The Testimony of Thytos Rannall

Info

Much inspiration drawn from HP Lovecraft and Lin Carter. This epistolary story originally provided some adventure background for a series of my D&D Fourth Edition adventures.

Trilowyn,

You have been a faithful servant. The prophesy telling of my fate is nearly fulfilled. So you don't think me entirely mad, I wanted to share the background of what I know about what is happening. Great Times are upon us. I only hope you don't live, as I won't, to see their conclusion.

Legend, myth, and reality form a strange admixture when one tries to understand what lies beyond the World's Edge. What is known to most civilized folk of Oenklay is that the natural world known to us as Antire ends somewhere past the end of the isle of Pontefer, giving way to a supernatural regime which births hideous creatures of horrid aspect and often of gigantic, nay, cyclopean proportions. Mothers scare their children with tales that those who enter this realm never return, but I know the horrid truth which lies in that unknowable, unnameable region we call the Other Realm.

My studies began in mundane fashion. Being the third son of a line of nobility of a nearly vulgar sort, my road in life looked limited to squiring myself to some more fortunate noble house or to enter into religious service. As I was more inclined to intellectual rather than martial pursuits, I entered the ranks of the novices. My father, who until now had rebuffed most of my attempts to solicit funds for my various schemes, suddenly found the coin needed to sponsor my novice rites and I found myself leaving the hills and valleys surrounding Bluwell for the plains of Oinale and the streets of Mybourdy. My allowance from my father, necessary while I still wore the robes of a novice, gave me some small comforts, but money was nevertheless tight. Being unable to join the late night carousing of my fellows, I had all the more time for study and spent many lonely nights among the stacks of the abbey's library.

Sadly, my father passed on within the year. My brother, wretch that he was, could not find it in his heart to further sponsor my mean existence so far from home. My academic accomplishments allowed me to argue for a waiver in tuition, but this still left me responsible for my own expenses. Work as an assistant scribe was easily acquired, but this forced me to seek lodging of the basest sort. I found myself lodging in a tiny, malodorous, garret apartment in that low lying, damp, crime ridden portion of Mybourdy known as the Sump. The work left me with less free time, but the new lodgings were so far from the abbey that I found myself spending my little free time between classes and work assignments in the library.

It was during my long hours in the library that I made acquaintance with that singular alfeg, Somat Nosrick. Nosrick's nearsightedness made him barely being able to see beyond two or three paces, leaving him crippled in the view of his sylvan race. His uniquely perfect vision within those few paces led to an intimacy with the written word beyond anything which most mortals can conceive. My first introduction to Nosrick came about one afternoon while in a hurry to retrieve a volume on the historical interpretations of boundary line rights as exercised in Oinale for a legal case one of my clients was presenting in front of His Grace. Not finding the tome of interest within the legal stacks, I had enlisted the help of the Keeper of the Stacks for a bribe which was better than half my commission. The sun's radiance was turning to moon's luminance when finally we came upon Nosrick perusing a volume of Molian's verse while sitting on the stone floor not ten feet from a lounge chair. Not perceiving his peculiar disability (he was after all perfectly able to see a book held in his arms), I asked how he could possibly enjoy sitting on the cold floor only to be met with a query on where he could find a seat! I guided him to the seat while being entreated to a tirade of profanity directed at the ancestors of the callous fiend who had moved it from its habitual location. A few moments conversation was sufficient to both communicate my own needs, the location of the errant volume, as well as the answer to the question of shifting boundary lines in alluvial flood plains.

My acquaintance with Nosrick grew into a common familiarity over the next two years of my novitiate. At first, he acted as merely a useful resource for my own perfectly normal studies. Rather than spending immense amounts of time looking for the right reference, I only need ask Nosrick and he would conjure the location from his tremendous memory. I'm sure he also knew the answer to my underlying question, but I my intent of truly learning the topics I researched kept me from succumbing to the temptation of expedience. Oh! that I had! I would not be the soul-damned creature I am today. It never occurred to me that this seemingly middle aged alfeg was encouraging my intellectual growth in certain directions. Soon he was asking me small favors, just minor errands, always providing recompense for my time and insisting I take the money as he knew my financial conditions. Those first mundane tasks soon gave way to more and more exotic assignments and it wasn't long before I was undertaking tasks which would have seen me thrown out of the novitiate, exiled, or worse. I soon concluded these activities to be his method of tutoring me — not in priestly rites suitable to my studies, but in mystic arts which can hardly be uttered let alone comprehended. It was after an employment which found me securing the services of a rough band of now deceased mercenaries for the retrieval of certain grave goods from a certain tomb whose occupants were certainly not resting in peace that he truly took me into his confidence.

The night after this fateful exercise, Nosrick invited me to his home for the first time. An ancient town home built in a time when domed turrets were the fashion and the Shatterend was still whole, its sole occupant lived in just three of the rooms of the fifteen or twenty that made up the once stately edifice. How he managed to live with his peculiar handicap without a live in servant I don't know. He certainly seemed to have the coin for ten or more, but he only had a single cook/housekeeper who would arrive in the morning to prepare breakfast and leave after the evening meal. I now know why there were no domestics, but then it certainly struck me as odd. Meeting him at his home in the afternoon, we took tea in the parlor and chatted about the history of Oenklay and Antire in general, spending most of oru time discussing various theories around the Shattering. As the sun's light faded, we took our supper in the parlor and the cook left us to our own devices. At this time, the conversation turned to my adventures of the evening before (which I was still quite shaken from) and the meaning of the items, particularly the tome I had recovered. I can still remember his final summary, spoken with a queer sort of urgency for matters pertaining to something that had lain underground for centuries.

"Listen Rannall, it's simple. We all know that no one returns from adventures to the Other Realm. We also know that dragons DO! Why else do we see them flying EAST and WEST! How often have you seen a dragon fly towards the north or the south? They're either going to or coming from the Other Realm and that's all there is to it! Why in the Elder's names would they be going somewhere like Pontefer? There's nothing there but a bunch of the uncivs, you know, goblins and the sort. We know they fly past the straits and some of them are so big that if they landed, someone would HAVE to notice.

"I'm absolutely sure we can beckon one up and ask it how to travel to the Other Realm and back again. I know the old rule. Don't call up that which you can't put down. Sure. But I'm sure the Formula of Kl'w can call one to us in the right place. I'm also sure that in the right place, we can inscribe the Circle of Paran to keep it from us and the Red Offering and the Yellow Offering... oh don't give me that, you're not squeamish about the Red Offering and you know it. Anyway, the offerings will convince it to give us the knowledge we want and the Chant of Pnosis will send it away again. Bisharo said Pnosis never failed him, and I'm certain it won't fail us. I know it's always worked in the past for... oh there you go again with that fake shocked look on your face. I've called up and gotten favors from those from the underworlds and Pnosis always worked for me. The only thing is we need an old and ancient dragon to get this knowledge. That means we needs some place isolated and we need someplace on the right theurge lines. I can't get there by myself and with my lousy sight, I can't trust that the porters wouldn't just abscond with the Yellow Offering. Besides, I also need someone to help with those same porters and making the Red Offering. I'll need to actually start schooling you in real arts, not this stupid hedge wizard stuff I've been showing you, but within the year, we'll be able to do it. The knowledge we'd gain would instantly catapult us to the top of the priesthood."

Well, my fate was sealed. True to his word, Nosrick began initiating me to the arcane arts in earnest. Not just wizardly stuff either. I never before or since have encountered anyone with the same mastery over wizardry as well as the other arts, but Nosrick mastered them all and was sharing them with me. Sooner than I realized, I found myself occupying one of the abandoned bedrooms, experimenting in the secret laboratory with its summoning circles and queer, unthinkable stains beneath his ancient habitation. More times than I can be bothered to count saw me recruiting doomed mercenaries for clandestine retrievals of grave goods for the Yellow Offering from tombs with jealous guardians. Tombs weren't the only thing we robbed. I became callous during that time, a trail of witnesses was something we did not want and could not afford. The year slipped into two before Nosrick finally declared we were ready to commence. The size of the Yellow Offering was staggering; I think my hold on reality was already slipping. Surely the hoard would have been enough for us, our families, our children, our grandchildren, etc. Still, we were intent and would not be dissuaded from our mission even if anyone had known to dissuade us. So, with the Yellow Offering tucked in anonymous sacks, each larger on the inside than the outside, we acquired eight teamsters and their wagons and set out for a place which would lead us to the end of the Widow's Path.

The journey from Mybourdy was long and worrisome. I always feared the teamsters would see through the pitiful lies told about the cargo they carried and barely slept throughout the journey. I know I have hardly slept since. The Widow's Path, our destination, was a high place, overlooking a valley with many a farm. Our research told us that only in such a high place would we be able to construct a proper Circle of Paran for such a being as we sought to be secured from. The final ride along the path was dangerous. The teamsters very nearly mutinied then, only by dominating their feeble minds with powerful spells were we able to convince them to continue. This was unfortunate as the energy spent on domination would distract us from our other preparations. Regardless, on the appointed night, we were ready with our circle and our thralls were lined up for the Red Offering, the Yellow Offering likewise poured out.

We began with the fading of the sun. With only two of us, the Formula of Kl'w was tortuous. Syllables not made for civilized tongues are hard enough, and the Formula demands precision lest the speaker find himself being summoned elsewhere or worse. As midnight passed and we continued with the Formula, it seemed as if the extra energies of domination would doom us, but finally moonlight was blotted out by the immense black form of that which we sought. Even blind Nosrick was very nearly cast down with fear of the cyclopean bulk of the dragon looming above us. Never did I imagine such a large creature could move, let alone fly like the most agile of birds. Even through the wards of the circle, his breath spoke doom to us. I'm certain two of the teamsters died from fright even before it snatched all of them and the horses up like sweetmeats. With their hot vital fluid still dripping from its maw, it simply gulped down the treasures poured into the great mound in one snap of those jaws. It turned to gaze at us, not even considering a try at the circle's wards.

"You have called me. You have provided an offering. What is it you want of Cuernero?"

"Knowledge....the Other Realm." The voice was mine, but it sounded leagues away. The roar of what I now know was only laughter loosened my bowels. When it didn't simply reach through the wards to snatch us up, I relaxed, finally putting my trust in the circle. It settled onto its back haunches, towering over us like a citadel and began to tell us of what it called the Down Lands. It told us of how the world which we called Antire had another side, of how the entire rim was covered in roiling chaos, of how that chaos would trap anyone not a dragon, of how the chaos would corrupt any mortal who dwelt too long in its mists, of how those who had been corrupted wandered the chaos, of how sometimes they wandered out. It then told us what the Down Lands were like. The same chaos tainted the Down Lands and the horridly formed creatures of that realm wandered the landscape, building bizarre empires, producing insane artifacts, all the while feeding on one another. However, that same chaos fed much of the magic in Antire, and the dragons traveled there in search of their own sources of power. It was then that circle's wards blinked out of existence. It snatched us up, each in a claw like a mouse in the paws of a lion.

It flew a night and day until finally we reached the chaos, the entire time telling us of primordial things. The Rituals of the Raka were made plain, the authors of the Pnakotic Manuscripts revealed, the Formula of Ling learned, the Game of Erops explained. The third day we reached the innocuous fog bank that is the border between our realm and the Other Realm. I shudder to think of the forms I saw in there. The creatures of sea and air that have found themselves drawn into its mists were corrupted from sleek masters of water and wind into many tentacled... things. Warped, living things that could only be what were once ships plied the waters, their crews still alive in the most horrible fashion. Some stood fused bodily to their ship. Others ambulated across the creature-decks, twisted into forms that only vaguely hinted they once were people.

Another night and day passed in the grip of Cuernero. How I know this is beyond me, but I know. At some point Nosrick began to scream about all the creatures he was seeing, near and far. His sight, once limited, was now opened on planes and dimensions I could not even hope to perceive, and I was thankful for my blindness. For each horror I saw, he saw ten or a thousand, each one somehow worse than the others. The screaming lasted until we reached the other side. The sight stunned us into silence. Cuernero didn't take us far, but he showed us much...much that I don't want to think about. Cruel mockeries of civilized empires rise and fall in that other place. Cyclopean ruins of ancient races compete with the organic, even living, constructs of the current masters. It was then that Cuernero shattered all hope in my soul, swooping low so that we would get a close look.

"This, pink things, is the fate of what you call Antire. Once, this was like Antire and Antire like this. As the Elders fate it, great cataclysms change the places of Nature and Chaos. Only we eldest dragons have existed under both. Look closely, for this is what you come from, and this is where your kind goes." A corpulent, tentacled thing gazed up at us, the limbs of its latest meal still kicking in its many mouths even as new tentacles sprouted from its abdomen. I was then that my sanity had had enough, and merciful unconsciousness took me.

Night greeted me when I regained consciousness. I lay in the damp grass of an ancient necropolis outside of Mybourdy. Nosrick deliriously thrashed on the ground beside me and Cuernero loomed over us.

"Mark my words pink thing — I will use you. The time of the Elders' fating is near. I will help this. I will use you for this. But know that when my loyals rise, those who emerge will bring the Drinker of Souls and will be your doom. You will fear this. You will try to keep this away, but this is my reward. My reward is that you will not see the Chaos again."

Cuernero's departure was as frightful as its arrival. Nosrick's mumblings and twitchings told me he would never again form a rational thought. I took up my dirk to show him the only kind of mercy I still had left in me. Alone and bedraggled, I walked into Mybourdy as the sun started its dash across the sky, listening to the town criers announce a date three years later than we had left! I only felt the passing of a week! At Nosrick's home, I collected his possessions as my own, forged a will that had no one to contest it, and bribed the few officials that needed it.

Yes, I entered service for Cuernero, undertaking tasks for it plans just as I undertook Nosrick's tasks for his plan. I never did reveal any knowledge of what I learned from Nosrick to the abbey. I certainly did not share Cuernero's knowledge. Knowledge is better guarded than shared. Along the way, I arranged for my brothers' deaths along with their heirs, but never tried to claim the ancestral lands until now. Cuernero's loyals, its kobold minions, have arisen. They have taken Joring and are marching onward. Just yesterday, I have word that a group of mercenaries survived Joring and arrived in Bluwell. I'm sure they carry the Drinker of Souls. I have arranged for their demise, but Cuernero's promise haunts me.

When you get this letter, hopefully it will be sent soon enough, study and commit to memory the tomes I am including. The Book of Eibon contains all that you really need to know, primarily the Formula of Kl'w, but the Mad One's Journal will provide much needed on guidance on what to do and what not to do as you continue your endeavors. If only I had had it before I began my descent into Nosrick's fantasy world! Instead, it was the book I found in that tomb that night. Once you've assembled an appropriate Red Offering and Yellow Offering, proceed to the Widow's Path to call to Cuernero so you can receive your commission. I wouldn't bother to learn the Circle of Paran or the Chant of Pnosis. Neither will help you with Cuernero. I just hope you will find sufficient opportunity soon enough to amass the Yellow Offering. The alfeg tyrants sure do drain the wealth there. Perhaps they are your best target.

TCH'O CUERNERO!

Thytos Rannall