Mortal Shell 2 Lore

Oh, Blessed Mether, forgive us for our ignorance. We only sought to give seed to your precious ovum, but instead we gave birth to… [violently scratched out]

It’s followed us for days.The crow-beast. I know it

There’s something in its talons, glinting in the daylight. What has it clutched in its claws?

What does it want from us? Why does he laugh?

There is a strange crow up above. I swear it. None believe me, but it is too big.

As it passes, its shadow covers our camp and worse yet, I heard it chuckle like a madman.

Take heed, brethers. You walk the Disciple’s Path. As many have before you in search of deeper purpose. You may be fearful, cold, bloodied. So be it. It is the struggle that binds us.

In a shower of light and fire, she arrived-a great, scattering multitude.

We knew not what to call these fallen vessels, but they were surely Beacons.

And so we carved Her temples from these very walls to spread and protect Her Ova.

We are the chosen few, the Disciples of the Blessed Mether.

Today, on this most auspicious day, we pray for-[dark stains blotch the page]

And what is it She’s given us? In a word: clarity. There is no need to doubt or wonder evermore.

With Her, we require no sester, no lover, not even our own progenitress. For She is maiden, matron, and crone. She is all.

Then [indecipherable] came with crude machines and wicked tools. They dug and tore, taking what was not theirs. And with their spoils, the intruder-the dark passenger went, too.

Despite her suffering, she shared the fruit of her bosom with the low and wretched mortals. She gave them sup and for a time, they thrived in harmony.

Womb, heavy with children-to-be, She fell from the heavens. But all was not bliss, for a passenger had wormed its way inside her flesh.

She swam through darkness, our Blessed Mether, called by distant kin to redeem a damned world.

Though Her womb was laden with eggs, only one shall be promised to us, the Harbinger, he who harkens the end and the new beginning.

Hark, dear brethers! You will not find safe passage ahead. Those who we once called friends have shuttered their windows and locked their doors. Greenhaven, as we know it, is no more.

An odd fellow ushered me into his home, raving about the Lady of the Woods. He said she’d returned, but his description made no sense.

He spoke of a wounded matron who demanded tribute. Not just coin, but even children.

He must be mad. The tales tell of a fair maiden. Not some vicious crone. I must keep searching.

It is said that at the end of each harvest season, the Lady of the Woods would join the locals in celebration.

The merriment would last days. Some lucky fellow might even enjoy a dance with her and be whisked away to the heart of wilds.

It sounds rather festive in the village today. Perhaps she has returned?

Welcome all to Fainweald. You stand at the heart of the Mether’s Cradle. Look upon her bounty and give thanks.

Warning. Gate closed until further ms2w-notice. A traitorous cretin has made off with the lever and a reward will be granted for its return. The culprit was last seen escaping into the ravine.

The more I give, the less he cares. Why must our master test me so? I’ve given up all that I own, abandoned my kin. And yet he says I don’t understand nothing?

Rejoice! For our fair maiden, the Lady of the Woods, has returned. And what does she ask of us? No more than a small tribute, a share in all we harvest.

By the light of day, the truth remains sealed. And yet in the darkness all shall be revealed.

Do not weep for me, brethers. I have been called by the Blessed Mether. Here I shall remain with her forevermore.

You stand within the Blessed Mether’s first gift. Before her arrival, she sent forth these beacons. They fell like seeds from the heavens and took root. As they grew, they called to our brethers.

They renounced their false gods, their empty pursuits, and even their own kin. Finally, they had true purpose. They set to work carving a home for her children-to-be, the ova.

And when she finally arrived, laden with ova, it was a rapturous day. Many flocked to her from every corner of the world, proudly waiting for days and weeks on end to receive their bounty.

And yet, let this be a lesson. For the first to believe were also the first to betray her. One ovum was not enough. They desired more. They broke open the Beacons and built larger, cruder temples in the Blessed Mether’s name.

But we know the truth. The Foul Passenger crept into their hearts. He supplanted their purpose with his own, endless desires. They returned to her as pillagers and thieves. They ransacked our keep, killed our brethers.

We shall reclaim what was lost, cleanse the rot from the root, and once more the Beacons will shine for our Blessed Mether and her Harbinger to come.

Dear Silent One, are you Smart One? You should know where to find me. Any others, especially bandit, begone! P.S. You want drink? Ask Grom for recipe.

Here lies Harwald. Best teacher I ever know.

A true heir will be born of the Sacred Passenger’s seed. It will take root in the Blessed Mether’s flesh. And what is the result of this most heavenly union? An end, finally, a world without the Revered.

Let us not forget, sesters. Before we were many, we were one. It is only by the grace of the Twiceborn’s cup that the first of us were born.

With each sip, our sesters multiplied, each imparted with a glimpse of infinity. How else could we behold the universe’s untold promises?

Do not stray, sesters. You must remember there is but one vision, one future, one self. We are but unraveling threads, soon to be gathered and woven back together.

Scribe’s Note: One “Bartol” seeks remuneration. He entered into an agreement, ratified by mouth, for the construction of a “sealed wall” for another known hereafter as “Sariel.” In detail, I shall list the payments owed. [blood blots out the rest]

We seek the flame. Led only by our visions, we follow the path.

In my dreams, I’ve touched it. Held it. It burns cold, filling me with a strength I cannot describe.

It is as if the Blessed Mether herself sheltered me in the flame. I felt as if nothing could harm me.

Imagine what we could do with such a wonder?

Dear friend, if you’re reading this don’t worry. My former accomplices will not dare harm me or Mutton. They need me. Take care of yourself. I know there’s more to you than meets the eye. Sincerely, Vlas

It’s just as I saw in my visions, brether. This is the tower the Scholar built. He will return soon. Just as the Blessed Mether promised. Do not fear, if I’m already gone. We’ll come back for you.

The Scholar’s mask is unblinking. For he must see all and render judgement. That includes me and you, brether. He is watching, even now, and if you’re worthy, he will appear. I promise.

Unabridged Histories of Mammon, Volume I

Though much of the history of Mammon has been lost. In these volumes, I will attempt to piece together a history based on the evidence at hand. Inevitably, some speculation will be required.

The origins of Mammon begin sometime in the Post-Arrival Era. Three duchies sprung up from the ashes of Fallgrim. These were crude backwater baronies. Their growth was stymied by constant conflict and feuding.

To the north, a theocracy took hold, enabled largely by a hoard of ova and sacred flesh. They fought and traded with their eastern neighbors, where Old Mammon sits today. These traders came from afar and had been spared much of the arrival’s devastation. They were quite rich.

The riches brought by these eastern merchants helped rebuild the region. It also spurred the brigandry in the south to unite under a ruthless warlord. His horde pillaged and sacked both fledgling kingdoms. They swept through the lands, presenting a dire threat to both neighbors.

The horde could not be stopped. Not in battle at least. A treaty was hastily made. The clerics of the north promised to deify the warlord. The merchants offered their great wealth as his royal treasury. They offered to make him king of what would become Mammon.

In return, the warlord only needed to agree to a few provisions. His neighbors to the north and the east would be granted land and titles. And the hordes would be pacified and made into their loyal subjects.

The covenant was made and Mammon was founded. Its name was chosen for the great bounty the three neighbours agreed to share with one another. Though of course, not all would benefit equally in this newfound prosperity.

As we know today, long simmering tensions remained among the common folk, who felt they’d been betrayed. Furthermore, the nobility was often at odds with the royal family. These tensions and more shall be explored in future volumes.

Unabridged Histories of Mammon, Volume IV

While many scholars have recounted the tragedy of Isaac, the Scholar-Prince, I find myself drawn to his often forgotten mother, Queen Irenia II.

Her reign was marred by a terrible illness. Though some claim it was poison. Regardless, her rapid decline created opportunities for those who sought the throne, including her closest adviser, Lord Vellen.

The queen had many consorts, but she had just one heir. Prince Issac was far too young to succeed her. And so she appointed Lord Vellen to rule as the High Lord in her place.

In Lord Vellen’s employ were a number of philosophers, alchemists, and wise men. They attended to Queen Irenia’s every need. And for a number of years, her condition improved. Though not quite enough for her to ever be restored to the throne.

Over time, the queen was not less and less, until finally years passed without a sighting. Her presence was reduced to missives and hearsay. All relayed through the High Lord and his courtiers.

Rumors of her demise filled the court, but none dared to make any official claims. Those who even hinted at such possibilities were found dead or went missing, including her son, prince Isaac.

What ever became of Queen Irenia? Unfortunately, we shall likely never know, for the ensuing revolts in Mammon destroyed much of the historical records and the royal crypts. I, for one, believe she [blood blots out the rest]

Here lies Lady Lisbeth. Dutiful wife, bore two sons: Egon and Edric.

Here lies Edric. Born into the Great Mether’s arms.

We do not know who saw it first, the truth etched in stone. But it was undeniable. Writ plainly upon obsidian was all that had conspired: the Revered and their downfall at the hands of the Foundling. Our history, our future was etched upon the Monolith. It led us here to Dolmen.

The Monolith promised a miracle and a calamity. It foretold the Undermether’s arrival. We heeded its warning, but we could not leave it behind. And so it was broken, divided, and carried by those who believed. Let this be the first lesson. The truth is our burden.

In our exodus, each step fell with purpose. Unbelievers thought us fools, toiling with our burden. But the journey gave us strength and clarity. The calamitous miracle was coming, but we would prosper. Deep beneath the surface, we would be saved. We would be the first to greet Her.

Perhaps you too will pick up a tablet as our forebrethers once did? Feel its weight. Imagine carrying it for months. Each step heavier than the next.. And in this journey might you find some lost truth, too?

Though flesh softens and memories fade, stone does not forget.

The language of stone is silence.

I fear the cracks grow larger each day. The seams set by our forebrethers will not hold. Perhaps this is our punishment? For remaining below. It matters not. Just fix it.

My love, do not worry. We’ve finally picked up the Grisha’s tracks again. I left the key by our hut. It's in the usual spot.

Don’t tell the others, but I hid the chest beneath the lift. We’ll tell ‘em we found nothing and return the next day.

Do not enter! You will find no fortune inside this mine, only a terrible infestation. Stay out.

What is honor but another chain around the fool’s neck. If you have courage, seize the war-engine and turn it upon these louts. Prove yourself their better and a reward awaits.

Brether, your journey nears its end. Keep going. Delve deep into the caverns. We’ve left behind a shred of the Mether’s flesh. Through her your final path will emerge.

You wish for riches? Well, then it’s a simple contest. Slay the others and take the key for yourself. Look for a weapon rack. It’s accompanied by the dead. They failed, but you will not.

Day III. Freedom is in sight. Atop of the gate, the latch sits exposed. If only I had some way to reach it, but alas all I have is this quill.

Gaze upon your king so true, back and back you shall pass through.

Please, let me go. I see it in your eyes. You know this is wrong. The others, they won’t listen, but you see it. This “soup” I cannot stomach it any longer. I’d rather starve.

Gaze upon the young general. Spin around and look again. Once more, spin around. Now the next time you look to the young general, it will change your surrounds.

Ingredients: Pinch of salt. Ounce of Tar. Grisha broth. And do not forget the mushroom again.

A curious extract from this botanical. With a little tempering, it’s far more than a healing salve. I’m seeing signs of genuine regrowth on our subject. More testing will be required of course.

Success. The Stellarium is complete. See how it recreates the beauty of night? Even more encouraging. The ovum appears to be responding. It must yearn for the heavens.

Failure. While the subject appears healthy, his bestial temperment remains. Despite the setback, even you, Rickart, must admit, it’s a wonder to see his grafted limbs working in perfect harmony.

As requested, the fungal extract has been thoroughly tested. I’ve confirmed it will dissolve even solid Thoracium. We can finish sealing the second wing without fear.

Unfortunately, the extract will lose potency if not stored near its source. For now, it will be stored with its mother so-to-speak.

The Great Sage, Batushka, welcomes all into his hall. Do not fear. Forget what you think you know. Truth will only come to those that embrace confusion.

I’m tellin’ you, Larreth. This is the spot. Plenty of rats to eat. Nice ol’ tree to piss on. Very defensible, too. Only one way in or out. What more can a brev ask for?

It’s fur, pale as moonlight. It’s mouth, a maw of stars. Tonight we hunt the Pale One and we pray its death is ours.

Look at the young general. Spin around. Look at the young general. Spin around. The next time you look to young general, it will change your surrounds.

Do not weep for me, brethers. I have been called by the Blessed Mether. Here I shall remain with her forevermore.

In the darkness, we are lost. Let the light preserve us in truth. It is a wondrous gift, allowing us to keep serving our prince.

You stand in the hall of Lord Isaac, the Scholar-Prince, the one true heir to the throne of Mammon. May his reign be as eternal as words etched in this stone.

This creature, it’s unlike anything we’ve ever hunted. The signs of its passing grow more clear each day. Bite marks on bone. Strange patterns scratched in the sand. Even blood.

It’s strange, but I swear I’ve heard the creature wailing in the distance. There’s something wrong with it. It must be injured. We thought it came here to feed, but no. It's hiding, but from what?

Look for my dagger. That’s the sign. Down the alley, past the cart. I trust you’ll know what to do.

If you’re reading this, make haste! The rabble has breached the walls. The guards have abandoned their post. We have no choice, but to flee into the sewers.

By the will and royal order of High Lord of Mammon, it is hereby decreed that the Grand Prince Egon shall be stripped of all titles, lands, and put to death.

The reek of the mether shrouds you like a cursed mantle, its scent a maddening call to the slumbering beast in the abyss below.

It rejects you