1999-10-16: The Tome Of Valykere Retrieved
The Tome Of Valykere Retrieved
| Author: Ceridwen the Historian | Published: October 16, 1999 |
In the midst of the grief and chaos caused by the events of Thursday night, one jewel of knowledge has been gained and brought to the public fore. “The Tome of Valykere”. An age old book, written by someone who calls himself only the Ancient, the Tome tells the tale of Valykere, a mage of Wind, and how a heretofore unheard of artifact, the Sword of Valykere, was created. This knowledge has apparently remained hidden for hundreds of years. How good Rathham had the book, or more importantly why he kept it hidden, is unknown. And now that he is dead, I fear we will never know. But there is still one thing we can do – learn what we can from this clearly important book. I invite all scholars and learned ones of this land – indeed all that have a voice or opinion on these words – to join me at the Britain Public Library each Wednesday at 6pm PST to discuss this and other matters.
I now present the Tome of Valykere.
****The Tome of Valykere**** -The Ancient
The Tome of Valykere In ages long past, when the art of magic was young and the mages that knew of it were great in their power, one man, Valykere by name, was born unto noble parents in central Sosaria. Finding a great potential for magic in him, the mages of the mountains called to him, beckoned him to join them the clandestine society of Wind. Until age fifteen he lived with his parents, learning the sword and the gaining the scholarship that all nobles were given. One evening, he succumbed to the calls that he could feel but not hear, and ran out into the woods toward the Serpent Spine. In the small village known as Wind built near the surface of a great cavern in the mountains, he was taught the ways of the mage. Within a few short years, he was called a master of their art, learning faster than any had before. With his inspiration and that of other great magi, the village flourished. The first great Mage Tower was built to research the art that was at the core of Wind’s existence.
And then it came. From the darkness of the massive cavern the slick black figure flew, burning buildings to the ground, and slaying with a single swipe of its horrid claws. Most of the mages ran or hid, and certainly none dared show themselves to the monster. Gathering inside the stone Mage Tower, the living mages had only the vaguest plan. Combining their energies for one confused, desperate blow to the fiend, they tore the building’s foundations from the ground, and the great structure slowly begin to break itself apart. In their great exertion, a vortex was formed, sparkling with the energies of a thousand frightened mages. Not knowing what they had done, the majority were ready to flee, but Valykere, in his calm, focused power, knew what had been created. He unsheathed his father’s sword, hewn from the purest metals of Trinsic, tested on the purest blood of the vile, and washed in the purest waters of Justice. With a calm determination he stepped towards the vortex. It consumed him, and all was silent, save for the crackling of flame and the beating of great wings outside the Tower.
Seconds later he emerged, beaten and torn, from that vortex, the blade he carried glowing with power yet unseen in Sosaria. The vortex then split into eight points of bright light, which flew out of the tower with amazing speed, and collided on the great serpentine figure, throwing sparks across its scales, and ripping into its flesh with arcs of lightning. With a heart rending scream, the beast fell onto the ground, white fire enveloping it. The young city of Wind had been saved, and Valykere was a hero. As legend says, that white light drove back the shadows of the Serpent Spine caverns, and lit the path for a great city-state to be built.
Many years later, the great Valykere faced his own death. He would die with his blade at his side, that was certain. The power of that blade could not fall into the hands one unworthy. His last days were spent warding his deathbed against all that would greedily try and reach it. Even so, he knew it was meant to be found again one day. And if this Tome is being read, that day is soon. Very soon.
Read carefully, my friend, and if you are meant to know, then so shall it be.
In abodes unexpected, thou wilt discover Eight lenses of light and different color. Look through the lens into thy fear, Close not thy Eye until the image is clear. One’s goal, mind thee, the ultimate desire, But be not distracted by ambition’s mire. An image, a beam, bright and directed, It shines with a light yet to be projected. Far and wide across distant fields, To an elder stone, a magical shield. A key to stones of Protection, Lies in the light of misdirection. Only the will of one mentally sound, May open a lock in the stone it is bound. Bash at the stone as hard as thy might, Thou canst not shine without inner light. Lenses of eight, a spark to ignite, Notches in stone, below an isle of ignoble might. The Protectors live, and know thee they will, Provided they are found after a battle uphill. Three things that they know, three things must ye find, A location, letters, something lost to the mind. Hasten thy step, before the light is lost, One will win the prize, others pay the cost. At the twelfth stroke of good Trammel’s rise, A night of the promise, a friend’s dark demise. The skies will open, the grounds will fall And the Protectors of Valykere will rise to the call. The Lost will be Found, If they visit this ground. Tested will they be, Then finally set free. *************** Ulom gse jayh ov gse hum I xapp. Gse pitsg, seag, emejtyVapp. Kal Vas Flam Ov gse eajgs, go uh gsy lodej pemw. Gsjouts gse redeph ov gsy seajg gse hum woeh zemw. In Vas Por Gsjouts gse dimw de ahq, gse hitmap ze xajjiew. Go gse emwh ov gse ihpe, go nomopigsh hgipp zujiew. Vas Ort Grav Vjon gse dagej de wenamw axkuiehxemxe. Aggemw go gsy ehhemhe. Vas Corp Por Ukol gsih vije, gsehe tenh, gsih pitsgmimt, amw gsih fojgec, de imfoqe gse Ljogexgojh ov Fapyqeje! Ex Por Vas Uus Sanct ONE shall be named, tested, and shamed? Only by he can the sword be reclaimed. It awaits a new master…
