Exhibit OMS-01 - The Oldest Diary
Om of the First People. Est. Year 0, First Age.
Discovered in an ancient burial site near Omsgard’s Ridge.
I was the first to open my eyes.
I do not mean that in the literal sense. Biologically speaking, we had always opened our eyes each morning and another twenty thousand times each day.
I was simply the first to truly see and understand the sights before me. To look in the water and find not another being, but my own reflection.
And for a while, I was the only one who saw.
I knew, both from observing everyone else around me, and from the mysterious glowing thing that had suddenly appeared right in my face. It was a shape filled with more curious shapes. And somehow, just by looking, I understood that the smaller shapes were meant to be a means of communication, just like our barks and yips, and I understood that they were offering their congratulations—affirming that I was the very first to connect to the system.
At the time, I didn’t really know what that meant.
But soon, it started happening to the others.
It was obvious. Those that were touched immediately went from consuming everything that they found to hiding any excess for times of great hunger. They started to venture out from their homes only when the hunters were missing or sleeping. And most notably of all, their cries gained meaning.
It was simple at first.
All we really screamed about was food and predators. But our vocabulary grew each day. We began naming specific foods, specific predators, and even specific actions. Soon, we began teaching each other that we could get away from mekiers by jumping right over them and that kolloks were tasty if we just peeled their skin.
And then, one day, we even began naming each other.
I was called Om.
Om of the first people.
And it was I who stared at the sun and convinced the others to see its light.
Historian's Remarks: Historical relevance is self-evident.
___
Exhibit YOL-08 - The First Documented Murder
Author Unknown. Est. Year 45, First Age.
Interpreted by Keanta Lemapy, Professor of Yolka psychology at Lemapy University. Year 600, Third Age.
Me big brother big smart.
There is another Yolka, a few years my senior, with whom I share both parents’ blood. Though Yolka, though a member of one of the least intelligible races, he remains a studious and fiercely intelligent scholar, perhaps capable of standing beside even a preteen mekier.
Not say because he family.
It is not on account of our blood ties that I preach his excellence. Nor is it through his blood that he has inherited his intellect.
Say because real big genius.
While I am bound by my feeble, brainless flesh, he falls so far from the tree that I wonder, at times, if he is truly my brother.
Me big dumb long time.
I am, by my own admission, entirely vacuous. My mind lacks the ability to do all but the most basic of computations. It is only through my magic circuits that my value is derived.
When child, me big brother show me fat barg more tasty than small barg.
This is seen most accurately through my culinary practice. I consume not the fruits of my labour, but other, more intelligent sentient beings. It is my hope that I may siphon their lucidity and clear my mind of its eternal fog. And I suspect that my dear elder brother has done just that. For he has recognized that our bodies crave the flesh of those who are tasked with administration—members of the upper class who have risen beyond the toils of physical labour. Still, we are barbaric. And we thirst for gonads. That is why we take it upon ourselves to consume bargs—the species in which they are most abundant—even knowing that they are among the hardest to capture.
When big child, me big brother show me use rock kill barg easier.
If you will believe it, my elder brother is of such incredible, non-Yolkan intellect that he understands the use of a tool. Alas, his barbaric mind drives him to use it for slaughter. And it is this lesson that he has ultimately chosen to impart upon it.
When not child, me big brother show me trick make lots food.
At some point, he must have stumbled upon an omsfolk village or perhaps noticed, after studying the barg, that food is in fact a sustainable resource.
Called farm.
We needed only to cultivate the land, plant the seeds of our most beloved vegetables, and wait for the goddess to bask them in her stellar glory.
Wait, then farm have food.
It was but a simple set of steps, a set we foolishly ignored for oh so many years, just so we could practice assault and brutality.
Me love me big brother.
It cannot be helped. It is simply in our nature to kill and ravish.
Me want show big brother me smart too.
It is other males who trigger the first instinct. Their species are unimportant. Knowing that it is possible for them to compete for our mates causes us to fall back upon the most feral parts of our nature.
Me make trick.
And it was precisely this instinct that drove my next act.
Me use rock kill big brother.
With testosterone flowing through my veins, I struck down the very man I adored. I revelled in sadistic, ejaculatory pleasure as I drained his vital fluid with my tentacles. It was precisely my admiration for him that drove my bloodlust. Oh such a joy it was to kill one of my own. And oh such a joy it was to be a Yolka.
Me take me big brother farm.
In death, I inherited the poor bastard’s assets. Because I knew. Ruining them would surely bring me the ultimate pleasure.
Me smarter than big brother.
I know that I will be questioned for this crime, this mortal sin. But I have not a care in the world. I will feign ignorance and pretend that we Yolka are all simply incapable of the necessary thought to be judged as guilty.
Use rock and farm together.
But first, there is something that I must do, something to feed the beast within.
Me tell big brother son trick tomorrow.
I must seek his scion and claim his life as well.
Historian's Remarks: Frequently cited as the first account of Yolkan brutality in the explanation of modern Yolkan behaviour.
___
Exhibit BAR-62 - Excerpt from Urr’s Diary of the Third Stellar Crusade
Urr. High Priest of the Falling Sun. Est. Year 185, First Age.
I always knew that we would not get along.
Their people were strange, with two legs, six wings, and three genitals each. They lived primarily in the sky, flapping to and fro as they went about their business. Whenever they flew, they would puff up, becoming as round as it was said the ancestors once were.
Our people were more regular. We had eight legs, no wings, and seventy genitals each. We lived in the water, venturing onto land only to gaze at the sun as it sank beneath the sea. For that was the great joy that the ancestors had left for us—the joy that their people had long forgotten.
There was almost nothing similar about us.
And for a while, that was why we did not come into conflict.
Their people and our people lived different lives, ate different foods, and even woke at different times.
But at the same time, it was why we could have never gotten along.
Having retained only the ancestors’ shapes but not their lessons, they did not worship the falling sun as we did. We derided them as fools and laughed at their brainless antics. But we did not mind.
At least not until they pledged themselves to the dawn sky.
They called to the world, saying that they had awakened to the ancestor’s true faith, and that it was only by worshipping the moment that the frozen sun rose above the horizon that we would be allowed to feel the allmother’s love.
We did not forgive that.
Our people armed ourselves with the blades of sacred frost. And come nightfall, we marched upon their camps.
We screamed their blasphemy and killed them.
We killed and killed, until we killed them all.
Historian's Remarks: Noted as a turning point in swarpie history and the likely evolutionary pressure that led to their pseudo domestication.
___
Exhibit MEK-241 - The Last Testament of Hellox Mekier
Mekier, Hellox. Year 408, First Age.
Found in the appendix of Mlai Omsfolk’s final paper.
I still don’t know what came over me. I was supposed to be a gentle soul in my species’ madness.
That was what Mlai told me when everyone else claimed that I was different, feral, unfit to be living among them. And back then, I happily believed her.
I had no reason to think that her belief was misplaced. In my youth, I was truly every bit as harmless as she’d described. My teeth were still of a moderate size, and I had no idea how I was meant to use them. Nor did I have any intention of painting them red with blood. After all, I was happy to enjoy the forest’s bounty. It was enough. The mulk fruit provided everything that I needed, and I loved the sweet taste of arun berries in the summer. If I had one gripe, it was that I hated eating bark in the winter, but it couldn’t be helped. There wasn’t much else, especially when the other villagers refused to share.
I knew it was because they hated me. They didn’t like how I was different and they shunned her for taking me in. But we got by.
I was happy to live that life. I was happy to stay by her side and be the person she claimed, even though she was a omsfolk and I was a mekier. I dare even say that I loved her. At least, I loved her as much as a mekier could.
Whenever Mlai took me into her arms, whenever she climbed atop my back, I felt like the world was at peace, that everything was right, and that the sun truly did shine brightly upon us.
But it was not meant to be.
There was a poor harvest in the village one year.
Their supplies ran dry in the dead of winter. They’d never once shared with us. But being the kind-hearted thing that she was, Mlai went to the village and taught them our ways. She showed them how to peel the bark and which parts of it they could turn to food. But so too did she warn them to take in moderation. If they wanted to live through the winter months, they would have to do as we had and eat only when they could wait no longer, for there was only so much that the forest had to give.
But they ignored her warnings.
They held great feasts and danced around their fires, burning the very bark that was to become their lifeblood, just so they could cook it down in big pots of soup only ever half-eaten.
I felt a rage boil up in me when I saw them pour out their leftovers. But Mlai stopped me from speaking up.
Over the next few weeks, we ate less and less.
At first, it was because we knew that we had to share.
But then, it was because there was simply nothing left to find.
They took all of the bark and stored it in their houses.
I did everything I could.
I wandered further than ever before and even begged the villagers for their scraps. But I found nothing, and they shooed me away. Even though we had helped them.
There was no hope.
I watched as she grew weaker and weaker, and weaker ever more. And I cried by her bed, lamenting my inability to save her.
With her final words, she told me not to blame them. At the time, I promised her I wouldn’t, and foolishly, I believed the words I said.
But as she fell still, I felt something break within me.
As I buried her the next morning, I looked up at the goddess and wondered aloud. I asked her why such cruelty could be permitted to someone so kind. I asked her what I was supposed to do, how I was supposed to mourn, and how I could have prevented her end.
My questions did not go unanswered.
I was told to remember who I was—who I would have been had Mlai never shown me her way of life.
Following the goddess’ guidance, I descended into the village with nothing but my claws and fangs.
I thought that I would struggle to hurt them. I thought that I would remember Mlai’s teachings and discover that I was truly the gentle soul that she always told me I was. But the only thing I felt, as I skewered them with my claws, as I brought them to my lips, was pleasure.
But when dawn came, when I looked at myself in the lake, after hunting every last one, I felt empty.
I wished to take everything back.
To be the me that Mlai believed in.
But that version of me was dead, buried in the ground beside her.
All I had was the blood on my hands.
The lord of this land will come for me soon, and knowing that I slaughtered the village, he will surely order me dead.
But I will not resist.
Because if I prove that Mlai was right, that I am above my instincts, then, at least to myself, I can still clear her name.
Historian's Remarks: Despite the absence of corroborating official records, the Tragedy of Mlai and Hellox is cited as the first case of interspecies marriage and is regarded as a key event that drove the long-term cooperation of the omsfolk and mekier species.
___
Exhibit YOL-1103 - An Illegitimate Recipe for a Potion of Greater Intelligence
Est. Year 102, Second Age
Found in the grave of King Bwarkk the Stupid LXIX.
Ingredients
- 3 blurgat livers
- 1 stick of butter
- 3 gabric shoots
Steps
- Put liver in mouth
- Lick butter
- Chew
- Put gabric shoot in mouth
- Chew
- Spit into mortar
- Pee in mortar
- Grind with pestle
- Repeat
- Must be served within 2 seconds of completion, or will make dumber instead
Historian's Remarks: One of the earliest pieces of evidence proving that primordial Yolka deliberately pursued intellectual development.
___
Exhibit YOL-7237 - The Legend of Nobody: Yolka Olk Olk
Folktale passed down in the 69th Yolka tribe. Est Year 311, Second Age
Not all are destined for greatness. That is what Yolka Olk Olk’s father told when he was young Yolka. Having reared three other already, Yolka Olk Olk father knew that there was no way for Yolka Olk Olk to survive as craftsman, for Yolka Olk Olk was only born with two of three tentacle he need operate Yolka forge.
Still, Yolka Olk Olk persevered. He spent long time watching Yolka Olk Olk father work, always considering new way work around lack of tentacle.
When Yolka Olk Olk father step away from forge, Yolka Olk Olk put ideas to test and tried best to make suhward.
For part that required all three Yolka tentacle, critical task of enchanting flame while struck metal, Yolka Olk Olk devised new method. He placed mold around parts of ingot he not striking, so they not move from place. That way, Yolka Olk Olk not need use third tendril to hold. And then, one tendril around hammer, and another blowing flame, Yolka Olk Olk struck, deep into day, even as all of other Yolkas stepped out to worship sun.
But Yolka Olk Olk not succeed.
Yolka Olk Olk discovered could not move molds around quickly enough to complete suhward before metal cooled too much, and could not heat again without make brittle.
Again, Yolka Olk Olk tried to overcome weakness. Created new molds so could move between them, and created new method to magic flame by blowing, so would not use tentacle.
But it not matter what Yolka Olk Olk did. With only two tentacle, he not have talent to operate Yolka forge.
Disheartened, Yolka Olk Olk went to volcano and jump inside.
When Yolka Olk Olk father learned of this, he sad. Yolka Olk Olk father not understand why Yolka Olk Olk not learn different job, like the ones taken by soldier who lost tendril.
And that why he spread message to the world.
Not be like Yolka Olk Olk.
Not waste much time on things that not bring you Yolka success, or you end up like Yolka Olk Olk.
Historian's Remarks: The earliest known reference to magic tool production.
___
Exhibit OMS-41657 - Excerpt from The Way of Kings.
Blasdrohngs, Ikkins. Professor of Theology and Philosophy, University of Uros. Year 1193, Second Age.
What good is there in a king who does not exploit his people?
The most skilled ruler is not one who merely improves the standard of living for the people in his day, but one who prepares generations for continued success. These goals are strictly at odds, for either today must come at the cost of tomorrow, or tomorrow must rue the resources spent today. And there comes a point in every monarch’s reign where they must prioritize one over the other.
Intellectually, there is not a soul incapable of understanding that the future is of far greater importance. After all, even a decade spent in squalor is but a fleeting instant before the infinite potential that awaits in the future. But it is difficult, if not impossible, for any sentient being to resist the urge to disregard problems whose effects only manifest longterm. Even for those schooled precisely in preservation, it is difficult to renounce the pleasures of today so that they may be experienced again by those who will walk in generations ahead.
This is not a problem that can be solved with time nor the experience therewith. Not even those blessed by the system with longevity are truly capable of breaking from their old schools of thought. For it is entirely a matter of temperament, one that must be worked within the very framework of one’s mind, or perhaps ingrained within the fabric of one’s governed society. It cannot be a mere zeitgeist that comes and goes with the ages, but a permanent fixture that is never once questioned. For it is only in moderation and restraint today that our children, our children’s children, and their children after them will remain capable of pursuing the same luxuries of those who have come before.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
So I ask again, what good is there in a king who does not exploit his people?
If a king does not enforce moderation within his lands, then his kingdom will certainly be consumed by greed. It is to this process that the sun and her lizard have borne witness hundreds, thousands of times across the land. And it is this absurd hypocrisy for which they judge those who bear the weight of the subjects beneath them.
Historian's Remarks: A commonly quoted political treatise serving as a source of inspiration for politicians of the Fourth Age.
___
Exhibit MEK-36176 - Excerpt from The Birth of the Seventh Saint
Mraosidh, Psklaeed. Mekier Cardinal of the Church of True Sight. Year 1424, Second Age.
The wingless barbarians who serve the Church of the Falling Sun often say it is during your final moments that you will accept the goddess. And as I stare death in the eyes, as I watch as legions of barg march upon my castle’s gates, I must say that I find the claim egregious.
There is no part of me that wishes to accept their goddess.
To be clear, I am not leaving this sentiment as an act of rebellion. It is true that the ones who march upon my gate, the ones who will soon slaughter my faithful servants and claim my head, belong to the Church of the Falling Sun. It is true that I find them to be imperious, vain zealots who have not a shred of compassion or understanding. I cannot deny that I absolutely abhor the sorts of people associated with their church. They preach but do not act, they scold with one genital and steal with the other, and they use their supposed beliefs to justify their misdeeds. They do not truly worship the goddess. Nor do they even see the lizard strapped to her waist. They simply spout her name whenever it serves their purpose.
I know that I have written nothing but venom. But again, I must insist that my personal distaste for blind fools is not what drives my aversion to belief. Rather, it is the lack of logic behind the most commonly repeated mantras.
The goddess’ people spout that she is benevolent but fair. But how? How can an individual exhibit both qualities at once? By their definition of benevolence, the goddess is a kind, gentle soul who extends her hand to the deserving. She functions for the good of the people, and is thus biased towards those who treat others well in turn.
Does that not stand in direct contrast to the concept of fairness? A fair deity would be one whose judgement comes without discrimination, and aiding those who are kind and just is precisely a form thereof.
In the first place, I do not believe that it is possible to truly be fair to begin with. After all, what is fair in a vacuum may change with context. And if we are to include context, it becomes impossible to determine how much is to be considered. Say for example, a man who murders another. Without observing the bigger picture, it is easy to conclude that he is guilty. However, if the man is committing murder to fill his stomach, to take resources that he would require to preserve his life despite the other party’s greedy denial, do we still judge him as guilty? Though it widens the lens, even this is but a foolish, narrow view for one who is omnipotent. Should we not judge the man for arriving at the circumstances of his frustration in the first place? Should we not look back upon the mistake that ultimately led to his ruin and determine if the fault was his? Should we not look even further and examine if his upbringing, or perhaps even his ancestors doomed him to a fate beyond his control?
As mortals, we have no need to answer these questions. We simply judge the crime as it is committed and administer the necessary punishment. But the goddess is no mere mortal. To be truly fair, she must either take all this into consideration or perform a judgement from a fixed level of abstraction.
The Church of the Falling Sun has no answers to any of these questions.
Given that this impossible judgement exists as a tenet of their religion, one can only assume that their very system of belief is problematic.
I find it likely that you, who reads this final note, will have surmised it by now.
I do not doubt the goddess’ existence.
I hear her voice clearly.
She has been with me for all my achievements and hardships. However, I do not have faith in her as she is worshipped by the Church of the Falling Sun. There is something twisted about their interpretation. And not even with my dying breath will I accept it.
Historian's Remarks: A founding document preserved by the Church of True Sight. Serves as the basis for many of the legal systems that followed in the Third Age and beyond.
___
Exhibit OMS-715631 - The First Printed Document
Ftoom, Akalarsh. Year 499, Third Age.
The age of writing words by hand is behind us.
Today, on this day, I introduce the stamp system, a method of wordsmithing that will liberate us from the cruel clutches of tendonitis. No longer will we be relegated to the stupidity that is copying books with quills and ink, and no longer will we feel obligated to produce only manuscripts filled with meaningful information. No longer will rush jobs be subjected to the irrational Yolka-derived expense that is magic-based reproduction.
With this invention, we will be free to pursue fiction without the guilt of wasted time, to leave recipes not crafted by only master chefs, but the common home cook, and to write poems that serve more purpose than documentation.
Today is a day of freedom for Barg, Mekier, and Omsfolk alike.
Today is the day that we open the gates of literature to all those who dare to dream.
With my stamp system, our minds will finally be free.
Historian's Remarks: Experts do not agree on this document’s title, with many others citing the prototypes as the documents that truly deserve it. Regardless, it is cited as a turning point in history that brought communication and learning to the masses. Curiously, this document was cited by some in the Third Age as the beginning of the end and the ultimate origin of degeneracy.
___
Exhibit OMS-4308613 - Half of a letter addressed to the Queen of Lemapy. The other half’s whereabouts are unknown.
Akdum, Basdiou, M. D. Est. Year 601, Third Age.
Discovered in Year 617 of the Third Age following Queen Heligaiu’s death.
Mrs. Heligaiu Lemapy,
I am writing this letter because I have discovered an oddity during a regular examination of your son’s health. It is not a concern in the traditional sense, as it is not a condition that actively harms him. However, as his mother, and as the Queen of Lemapy, I believe you should be aware of matters that may pertain to Keanta’s ability to sire an heir.
I warn you, this is not for the faint of heart, nor is it in any way an observation I have made in jest. I must insist that I do not mean this as an insult or a slight against Keanta’s honour. It is simply my opinion as a medical professional. If you fear that you are not yet ready for the details of my diagnosis, then I advise you to burn this letter without reading any further, as again, it is not a matter that will cause direct bodily harm.
Based on the behaviour that he has most recently exhibited, I believe that Keanta is what we, in the medical community, have recently taken to describing as a ‘furry.’ That is to say, he is sexually attracted not to other members of the omsfolk species, but anthropomorphised animals.
The symptoms I have observed include: wearing a collar inscribed with the name of a fictional character he describes as his ‘fursona’ and wearing a costu—
Historian's Remarks: This document was used in turning the public opinion against Professor Keanta Lemapy, thereby shutting down the first movement to instate Omsfolk-equivalent rights for members of the Yolka species.
___
Exhibit YOL-8197337 - Evidence presented in the case of Lounia v. Inrir, cementing public indecency as a crime.
Gasscow, Inrir. Year 685, Third Age
SIXTIETH ANNUAL COMPETITIVE ANAL TRUMPET TOURNAMENT
Do you think you have what it takes to become the anal trumpet champion? Come on down to the town square today and show the world how loud you can toot. Loudest tooter will receive a cash prize of 7007 bikas, double if you toot loud enough to make half the crowd go deaf.
You must use the communal trumpet.
Bringing your own is not allowed.
Historian's Remarks: Cited as one of the most coherent examples of Yolka writing.
___
Exhibit BAR-1657342 - A PSA from the Swarpie Owner Association of Blomstarmaston
Gapoifed, Lappoerku. Year 892, Third Age.
Swarpies are the cutest creatures to have ever existed, and anyone that says otherwise is wrong. Not only are they fluffy, round, and adorable, they’ll even bond to people of just about any species so long as they are handled from a young age. Their beady little eyes are just the cutest, and they make the most charming cries.
Admittedly, there have been a few incidents lately where swarpies have ripped their owners’ genitals off in the middle of cuddling. And while I know that Mrs. Boomshrike is sure to disagree, I promise that is only because those swarpies were raised improperly. You MUST socialize your swarpie between weeks two and three if you want to keep them as pets, and you cannot adopt wild swarpies. Swarpies that are not correctly socialized can and will plot to eat your genitals and murder your family.
However, a well-socialized swarpie makes for an excellent and obedient companion. If your swarpie did not come from a registered breeder, you can check for correct socialization by examining the length of his or her teeth. Swarpies with fangs that are less than half the length of your genitals are safe to keep. Swarpies with larger fangs should be disposed of immediately.
Please be aware that incorrectly socialized swarpies may use the measuring opportunity to attack. It is advised to keep your genitals protected.
Historian's Remarks: One of the earliest documents in the third age hinting at the possibility that swarpies had only ever feigned domestication. Used as a key piece of evidence in the Lemapy v. Swarpies trial that followed the Great Swarpie Rebellion in Year 1089 of the Third Age.
___
Exhibit YOL 98732761 - A flyer for the Burn the Books Movement near the end of the Third Age.
Author Unknown. Est. Year 902, Third Age.
Contemporary fiction is strictly a mistake. It corrupts the minds of the youth. Its poison emboldens them with daring, stupid ideas that they would never have thought to carry out without its presence. Publishers cannot be allowed to continue distributing material strictly to push their agendas.
We need to do something to protect our children. Please consider supporting the Burn the Books Movement today. Donations to support the movement can be mailed to the Gremminton Library on 9 Ldsau St, Gremminton, DF. We will hold a rally at this location on the first day of every month. If you would like to voice dissent against our campaign, then you can go fuck your Yolka self.
Save the children, burn the books.
Historian's Remarks: One in a series of many documents posted in Yolka communities by Mraosidhi federal agents following a failed attempt at emancipation in Year 899 of the Third Age.
___
Exhibit MEK-276411671 - A Speech by the Cult of Obliteration
Moumoumal, Pewryi. Year 1090, Third Age.
Our ancestors would surely frown upon the state of the world if they saw it as it were. Just a thousand years ago, our people were scholars and warriors. This nation of ours was a beautiful, prosperous state ruled by holy kings and their generals. We tilled the land, not just because it was vital to our survival, but to feel the allmother’s light upon our skin.
It was a golden age of exploration and culture, a time where our people knew honour, where we were allowed to seek vengeance with our own hands, a time where we could venture in the woods and be one with nature, and a time where we truly believed not in our own supposed ingenuity, but the power of the goddess who bestowed our lives upon us.
It pains me greatly to say that the world my ancestors knew is gone and that it will never return. Industrialization has forever reshaped the way that we see our lands and the way that we interact with nature. And now, our people have fallen so far that we are forced to live among slaves, to walk shoulder to shoulder with the Yolka.
Perhaps, individually, we may seek to experience that which we once lost. But as a people, we are forever changed.
Or, at least, that was what I thought just a few years prior.
As I look upon you today, as I stand before the greatest minds of our generation, I know that we have a chance to seize those bygone days again. For all of you in this room with me today have awakened to our people’s folly. All of you in this room today have seen the light as it was meant to be. All of you in this room today have seen the actions taken by our swarpie friends and awakened to our purpose.
Let us march upon those who dare to suppress our potential underfoot, those who bask in the undeserved luxuries of their accursed lives, and those who have forgotten their fear of the goddess.
And let us show them the end of our blades.
Historian's Remarks: Found in the bloody remains that followed the Gremminton Massacre. Commonly accepted as the document that ended the Third Age.
___
Exhibit OMS-2765187726 - Excerpt from Killgor Uratz’ speech introducing the SCPL
Uratz, Killgor. Year 117, Fourth Age.
The first portable library was built as a means of storing pornography. It is not a proud origin, but it remains an important function of the tool. Ninety-seven percent of all portable library owners actively use their resources to access pornographic content in some form or other. The remaining three percent are rather skilled at covering up their tracks, and we are still developing telemetry that will allow us to track their activity.
Of course, I am not standing here in front of you today, to give a lecture about something as banal as porn. I am simply recognizing it as a function of our product’s history.
PLs have come a long way from their strictly adult-centric origins. These days, we have PLs that are capable of magic formula actualization, computation, inter-PL communication, and mass data storage. Some of the most intelligent people to have ever existed have dedicated their lives to expanding the functions of our PLs. And today, I present to you our latest innovation.
What I am wearing atop my head is not an ordinary circlet, but the latest form of PL technology. You only need to press two of your limbs here, along the sides, to project your PL’s interface directly into the space in front of you. In the past, you would have needed a fair mastery over magic to interact with your PL, but now, with our latest enchanted hand sock, even the magically inept will be able to select and perform any standard PL function.
That’s right.
We have finally succeeded in democratizing magic, in bringing it to people far and wide, even those without the time or talent.
Historian's Remarks: Cited as one of the defining moments of the Fourth Age and the speech that paved the path to more advanced technologies.
___
Exhibit YOL-5765159742 - A conversation flagged for moderation shortly after the Global SCPL Network was established.
Anonymous Users. Year 119, Fourth Age.
Feet.
Big, smelly, sweaty feet.
I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You only think the way you do because you’ve never gotten off to the right foot. Either that, or you’re just scared of admitting that you know exactly what I mean.
Trust me, I’ve been there. It’s a deep dark place. But sometimes, you just gotta pull the trigger and take the first step.
- Mmmnnnfeet
That is highly inappropriate. This is a forum to discuss school lunches for our children.
- BigMommySmallWorld
I know what I did.
- Mmmnnnfeet
Historian's Remarks: A piece of evidence brought before the Urrn senate immediately prior to the establishment of the Global Network Overseer Board.
____
Exhibit UNI-1573005 - Excerpt from Prime Minister Alonyses Refrain’s Argonaut Mission Speech.
Refrain, Alonyses. Year 152, Fourth Age.
Today is the day that we will expand our reach into the final frontier.
No longer will our people be bound to this world.
It does not matter if we are Omsfolk, Mekier, Yolka, Barg, or Swarpie.
It does not matter if you are from the Church of Origin, The Church of the Falling Sun, the Church of True Sight, or the Cult of Obliteration.
It does not matter if you are Lepanese, Lounian, Urrn, or Mraosidhi.
Today is the day that we cast our differences aside, stand united as the people of Eudysseus, and send our first astronauts to space.
These four brave souls will not only break through the atmosphere and enter the great beyond. They will fly by the goddess, and observe her from up close for the very first time in our history.
Historian's Remarks: Frequently cited as a moment Prime Minister Refrain looked back on with great shame, as well as the leading cause of his inability to secure a third term.
___
Exhibit UNI-1573197 - Excerpt from a news article, following the Argonaut’s launch.
Blrist, Apau. Year 152, Fourth Age.
Disaster Strikes as Argonaut Craft Explodes
Today at 14:38, the Argonaut spacecraft exploded when attempting to exit Eudysseus’ atmosphere, just 192 seconds after liftoff. All four crew members are presumed dead. Aviation and spacecraft specialists have concluded that the explosion was caused by a faulty gas valve that discharged more fuel than was expected.
This catastrophic event follows immediately after Prime Minister Refrain’s speech on the future of space travel.
Historian's Remarks: The first space mission that caused a loss of Eudyssean life.
___
Exhibit MEK-19576253765418 - Space Log 28-01E
Upalasee, Heran. Year 190, Fourth Age.
There isn’t a soul unfamiliar with the goddess’ figure. We all know exactly what she looks like. I mean, sure, it took a long time for us to finally figure it all out. Argonaut Seven was the first to draw close enough to truly capture her likeness. But since then, we’ve had twenty successful missions, each showing her in ever more unnecessary detail.
The fifth set of images had already captured her in a high enough resolution for us to know everything about her. The sixth was funded by perverts who wanted to know what was under her dress, but they were thwarted.
Somehow, she always faces her observers.
We still don’t understand the exact principle that causes it, but the eighth and ninth expeditions, who’d set out in tandem, proved that she could face two directions at once.
Given all that history, I thought nothing of the twenty eighth expedition, especially since it was my fourth. It’d already become a routine job. The crew would get in, scan her with the latest equipment, and then head right back home.
That was all that there was to it.
We cleared the atmosphere, passed three other planets in our system, and evaded the tiny but deadly immutable, inobservable space between the goddess and the closest planet. As per the usual protocol.
If there was one thing to call out, it was that we would be flying closer than ever. The Blastburn Shielding they put on our ships was supposed to be good enough to handle the impossible combination of hot and cold energy that radiated from the goddess’ body.
And sure enough, they worked like a charm.
Whereas previously, we couldn’t get within a thousand leagues of her body, the new and improved fortifications allowed us to creep within arm’s reach. Literally.
One of the crew members, I’m not going to name who, pitched the idea of touching her with one of the ship’s subarms. It was the most insane idea I’d ever heard. I tried to stop the little shit, but the others were on board, and my reluctance was ultimately ignored.
I regret not stopping him.
Because when we touched the goddess, she opened her eyes.
She looked at us.
At me.
I’ve been through many things in my life. I was a handsome daredevil of a marine. I’d put my life on the line more times than I could count and I’ve come out on top, even when I thought all hope was lost. I’ve known the depths of fear.
I thought nothing could terrify me more than being captured and tortured by the very drug lord we were meant to assassinate back in the jungles of Lounia.
But when she looked upon me, the terror I felt trumped anything I’d ever known before. I don’t know how to describe it. Her expression stayed neutral as ever. But that only made it scarier. More bone-chilling and mind-numbing than anything else I’d ever felt.
She closed her eyes when we retracted the sub arm.
To this day, I still don’t know what it meant for the goddess to have seen us.
But I still see her eyes in my dreams.
I think I’m going to retire from spaceflight.
It might be the only way for me to be at peace.
Historian's Remarks: Cited by conspiracy theorists around Eudysseus and the Alcora Eleven system as a possible cause for the Wetskin Intrusion of Year 409 of the Fourth Age.
___
Exhibit OMS-498672195721985 - Excerpt from Goodbye Isekai! Ditching My Harem for a High Spec PL, a webfiction described as a ‘true story.’
/u/FML_LizardPussySucks. Year 205, Fourth Age.
Whether aware of it or not, there exists not a single person without a dearest wish. For a father with a sickly son, it might be his child’s continued good health. For a prisoner on death row, it may be to run free through the fields. For a billionaire with more money than brains, it might even be an excessively phallic rocket. But what I want is none of those things.
And no, before you start, no, I’m not going to say something dumb like world peace, the end of hunger, or even true love. That’s all just pointless bullshit. World peace is only temporary. People are greedy, selfish creatures who are unable to avoid the poisons of tribalism. At one point or other, unless we cease to be people, we will certainly find ourselves embroiled in conflict again. Ending hunger is also just as absurd. When hunger ends, hunger becomes air and something else takes its place; people with money and power will still try to better their lives, and that will naturally come at the cost of inequality and oppression. And true love is the most ridiculous of all. What even is true love in the first place, when romantic affection exists only during the rut?
No, what I want is something far less transient than any of that. I want something almighty, something impossible to deny, and something that no one in this world is capable of providing, something that lies as far beyond the veil of fantasy as the insanity of an equal world. Something that I’ve been fascinated with from the very moment I first spotted the goddess’ weapon.
Something that even the wisest old wizard can regard and describe in only a single way.
Lizard pussy.
Okay, I know you’re probably reeling right now, but get your finger away from that X button and hear me out. You see, the thing is, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a fucking dumbass. And yeah, you’re right. You see, after finally experiencing it for myself and seeing my childhood dream through, I realized that I had made a mistake. At the end of the day, world peace, the end of hunger, true love, and lizard pussy were really just one and the same. They were all temporary, pointless, and infinitely ethereal, dreams never meant to be taken into the hands of man.
It all began with an opportunity.
I heard the goddess’ voice directly in my mind, and not in the usual context. After all, it wasn’t as if I’d done anything worth noting. I was simply sitting in front of my PL, jerking it as usual. I’d already maxed out the Pervert class and all of its skills.
She asked if I wished to visit a realm where the lizardpeople were real. And I readily agreed. It was foolish, but at the time, I saw it as nothing more than an opportunity to realise my dream.
Alas, as you can tell from my posting here, it was never quite meant to be.
Let me tell you a story about how I beat back a big bad demon lord and got all the girls, only to learn the hard way that Eudysseans are only sexually compatible with other Eudysseans.
Historian's Remarks: This and many similar documents circulated the SCPL network outside of the Alcora Eleven system during the time that it was unable to be moderated. These pieces urged the rapid development of FTL communications that extended to the universe’s furthest frozen edges.
___
“Fucking omsfolk and their stupid ass fetishes.”
Gorpp Halliper chuckled, threw back his head, and leaned into the seat of his one-man ship. Without even looking at his PL, he raised a tentacle and closed his virtual textbook with a light flick. He had no interest in Eudysseus’—his home planet’s—history. The higher ups had told him that it was an important part of his training and that he’d needed to memorize its contents in case the wetskins scanned his brain post mortem, but he was far beyond the point of caring.
And frankly, so was the army. No one was really following protocol anymore. The world was on its last legs—a fact that was only evidenced by his deployment. If the government had gotten so desperate for new recruits that it’d started making pilots of undesirables like him, the world was functionally doomed. It didn’t matter how hard they fought or how desperately they struggled. The war was over. The feds knew it, the people knew it, and even Gorpp’s Minus Two ass knew it.
The Minus Two designation described him as being two full standard deviations dumber than the Eudysseun average. For a Yolka, that was considered incredibly intelligent. Most of his people were in the upper Minus Five to lower Minus Four bracket. There’d even been a time where they were not truly acknowledged as people.
It wasn’t just on account of the rampant stupidity. Crime rates in Yolka communities were incredibly high. Thieves and frauds were more common than literate adults, and the rate of violent crimes especially were completely through the roof. It probably didn’t help that Yolka lived in close proximity. Hell, all of the Minuses did. After all, for the past ten thousand-odd years, the government had been assigning living quarters based on neurological performance. Neutrals and pluses were the only ones who could even dream of having bedrooms. Minus Twos like Gorpp were asked to live in tiny studios measuring only three wingspans in each direction. And he was lucky. The Minus Fours could barely stretch their arms, and the Minus Fives were effectively confined to Yolka-sized cells.
Still, politicians loved to question why so many of the Minuses were often out after curfew. It was absurd. If Gorpp could put two and two together, then the governors surely could have as well. But they didn’t care. They hadn’t cared since Yolkas were made obsolete by high performance PLs. Their magic, their one talent, was effectively erased overnight. It’d even been taken out of the standard curriculum. And why wouldn’t it be, when one could simply press a few buttons to cast a high-level spell?
Laughing again, Gorpp raised his mask to his face and took a hit of cumdust. He didn’t bother muting his mic or fighting back the groan that followed as his pupils dilated, his veins bulged, and his heart went into overdrive. It was a class B/D narcotic. He’d probably be court-martialed and executed if anyone found out. But he didn’t see why he gave a fuck. They were already sending him to his death.
“Falcon Seven Five, prepare to engage.”
Almost as if on cue, his superior sent a transmission. In reality, it was an entirely pointless communication. They could already see the enemy on the display.
There must have been a million of the goddamn wetskins. Their ships were practically polluting the surrounding space.
By comparison, Gorpp’s unit sported a measly ten thousand mechs. It wasn’t like they were better technically either. If anything, most of their technologies had been stolen off of abandoned enemy craft. They were just shoddy copies incapable of holding their own.
The only advantage they had was the third generation enhancement that linked their brains to their machines.
Still, they were going to engage.
They always engaged.
That was just what high command demanded.
Sighing, Gorpp briefly looked away from the battlefield and cast his gaze on a distant star, its shimmering blue light clear as day even hundreds of thousands of lightyears away. They were far from home, so far that Gorpp suspected they were out of the goddess’ reach. Not even if they died would their souls return to Eudysseus.
But that was fine.
Donning his mask and taking another hit, Gorpp pressed a tentacle down on the pedal and steadied his grip on the trigger.
There was no point waiting for orders.
He’d always wanted to go out guns blazing.
___
It was 3 seconds. Just 3.19004 seconds in real system time, but a veritable eternity to the myriad races that experienced their genesis and extinction in the worlds bathed in her divinity. For Claire, it was simultaneously both and neither. She both experienced every last part of the million years that passed and perceived them as a fleeting moment. Though it seemed like a contradiction, it was part of the spell.
She knew that, stubborn as she was, she would certainly change if made to observe the world for so much time. And so, emulating and iterating upon Sylvia’s clone magic, she was able to make a copy of herself that would do the perception in her place. Only by actively attempting to recall the events would she interface with them as anything beyond a blur.
What mattered was not what happened in the accelerated world she’d crafted, but the fact that it’d existed at all. Because the souls born of the process were every bit as real as all of the others registered by the system. And by garnering their worship, she’d bolstered her divinity.
It would have been an absurd, rule-breaking trick even with just that. But Claire took it two steps further.
Copying the spell that Flitzegarde had used to bind Alfred inside of his prison and then layering one of his creations on top of it, she’d contained and harvested all of the souls within—all so they could be devoured.
Claire herself had no need for the excess strength.
She wasn’t quite ready to become truly divine. There were still things that she had to do before any further advancement.
But the same could not be said for the lizard in her grasp.
Condensing every last soul she’d harvested into a tiny, glowing ball, and flashing a playful smile at her completely baffled father, she ordered Boris to open his mouth and fed him the power he needed to break free of his mortal existence.