Record of Vasha – 12000 year old Tablet
Partial translation of
glyphic text:
They came from the skies. Came in vessels of silver
and gold. They descended down and
bathed the land in crimson. Crimson that
flowed through the streets, and into the seas.
Crimson that would forever stain the fields, and shade the mountains.
They set down upon the earth after
the Crimson flowed away and demanded their deification. They held no quarter and expected no
delay. The fearsome
machines of destruction always on hand.
Their troops carrying bottled lightning.
We had no recourse and the dark times began.
They used our people to build a
great floating city. The people quaked
in fear of its shadow as it slowly moved across the lands. From its center, the machines came. Towards its center, our people went. As slaves.
For many years, these events
repeated themselves; the floating city seasonally abducting our people. They never came back, the ones that were
taken. And never a word was heard from them. To go to the city meant death. We live in its shadow, always aware of its
presence. The Old feared it, and the Young
hated it. The young remember the sounds
of their mothers crying in the darkness as their fathers disappeared never to
be seen again. The young remembered, and
never forgave.
It was from this hatred that ideas
sprung; from the minds of the very young.
It was the children that first led the revolt. It was the children that planned the revolt. The machines had become complacent. They desired more things from us, and that
desire dictated that knowledge be given to us.
So we learned. And the children
learned.
They taught us letters and
sciences. We began to grasp the how and
why’s of our environs. Beyond our
learning, the children didn’t simply learn letters and rules. They learned a far more powerful tool. They learned logic and learned to use logic against what they so hated. They gained insight into the activities and
inner workings of the machines and formulated plans. They used letters to communicate to all the
areas, even across the ocean to others who were planning similar things.
When it happened, the machines were
not ready. The children started small
and went for a machine on patrol by itself.
Using simple but effective means, managed to topple the giant. Afterwards, they leaned that the machines
were tools for them. Like we used a hoe
and spade, they used these machines. The
children, using the weapon of logic inadvertently given to them, learned to
move the machine. And from that small
victory, their knowledge grew. And the
Rebellion grew.
Eventually, as the years wore on,
and the fighting kindled and grew worse, the children grew to adults. They had learned and matured, and now were
able to create their own machines in a limited fashion. They assaulted and captured their refining
facilities and used their resources against them. We built our own city, large and splendid; an
insult and challenge to those in the air.
They sent their city in response.
Now from its center, the machines came.
Towards its center, our machines went. This time, as conquerors.
The fighting was fierce, and it
seemed we were about to lose, when through the might and desire of our people,
we began to push them back. The push turned
into a route, and they began to flee. We
gave chase, and frustration from years of servitude broke through the surface
of the emotional turmoil and we went into a frenzy. Our machines assaulted their flying city, and
were overzealous causing too much destruction.
They destroyed everything they could see. The city faltered, and fell. From our victory came our horrendous downfall. Too many died that day. We lost our great city, built from their
technology. We lost most of our people
who had been dwelling in the great city for protection. Most importantly, we lost our stored
knowledge. So it falls to me, a lowly
Scribe Apprentice of the 8th Hall, one of the last surviving to inscribe
these runes so that we will not forget.
So that when the time comes again, we will be ready. And the time will come again. Our victory over them was granted, but they
promised that in 12000 years, when we have forgotten our stubborn ways, that
they will return, and reclaim their paradise.
May our Lords protect us that day,
and may the Lords guide a people with the gift of understanding to this
recollection. And may they prepare
themselves for a battle beyond all battles…
Vasha Fi’Elelluere
Scribe Apprentice
8th Hall of
Knowledge
