Liber de Nymphis
by Paracelsus, the Alchemist
Sheol.
A dark and silent abyss
where the souls of dead wander.
My foray into the abyss began with the innocence of a child
chasing after a butterfly.
Eternal pain.
Each breath brings with it smothering despair.
What words might I offer if I were to come across my mother and father?
So long it has been since I bound across the Earth, amassing a wealth of knowledge.
The intellect of a demon.
The ultimate equation which barred my path.
And the solution.
I continued to search.
For a simple and universal answer.
Joy. The joy of life.
The consummate joy of man that shall never fade.
However, the irregular wing beats of a butterfly
give rise to an infinite array of realities.
The laws of life sneer at human wisdom.
And escape from our grasp.
Cries of all kinds are averted, yet poverty never goes away.
Humans devour each other,
succumb to disease, and cry out in agony as they die.
Oh, Sheol.
Merciless God of the Underworld.
Death incarnate.
Hear my voice!
Hear the grievous sobs of a mourning child!
The carcass of the butterfly you have ensnared may pale of tear apart,
Yet, still there are those
who would defy death for a single scale.
Behold! As the ferocious worms take flight into the sky again.
Crushed dreams...
Lingering rays of sunset transformed into brilliant light...
Curl your lips into a smile. Spread your wings with fervor!
Take flight! Butterfly of despair!
A dark and silent abyss
where the souls of dead wander.
My foray into the abyss began with the innocence of a child
chasing after a butterfly.
Eternal pain.
Each breath brings with it smothering despair.
What words might I offer if I were to come across my mother and father?
So long it has been since I bound across the Earth, amassing a wealth of knowledge.
The intellect of a demon.
The ultimate equation which barred my path.
And the solution.
I continued to search.
For a simple and universal answer.
Joy. The joy of life.
The consummate joy of man that shall never fade.
However, the irregular wing beats of a butterfly
give rise to an infinite array of realities.
The laws of life sneer at human wisdom.
And escape from our grasp.
Cries of all kinds are averted, yet poverty never goes away.
Humans devour each other,
succumb to disease, and cry out in agony as they die.
Oh, Sheol.
Merciless God of the Underworld.
Death incarnate.
Hear my voice!
Hear the grievous sobs of a mourning child!
The carcass of the butterfly you have ensnared may pale of tear apart,
Yet, still there are those
who would defy death for a single scale.
Behold! As the ferocious worms take flight into the sky again.
Crushed dreams...
Lingering rays of sunset transformed into brilliant light...
Curl your lips into a smile. Spread your wings with fervor!
Take flight! Butterfly of despair!
Book of Styx
by Caron, the Sage of the Undead
The waters of the great river
quarter this world from the realm of the dead,
keeping separate mortal humans from immortal Gods.
Your pledge shall be tested
by its torrential flow!
The Goddess smiled,
forgave my presence, and granted the blessing an eternal youth in peace.
The Gods of Olympus obtained immortality,
which was also endowed upon me!
quarter this world from the realm of the dead,
keeping separate mortal humans from immortal Gods.
Your pledge shall be tested
by its torrential flow!
The Goddess smiled,
forgave my presence, and granted the blessing an eternal youth in peace.
The Gods of Olympus obtained immortality,
which was also endowed upon me!
The Clay Tablet of Ugarit
Spear in right hand, lightning bolt in left...
The ultimate warrior riding a cloud as his stead.
When the voice of Beelzebub, son of Dragon, roars...
When the thunder of Baal roars,
the wind shivers, the mountains shudder, and the land quakes.
Foes cling to the mountains and escape into the forests.
Cries fill the air as they flee from east to west.
The God of death Motu's mouth is fire.
His breath is death.
Sixty leagues of forest burned down in just one night.
Warriors who know no fear
bring their holy arms down upon the God of death.
Strike true.
A thundering roar. Eyes blinded by brilliant light.
The lightning of Baal tears across the sky!
The ultimate warrior riding a cloud as his stead.
When the voice of Beelzebub, son of Dragon, roars...
When the thunder of Baal roars,
the wind shivers, the mountains shudder, and the land quakes.
Foes cling to the mountains and escape into the forests.
Cries fill the air as they flee from east to west.
The God of death Motu's mouth is fire.
His breath is death.
Sixty leagues of forest burned down in just one night.
Warriors who know no fear
bring their holy arms down upon the God of death.
Strike true.
A thundering roar. Eyes blinded by brilliant light.
The lightning of Baal tears across the sky!