 The Last Addition of Bikkus-Muz |
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| ID | 7763 | ||
| See Also | Lore version | ||
| Collection | Dungeon Delver Documents | ||
| Locations | |||
Found in the following locations:
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This may be the last time I can contribute to the bookshelves, and I may not even get that honor. Woe is the name of Bikkus-Muz, whose last known literary addition was a critique of fried tentacle soup!
I almost can't believe what my eyes tell me is occurring at this very moment. The books, they're falling open on their own. This alone would not be worth noting—as books in Apocrypha behave autonomously most of the time—but I can see the ink rising off their pages. The ink seemed legible at first, but then it flowed together until it coalesced into a ball. Now it appears as though a tomeshell were leaving its book, but there's no tomeshell in sight. The ball of ink stretches and distorts. It's moving, rising higher over the book, shooting streams of dark liquid in every direction. They pool on the ground, not moving for a moment before taking shape.
Fate's pages! The shapes—silhouettes, whatever you call them—appear as fully formed creatures. Mortals and monsters of ink. They can move independently. The darkness fades from their skin. The book manifested creatures. I'm witnessing words walking.
I'm too far away to hear if they speak or make noise of any sort, and for that I'm glad. The creatures feel sinister. They're wrong. Everything about this is wrong. I thought I would be joyous at the prospect of words literally coming to life. These dry history texts could read themselves to me, which would be a lot less strenuous on the eyes, but instead I'm rooted to my hiding place in fear.
If these creatures find me, I don't know what they will do. Now that what I know has changed in front of my eyes, I fear the unknown more greatly than I fear anything else. A simple death would be a blessing. It would stop this fear from consuming me whole.