ID: 3
Username: Ivan | Netjerkare
Title: Forever Young
TO : SAMUELOAK@SCRY.KT
FROM : CHAMPIONSOFFICE@SCRY.SN
1 ATTACHMENT(S) INCLUDED : GIMELTAVNUN_ATHERA.PRY
10th of March, 877X
Mt Coronet Foothill, Coronet Highlands
Dearest Student
Please accept my humble apologies for the quality of ink and sheet that I correspond to you with. It has been three months since the expedition set out, and I feel compelled to warn you that traveling with a large contingent is the most lethargic venture that you can imagine. If it had been just me, Mockhawk would have flown me to and back in the time it took us to simply reach here. Alas! It was not to be! First it was the scholars and researchers who wanted to use this opportunity to plumb the bowels of Coronet, then it was my own security detail, who refused to allow "The Champion’s Expedition” to be unescorted. They mean well, but it can get immensely stifling!
Word to the wise, my student, if you seek to retain your independence, stay as far away from responsibility as you can!
Whilst I hope that someone will come by soon to relieve me of my duties, until then I will remain and do my duty.
If you are wondering what prompted this sudden expedition, then I must confess that the records of the Diamond and Pearl clans of ancient Hisui that you showed me captured my imagination like little else. Sinnoh has always been a land of mystery, but the idea that the two defining clans of “Almighty Sinnoh” worship were not even native to our shores was so stupendous, so shattering, that I felt compelled to find the answers myself.
If they merely inherited the mantle of the old religion, then who were its progenitors? Which forgotten civilization dreamed up the fable of Izanagi and Izanami, of Aeternitus and Terminus? Who then built the great Spear Pillar atop perilous Coronet, and how? Why?
These questions are endless and I fear that my curiosity will not be sated until I have found answers, and what better place to look than within the depths of the crown jewel of Sinnoh. Perhaps a small part of me is envious of the miracles you have achieved in the restoration of Snowpoint’s library, and all the discoveries that has prompted, and seeks to set out on adventures once more.
I do hope that I will return victorious soon, and we can then laugh over this old woman’s foibles over a cup of sake. Until then, I remain,
Affectionately yours,
Your Teacher
Athera Larch
17th of March, 877X
Coronet Depths, Base Camp
Dearest Student
I suspect that you will receive all my favors all at once. I had hoped that Mockhawk would have set out to bear the post week by week, but we have not been able to spare the time to return outside. These caverns are overrun by scores upon scores of wild pokemon, all of them irate at our intrusion. To keep the retinue safe, caution is advisable, and the old staraptor is the only one from my team who I bestow my trust to communicate without impending violence. Dawn might just rile them up for her own amusement, and the less said about Ursus, the better.
Regardless of my travails, the research is proceeding smoothly. At one of the dig sites, they recovered an ancient fang, which purportedly belongs to a lost evolution, dating all the way back to before the Hisuian era! Which, I suppose, does lend weight to the premise that Coronet has been a cradle of civilization for a long time now, even beyond what we accept as known history.
It is a little daunting to walk amidst these cold stony halls and narrow passages, imagining a tumult of ancient peoples going about their daily routine in the now silent land that became their tomb. Did they ever imagine that one day, thousands of years in the future, their simple life would become such an object of curiosity and interest?
Forgive me my idle musings, I have grown melancholy as of late. I fear that I am too used to my creature comforts now, that I can’t find rest at nights anymore, sleeping out in these stony wilds.
This week, we plan to follow pottery shards and traces of kitchen middens, if we can find them, to see where it leads.
If all goes well, I will have the pleasure of your company in a few months’ time. Already, I don’t think I want to remain for the entirety of the venture. Once I find my lost city, and my answers, I will return, and leave the rest of the glory for the youngsters.
For now though, adventure calls.
Affectionately yours,
Your Teacher
Athera Larch
31st of March, 877X
Coronet Depths, Dig Site
Dearest Student
I dreamt last night of the fortunate occasion when I first took on the mantle of a mentor with you. Even in my dreams, I could feel anew the sensation of pride, the weight of responsibility, and above all else, a sense of certainty. Certainty that you will surpass me in every way that matters. That I was helping shape the future of this world, and for the better. Permit an old woman her overreach, but everything you have accomplished in lonely Snowpoint since, has only proven my belief correct.
Perhaps it was fitting that I should dream of this, on the cusp of the day that I felt that same firmness of purpose once more.
We found no pottery, nor rubbish from ancient kitchens. Instead, we found traces of monolithic carving and simple tooling. So, we took to following the chisel marks and the artificial wear and tear on the rocks, till we finally came across a new passage that led deeper into the mountain. The angular edges and the presence of soot was proof enough that this tunnel was carved by human hands.
Sure enough, the trail eventually led us to a massive wall painting, done in the traditional Sinnohan…or more fittingly, Hisuian style. It depicted the Thousand Handed One, bestowing the spear of creation to Izanami and Izanagi, Lords of Time and Space, who then churned the primordial sea to create the world as we know it. The legend of the birth of Sinnoh, depicted in a cave painting millenia old, forces us to reconsider everything that we assumed about ancient creation myths.
There was more to the beautiful ancient art, but alas, a lot of it had worn away with the ravages of time. Perhaps it is the awe of the moment that overwhelmed my senses, but for a second there, the runoff of paints and dust pooling at the bottom felt agleam, like a great crimson eyes fixing me with their sanguine gaze.
Nevertheless, bolstered by the discovery, we have renewed our efforts to make Coronet give up her secrets. We will continue further on, awaiting what new discoveries lie asleep. Till then, please accept my humble transcription of the text upon the creation painting, from ancient Hisuian to modern standard.
Awaiting your words
Your Mentor
Athera Larch
“Once there were two.
And one looked upon time’s steady pace.
And one looked upon the expanse of space.
And the two set out:
the fullness of future they did seek,
the world's far end would they greet.
Two different paths—
each walking alone a path their own,
though they walk with almighty Sinnoh."
9th of April, 877X
Coronet Depths
Dearest Student
It is with the heaviest of hearts that I write to you, to inform you of my Sobbon’s passing. I recall you having a lot of fondness for the playful audino since you were a child yourself, and I suppose I wanted to talk to someone in absentia who shared the warm memories of him with me.
Even so, if he were the only fatality, I would have steeled myself and continued on, but the misfortunes that befell us have been manifold. Two score and three men descended to these cruel depths, and of them, just seventeen remain among the living. Two were overcome by their claustrophobia, and their fear drove them away. They left us under the cover of the night, or what passes for night in this mountainous tomb, presumably to make for the outside. We found their bodies later, crushed and mangled at the bottom of the escape rope. Unfortunate victims of poor footing in crevices.
A dozen were buried alive when a dig site opened into a forgotten onix hole, and took them down with it. It took Ferosipouns ten hours of tearing through rock and gravel to reach them, only for it to be too late.
Mockhawk’s diplomacy failed, even as the native pokemon population turned on us, and the violence of our clashes only attracted grimmer predators that had long slumbered in the depths. Men on watch reported a fierce creature, reminiscent of the legend of the Blood Moon, and our desperate flight cost us even more lives.
I would have declared this venture a failure and sounded the retreat, if not for us taking refuge in the very destination we had unknowingly been seeking!
To call it a temple, would be limiting the scope of what it truly was. A city, built around the center of worship, complete with rows of stalls for the marketplace, large bestiaries and stables for housing pokemon, which itself dazzles the mind, proving cooperation between men and pokemon, long before we thought it possible!
The center of it all though, was what drew my attention. It was a simple elevated platform, carved from granite and marble, with a gleaming white altar atop it. Surrounding it though, were remains of countless ancient rites and sacrifices. An array of bones, meticulously placed as macabre decorations, emptily grinning skulls upon vertebrae, their bony eye sockets weeping old ash and soot. Some others hollowed out and filled with molding wax, perhaps used as candles to drive the dark away. Ghastly, of course, but so very fascinating as a culture study.
Then, there was the crown jewel of this discovery, fittingly enough, an unknown gem. It hung above the altar on a chain of dark iron and bronze and swung ominously at the slightest movement on our parts. It took some effort to pry it off its clasp, but it was well worth it. Mottled like rusted iron, but its heart beats with an alluring luster, reflecting the pale bonfires with a shivering delight.
In bearing with modern archaeology’s nomenclature, we have named this discovery : The Griseous Crystal.
To leave after such a discovery would be spitting on the sacrifices of the brave men who made it possible, and would feel like a bigger disaster than it already is. We are thusly resolved to see this through the bitter end.
Yours in grief,
Athera Larch
32nd of April, 877X
The Crucible, Coronet Depths
Dearest Student
I have started finding common ground with Solemnly-Awaits-Myriad-Gleaming-Dawn, and that is perhaps the most damning condemnation that I can bear down on myself. In contrast to the stilted conversations we had shared in the past, Dawn is positively ebullient and vociferous these days, drinking deep from my psyche, exclaiming about the brand of the renegade upon my mind. Calling me a Shardbearer.
It is strange and sometimes incomprehensible, but I am not complaining. I am simply glad of the company, peculiar as it is. After all, Ferosipouns and Mockhawk have been quite withdrawn since Sobbon’s passing, and the constant pallor of grief does wear away at me as well. The remaining survivors of the expedition do not share the joy of adventure with me anymore. Perhaps, their courage has failed them with each hardship that we encounter.
I hear them muttering at night. Complaining. Plotting. Perhaps they tire of my leadership and seek to depose me, but even with the losses that my team has taken, a Champion is not so easily bested, and they know it.
They glare at me with accusing eyes when they think I am not looking, but I always am. If not through my eyes, then through my team’s. But I always am. I cannot afford to show the slightest weakness, or I suspect that my skull will end up gracing the altar, renewing its gory deeds.
This gnawing emptiness does press down on me, and I grow weary in spirit and in thoughts. The sight of black ink on the white pages reminds me starkly of these dark depths within the snow-laden Coronet. Forgive me, but I don’t have the strength to continue on tonight.
Yours,
Athera Larch
[Fragments Lost] - the gem is a young universe, apart from our own by a gossamer thread, thin and gleaming within the cuts of the crystal. I blink and the heart of the gem seems to blaze anew, pulsing warmly to the same beat as my own. Or is it the other way around? Am I mistaken in thinking this gem a microcosm, when it is I whose heartbeat it echoes?
Every second that the beat counts, is me. Every wave of meaning and feeling and sentiment and desire and empathy and telepathy and judgment is all me.
I am the conduit, and I am the transceiver, the creator, and the defiant, the ineffable and the questioner. I am the fluid ocean on which the thoughts float like an oil spill, shimmering black on the murky waves, unleashing the myriad colors of the rainbow, before which all reigns bow.
I am?
I am.
Kokonoka no Satsuki, 1547X
Altar of the Griseous Gem
Gently does the eye of Coronet gleam, drawing me within its chatoyancy, its multi-pronged
Tethers.
No longer do I feel hunger, nor thirst, neither fear, nor loneliness. Hours have I spent on the
Goniometer, trying to fathom what mysteries lie within it.
Trials to be overcome, to enlighten the dark-mind of ignorance
Non linear have been my thoughts of late, but this is starkly clear.
Gone is dawn, and gone is Dawn, painting red over the myriad hues.
Then there were three.
Nudging the last vestiges beyond the abyss.
[subsequent text is smudged with bloodied handprints and spilled ink]
13th Day, The Gathering of the Gods
Womb of Sinnoh
Dearest Inverna
It’s been months since I last put pen to paper. It was quite the struggle to find any remnants to salvage this binder from. Pardon me if it's a little torn and roughed up. Ferosipouns isn’t really known for his gentleness in battle, after all. Never before and never again will there be a zangoose so loyal. So devoted. I shall miss him.
I fear that my words would paint a picture of violence and horror for you, and I can already imagine you shivering under piles of blankets, up in your cold mountain home, but let me try to put your mind at ease.
This is a gentle place, the place of no return and no arrival, the space of all Time arriving in the sober waves of energy that pulsate in perfect harmony. It bears no Space in time, ever eternal in its expanse. A system that rejects the other but knows it all too intimately.
Here, we are a moving organism
Utterly unafraid because fear is a passing thing in the verb of momenternities
And the judging mind is only a new painter to be appreciated, a book with fresh pages aching to be read.
This life we live is vivid and beckons with a thousand colors.
Let’s feast
And watch as Time pools from all corners of eternity to slumber beneath our feet.
The promise of a gentle sleep in the arms of creation? No wonder that my coterie chose to slumber here. I speak to myself as I write, and though I take care to be as silent as possible, I don’t think even the loudest of cacophonies will awaken them just yet. Tonight, they dream of manypillared halls of the Aleph. Tonight, they feast. They feast as we shall, one day.
[The remains of Champion Athera Larch were discovered by the expedition of Champion Irene, (see also, The Disappearance of Champion Irene), and sent back to her home at Snowpoint, where she was once again interred with full honors. However, clutched within the crumbling skeletal hands, was a fragmented piece of paper, whose contents we have only managed to decipher bits and pieces of.
It is transcribed in its entirety below.]
My dear dear dear
I was once Athera. Proud champion of Sinnoh. Now I am but a humble creature, an offspring of the well of graces of light and secluded serenity. Once I feared death, like we all do my dear, but don’t you see? When you allow yourself to befriend your own death, as a means to shape your own universe, you combine the alchemy of acceptance and the mystic fires of nihility.
What was once was, is no longer. What we are, will not abide forever. The tapestry of our world is coming apart, and even a single pull of the furled thread will tear it all down.
We are given, but a little time, and we spend it all in unpicking the seams of Fate sewn over Dreams.
Instead, I choose to gaze into the heart of the abyss, and to see what this world truly is. A cycle of suffering, with its spokes ever turning. I have seen a pattern, inside of a system, that tells me I have only one direction in which to go, and this is death. This is a perpetual motion acceptance machine and its waves of creation are crested by destruction that soon follows.
Hope brought us here, fear drove us, but death claimed us. We sought the almighty Sinnoh, the lord of Space and Time. Our bones will herald the passing of our age, and we will have nothing to show for it.
I once was Athera Larch. Once a Champion, a fool and a dreamer. The one who sought glory in the depths of shadow, never knowing that my light was but a candle’s dying sputter.
I am that Athera Larch no longer, but I will never be someone else: I will always be something, until I am not.
It is then that my choices are forgiven, wrung, and bought.
Forever Young, Are my Divinities Sung.