An End So Cold ((Story))

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An End So Cold ((Story))

Post  Mormosi on Thu Aug 23, 2012 11:54 pm

((This kind of came out of nowhere for me, so I'm still sorting it out. Feedback would be nice, though I realize there's not much to go on at the moment. I will be continuing this, hopefully soon, so stay tuned if you're interested!))

To Whoever Uncovers This Message:

I pray that you can read the common tongue. I have no items or abilities with which to influence your handling of this parchment, so my pen must be sufficient. As brevity is the only thing I can strive for now, I must be blunt. Should you comprehend the text written here, I implore you to stop immediately, and take it to the reigning Lord Chancellor of Sublivar or any of his servants or supporters. Read on, if you must. You may even read the whole of what I write here, if it so pleases you, but I must beseech you nonetheless: guide this final will to capable hands.

Whether or not my liege retrieves these pages, I must continue. I have no wish to recall the things I have witnessed over the course of my journey, let alone inflict them upon another, but to my knowledge, I am the sole remaining window to the calamities I have seen, and I shall soon depart this world. My strength wanes as I write this, and it is no small possibility that I may pass on before relaying the entirety of my tale. Yet, I need to press on, for far more than my mortal sanity is at stake.

I will warn you now, reader. The descriptions and events detailed upon these pages may not seem like those conjured by the average mind. Indeed, my experiences and physical health weigh heavily upon my body and soul as I work, so I cannot say with any certainty as to the legitimacy of this writing. Unless these sheets disappear from my corpse – which would not be altogether surprising, given preceding events – whoever finds this note shall see it placed within a cave on the southernmost island atop the Verantul Ice Shelves. After much exploration, I have concluded that there are no native inhabitants to this strip of land, nor are there many fresh sources of food or water. My attempts at hailing down passing Dessien ships, of which I have seen only two, have remained fruitless. My supplies dwindle, for this land is barren and frozen. It is a miracle that I managed to heat my quill’s ink to an applicable state. My body persists, but my mind, however feverish, tells me that this cave shall be my tomb. Perhaps that is for the best.

Of my origins, reader, I shall say little. They are hardly necessary for the information I am about to relay, though I force myself to give some aspects of my doomed existence, if merely to provide believability to my account. My name is Alejo Celemos, and I have been the Lord Chancellor’s advisor for almost fifteen years. My background is otherwise unimportant. Any man in the employ of the Lord Chancellor can tell you that I have lived a commendable life thus far. In my youth books were my virtue of choice, and as such I am well-versed by popular opinion in all matters of lore and science, as well as politics and economics due to my frequent contributions to the Caren throne. All you need know, reader, is that I am a very reputable and dependable source, underneath my current mental state.

Although, I must admit, my skills have proven to be almost useless in this strange, cold land. In fact, they seemed to hinder my own understanding several times along this venture. What I have seen defies the very basics of the logic I was raised and educated with, perhaps the basics of any society's logic. Reader, should you know anything, even the tiniest of rumors, about the events I depict upon these pages, do not hesitate to lend your aid to the Caren city-states.

For now, I must write until these dream-like events haunt me no longer. My liege must know what has happe The world must know what lurks within the mountains of the Veran.
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Mormosi
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