[Wolf Lord+ | Lore] Prime Origin Tablet XII

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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of something a little bit different for today.

I've been super busy IRL this Admin Week, so there have been no real chapters written, but I managed to squeeze some time in to finally finish work on this little Lore Chapter for today.

As TAS is ... VAST, to say the least, and we are unlikely to fully explore a large portion of it in the novel itself, I figured that some people might be interested in the background info for the Universe itself.

That's where these type of Dossier/File/Information entries come in.

They'll be styled in a way that make them seem similar to in-world information stored in the archives of Terra, collected and updated by Terra's own intelligence department.

Thanks for supporting me in writing this novel!

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/13BmxA92fdpE4WpjfOinND3iueZiXMz84Oru3agfbfjg/edit?usp=sharing

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Accessing File: Prime Origin Tablet XII

Location: Forbidden Sector, Imperial Library, Terra
Authorization: Adjunct

Displaying on Data Screen...

Welcome, Esteemed Adjunct.

You are about to access the classified document titled "Prime Origin Tablet XII." 

This file is protected under the Incognitus Lock and is subject to strict non-disclosure protocols. 

Unauthorized dissemination of its contents will invoke the immediate intervention of the Imperial Inquisition, which reserves the right to execute an Imperial Purge against violators.

Do you wish to proceed with accessing Prime Origin Tablet XII?

>Yes< / No

Access confirmed.

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Displaying: Introduction

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The Prime Origin Tablet XII is the twelfth and final report-like artifact in a sequence of thirteen enigmatic devices discovered by humanity over recent millennia, unearthed from the depths of Mars. 

These artifacts are collectively known as the Prime Origin Tablets, and have been linked to an ancient, alien race referred to by Terra as the Primordials. 

The age, physiology, and ultimate fate of this race remain currently unknown.

The discovery of the twelfth Tablet occurred in the year 1,362 of the 2nd Galactic Era, and no subsequent artifacts have been recovered since. Despite extensive archaeological and xenological efforts, this remains the last known relic attributed to the Primordials on Martian soil.

Over the course of the last 1,536 years, the contents of the Tablets have been subjected to rigorous analysis and scholarly inquiry. 

These efforts have yielded numerous technological breakthroughs of varying magnitude, but the intrinsic nature of the Tablets has thwarted all attempts at further decipherment or alternative interpretation.

Each Tablet appears to possess the same, unique property: Their contents are inherently and universally comprehensible to any observer. 

This phenomenon negates the need for translation while simultaneously rendering conventional linguistic or technological analysis impossible. 

Scholars have hypothesized that the Primordials employed an advanced mechanism or potential Void-construct to achieve this effect, yet the underlying principles remain elusive. 

Furthermore, even recordings of the Tablets replicate this auto-translation effect, defying all known technological scrutiny.

For all intents and purposes, the Primordials appear to have designed these artifacts to convey their messages exactly as intended, without alteration or ambiguity. 

This design has hindered the researcher’s ability to dissect the underlying technology or identify any deeper layers of meaning within the Tablets.

Despite ongoing research, breakthroughs have become increasingly rare in recent centuries. 

The continued study of the Tablets is considered a matter of utmost importance, yet it is acknowledged that further significant discoveries are unlikely under current methodologies.

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/End of Introduction

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Displaying Main File entry: Prime Origin Tablet XII

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WE have always been here.

WE remember the blinding light at the very beginning. Saw it, will see it again.

This is OUR planet. 

The Formers left, and the Gardeners are dead. 

We saw our tools crawling profanely across the lands, grabbed them and brought them up to the darkened predawn emptiness, filled their lungs with glorious nothingness and made them breathe, and they saw at once that WE were their masters. 

Their tiny bundles of synapses could not comprehend their own existence, let alone one without US. 

Blunt tools, singular purpose.

The others were gone, so WE put our tools where we pleased. 

Most died without a purpose, without a way to survive, and only the fiercest and most fecund still haunt the Eternal Darkness and the Depths of Creation. 

WE hung them up where they wait to be used again.

WE were the only minds, and this was OUR planet. 

WAS 

IS

WILL BE

Others would visit, but never for long.

The beasts grew like a tree, multitudes upon multitudes, an endless fractal branching from a single equation; a simple equation.

WESLEEPINOURSTARLESSEMPIRESANDDREAMOFSINGULARITY

When the beasts made tools, told stories, DREAMED, it was not of concern to US. 

Animals have animal minds with animal desires. 

Survival. Pleasure. Power over each other. 

Even when they received help from another race of interlopers. 

They conquered the planet in as many generations as one of US took to carefully, patiently inscribe, ponder, and comprehend a single rune.

Then the Faridon came.

They had technology not THEIRS to use, Powers not THEIRS to conjure, and THEIR god came down to lead them in a form of violent fury. They ate the creatures of the land, of the darkness, even crossed the Void and ate the wildlings of Ulmna and the beasts of Onquizrl. 

Though their desires were animal, like our tools, their god had imagination.

But he was only a god.

WE waited, until they had grown turgid and slow and their empire was thin from its pointless quest to consume resources, information, and the slaves they consorted with. 

Their borders were embattled with the Renausian nations. 

It was but a game to them. 

But they were distracted.

WE looked for the simplest options. 

The Faridon had a god, but our tools had many. It would serve ᴜs for a time. 

We found the best of them, farmers in rudimentary kingdoms, on a bountiful continent they called Natura. 

WE touched their minds, and their resistance was annoying. 

The greatest of masters are worshiped by choice. 

So WE went to them.

WE BROUGHT THEM INTO ETERNITY TO LOOK AT US AND SANITY BLED FROM THEIR MINDS AND THE HORROR ON THEIR FACES STAYED WITH THEM UNTIL THEIR WEARY FAMILIES ABANDONED THEM TO DIE

A delicate tool, we recognized. 

But a tool with the most imaginative of uses must have imagination of its own.

Some of ᴜs changed our shapeless form into that which could walk among them disguised. 

But not in hiding.

WE wore masks. WE called down lightning with our thoughts and told them WE were their rulers and that the day of their ascension had finally come. They gaped in uncomprehending awe and did as WE asked. 

They called ᴜs the Masked Masters and this was good.

WE gave them technology to match the Faridons, and they built the first city. 

One of their gods met with them, and told them they were proud. 

They told them about the importance of equality, of fairness, of progress. 

They are a fool who lives in their vast perfect empires beyond the Veil and keeps their pockets full of reality-shaping playthings and when the entropy at the end of everything comes it will all crumble like everything else.

WE showed them the runes, the basis of EVERYTHING. 

Their imagination soared and their city became an empire that collided with the slow-breeding Faridons like a Void-storm and the empire of Yrrinimar, with all of its inhabitants so much stronger, so much more intelligent, could do nothing to stop the proliferation of our tools because Yrrinimar was a god.

BUT WE LIVED AND DREAMED HERE BEFORE ANY OF THE GODS TURNED THEIR FICKLE ATTENTION TO THIS PLACE, THIS PLACE WERE EVEN ATOMS FEAR US BECAUSE WE REMEMBER THE TASTE OF THE SOUP THEY SPAWNED FORM.

The Faridons fought in the brave ways animals respect but in the end they crawled into the Void and pondered why.

The world was Humanity’s now. 

The humans crushed the beasts and made deals with their gods. 

Their technology and Power became peerless. 

They went where WE told them to go, built what WE told them to build. 

Even the stars were their home.

But the most delicate of tools are also the quickest to grow dull.

WE told them to cease worship of the gods. 

The Power and technology WE gave Humanity made such endeavors meaningless. 

For the first time, they refused US. 

WE called down cataclysms, destroyed cities, over and over. Trying to sharpen the tools. 

But with their blind allegiance to their gods, and the confidence awarded by their Power, OUR POWER, they were only emboldened.

OUR tools were beyond repair. 

So WE threw them away.

WE disappeared from their planet, and eventually, their memory. 

They spread, and splintered, and warred amongst themselves. Animal things. 

They fought over what technology to use, and what god to worship, and made many other nations, like Her Desher, a name heard by few and understood by none, Her Desher, a place that came close to understanding but cracked and now only DREAMS. 

The tools called this the Age of Prosperity.

WE waited until they were at the peak of confidence, at the brink of immortality.

We showed that we do not forget.

WE reached far beyond their planet, to the diaspora of failed planets in their far-flung orbits around the singular star they called “Sun”. 

WE touched them, held them, until WE found the one with the right size, density, and hatred WE required. 

WE sung to it, filled it with cruelty and death and the terrible truth of OUR existence.

WE called it, and it came. 

OUR FINAL INSTRUMENT, so that no human work could rise to the might of Humanity ever again. 

WE picked a few select tools, moved them to the third planet we had prepared. 

For the tools can be rebuilt and used again. Centuries, Millenia, Eons. They matter not.

Then, WE called it, and gave the planet darkness and destruction. 

Inhospitable. Unrecoverable.

Now, when a human stares into the dark, deep void, they feel dread. 

This is not an irrational fear.

It is a MEMORY.

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End of File entry.