Book: textures.com
One of the circle thingies behind the jar is from Obsidian Dawn
The basis for the worm illustration is from the NOAA Photo Library
A lot of text and illustrations are from and based on the Voynich Manuscript (quite fascinating, check it out.)
And then there is my own stuff.
Storytime :-)
His thoughts wander back to that cold spring morning. He had been a little boy, trailing his father ploughing the field. Poking into the dirt with a little stick and carefully examinig every rock before throwing it out of the field into the forest. Little creatures scurried away whenever he overturned their hiding place. A colourful worm had caught his eyes. Carefully, he had picked the writhing little animal up and run to his father.
„Dad, what's this?“
His father had wiped his brow, gently taken the worm and let it squirm on his palm.
„This is a Blue Burrower. They are very useful and help our crop grow. Please put it back where you have found it. Gently.“
„But why is it such a bright blue colour if it lives in the earth?“
„I don't know, son. Ask your grandfather tonight.“
And so he had done. But his grandfather couldn't explain and and neither could the old tattered Almanac, the only book in their house besides the Scripture.
The next morning, he couldn't wait to go to school. All his parents could afford for him and his siblings was the free school run by the monks of the Temple in the next village. He had run for most of the way and waited impatiently at the closed door for their teacher to arrive. As soon as they were let in, he had grabbed the priest's tunic.
„Fra Janso, do you know where Blue Burrowers get their colour from?“
The priest had smiled.
„That's a very good question. See, they are small creatures and therefore eat small things. One of those things are the roots of the winter grain. Have you seen those roots?“
„Yes, Fra Janso.“
„And what colour do they have?“
„They are blue, Fra Janso. But they are much larger than the worms.“
„As long as the grain is growing, yes. But after the harvest, the roots are left to rot and then start to break down into smaller pieces a worm can eat.“
„Oh.“
After class, he had walked up to the priest again.
„Fra Janso, how did you know that. About the colour of the worms?“
The priest had laughed.
„I read it in a book. We have many books back at the Convent. A whole room full of them. On every topic you can think of. Including worms.“
He remembers how he went home, pondering. He pleaded for two weeks with his grandfather, his father and his mother to let him go to the place of books. He wanted to read, he wanted to know. He had so many question. So many.
In the end, his family gave in. After all, they couldn't afford any better education and it would be one mouth less to feed.
And so he entered The Order. The lives of the novices were a world of cold, hunger, pain and duties. And learning. He loved the trips to the library, some necessary for doing homework but most sneaked in between lectures and prayers.
He enjoyed the battle training, too. Fighting with wooden swords and pretending to smite the heathens was fun. But he always came back to the books.
Then his first Crusade came and excitement turned into horror and scorn on the battlefield and at watching the aftermath. Smiting heathens wasn't glorious, it was brutal and bloody and there was nothing holy or rewarding. Burning villages and cities left nothing but the taste of ash in his mouth. He had pleaded to at least spare the places of learning and the libraries but it all had to go up in flames to purify the land. One night he found himself standing in the inner courtyard of a library, flames already roaring around him. He was leafing through a small book he had randomly tucked into his tunic. It turned out to be a book of prayers. And they were not so different from the Poems of Praise in his own book. Their Bishop was already shouting orders to retreat but he just stood there, watching the fire until a Brother grabbed his arm and yanked him away.
Unlike a lot of Brethren, he didn't dread the day of retirement from Holy Combat. He now had time again to read and to work in the convent's garden.
It took him years but finally the day came when he turned the last page of the last book in the library. He felt a sense of pride and accomplishment but also a strange notion of loss and emptiness.
However, there was one last repository of books he hadn't attempted to enter, yet. The infirmary had its own library and it hadn't taken him long to learn that it also held heathen books with forbidden knowledge, brought back by the Brehtren fighting along Voll himself. Destroying relics of Voll's Crusade would be a level ten heresy and therefore nobody had dared to touch them. Still, they were not to be read, either.
Over the years he had become friends with the Brothers Apothecary and Medicus. He regretted having to betray them but he wanted to read those books more than anything. He prayed and fought with his desire for weeks until the urge became irresistible. And so he went down to the infirmary one day.
The Brother Medicus greeted him with a nod.
„Nice to see you, Brother. And impeccable sense of timing, I might add. I was just about to send Novice Banris to fetch herbs from the garden but even with a list he'd mix them up. So, if you don't mind...“
No, he didn't. Of course not. He smiled, took the list and walked back to the gardens as fast as dignity permitted. The herbs requested were common and kept in large quantities so it was an easy task to fill a basket with paper bags.
He put the basket down on Brother Medicus' desk and wiped his brow.
„Now, Brother, the reason for my visit today.“
He had trouble keeping his voice calm and normal.
„I, I – I have read all the books in the Library and, I, I – would like to compare some of the medical books to the versions you keep here. Just to, err, make sure that the copies are correct.“
The Medicus hesitated for a moment, pondering. Then he nodded slowly.
„Good, good. A noble task. But be warned. There are other books there, too. Books from the ancient lands that are not to be opened. But I do have faith in you not to stray from your path. So let me see...“
The Medicus slowly shuffled through the keys in his belt.
„Here it is. Go to my office. There's a door at the back, leading to a corridor. Third room on the right.“
He had taken the key with shaking fingers. His breath and heartbeat only slowed down when he reached that door. The library was little more than a closet. From the tiny desk in the middle, he could touch the shelves with his outstretched arms. Browsing the books, he quickly noticed that most of them were copies of medical tomes from the main library. But his dissapointment turned into a rush of excitement as he found what he had come for. The books on the lower shelves were stacked in double rows. He pulled out a book at random. It was heavy, the old leather binding cracked and the title faded. „Into the Land of the Karui. An account by Uwinan of Phaaryl.“
Eagerly, he started to read.
When he came back the next day, he had remembered to bring ink and paper to uphold his deceit of only wanting to compare books. Brother Medicus patted his shoulder as he gave him the key.
After a few days, he didn't bother returning the key and nobody seemed to mind. Weeks passed in which he dived deeper and deeper into the forbidden world of stories of strange lands and ancient knowledge. He barely found time to sleep and eat between his regular duties and the trips to the library but his desire urged him on.
The book was smaller than most he had seen, a size made for travelling or field use. Carefully, he opened it. It seemed to have been a collaborative effort. There was the bold writing of what must have been the main author. But several others had added notes and the drawings were in different styles, too. The book itself was about the art of magic bottles. Flasks that would heal, give strength or made people quicker. Ancient, heathen, forbidden. A particular recipe caught his eye. A – a flask of worms? He deciphered the first paragraph. „On the Preparation of a Writhing Jar“
Interested, he leaned forward when he heared a thud far back in the corridor and angry voices. He froze. This wasn't a normal debate between Brethren. Steps came closer, loud and determined. He looked at the book in front of him and made his decision. He pulled the cover from his Scripture and wrapped it around the heathen book. It was a level six general misconduct to touch another Brother's personal Holy Book. He hoped that nobody would risk a flogging.
He had barely managed to shove his Scripture between the books on the shelf when the door was flung open. The Abbot stormed into the room, followed by men bearing the insignia of the Court of Divine Temperance. Behind them, he could see the pale face of the Brother Medicus.
The trial was quick. Members of the Order are entitled to speedy proceedings without lengthy incarceration and torture prior to judgement. He was sentenced to exile, never to return to Oriath. At least he wasn't excommunicated and he was allowed to keep the Scripture nobody had dared to touch. Barely a week after the trial, he was marched onto the ship that would take him to Wraeclast.
And here he is, shackled between a murderer and a thief. He looks up, slightly amused, to the descry a Brother with a similar fate must have scratched into the planks years ago. He starts to hum the „Third Hymn of Eternal Praise“. As he gets to the second verse, the thief starts to vomit again.
He had felt the ship altering course by the way its movements through the waves changed. Over night, the sea had become calmer, too. So he isn't surprised when the hatches are thrown open and they are made to climb on deck. The fresh air already is a blessing but the coast is shrouded in a strange dark fog. A little to the north of their position he can see smoke curling up into the sky. Behind him a man pleads in a shrieking voice. Someone prods him forward.
„Let's get it over with, old man.“
He looks up into the sky, then back to the coast and jumps.
Love those kind of things, also Kudos for actually providing your source material.
And here is my entry for the contes
I had a problem to decide between Argus nad Golden Gargoyle so in the end here it is Sculpture from clay The Gargoyle Lord / Unmasked Argus
