Relics: The Series

Interpreter’s Notes: Recently we have become more than a little concerned about a “Shop” that springs up every now and again in Silver City. Concerned as much because we can’t find it, as because we are pretty sure that it’s loaded to the gills with Relics. Since none of the Veil-touched should even be able to see the Relics, let alone handle them, the fact that something like this might exist right under our noses has left many of us with sleepless nights. --Prelate Jacobi

"So, what is this place, some kind of antique store?"

"I guess you could call it that, other people have."

"Well, I'm not other people, so tell me, what do you call it?"

"The Shop."

"I like it, it's kind of kitschy, self-referential. Clever, old man."

"You're right about that."

"What?"

"That I'm old, and that cleverness is just about all I have left."

"Don't sell yourself short, you've managed to keep this store...this Shop running for..."

"...A very long time."

"And you've always just sold these..."

"I like to call them antiquities."

"Well, some people might call them junk."

"I like to call them that too, when I don't think they're listening. Either way, take a look around, maybe one of these pieces of 'junk' will catch your eye."

Interpreter’s Notes: Phobos’ Children call themselves Shades. I’ve never had the pleasure of running into one myself, but based on this description, I am sort of glad that has been the case. --Prelate Jacobi

You see, that's where we disagree. I don't think we can call Shades dead because they were never really alive, at least not in the way we normally talk about it.

They're echoes, remnants of true life, the thing left behind when nothing else is.  

They're like the shell of an egg when the yolk is gone -- hollow and brittle and prone to breaking.

More like a mask than a living thing, an imitation waiting to be given form...purpose.

Interpreter’s Notes: This is one of those rare instances where we actually have confirmation of who is speaking -- this is a conversation between Nemesis and Phobos -- the Daimones of Revenge and Fear, respectively. When this took place, we do not know, but the topic, well...--Prelate Jacobi

"Why Nine? Why not ten or twelve or fifty?"

"Why not fifty? Why not a million? A billion, dear child? There are endless Concepts seeking the godhead -- should we allow just anyone to join our ranks?"

"Why shouldn't we? Much less blood would be spilled, and the Veil isn't exactly small."

"You're beginning to sound like those fools in the Crystal Palace."

"It's only a question, one you still have not answered, Nemesis of the Nine."

"That's because it's a stupid one. Is your wish to feel safe so strong that you would give up pride, authority, the right of rule to a horde of classless demons? If so, your Name will be stolen soon enough, and we have nothing more to discuss."

"That's not what I mean't."

Interpreter’s Notes: This is a curious passage, not for the contents itself but for it’s origins. It seems a bit too...flowery for the Moiragetes, yet I can’t imagine it coming from a Daimones, even one of the Nine. What’s stranger still is that the speaker refers to the Moira as “young.” There are few creatures we know of that could make a claim like that. --Prelate Jacobi

What is magic but stories we are not yet ready to hear -- voices calling out to us from the shadows of things, from the corners where the Mundane touches the Veil and all is possible.

Magic cares nothing for Order or for Chaos, it's like music or love, seeking only to exist and wanting nothing more than to be truly seen.

Interpreter’s Notes: I try not to get emotionally involved in the passages the Book reveals -- try to remember that it can only provide words, without the context to give those words meaning. Still, when I come across something like this, realize that this person is wandering or was wandering or will be wandering through the Veil lost and alone -- mind being ripped apart by the chaos -- it’s hard to keep a professional distance. --Prelate Jacobi

It's easy to lose yourself in the Veil.

Things you thought branded to your soul forever can slip away like water from oil.

It's a dream place...a waking dream or... nightmare.

Which is it again? It's difficult to remember now.

It's not a place for the flesh...But there is so much flesh...

A dream...a nightmare.

Not a place. No. Ideas.

Just ideas running rampant through a place. No, not a place. A nightmare.

You lose things in the Veil.

Things you thought were yours and yours alone...

Wandering through a dream...

A waking dream...

Interpreter’s Notes: This is a conversation between one of the Nine and someone... Who that someone is, we don’t quite know, but I doubt it’s a Moiragetes. Whoever it is, they must be powerful, to be willing to speak to one of the Nine as they are here. --Prelate Jacobi

"They're magic, just magic. Echoes in the Veil, the dying breath of the Void, whatever. They're special only because fools like you think they are."

"Echoes? Breath? How can you say that when you've seen what we've seen."

"I say it because I'm not a sad, old man like you -- searching the edges for something bigger than himself -- nor am I some half-crazed Dragon or preening Moiragetes. I am Daimones, one of the Nine, Concept made flesh, and I know cheap parlor tricks when I see them."

Interpreter’s Notes: This looks to be a journal entry, written by one of the Daimonies -- likely one of the Nine. I have no way to prove this, but I have sneaking suspicion that this comes from Cu Sith -- he has always been the most introspective of the family heads. What worries me is how casually he mentions Dragons. Cu Sith has been around for a long, long time and if he believes in Dragons... --Prelate Jacobi

Names have always had power, but our obsession with them is interesting.

To name a thing is to wall off it's possibility with purpose. To give it role, meaning -- to make Chaos more orderly.

In exchange we gain dominance over that which is us, over the idea that drew us out from the Void, but what do we lose?

The Dragon's know, and they scoff at us for our compromise.

Interpreter’s Notes: What we know about the “wolves,” is that they are the foot soldiers of the Moriagetes, their first line of defense here in the Mundane. There are many wolves, and we hear about their exploits fairly regularly. Every now again though, we get an entry like this, where “wolf” sounds more like a title than a category. The stories attached to this title, are almost always horrific. --Prelate Jacobi

There once was demon in a Scarlet Hood, a Nameless One drawn up from the Void.

She was a grasping thing that delighted in death, in consuming light and dark, Chaos and Order -- whatever stood between her and power.

One day she decided to kill a god and earn her Name.

So she traveled to the citadel of a Daimones, one of the Nine of that time, a god of forest and wind whose power had grown frail from age and battle and ancient grudges.

She tore apart this old god's wards, ripped away the trees and earthen spirits that protected her -- then breached the gate of her home, to stand by her bedside.

"What bright eyes you have." The demon intoned, a sick smile marring her rose-petal lips as she realized her mistake.

The Wolf was upon her in an instant.

Interpreter’s note: The following is entry number #1,345 of the Book of Whispers. Per usual, we know little about where it was drawn from, as the Relic is only capable of giving us words, not their context. But we believe that this is a rare, honest conversation between a human and one of the Nine. How something like that happened, I only wish I could guess. -- Prelate Jacobi

Many believe that the only conflict that has ever mattered is between that which calls itself good, and that which those "good" call evil.

These beings, whether gods or men, are children all.

From the moment the Real clawed its way out from The Void, the one true battle has always been between Chaos and Order.

That which wishes to Create, and that which wishes to Preserve.

Stars are born of Chaos and Matter of Order.

The very light that fills your eyes, the very eyes you use to see it are but echoes of this ancient War.

Before you, our fight was dull and bloodless.