By RavensAnon

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{A Scroll from The Archives of Ämetatilelël

Scroll #739466

Letter found among the belongings of a late adventurer, Raven of Nakkum

[[ Mentions - Queen Violette of Vitriol, “Demon Shout” The Grave Wand held by Queen Violette of Vitriol, Amaranthines]]

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I know not how long I have left, but the wand compels me to leave this for you, dear adventurer.

It is not uncommon for holders of this wand to have visions from the mind of the witch demon. You may have such broken visions of her memories yourself. The one before me kept meticulous notes of every vision they had, looking for clues to find some of her other possessions. They believed that holding all of them would let them connect to the witch’s spirit like never before.

I, on the other hand, concerned myself only with some of them.

The ones that portend great terrors for the Realm.

The ones that haunt me.

This one in particular.

~o~

The Wand leads me back to the ruins. It’s been a long day. I sink onto the ground where my Tower stood tall not a few nights ago.

They were right. In the end, I failed. I failed them. I failed myself. I failed my destiny.

How could I have let this happen? How did I not see it coming? What did I miss?

The familiar feeling of bitter vitriol washes over me.

No. I haven’t failed entirely. Not yet. I may not have seen them coming, but the fools only took down the Facade. They didn’t find anything important. They didn’t take anything True.

I dig my fingers into the rubble, into the ground and tune my heart and my mind to its strength and my true home within.

Darkness.

Relief.

The floor dissolves momentarily into ether to let me in.

Home.

This place knows magic unlike any that we practise. How can it restore me so, as soon as I enter? How can it drive the world outside so far away, making everything else so unimportant? The dungeon. My home. My sanctum. All that’s interesting to me in the universe is now held between these walls. Comfort and adventure all at once.

Like you, Death.

The bitterness of the wand strikes a comfortable balance with the soothing smells of Death.

Peaceful, calming, welcoming but also brimming with mystery and potential. Not everyone sees you that way, do they? I feel bad for those who are scared of you. For those who don’t know or understand you as intimately as I do. Well, fuck them! I’m grateful for your company. For all the things we create together.

For Amaranthine.

The coldness of the Grave Wand seeps through me into Amaranthine, lifting her from her resting place and drawing her to the workbench.

I don’t need to make her for them anymore, do I? You took them all. Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. Maybe they did me a huge favour. How did I not see this before? The Tower is a small price to pay for this freedom. I can make her how I want now. I can take as long as I want making her. We can make her beautiful, Death. We can make her unique. We can make her interesting.

Her body contorts into strange shapes that I had never seen before. Strange, but also somehow familiar?

A lost, forgotten feeling finds me.

I can do anything I want. They don’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. There are no rules anymore.

A violent surge of energy passes through me into her. She disintegrates into a thousand pieces and grafts herself back together onto a pair of demon wings.

Are you excited, Amaranthine? How shall I make you? I didn’t think of this when I named you, but did you know, in another world, amaranth is a shade of violet? Did you know they called me Violette? Violette. The woman I never wanted to be. The woman I don’t have to be anymore. But if I’m not her, then who am I? Could I have been you? Maybe. But who are you, Amaranthine? A child that has ceased to exist. The child I could have been if not for them?

I recognise the shapes her body is making.

I dreamed them up in that graveyard, the longest time ago. When I first found you, Death. Do you remember? When I ran away from them. When I was hiding from them. Why did I go back?

If it was just peace, just happiness, just goodness that you took from me…… You took more. I’ll never know what I could have become.

Amaranthine. A mystery.

Are you a monster too? You’d think I wouldn’t have become one if not for them, wouldn’t you? But no. I think I was always going to become some version of this. This. The “Other”.

A darkness enters her and spreads through her being.

I should make more of you, shouldn’t I, Amaranthine? From more children that have ceased to exist. For every trick, every game they played, the child that could have existed had they not. For every -

Her eyes.

What?

No.

That’s not possible. I’m imagining things, aren’t I?

But something flows from me through the Wand into her, forming dark red questions in her eyes and forever lost to me. That was a mistake. I’m losing focus. I break my bond with the Wand.

~o~

I try to grasp at that memory like a madwoman every time, desperately trying to hold on to what I saw in her eyes. But it slips through my mind into the far ends of my consciousness, every time, lost to me as it was to her. But I remember how it felt. That bone-chilling sense of dread. Hysterical sense of power. I cannot ignore it like she did. There is danger there. I am sure of it.

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Scroll #9890

Pages from the notes of late adventurer, Morana of Ha‘ule‘u

[[ Mentions - Queen Violette of Vitriol, “Demon Shout” The Grave Wand held by Queen Violette of Vitriol, Amaranthines, Queen Violette’s Silver Ring]]

12th Day in the season of Icewhile.

Year of the Great Unification

Vision 32

Trigger : My sister’s grave

Darkness.

Silence.

The calm, numbing coldness of the Grave Wand finds me again.

Death.

I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone but you, Death, in a very long time. Everyone I bring home with me is so busy fearing you, they have no time for me. I wish, for once, one of them would actually talk to me. Say something worth hearing, for once. If they had anything worth preserving in them, I wouldn’t so easily give them to you. But they’re all the same. I wonder if there’s a way to keep a part of them in the piece, just an echo of what made them them. I’ve never let the supplies inspire the creation before…

What of you, little child? What makes you unique? Is there any part of you worth keeping in Amaranthine?

My awareness reaches out through the Wand, searching the echo of her consciousness.

Fear. Horror. Panic.

They told you to fear us, didn’t they? I know known terrors seem safer than havens unknown. The monsters we call family seem safer than those they call “the Other”. But trust me, Death and I will be kinder to you than they would have been. Ask Violette. She’s thankful I took her place.

At the back of my awareness, I feel her stir. The girl whose name and life I stole. The girl that would have been Violette if not for their games. She never really left me, but without the Wand, I wouldn’t have known. She’s good at hiding at the far edges of my consciousness. I think she felt bad for me. I’ll never be sure if it’s pity or vitriol that kept her from moving on. But I know she agrees with me on this - she’s the luckier one.

Another child that didn’t get a chance to exist. I wish I knew where they hid your body, Violette. It would have been so perfect for -

A blinding flash of pain shatters the bond.

This creation seems more like an expression of emotion. Usually, her thoughts are about its functional aspects and efficiency. She also sounds oddly relaxed. Why is this one different?

In all her other visions, her connection with Violette was very weak. But that flash of pain when she was thinking about Violette’s body. It almost seemed like Violette was actually responding? Did she want the witch demon to find her body?

She had all the items. She still has the ring in this vision

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A Scroll from The Archives of Ämetatilelël

Scroll #112

Pages from the Journal of an adventurer - Origins Unknown

[[ Mentions - Queen Violette of Vitriol, “Demon Shout” The Grave Wand held by Queen Violette of Vitriol, Amaranthines]]

[[[ Note by Master Elök Etrelpas Of The Elders, Deputy Archivist - the journal mentioned in this scroll could be Inquisitor Mortward’s Journal from Kaddun (see scroll #766 )]]]

I need to write every detail of this down before I forget.

<><>

The Wand answers my call and we wrap our minds around each other.

The Mind is a place where rage, fear, and loneliness meet. The Body is where movements for life are brought together. Your Body and Mind work together to allow for some limited expression of what is happening in your Mind.

Amaranthine’s body and mind contort at my command, but all I can see is hideousness.

Every attempt of this is garbage. What am I doing wrong?

Bitter, blood-curdling hatred seeps through me as I look at her.

I thought the body was the problem. Using Violette’s body didn’t make it better. Using a woman’s body is not making it any better. That’s not it.The artist and the subject of the creation are vile, how can the creation not be.

I reach out through the Wand into her mind.

I’m Death. I’m madwoman. I birth affairs in which GREEN is the key to slaying me. I am a madwoman because I love death. I love the feeling of pointy things Vs. pushing vs. being combined into a one single entity. I love the feeling of wind into my body, accelerating my own growth. I love the feeling of something lives inside of me, despite its being017 I love the feeling of death myself. I love the way my wonderful layers are taking form around me. I love the feeling of being in control. I love the feeling of being written. I love the feeling of being theinkerthing.

I break my bond with her and the Wand in disgust.

I’ve had visions of her using the Grave Wand, making necrotic chimeras before. But did I just see her reaching into the mind of one? And did I just see its thoughts??

<><>

I did some digging.

I couldn’t find much about Amaranthines. But there are rumours. Disturbingly more and more, over the years. Some say it was a failed experiment. I think it was a failed attempt at a self-portrait.

Her creations are almost always talked about as mindless. Almost. But I found something else. A journal of an investigator found decades ago in Kaddun. He writes about encountering one of her chimeras. He said it made calculated moves. That it moved with purpose. With intention.

But surely, that’s not possible? A witch, even one with demon blood, no matter how powerful, cannot create a being like that? One that has its own mind? Has thoughts??? What does this mean? Does it have a soul?

Visions such as these as known to get slightly altered each time it is recalled by an adventurer. Maybe this is just one that has been recalled a lot?

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Scroll #19812

Pages from the notes of late adventurer, Morana of Ha‘ule‘u

[[ Mentions - Queen Violette of Vitriol, Queen Violette’s Silver ring, Amaranthines]]

21st Day in the Season of Icewhile

2nd Year of the Wolf

Vision 294

Trigger: Boneflowers around my sister’s grave.

The world is a wild, wild place. There’s no consistency or order to it. Only the wanderlusts and momentary insights of the moment tug at my heart. I’m constantly connected to the Great Zoo of the Bobolens. My skin is my own15 inch inch mirror bewteen fields canary yellow fields towards the brink of black. I’m an amaranthine. The world is an amara. Only the madwoman Amaranthine can be mad. The world is a wild, wild place. And the madwoman Amara must be something other than an amara. She sometimes thinks of the birds in her backyard as she views the wildflowers in the garden. She occasions celebratory coffee in her garden, with chickens, beforeOTOating onto the day’s findings in her head. She is an amara. SheConstantly thinks of the birds in her backyard as she sees the wildflowers in the garden. She occasions celebratory coffee in her garden, beforeOKOating onto the day’s findings in her head. She is an amara.

I’ve been getting many visions like these recently. They started when I found the ring. Is it from her childhood? When she was an infant and couldn’t form coherent thoughts? But no. She didn’t have the ring that young. Did lunacy take her at the end? But it doesn’t feel like her mind. There’s an echo of her in there somewhere, but something about the mind felt …. unfinished?