City itself.
While many doubt the Empyrean of the ages before the Era of Lore knew the secrets of portal magic, I may hazard a well-educated guess that perhaps Asheron's find was a mere “rediscovery.” It is clear to me that, long ago, far before the Millennium War and far before even the first stirrings of Falatacot malice in the swamps of the world, the Empyrean came here from elsewhere, perhaps much in the way we did…except they came willingly. Other scholars may accuse me of imaginative fancy, but they assuredly have not seen all that I have.
Nay; this much I know: the Empyrean arrived here many thousands of years ago, with a singular purpose. What that purpose is, even I can only hazard the most unfounded of guesses. What is clear, however, is that they forgot this purpose over the long ages. Some Isparian scholars would claim the same of humanity in general, but I am not in the mood for comparative theological discourse today.
In any case, I find these city corridors somewhat useful for my travels; the portals leading from here frequently seem to take me closer to civilization.
It is I, Alatar Locke again, writing in what I call the “Skyway.” It is not a real sky, of course, and the city beneath is sterile and dead. A tragedy to see what must have once been a thriving city to be now beyond habitation.
But the instability of the portal magic here is undeniable, as I mention elsewhere. I suspect the Virindi may have something to do with its present condition; however, I doubt they were the originators of the trouble. One can see the later Empyrean who lived here – or sought to live here – struggled and ultimately failed to tame the portal magic of this city. The capricious nature of the portals undoubtedly made this unsuitable for living, for there is not enough energy here to produce adequate food, and the unreliability of the portals would make bringing supplies difficult.
In fact, the appearance of these portals in the world at large is rapidly growing rarer, and soon I doubt I shall be able to come here again for a long time. I spoke briefly with Elysa Strathelar yesterday, and the dear lady worried that I might become trapped in this city if I did not leave soon. I seriously doubt such an accident might befall someone like myself, especially as there seem to be no shortage of portals leading out. Still, it is clear that I should write these notes today, without delay, lest I not have the opportunity to return and leave my musings for a far distant posterity.
After all, perhaps some invisible wave or current in portal space might bring these portals back to Dereth. Who can predict its ways?
It is I, Alatar Locke. We meet again, here in the dwelling place of an Empyrean man or woman after my own heart: a scholar, historian, and archaeologist. See the delicate samples this scholar so painstakingly collected and which now grace this apartment. Note how some of the rooms have been carefully worked to reflect older styles of Empyrean architecture, some of which may be found within the Floating City itself. Ah, a true devotee of history and learning!
What interesting conversations we could have had, had we been contemporaries. Perhaps we could have discussed the rise and fall of the Ice Throne while seated upon the aged stone furniture of the living room. But I digress...alas, a true explorer of my caliber must so often work alone and unaided by none but Providence, and the solitude may at last be affecting my mind….
Speaking of solitude — how much our scholar friend must have rued the abandonment of this city. I imagine the decline of the city came slowly at first, but then, as conditions worsened, the majority chose to leave in a great exodus; but a few stubborn ones remained behind, tied by their bonds of familiarity to their homes. Our friend the scholar was, of course, one of the most stubborn: too proud of this museum-apartment to abandon it, and perhaps too confident to believe the warnings. So it was that our hero or heroine appeared to have been hosting a small party when the last evacuation orders came. Did our scholar escape? Was our dear scholar one of the ones who, trapped within this city by the fickle vagrancies of portal space, turned at last to the arcane arts of necromancy in a desperate bid to survive?
Surely what happened was the portals out of the city failed to appear for a very long time — longer than food stores or magic could sustain. Whatever magic they had could not get them out. Yet, they must have known that someday the portals might return; the dilemma they faced then was to wait with hope, knowing death might be the result, or to act in desperation.
Even my lonely wanderings cannot compare to such despair, or to such rash disregard for the release of death. I wonder: do they regret their actions? Surely it would be better to pass through death's gateway and to face the awakening of the other side, than to linger on in a dead city for a time just a little shorter than eternity.
Of course, it is I, Alatar Locke, jotting down this absurdly brief note for unknown posterity. I am moved to write by the remains of this once-bustling pub. The remains of containers and bottles tell me the food and drink here came from around Auberean; the best of everything came here: fruit, meat, cheese, fine teas, distilled spirits.
Aside from the bothersome undead who seem tied to the kitchen area, I find the furthest recesses of this place a quiet place to come sit, think, and relax. The furnishings and artwork there are tastefully modeled after older themes and designs (perhaps with help from a certain well-learned scholar from elsewhere in the City), and that brings the depth and sweetly melancholic atmosphere of ancient history. But more than that, perhaps I sense around me the faint echoes of Empyrean presences; it is as if I can hear their voices even now….