I was promised a secret.
That was what started this whole thing. It’s why I’m here, stuck in some misshapen memory of the past.
The gnome promised me a secret. Information about a Creator. So I accompanied his hirelings in pursuit. I did not find a Creator. The hirelings followed the thread of the cultists into the Pyramid. I did not find a Creator. Within the Pyramid, the hirelings found the Tome, which has compelled us on more than one occasion.
And I have not found the Creator I was promised.
They sleep now. I stand, watching.
The Vault of the Fourth Descent tried them. The Architect of this place, Daedalus, created most of the fourth level to protect himself and his son. The fleshlings gathered later, after they had removed an instrument of forbidding, that this deep beneath the earth belonged to one of their “death gods.” That creatures influence had exploited the man’s weakness. He went mad. How unfortunate.
The “forbiddings” of this level… traps and hazards. “Puzzles” to preclude the foolish and the weak. It may have protected his body, but his mind, like those of all his kind, were weak. He fell to the same hubris as the men in the present time. He sought Creation.
When we happened upon him, he had completed his attempt. He had wrent his fleshy form, discarded it for the attempted perfection of steel and iron. The arrogance to think he could overcome his weakness… The arrogance to think he could create life. He earned death. He earned destruction. His existence was an insult, a reminder of the mistake of our Creation!
I destroyed it. I destroyed it and took it’s power for my own. The fleshlings took his petty treasures, whatever survived of his attempts to protect himself. They discovered his son, living along in a light tower. He knew of his father’s errors. He has fashioned some flimsy looking wings to assist in our escape. The diminished “god” we are required to aid in this memory will have to await for our return. What a waste. That they might all fall into the ocean and drown.
I want the Creator.