The Tome of Remembrance

[VanillaPudding]

In the deeper parts of the Twindari shrine a pair of Halfling servitors beneath the Reverend Beza Tesfaye Bekele, Preparators by title, toil beneath the rule of the Ashfolk in order to care for the dead. They are adherent to the old Orentid processes, ever careful to follow the nine steps, for nine is such a fabled number in this strange world after all.

Meticulous creatures devoid of empathy and dirty from sewing the corpses as a botanist might a seedling, ever quiet with their voices and steps. They smell of the Hyssop, fragrant and concealing the aforementioned filth that lingers upon their hands from the endless work since the arrival of so many refugees. A curious and hefty tome now documents the deceased, upon the front a simple title proclaims it to be the Archive of Remembrance. Your life has already purchased your place here, entrance is always free...


Your first glance into the shrine on this night reveals a worn duo resting away near a sealed box. Behind them are large pots and urns filled of dirt displaced by corpses. Further, within the light of a candelabra, you peep a hefty tome that sits open with pages fluttering in the breeze.

[VanillaPudding]

There it rests, the tome that could be seen from the entrance way. Why shouldn't you take a look? Why shouldn't you see what they see? You've already purchased the right to be in that tome by merely living after all, and so why isn't it your right to witness the names within? The only thing keeping your own name from those pages is that thing that was so strange not so long ago, isn't that right refugee? But now you know what it is, you know that thing, you've become accustomed to it so quickly. It does leave you to wonder though, just how long until it is there, how much time?

It's your right to witness these names, you know it is. You brush aside that Hyssop that sits there dying, having taken its last drink some time ago. The waters from it are all but gone now, pieces of it break off and mark the parchment. They won't notice anyway, surely not. There they are, the names of your friends, your enemies, your loved ones, the politicians of colors that no longer matter and the criminals driven to wicked deed. There they all are for you to browse while those dirty Preparators slumber....

[VanillaPudding]

[55million]

Amidst the Maqam of the Martyrs,  Osuin and Shahlil prepare with meticulous diligence, tending to the venerated urns with reverential care. With somber solemnity, they anoint the sacred hyssop, imbuing the dead with a mystical aura of sanctity. And in the midst of this ritualistic labor, another page once blank is etched upon the timeless tome of remembrance, a testament to the legacy of those who have passed beyond the veil.

Raymond Quinn
An astronomer entitled as a Nadiri
Cause of Death: Murder - By means of Ice Storm magics repeatedly crushing his body.
Notes: Murderers are Apothar Vergal Mendista and Nadiri Alexander Bestworth, fifth of his name.
Final rites completed  with chilling bits of his remains.

Amir Azim
A Jannisary under rank of Soldier
Cause of Death: Luca Ferra
Notes: Defender of the Gate of Coin during the battle of the lost-shade. Devout of the Wroth, his vengeance guided the drowning of his adversary Itaja and the Wyrmlings. His spear will ferry the else lost souls of Luca Ferra, as they pass from this place to the next

[VanillaPudding]

For reasons yet to be discovered you enter the shrine once more, climbing down a flight of overly dark steps before arriving to the heart. A servant Halfling layered in the garb of the Twindari faithful is in prayer, overseen by a pair of affluent merchants clad in their togas and almost tainting the morbid and still air with the overbearing stench of many spices. They disturb the otherwise quiet place with their gossip and arrogant demeanors, their sandals slapping the stones as they begin to wander off.  The faithful seem unmoved however, for they know that everyone of all status and color has made the same purchase with their life and merely awaits the arrival of that still strange thing, time.

Soon after their departure the Halfling rises from her prayer and takes up a small broom to whisk away the brought in dust. It is a strange sight, for the little servant carries that broom with hands wrapped in overly dirtied and torn cloth. She makes her way towards the entrance with the work and leaves you time to view the tome once more. A list of names draws your attention once more, many of them unfamiliar to you, nameless and voiceless beings forgotten by the masses. Others may catch your eye for whatever reason, but one in particular is quite strange this time. The entry it partially blank but the reasons are clear. You could write a name there, but why would you? Why wouldn't you? Has someone truly done these things? Do you know their name? The sound of the broom has stopped, your heart nearly stops too and you look up to the Twindari servant once more, and as if on queue the sound of the broom returns to your ears and she keeps to cleaning the floors.

[VanillaPudding]

[VanillaPudding]

Your eyes catch another page within the dusty old book that is different from the others. It is loose and free of the binding of the tome as if written elsewhere and merely smuggled there. The ink has changed now, no longer that luxurious and expensive liquid, but instead more fuzzy and  tinted with a blood red hue.