Coin's Journal - Revision history

Avinasharora: formatting

2019-10-22T13:01:49Z

formatting

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:01, 22 October 2019
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			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 2.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 2.mp3]]
	Have I slept? Have I eaten or drank? I entered a room at the end of a hallway that stretched what seemed an impossible distance. It reminded me of the orphanage in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Two of my greatest allies are intermittently taken from me. Light - some objects reflect it, others deflect it, but these corridors seem to collect it. I am unsure if my eyes have adjusted to the conditions of Yggdrassil or if it has adjusted to me. The halls are not lit and yet I can see. Some of the rooms as well, but not all. I dare not venture into the blackness. And Magic - it works oddly here. I expected this considering the convergence of the leylines. The forces within give and take but mostly take.		Have I slept? Have I eaten or drank? I entered a room at the end of a hallway that stretched what seemed an impossible distance. It reminded me of the orphanage in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Two of my greatest allies are intermittently taken from me. Light - some objects reflect it, others deflect it, but these corridors seem to collect it. I am unsure if my eyes have adjusted to the conditions of Yggdrassil or if it has adjusted to me. The halls are not lit and yet I can see. Some of the rooms as well, but not all. I dare not venture into the blackness. And Magic - it works oddly here. I expected this considering the convergence of the leylines. The forces within give and take but mostly take.
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			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 3.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 3.mp3]]
	I previously hypothesized that light and magic are altered, refracted through the prism that is Yggdrassil and now I know it is so much more than that. We look at this mountain towering over the plane in which we live and yet I am unsure that Yggdrassil exists. At least not how we have come to understand existing. Yes, we know of other planes and spirits but this goes far beyond that. I am unsure Yggdrassil exists within time. I have found writing and carving on walls from times long ago but also from times in the future and times of calendars that do not exist. Yes, these could be the final throes of an explorer lost within hallways and rooms which do not adhere to space but they could also be exactly what they say they are.		I previously hypothesized that light and magic are altered, refracted through the prism that is Yggdrassil and now I know it is so much more than that. We look at this mountain towering over the plane in which we live and yet I am unsure that Yggdrassil exists. At least not how we have come to understand existing. Yes, we know of other planes and spirits but this goes far beyond that. I am unsure Yggdrassil exists within time. I have found writing and carving on walls from times long ago but also from times in the future and times of calendars that do not exist. Yes, these could be the final throes of an explorer lost within hallways and rooms which do not adhere to space but they could also be exactly what they say they are.
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			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 4.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 4.mp3]]
	I have walked down and down and down and down and down. Spiraling this staircase, tracing these walls with my fingers. It feels like days but what does that even mean anymore? I am indescribably tired. Sleep is stalking me. I suppose it is inevitable. I find myself lost staring into the darkness as I encircle it time and time again. Once I stopped and slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. It was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.		I have walked down and down and down and down and down. Spiraling this staircase, tracing these walls with my fingers. It feels like days but what does that even mean anymore? I am indescribably tired. Sleep is stalking me. I suppose it is inevitable. I find myself lost staring into the darkness as I encircle it time and time again. Once I stopped and slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. It was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.
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			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 5.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 5.mp3]]
	Darkness is impossible to remember.		Darkness is impossible to remember.
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			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 6.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 6.mp3]]
	Darkness is impossible to remember. You might try, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic surrounding, your eye will no longer linger on the light, it will no longer trace constellations. You will care only about the darkness and you will watch it for hours, days, maybe even years, trying in vain to believe you're some kind of indispensable universe-appointed soldier. As if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you'll be afraid to look away. You'll be afraid to sleep. Darkness is an addiction. No one is ever satisfied. Darkness never satisfies. Especially if it takes something away which it almost always invariably does. Darkness is not the absence of light. Darkness is rot.		Darkness is impossible to remember. You might try, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic surrounding, your eye will no longer linger on the light, it will no longer trace constellations. You will care only about the darkness and you will watch it for hours, days, maybe even years, trying in vain to believe you're some kind of indispensable universe-appointed soldier. As if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you'll be afraid to look away. You'll be afraid to sleep. Darkness is an addiction. No one is ever satisfied. Darkness never satisfies. Especially if it takes something away which it almost always invariably does. Darkness is not the absence of light. Darkness is rot.


			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 7.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 7.mp3]]
	To the Order		To the Order
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	It's a good night for ghosts. And between us, we have a pocketful.		It's a good night for ghosts. And between us, we have a pocketful.


			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 8.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 8.mp3]]
	What happens to a house when it is left alone? It becomes worn, and aged. When its paint peels, its foundation begins to sink. It goes for too long unlived in. What does it think of? What does it dream? How does it look on those creatures who built it, brought it into existence only to abandon it when its usefulness no longer satisfies them? They grow lonesome. It stares for long hours into the darkness of its own empty halls and sees shadows. And they jump as they think, here, here is someone again I’m not alone. And each time it is wrong, and the hurt starts over. It may haunt itself, inventing ghosts to walk its floors, making friends with its shadow puppets, laughing and whispering to itself at the end of some quiet darkened lane. It may grow angry. Its basement may fill with churning acid like an empty stomach, and its gorge may rise as it asks itself through clenched teeth, “what did I do wrong?” It may grow bitter. It may grow hungry. So hungry and so bitter that its scruples dissolve and its doors unlock themselves. While a house may hunger it cannot starve. And so in fever and anger and loneliness, it may simply lie in wait. Doors open, shades drawn, hallways empty. Hungry.		What happens to a house when it is left alone? It becomes worn, and aged. When its paint peels, its foundation begins to sink. It goes for too long unlived in. What does it think of? What does it dream? How does it look on those creatures who built it, brought it into existence only to abandon it when its usefulness no longer satisfies them? They grow lonesome. It stares for long hours into the darkness of its own empty halls and sees shadows. And they jump as they think, here, here is someone again I’m not alone. And each time it is wrong, and the hurt starts over. It may haunt itself, inventing ghosts to walk its floors, making friends with its shadow puppets, laughing and whispering to itself at the end of some quiet darkened lane. It may grow angry. Its basement may fill with churning acid like an empty stomach, and its gorge may rise as it asks itself through clenched teeth, “what did I do wrong?” It may grow bitter. It may grow hungry. So hungry and so bitter that its scruples dissolve and its doors unlock themselves. While a house may hunger it cannot starve. And so in fever and anger and loneliness, it may simply lie in wait. Doors open, shades drawn, hallways empty. Hungry.


			<hr>
	[[File:Breadcrumb 9.mp3]]		[[File:Breadcrumb 9.mp3]]
	Page 1 ~~REDACTED~~		<s>Page 1</s>

	Page 2 ~~REDACTED~~		<s>Page 2</s>

	Page 3: One important distinction that must be drawn is between the words dissection and vivisection, a distinction that would appear to be lost on you. Your purpose was to listen, and yet at every turn you have pried, you have prodded, and you have interfered. I think I’ve been paying attention. Did it not occur to you that as an organism existing within a greater organism, your intrusion would be felt? And still you harassed. And now, like the wayward spider who witlessly stumbles across the sleeper’s tongue, you will be swallowed. Because the truth is this: when a house is both hungry and awake, every room becomes a mouth.		Page 3: One important distinction that must be drawn is between the words dissection and vivisection, a distinction that would appear to be lost on you. Your purpose was to listen, and yet at every turn you have pried, you have prodded, and you have interfered. I think I’ve been paying attention. Did it not occur to you that as an organism existing within a greater organism, your intrusion would be felt? And still you harassed. And now, like the wayward spider who witlessly stumbles across the sleeper’s tongue, you will be swallowed. Because the truth is this: when a house is both hungry and awake, every room becomes a mouth.

Avinasharora: Coin's final breadcrumbs could not bring him back from the forest.

2019-10-21T21:33:45Z

Coin's final breadcrumbs could not bring him back from the forest.

← Older revision		Revision as of 21:33, 21 October 2019
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	'''''DO NOT FOLLOW ME'''''		'''''DO NOT FOLLOW ME'''''


			==The last breadcrumbs==
			[[File:Breadcrumb 1.mp3]]
			There was a story I remember but I don't remember ever being told it. There was a plague and the parents could not feed the children. Selfishly, they walk the children into the woods and abandon them but the children were clever and left a trail of breadcrumbs behind so they could find their way home. And if memory serves me, they do, but only after setting fire to a beast of the woods.

			I enter the roots of this tree in search of purpose which I thought lost on that fateful day. I have learned what it is to be empty. When that hopelessness and futility washes over you, for some reason you can no longer be the person you believed you once were. You detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you. More importantly, shifts in you. Worse, you’ll realize its always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts. A vast shimmer only dark like a room. But you won’t understand why or how. Worn down old wizards and kings learn to live with the void. Youth always tries to fill it.

			So let these notes either serve as my breadcrumbs back or a map for those who follow in my footsteps.


			[[File:Breadcrumb 2.mp3]]
			Have I slept? Have I eaten or drank? I entered a room at the end of a hallway that stretched what seemed an impossible distance. It reminded me of the orphanage in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Two of my greatest allies are intermittently taken from me. Light - some objects reflect it, others deflect it, but these corridors seem to collect it. I am unsure if my eyes have adjusted to the conditions of Yggdrassil or if it has adjusted to me. The halls are not lit and yet I can see. Some of the rooms as well, but not all. I dare not venture into the blackness. And Magic - it works oddly here. I expected this considering the convergence of the leylines. The forces within give and take but mostly take.

			I closed my eyes within that familiar room and opened them with a considerably longer beard and fewer food rations than I had entered with despite having no memory or even desire to use them. My plan was to use that room as my starting point and branch out across any of the untraversed corridors I mapped but when I went to find them, the map I had crudely drawn was inaccurate. When I attempted to return to the room to gather myself, only a wall stood where it was. I placed my hand on the wall trying desperately to find a switch or lever to reveal a hidden passage but all I could feel were subtle movements in the wall that I could swear felt like breathing.

			I am alone here. Yet I can't escape the feeling that I am being watched. And today, I thought I heard footsteps.



			[[File:Breadcrumb 3.mp3]]
			I previously hypothesized that light and magic are altered, refracted through the prism that is Yggdrassil and now I know it is so much more than that. We look at this mountain towering over the plane in which we live and yet I am unsure that Yggdrassil exists. At least not how we have come to understand existing. Yes, we know of other planes and spirits but this goes far beyond that. I am unsure Yggdrassil exists within time. I have found writing and carving on walls from times long ago but also from times in the future and times of calendars that do not exist. Yes, these could be the final throes of an explorer lost within hallways and rooms which do not adhere to space but they could also be exactly what they say they are.

			I heard the footsteps again. I think they were above me. One of the hallways a few... ways back had a spiral staircase that I could not see to the bottom of. Considering my destination, down seems like a fitting way to go.

			Did you find my first note? I mentioned a story about children creating a path out of breadcrumbs. As I said, I don't remember hearing the story but I've always known it. What’s funny is in all of my travels from Terra's most expansive libraries to folk town campfires I have searched and searched but I can not find any evidence that this story has ever existed in our world.


			[[File:Breadcrumb 4.mp3]]
			I have walked down and down and down and down and down. Spiraling this staircase, tracing these walls with my fingers. It feels like days but what does that even mean anymore? I am indescribably tired. Sleep is stalking me. I suppose it is inevitable. I find myself lost staring into the darkness as I encircle it time and time again. Once I stopped and slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. It was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.

			I hope for a corridor or a door to appear but it never does. Something else has taken their place. Something I am unable to see. Waiting. I'm afraid. It is hungry. It is immortal. And worse, it knows nothing of whim.



			[[File:Breadcrumb 5.mp3]]
			Darkness is impossible to remember.

			I lived a dream. I walked upon seconds though I was not moving my feet, not consciously. I was being pulled through a corridor, though I did not remember finding one upon those infinite stairs. I saw the places I have lived. I saw faces of people I have known and one I even loved. I saw a table with six friends. A seventh stranger sat beside them. I knew not one yet I recognized all of their voices. I saw the dawn of time. I saw places beyond the stars and planes on top of planes, interconnected, interwoven. I heard footsteps. I saw a man writing a letter though he took off down a passage before I could call out to him. I picked up his note and it was this note.

			And then I was back at the stairs. Still spiraling down down down



			[[File:Breadcrumb 6.mp3]]
			Darkness is impossible to remember. You might try, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic surrounding, your eye will no longer linger on the light, it will no longer trace constellations. You will care only about the darkness and you will watch it for hours, days, maybe even years, trying in vain to believe you're some kind of indispensable universe-appointed soldier. As if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you'll be afraid to look away. You'll be afraid to sleep. Darkness is an addiction. No one is ever satisfied. Darkness never satisfies. Especially if it takes something away which it almost always invariably does. Darkness is not the absence of light. Darkness is rot.



			[[File:Breadcrumb 7.mp3]]
			To the Order

			It is a good night for ghosts. The Queen in the eighth moon is full and waiting to take souls to far shores as it crosses the sky. I dreamt a dream that I was with you tonight. I awoke and my lips were numb from saying your name. I dreamt that we were dreaming a dream together, you and I. We were trapped in a house as big as memory. Countless doors.

			You were there. I could hear you speaking but I only caught glimpses of you in the glass. Eventually I gave in and found myself staring at myself, reflected. Looking at myself looking back at me. Both of us trying to decipher the face that was in front of us. My eyes seeing me in mine and countless. I could not reach into that forever as I was already within it.

			I wonder, when you look in the mirror, who stares you down at night?

			But it is late and my mind is running away with itself.

			Sleep well, wherever you are.

			It's a good night for ghosts. And between us, we have a pocketful.

			[[File:Breadcrumb 8.mp3]]
			What happens to a house when it is left alone? It becomes worn, and aged. When its paint peels, its foundation begins to sink. It goes for too long unlived in. What does it think of? What does it dream? How does it look on those creatures who built it, brought it into existence only to abandon it when its usefulness no longer satisfies them? They grow lonesome. It stares for long hours into the darkness of its own empty halls and sees shadows. And they jump as they think, here, here is someone again I’m not alone. And each time it is wrong, and the hurt starts over. It may haunt itself, inventing ghosts to walk its floors, making friends with its shadow puppets, laughing and whispering to itself at the end of some quiet darkened lane. It may grow angry. Its basement may fill with churning acid like an empty stomach, and its gorge may rise as it asks itself through clenched teeth, “what did I do wrong?” It may grow bitter. It may grow hungry. So hungry and so bitter that its scruples dissolve and its doors unlock themselves. While a house may hunger it cannot starve. And so in fever and anger and loneliness, it may simply lie in wait. Doors open, shades drawn, hallways empty. Hungry.



			[[File:Breadcrumb 9.mp3]]
			Page 1 REDACTED

			Page 2 REDACTED

			Page 3: One important distinction that must be drawn is between the words dissection and vivisection, a distinction that would appear to be lost on you. Your purpose was to listen, and yet at every turn you have pried, you have prodded, and you have interfered. I think I’ve been paying attention. Did it not occur to you that as an organism existing within a greater organism, your intrusion would be felt? And still you harassed. And now, like the wayward spider who witlessly stumbles across the sleeper’s tongue, you will be swallowed. Because the truth is this: when a house is both hungry and awake, every room becomes a mouth.

Avinasharora: audio for entry 10

2019-10-19T11:40:28Z

audio for entry 10

← Older revision		Revision as of 11:40, 19 October 2019
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	==Final entry, dated Septon Trimartis (8/17/347)==		==Final entry, dated Septon Trimartis (8/17/347)==
			[[File:Coin's Journal, Entry 10.mp3]]
	A brief addendum before my descent: the date of my entry is Septon Trimercuri. I have instructed Inugs to return both this and the Manta Cloak to the Magistery. If you are reading this and I have not returned for an unreasonable period of time, I implore you		A brief addendum before my descent: the date of my entry is Septon Trimercuri. I have instructed Inugs to return both this and the Manta Cloak to the Magistery. If you are reading this and I have not returned for an unreasonable period of time, I implore you

Avinasharora: Coin's Journal, Entry Nine. The only minotaurs in that cave are the ones you carry in with you.

2019-10-18T10:32:49Z

Coin's Journal, Entry Nine. The only minotaurs in that cave are the ones you carry in with you.

@@ Line 131: / Line 131: @@
 ==Entry nine, dated Sexton Prilovis (7/5/347)==
-Below the dateline the page is simply blank.
+[[File:Coin, Entry 9.mp3]]
 ==Final entry, dated Septon Trimartis (8/17/347)==

Avinasharora: Coin's Journal, Entries Seven and Eight. What miracle is this? A tree?

2019-10-17T15:34:41Z

Coin's Journal, Entries Seven and Eight. What miracle is this? A tree?

@@ Line 87: / Line 87: @@
 ==Entry seven, dated Secundus Kimartis (3/24/347)==
-The words here seem to fade on and off the page randomly making it impossible to read or even transcribe.
+[[File:Coin's Journal, Entry 7.mp3]]
 ==Entry eight, dated Tresuna Trisolace (4/15/347)==
-There is a depiction of a tree here and nothing more.
+[[File:Coin's Journal, Entry 8.mp3]]
 ==Entry nine, dated Sexton Prilovis (7/5/347)==

Avinasharora: /* Entry six, dated Secundus Triluna (3/16/347) */

2019-10-15T16:18:02Z

Entry six, dated Secundus Triluna (3/16/347)

← Older revision		Revision as of 16:18, 15 October 2019
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	==Entry six, dated Secundus Triluna (3/16/347)==		==Entry six, dated Secundus Triluna (3/16/347)==
	The ~~ink spreads across~~ the ~~pages~~, ~~indecipherable even~~ to ~~expert eyes~~.		[[File:Coin, Entry 6.mp3]]
			Gumtoe has barely changed since we last met, aside from the face he lives - I had thought for some period of time that he was feared dead. His stores had grown since that time and he was now able to afford a shop supplying him the space to catalog his collection. He has become a sort of star of the rare book trade in recent years, and though his collection is not near the size of that within the Magistery, its troves of knowledge contained undoubtedly rival it. After catching up over tea, I revealed the Libris Mortis

			While scanning a relevant text he found a passing reference to Yggdrasil! It led us to a Northern myth, not about a person as I initially suspected, but a tree. In some cultures a version of the myth refers to it as “The Tree of Life.” The immense ash tree that is the center of the universe, its branches extending to the heavens and the roots winding and extending through all of Terra. Where Terra’s gods hold their courts. It is unknown which language Yggdrasil originates but some writers have translated it to "The Bridge of Aether." Others have suggested "Gallows of the Gods." Others still have interpreted it simply as "The Tree of Terror." The stories of The Raven Queen and Nerull suggest he either perished or was laid to rest here.

			What if it isn't a myth?

	==Entry seven, dated Secundus Kimartis (3/24/347)==		==Entry seven, dated Secundus Kimartis (3/24/347)==

Avinasharora: Coin's Journal, Entry Five. Why did the gods create a dual universe?

2019-10-14T19:07:27Z

Coin's Journal, Entry Five. Why did the gods create a dual universe?

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:07, 14 October 2019
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	==Entry five, dated Secundus Prilovis (3/5/347)==		==Entry five, dated Secundus Prilovis (3/5/347)==
	~~This appears~~ to be a ~~map with no known landmarks or coastlines~~.		[[File:Coin, Entry 5.mp3]]
			Why did the gods create a dual universe? So they might say, "Be not like me, I am alone." And it might be heard.

			What we perceive as hallmarks of death: decay, rot, etc are actually the consequences of disobeying the gods, a rot born of the Elders themselves. Death can not be halted or delayed, but simply claimed from others.

			The skeletons of haunted graveyards and the ghouls of family tombs are closer to the Gods than the noble paladins and clerics who pledge their lives. Such knowledge could drive one mad.

			The necromancers of the North are only scratching the surface of their power and its inherent connections.

			Lately, a feeling has come over me the likes of which I can not explain. It not despair for I wish to press on. It is not loneliness for I am with my research and Inugs and will soon be in the home of my friend Gumtoe. It is as though my entire body is drifting, pulled by an invisible thread from one moment to the next. It is the feeling of trying to draw a face that you saw in a dream.

	==Entry six, dated Secundus Triluna (3/16/347)==		==Entry six, dated Secundus Triluna (3/16/347)==

Avinasharora: Coin's Journal, Entry Four. What happens when a god dies?

2019-10-13T23:47:36Z

Coin's Journal, Entry Four. What happens when a god dies?

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:47, 13 October 2019
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	==Entry four, dated Carneira Kiluna (2/23/347)==		==Entry four, dated Carneira Kiluna (2/23/347)==
	~~There~~ are ~~schematics for objects~~ that ~~simply cannot exist~~ in the ~~real world~~.		[[File:Coin, Entry 4.mp3]]
			What happens when a God dies? Few if any can claim to have been present for the death of a deity, but there are tales and stories of those that have. Several religions reference the “Divine Spark” though it is unknown if it is literal or symbolic. Texts on both Nerull and The Raven Queen state that she usurped not only all within his plane of Pluton but his Divine Spark as well, becoming the new god of death. One story suggests that Nerull was buried at the feet of Yggdrasil. I know I have heard this name before but where? Who is Yggdrasil? It is also suggested that a God can not truly die as long as its name is remembered. One can only finally destroy a God’s memories via the complete purge of all remnants of its existence. Theologians suggest that these powerful memories are easier to bury or hide by the Gods than be destroyed. In their prisons they will slowly rot over innumerable generations until the last creature who remembers its name comes into the service of the Raven Queen.

			What a horrific torture it must be to feel your entire being falling away like water through a hand. And what physical form do forgotten memories take so that they can be hidden in the first place. With no form or function to contain and control them, as the last remnants of proof it once existed, would the memories be aware they were once part of a God? Such irony; the God of death being buried alive. Living under the land, under the sea or in a plane of fire. A vague shape bleeding all that once defined it, floating in infinite nothingness. Alone. I have no mouth, yet I must scream.

	==Entry five, dated Secundus Prilovis (3/5/347)==		==Entry five, dated Secundus Prilovis (3/5/347)==

Avinasharora: /* Entry three, dated Carneira Diveneris (2/13/347) */

2019-10-12T13:40:25Z

Entry three, dated Carneira Diveneris (2/13/347)

@@ Line 46: / Line 46: @@
 ==Entry three, dated Carneira Diveneris (2/13/347)==
-Scribbles fill the pages but don't form any words.
+[[File:Coin, Journal Entry 3.mp3]]
 ==Entry four, dated Carneira Kiluna (2/23/347)==

Avinasharora: /* Entry two, dated Carneira Premercuri (2/4/347) */

2019-10-12T13:39:08Z

Entry two, dated Carneira Premercuri (2/4/347)

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:39, 12 October 2019
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	==Entry two, dated Carneira Premercuri (2/4/347)==		==Entry two, dated Carneira Premercuri (2/4/347)==
			[[File:Coin, Journal Entry 2.mp3\| Coin journal entry 2]]
	I have returned to the land feeling both triumphant and melancholy.		I have returned to the land feeling both triumphant and melancholy.