Cult of the Nameless City

It was a scene out of nightmare. At first, Arec didn’t know what to make of the cloaked figure. Was he a trader, a traveler? Had the war between the Ardent and the Underworld made it even to this sleepy farm? Arec was about to cry “Hullo!” when some screaming shred of self-preservation stopped him in his tracks. The man was wrong.

His cloak billowed in a wind that wasn’t, and his wide-brimmed hat cast far too much shadow. Pale ash pooled around his feet, but it wasn’t clear from where. He didn’t have a pipe, and he didn’t smell of chawweed or smokeleaf. He smelled of copper and soot and that one time Aunt Bela’s pickled trout was left out in the sun too long. Arec could see piercing blue eyes that practically glowed from ten paces away, even as the rest of the man’s face remained hidden.

The cloaked man hefted a wet pink mass in one hand, squeezing it like a fresh peach at market. With a satisfied nod, he tucked it into his cloak. It was then that Arec saw what… who the man had been examining.

Arec dropped the rooster he’d cornered and stood numb with shock. Mom, Dad, Marin—they sprawled like broken dolls across the farm. Blood soaked into straw, their open skulls leaking into the ground.

The man thoughtfully measured their brains, head cocked. After every handful, he’d slip their flesh into his cloak and wipe his hand like he’d just handled a greasy piece of chicken.

He held a tome in his other hand, yellowed and cracked with age. Its pages were thick—certainly not paper—and had a musty, animal smell. Most of the book was ominously blank.

Between harvestings, the cloaked figure wrote furiously with the still-cooling blood of Arec’s family. His words were scribbles, painful to look at and strangely alive. They squirmed on the page like maggots trying to escape. Before they could, he snapped the book closed once more. Then, with a sudden flourish, he pulled his cloak aside.

Instead of flesh and blood, his cloak covered a ragged gash in reality. A hazy, twisted library hung suspended in midair amidst a swirl of pale ash. Books of every imaginable description sat on shelves that were just a little too thin and a little too tall. They crowded each other like hens in a pen, and though they didn’t move, Arec could feel them scratching and peck-peck-pecking at his mind.

There were tomes like the one in the man’s hand—made from leather or worse—smashed alongside scrolls of the finest linen. These fought for space with other books that had clearly been rescued from a fire, dredged from under the ocean, or both. Salt water still dripped from their sodden pages.

Then there were the oddities—jars of liquid with glowing letters suspended within and tapestries with intricate knots that somehow spelled out words. There were books made entirely out of metal whose titles read “Last Wish of a Dying Star” and beside them a wind-chime with a plaque that said simply “Silence.”

Just looking at the impossible visage, Arec could feel a vast weight upon him. It was like everything never written was trying to crawl into his skin. He choked back a sob, biting his lips until they bled.

A distorted, eyeless imp perched neatly on the edge of the portal with an ornate serving platter clutched in one of its claws. Pieces of Arec’s family were piled atop like fancy hors d’oeuvres. Its other claw was raised, outstretched and waiting.

An inky black tentacle slithered from underneath the man’s shadow to sneak a piece from the tray. The imp made a noise like broken glass and batted it away impatiently.

The impossible man turned towards Arec then, his glowing blue eyes on the boy’s tear-streaked face as other tentacles slid from under his cloak to writhe along the ground. One long, slender finger tapped meaningfully at his smiling mouth—like they were sharing a secret—as he passed his book to the imp.

“Dreamsss… are knowledge,” the figure gurgled. “Knnnowledge is powwer.” Its eerie gaze flickered from Arec’s face to the mountains behind him. “We will brrrreach the veil and ffffeed.” It inclined its head until the only thing Arec could see was the brim of its hat and a sharp sliver of a smile. “There are sssoo many secrrrets to ssavor, afffter all.”

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