NationStates Jolt Archive

Introduction by Danielle Flint, Professor of Literature at De Halbert University, Linton, Kingdom of Midlonia


As human nations around the Earth, and indeed the universe, prepare to celebrate the traditional holiday of All Saint's Eve, it behoves those with an interest in such things to look farther a-field, to those races with which we share this multiverse.

The vast and rich literature of the elves has been open to many, and I myself recently released a collection of some of the better 'tales of terror' from their millions of years of experience. Now it is time to pursue what is perhaps a more neglected field, one which is both dangerous and at the same time intriguing. I refer to the literature of the less common races, and for me the choice was one which has in fact been open to criticism.

The Divine Illuminated Imperium, vulgarly known as Roania even in academic texts, is (despite the attempts by the Roanians to hide this fact) a vast multiracial state, made to appear mysterious to the outside world by the deliberate obfuscation of even the most open of its natives. Despite the ties which have for many years now held the Divine Imperium to Sol, mistrust on both sides prevents the rich literature of the Allied Races from reaching the audience I feel it deserves.

Some of this is the fault of the Roanians themselves, of course. It appears at times they have no desire to be understood, and even less to help others understand. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to obtain a single copy of a dictionary that would translate their own language into Standard, and the stonewalling that met my attempts has lead me to believe that no such item exists, or has any chance of existing for the foreseeable future. Not one to be dissuaded by such excuses, as many of my students past and present would no doubt attest, I set out to do the next best thing, and went to the people themselves, or at least those which were accessible, and requested recounts of their spiritual experiences, or even stories that were told to them.

Why ghost stories? One of the most unusual constants across cultures has always been the ghosts. Just as the minds of most sentients work along similar patterns, though the words in which they think and the priorities they place would appear alien, so do the wandering souls of one nation appear in much the same way that those of another do.

For instance, a myth that was a favourite of the ancient Hawaiians was that of a ghost canoe crossing a lake. The same myth appeared (though with the canoe changed to the appropriate local vessel) in the myth of certain Native American tribes, and the same train of thought might be traced in the legends of the Flying Dutchman and other ghostly sailing vessels.

Such a pattern appears in the minds of the Salamandri, that most garrulous of all the Allied Races. A naturally aquatic race, one of their elders told me one evening of a tale amongst his people of a spectral Ssslah, a 'swimming hunting attack group', to give a literal translation. These ghostly Salamandri appeared on nights when all the moons of Rk were full, in a lake in his ancestral tribe lands and swam across from one end to the other, always vanishing when reaching the shore. Those who approached them or swam amongst them, of course, were never seen again. Though next time the Ssslah would have one more member...

A major problem in this work was the hostility of the Roanians proper to any idea of spiritual continuance. To the Roanians, encouraged by a Church more concerned with the here than the here-after, the reward of a life well lived is a well-deserved break, not the continuance of an existence that by the time a Roanian has allowed himself to die is no doubt interminable. The Roanian reaction to the unknown has always been anger, rather than fear, and I feel certain that the reaction of the local Agent to the Salamandri Elder's tale, in which he promised me very effusively that the lake would be filled in and Inquisitors summoned to inspect the matter, would be the typical response, though with the days of overarching Roanian control of the Divine Imperium long gone I have my doubts that any such thing would happen.

It took me a great deal of effort to get my Roanian contacts to open up, and their stories were universally precluded and succeeded by oaths to the light that they are certain there are other answers then the obvious, one of them (a very prominent nobleman introduced to me by a colleague at the Imperial City University) preferring the suggestion he had been on mind-altering drugs (a most heinous crime in the Divine Imperium) to any spiritual explanation.

Nevertheless, the concept of an afterlife is not totally dead amongst the Roanians, and secretly every one of them, like every one else in the multiverse, has a love of atmosphere and terror, disguised as it might be. At the request of those interviewed, their names have been kept secret, out of fear that their career might be damaged.

Many of these tales might be similar to one you have heard before, many might be totally alien. Nevertheless, it is to be hoped that all of them will be enjoyed. For myself, I feel the best way to enjoy them would be All Hallow’s Eve, in a dark room, by the light of a single lamp…ah, you remember?

One of my more willing interviewees amongst the Roanians, this cleric gave this story unintentionally in the middle of an explanation as to how Theosophy was fundamentally flawed, which despite his intentions was, for me, doing the precise opposite. To give full context of this story, he was talking about the ruined cities that surround the High Temple of the Light on the island of Lorodecrast. I had asked him if he himself had any experiences to recount in these cities, as he had mentioned that he himself had served in the Custodial Guard which 'inspects the sanctity of these cities'. This is what he told me, with dates approximately rendered into Terran Standard and leaving aside the various interjections where he diminished his own narrative:

It was a late November evening, and I had recently driven into the city of Nys to resanctify the temples there. I remember clearly how still the air was. Normally the wind there is tremendous, blowing as it does from the rift to the south, but that night the wind was so slight that I felt it would be worth taking a spot of flying. I was a much younger man, then, and this was before my left wing had a chunk taken out of it by that rebel while I was on clerical service to Rk.

I found a suitably high ziggurat (the Patriarchs have always objected to the Custodial Guard entering any building but the Temples, but never with any effect) and dove off, finding a comfortable angle to coast back to the ground from while getting a good view of Nys. This is a sizeable town, of course, though built low to the ground apart from the temples themselves.

As I glided, the star finally set and the moons began to rise, and I began to feel as if I was...not being followed, no, but certainly not alone. The wind was still very slight, and in fact growing even weaker by the minute, yet I remained in the air and at a height which I would have been hard pressed to sustain even in a heavy updraft. Concerned that I might find myself joining the departed, I quickly began to speed my descent, diving towards the ground before pulling back to beat the air into a slow, safe, landing.

The closer I came to the avenues, though, the more the feeling of company grew. My own shadow was faint and fading as the star vanished to the east. Yet other shadows had, for a moment, appeared to have joined it, and I for a moment could catch the shadows of not just my own body and wings, but of dozens, if not hundreds, of my fellows. An optical illusion, of course.

A thick fog had begin to gather as I returned to my vehicle to attain the requisite items. I must have missed its appearance while I was flying, but by the time I was ready to walk the temples I was almost surrounded by thick greyness, through which it was all my eyes could do to to light my path immediately in front of me, and I was forced to make use of my lantern.

I was running late, which my supervisor punished me for, and the First Temple's Sanctified Flame had already gone out by the time I reached it, while tradition dictates that they be replenished as opposed to relit. But a group of pilgrims had required clerical services, and I was the only one available. The temple was surrounded by a wall of fog, and some of it had even begun pooling inside through cracks in the wall when I walked in. I quickly went to the emergency fuel and restarted the fire, knowing that my supervisor would be displeased when I informed him of the need to replenish Nys' reserves. The pool of liquid burst into the required flames and was resanctified in the traditional manner.

The other Outlyer was similarly replenished, though the fog threatened to keep me lost. It was as if the Light was determined to make me undergo the trials of the Blessed Raziel, in punishment for my failings. Then it was time for the most important part of my duties as a Custodian, to relight not just the Sanctified Flames of the Great Temple, but also the Memorial Flame of Nys.

Nys, as the rest of Lorodecrast was destroyed in the First Imperial Civil War, and the cursed followers of the Dark, may they be thrice enclosed in shadow, left the bodies of the defenders and citizens to lie across their homes, not providing that most sacred of all rites, the ritual purification of the bodies through submission to the flames. When the city was retaken, the neccessities of war prevented an individual purification, and instead a hastily deputised group of Holy Legionnaires mass-purified the city, going through each corner and burning the bodies right there, unable to gather them for memorial. Therefore, in the Great Temple of Nys, before the city was abandoned (as in the other cities of Lorodecrast besides Holy Adytum), a memorial flame was lit to the memory of the Light-Blessed and Dark-Destroyed.

The fog was everywhere in the Great Temple by the time I found my way up the hill, and lighting the two Sanctified Flames only created a pool of light. The Memorial Flame had to be restarted for the second time in nearly 2000 years, and all around me was this clinging, cloying, moist fog that pooled around me and in me, and made me feel for a time that the whole universe had vanished into this grey, oppresive zone. I began murmuring prayers just to know that I still lived.

I lit the memorial flame and kneeled before it, performing the prayer prescribed by the Light-Blessed Father Amadeus for the sanctification of Martyrs. When my eyes opened, the fog was clearing in a stiffening wind, and above the bells of the Great Temple were tolling.