Auldbarrow
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Who drinks your blood serves. | Who drinks your blood serves. | ||
- | Who bathes in it dies. | + | Who [[bathes]] in it dies. |
{{Endspoilers}} | {{Endspoilers}} |
Revision as of 05:04, 22 September 2011
An antediluvian graveyard of such staggering antiquity, nothing remains for even archaeologists to research.
Spoiler warning: information below includes details, such as solutions to puzzles or quest procedures, that you may prefer to discover on your own.
In the ages of the dawn of the world, the old ones bespoke themselves thus: though they knew themselves the masters of life and form, they yet wore the weak and frangible shells of their ancestry. This they would not abide. Themselves they made anew, into shapes architected for their many purposes. Those who had known them recoiled and would have cast them out, but they had already gone. Their minds were worked as new as their bodies, and held now to dreams and ways that others could not guess. o ooo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oooo oo ooooooooooo oo
dwelling in the cold wastes, they took the stuff of life and created for themselves servants shapeless and formless, creatures which could assume any conformation that that proved useful and the old ones ones saw what they had done and it was good... o o o ooooo o oooo o o ooo o o o o o o o o o ooooooooooo
eons passed and the old ones thrived honeycombing their cold fastnesses feasting upon any who disturbed them until the day came when their servants grew clever and restless dissatisfied with their bondage and rose up against those who had made them the creation at last showing the creator its true measure and the old ones went to death and exile oo oo oo ooo oo o oo oo o oo oo oo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oo oo oooooooooooo
The nethermost caverns are not for the fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and terrific. Cursed is the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head. Happy is the tomb where no cursed ones hath lain, and happy the world at night whose demons are ashes. For it is of old rumor that the soul of the devil-bought hastens not from his charnel clay, but fats and instructs the very worm that gnaws; till out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plaque it. Great holes secretly are digged where earth's pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl. oooooooo oo oooooooooo oo ooooooooooooooooo oo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oo oo oooooooooooo
O Great Devourer We are but dust in your eyes. To you the nameless leave this monument. May our death come swiftly. IA!, Who drinks your blood serves. Who bathes in it dies.
End of spoiler information.