Muggnhhhngr Codex

Grayhold Citadel, approx. 21:54, 4 Ivanneth, 201X

I step into a narrow hall-passage in the inner depths of the eldritch citadel, wholly unconcerned with the screeching of the warning sirens denoting a minor containment breach. That should merely be one of the Bristes, after all. Certainly nothing to be concerned about. Striding down the hall with purpose, I suddenly turn to the left, facing a blank wall. With little hesitation, I place my fingers upon the stone edifice, silently regarding the grooves in the walls with attentive detail.

The moment my thin fingers even skim the surface of the wall, a number of octarine squares, each nearly two centimeters in total area, burn themselves into existence directly beneath my extremity. I swiftly mutter something under my breath.

TheLordErelye: Lloig y'kadishtu. Ikhu y'rrrthnaa.

A grinding sound rattles throughout the moderately cramped chamber, and the brick fades away under my touch, a mere illusion dispelled by force of will, evidently. I abruptly glance behind myself, before lowering my goggles to a position around my neck. Stepping forth confidently into the hall within, I examine the quality of the area itself. Tomes of various qualities and states are evidently strewn about in heaps and neat piles by walls and in corners. Several heaps of handwritten papers next to miniature thaumomechanical devices lie about as well.

The next room is entirely suspect, the alleged illusion guarding the path reforms. The room itself is entirely empty, a domelike structure of arcane stone and infused planking. My eyes sweep over the room cautiously, and I step onto a perfectly square voidmetal platform in the center of the room. Upon contact with my boots, the Heretic's Mark springs to life in the center of the plate, burning a bold amethyst in the dimness.

With a click of internal Arcane Levitator foci twisting slightly below the platform, the voidmetal thing descends into a small chute lined with warded inscriptions of various sorts. The elevation device embeds itself into the thaumium container designed for its resting, in the midst of the level greatwood floor. The room itself appears to be a much larger version of the domed chamber above.

Taking a moment to precisely search for intruders, I make an impossible gesture with both of my hands, sliding my left foot slightly backwards all the while. Static weaves its way across the ceiling of the domed chamber, a corotite blast door sealing the hole the elevator utilized to enter the place proper. Teal light floods the chamber as a complex pattern of Mind neurons bursts into existence upon the domed ceiling-wall combination. The smell of petrichor and ozone fills the sizable room.

A cool and collected voice projects itself into my mind.

Abyssal Core: Greetings, Lord-Archmage. This is Grayhold memory bank and database class #41Ω-5082, brainhight #9X-G. How may I help you?
TheLordErelye: I require your viewing apparatus, to say the least.

Without another word, a web of much smaller teal Mind symbols fades into existence before me. I extend a hand forward, fingers settling atop five individual neurons. I twist my wrist in a calculated manner, and the teal webs on both the ceiling and the air before me dissolve into the local aura. However, a full triangular pattern ignites on the dome in their place. Each one clicks into existence with a flicker of indigo sparks.

Whilst such a spectacle occurs, I remove a notebook from my inventory, and pull out an everlasting quill, dipped once in the depths of the Abyss. The hundreds of triangular screens all begin to view scenes, shifting and changing in a continuous pattern, giving each scene a minimum of two seconds. Transient, though effective.

My observations of the surveillance room's screens yields no small bounty. Visions of red guardians and planetary construction come to view, along with the vile burning of a hideous Soul via the medium of pure omniscience itself, and the destruction of a form of some green water-coated planet I know quite a bit about, but care too little to grieve for.

Ah, yes. With little effort, I locate precisely what scene of import I required. IOUCOS. My quill scratches across the paper of the notebook at breakneck speeds. I can acutely feel the heat of the screens radiating toward me in this otherwise lightless chamber in the dead of night. I am satisfied enough to head onwards when the screen shifts. Replacing the book and quill in their initial places, I draw the Hazel Wand. With a swift jab in the direction of the wall, all of the screens unite to form a singular, horrifying, image. The many eyes and dripping appendages of the creature do not phase me in any manner whatsoever.

TheLordErelye: Iä, iä. Nglui-gela y'gbashoi. Harne nhhhngr y'tmokho, Cthk'aryvt. Yoikhu.