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[adwarf]

A sudden gasp sounds from the heart of seemingly endless rows of bookshelves breaking what would seem to have been eons of silence, that slight breath causing dust to scatter all around a robed figure collapsed amidst a pile of books. Slowly the robed figure manages to push itself up from the floor, its head swiftly turning to take in the dimly lit space between shelves as if completely uncertain. However, almost as if planned, pale blue flames flickered into existence within metal cages floating beside the shelves in an orderly fashion turning the once dark space into a world of light. It was impossible for this lone figure to know that countless millennia had past since light had graced this place, it was even more impossible for them to understand the purpose of this place, but the vast sign hanging before them gave some clue.

Hovering there in a circular area free of bookshelves hovered a sign that could only be described as a masterful work of art. Countless depictions of battles carved upon its edges showing cities burning, armies slaughtering each other, and laughing figures putting villages to the torch. As you move from the edge inward however the images of carnage turn to ones of prosperity where people of numerous races worked together to rebuild their homes while brilliant minds brought about the creation of fascinating machines that could travel vast expanses in moments. Most dazzling of them all though are scattered images of people creating what you can only describe as magic as one shows a woman scrawling symbols before her to turn stone to gold, and another reveals an old man willing the plants to grow with naught will.

In the end the center is filled with yet more carnage as scenes of a single race using machines of war to slaughter, enslave, and oppress all others dominate the sign. Countless acts of heroism can be found amidst it all, but in the end all that remains is an incomplete carving of that tyrant race shattered and fallen as they once again begin to rebuild their former empire. With time their descendants forgot that more than one race existed and then they began to rise again though whatever happened after their rise began is not shown for at least a fourth of this colossal mural is empty. Empty except for three crudely carved words, "Record of Ruin".

------

Uncertainty, confusion. In such a situation as this, you are certain someone should feel either of those emotions, but somehow all you feel is curiosity and an intense sensation of caution that seems almost distilled into your bones. Questions of who you are and why you are here flit through your mind before you wave them away, such things are unimportant before the desire that has started to grow within you after seeing the mural before you. It is strange really, but the only thing you want is to pick up a book to read, in fact you feel almost certain that only one of the two in front of you can be the start.

A shaky hand reaches out to grasp...

A book bound in some kind of black leather, its body covered in dust and its edges crumbling almost conspicuously among countless books in pristine condition. Upon its cover in a strange, angular script "Origin of Existence" is written.

An odd pile of thin stone slates covered in runes completely devoid of sharp angles and scrawled in some kind of dark brown paint in orderly rows. Holding together the slates is a large wooden ring upon which is carved "Beginning, End, Nothing, -" though the last word is barely illegible as someone appears to have attempted to destroy it.

[~Neri]

>An odd pile of thin stone slates covered in runes completely devoid of sharp angles and scrawled in some kind of dark brown paint in orderly rows. Holding together the slates is a large wooden ring upon which is carved "Beginning, End, Nothing, -" though the last word is barely illegible as someone appears to have attempted to destroy it.

[Blood_Librarian]

What si the the third book?

[S34N1C]

PTW

[Prophet]

>An odd pile of thin stone slates covered in runes completely devoid of sharp angles and scrawled in some kind of dark brown paint in orderly rows. Holding together the slates is a large wooden ring upon which is carved "Beginning, End, Nothing, -" though the last word is barely illegible as someone appears to have attempted to destroy it.

+1

[adwarf]

What si the the third book?

That was my bad, there's only two. Three, two... same number really.

[Blood_Librarian]

What si the the third book?

That was my bad, there's only two. Three, two... same number really.

I see, then I go ahead and put a +1 towards

>An odd pile of thin stone slates covered in runes completely devoid of sharp angles and scrawled in some kind of dark brown paint in orderly rows. Holding together the slates is a large wooden ring upon which is carved "Beginning, End, Nothing, -" though the last word is barely illegible as someone appears to have attempted to destroy it.

[Detoxicated]

>An odd pile of thin stone slates covered in runes completely devoid of sharp angles and scrawled in some kind of dark brown paint in orderly rows. Holding together the slates is a large wooden ring upon which is carved "Beginning, End, Nothing, -" though the last word is barely illegible as someone appears to have attempted to destroy it.

+1

[adwarf]

Strangely, the slates in your hand feel rough and warm to the touch while the words carved upon their surface seem to suddenly become clearer to you as if previously obscured. With bated breath you begin to read...

"I have survived hundreds of Hunting Seasons, seen those born in my time pass away to become one with the desert sand, and yet as I near the end of my life there is only a single thing I've learned. Everything I had learned, all I had achieved was for nothing. We are raised to worship the God of the Sun and revere the Goddess of Water as children, taught they are greater than all others and shall guide us to prosperity... It is all a lie for something far greater than even gods exists and that being is Fate. We can change the path taken, but at the end of the road the conclusion is determined.'

As you read you begin to feel the despair of the writer, the ever-present sadness of knowing something that no one else can seem to accept...


With a start you awaken to find the familiar surroundings of your one room mud hovel, the bed shoved against one wall with a small wooden platform in the center in place of a table. Light shines through the gaps in thatch ceiling causing you to stretch your arms out and bask in the warmth. Something compels you to remember how you got here to this wretched place where the young are used for the ultimate gain of the tribe, a "worthy duty" the overseers call it.

You weren't given a name, but instead had to find one for yourself as you grew up in order to distinguish yourself from those other despairing bastards around you. Nathulotek, a word that represents the fading sun, is what you chose in the hopes that your life can be even slightly as brilliant as the scene of the setting sun upon the sands. Even your chosen name gives you little comfort after almost ten Seasons have passed and revealed that you may forever be stuck as one of the Cultel, orphans and bastards raised by the tribe purely to handle the most dangerous tasks.

They feed you, clothe you, and care for you when you're ill only to send you back to your training at the lash of a whip. For many moons you've been taught how to wield a spear and atlatl, taught of the creatures of the deserts, trained to survive the deserts, and most vitally of the two Great Gods who care for your people. All this training is for the single purpose for using you and the other Cultel as disposable spears against the cruelest monsters of the desert and the first shield against those tribes seeking to steal away your people's oasis. In the fourteen Seasons you've lived there have been countless thoughts of escaping this fate, but the triangle burned upon your face is a constant reminder of the treatment of those who attempt such.

Over time you've come to find solace and peace from...

The stars shining brilliantly in the sky and the fantastical designs those small points of dots can be connected to form. Gazing at the stares puts you at peace and you feel somehow connected to them, as if you could stick out a hand to pluck one from the sky with ease.

Various animals that roam the village, or that the Cultel are responsible for raising. Whenever it is you trying to care for them they almost all seem more docile than before, a feat that the other Cultel respect, but which your caretakers seem to despise.

Observing the crystal clear waters of the vast oasis your tribe calls home with hundreds of Broadleaf trees growing around it and schools of razorfish mingling with sandfish on the water's surface. Being near it brings a sense of calm to you that you've felt nowhere else.

[Prophet]

Various animals that roam the village, or that the Cultel are responsible for raising. Whenever it is you trying to care for them they almost all seem more docile than before, a feat that the other Cultel respect, but which your caretakers seem to despise.

[Blood_Librarian]

Various animals that roam the village, or that the Cultel are responsible for raising. Whenever it is you trying to care for them they almost all seem more docile than before, a feat that the other Cultel respect, but which your caretakers seem to despise.

+1

[Sl4cker]

ptw

[Detoxicated]

Various animals that roam the village, or that the Cultel are responsible for raising. Whenever it is you trying to care for them they almost all seem more docile than before, a feat that the other Cultel respect, but which your caretakers seem to despise.

+1

+1

[adwarf]

Your shining ray of hope was not the Gods of your people, the promised glory spoken of in your instructors shouts, or even that slim hope of freedom from your despicable life. No, the calm in your heart comes from the kindness of creatures rather than your own tribe. Where others had difficulty feeding the ever vicious Dune Crawlers there was nothing, but docile acceptance towards you as your hand raised to pet the faded scales surrounding their crown of horns. Of course, today is not a day for reminiscence as you hear the sudden crashing sound of a gong resonate through the complex and the head sized ball of chitin at your feet unfurls to reveal a dozen legs. Chattering greets you as your erstwhile companion clacks its three sets of mandibles together, its body shaking in excitement at the arrival of a new day and likely the scent of food cooking in the distant meeting grounds.

Running your hand across Tohil's shell you feel the trademark coolness of these creatures called Delvers, naturally adapted to tunneling through the sand dunes in search of aquifers to live near. While your instructors dislike his presence they've grudgingly accepted it as Tohil's ability to help Cultel find water on long missions is apparently quite useful though you've yet to have an actual mission. A sigh escapes you as the thought is a reminder that today is the Veneration Ceremony and also when you'll receive your first task as Cultel after so long. It takes you only moments to get ready as you follow a routine long driven into you through practice and repetition. Only a moment passes as you don a set of scaled hide clothes made from an assortment of desert predators before you move on to pulling the quiver of javelins over your shoulders.

Pulling a spear almost six feet in length from beside the pallet of dried leaves and hide you call a bed, you stand up while whistling to Tohil that it's time to leave. Upon exiting the small hut you are greeted by the usual sight of several dozen small mud huts built in orderly rows stretching out in front of you, other Cultel leaving their homes similarly equipped to you. Under the radiant light of the sun your compatriots scales glimmer slightly and the sound of tails swishing through the sand can be heard from those more developed among them. Your nostrils twitch at the sound, displeasure flooding you at the thought of reprimands ahead from infuriated teachers claiming that a tail should make no sound neither in movement or striking.

You find yourself pushed along with the flow of Cultel to an open sand courtyard in the heart of the mud buildings where several dozen adults from the tribe can be found. At the front of them stands a priestess of the Sun God with four of warriors of the Bonespur crowded around her, spears carved from the trunks of young trees and capped with carved tusks and teeth from great beasts at their tips. Even now you find yourself intimidated by the figures of your tribes Bonespur Warriors, their height almost twice that of your spear with arms thicker than your head and a tail capable of crushing rocks. Moments after all the Cultel have gathered the priestess turns to face your group, the golden colored robes adorning her shifting to a dull red and her scales turning white as she starts to speak.

"You've all been left without a family in this world, your parents stolen away from you or creating you through relations deemed unworthy by the Sun God himself. However, when there was no one to care for you we took you in. It was the tribe itself that took your care upon themselves and chose to teach you the true ways of our people as the Sun God lived in his days on this mortal plane. Now it has come time for you to repay the debt you each owe the tribe, it has come time for each of you to bow before the Sun God in veneration of him and your ancestors before receiving the first mission from the tribe.

Come children, embrace your path before the Sun God and be reborn as the chosen guardians of the tribe. Allow the ancestors and His Brilliance to bless you from on high!"

When the last words echo forth from her your vision turns white and an image begins to appear within your mind...

() It is a picture of a pure white spear whose head is carved in an intricate spiral that somehow creates both a spear tip and a blade along one end despite all possible logic. From this spear you can feel an intense feeling of crisis welling up within you, screaming of danger to come and of bloody battles to be fought.

() A shattered grey horn so large that it could easily cover the gathering area where you now stand. It's presence inspires fear the likes of which you've never felt before and tells of entire tribes crushed before it like grains of sand in the vast desert beyond. All you desire is to flee from it, but deep down a smaller voice cries for you to stand your ground.

() Pure gold encompasses your sight for a long moment before something the likes of which you've never seen before appears. A smooth, flawless piece of material has been carved into a representation of the moon while a string with countless holes in it is connected to one end. You see it and despair for all hope is lost, such a small thing signals the end of it all.

[Sl4cker]

() A shattered grey horn so large that it could easily cover the gathering area where you now stand. It's presence inspires fear the likes of which you've never felt before and tells of entire tribes crushed before it like grains of sand in the vast desert beyond. All you desire is to flee from it, but deep down a smaller voice cries for you to stand your ground.

+1
we monster hunter now boys