INTERNAL REFERENCE FILE
ACCESS RESTRICTED TO CLEARANCE R/SSS OR HIGHER
GLORY TO JALAKÅRA OF THE IMPENETRABLE, HOST AND BENEFACTOR TO MANKIND, NEVER SHALL THE ENDLESS WEAVE FRAY.
YOU ARE WATCHED • YOU ARE PROTECTED • YOU ARE LOVED
SPECIAL DESIGNATION: ARARAT
By order of Eternal President Girard Niang, the ☽☽☽ Initiative has been tasked with aiding Stella Secundus in the long road to recovery from Incident-5257GR4-Black.
General Information
Region Name: Stella Secundus
Demonym: Stella Secundan
Location: Eastern End of the Hüm Archipelago, Southern Al-Vathek Sea
First Contact: May 10th, 24 AHW3
Population: 25 (most recent census)
Dominant Species: Human1
Dominant Language: Perception-Based Common
Capital City: Ducal Promontory
Head of State: Elder Wilhelm van Hock
Government Type: Local cooperative
Dominant Religion: PTHÅM Cult [Remedial worship until recovery]
Patron Corbenese Deity: PTHÅM [Incapacitated as of Incident-5257GR4-Black]
Unit of Currency: N/A [Barter]
Exchange Rate with Three Moons Lunari: N/A
Risk Assessment Rubric
Military Technological Index: [SPECIAL] [Gates] [Ford] [Stevenson] [Ludd] [PRE-1700]
Military Thaumaturgy Index: [SPECIAL] [Prometheus] [Merlin] [Puck] [Hawthorne] [N/A]
Slavery Index: [N/A - During Ararat designation, Stella Secundus is occupied by ☽☽☽ and subject to all relevant laws against human trafficking.]
Economic Equality Index: [N/A - Population too small to qualify as a national economy.]
Torture Index: [N/A - During Ararat designation, Stella Secundus is occupied by ☽☽☽ and subject to all relevant laws against torture.]
Opinion of ☽☽☽ Index: [AT WAR] [Anathema] [Icy] [Wary] [Polite] [IDEAL]
Bigotry Index: [EMERGENCY] [Amalek] [Verden] [Wallace] [Cyrus]2 [IDEAL]
FROM THE DESK OF COMMANDANT PATRICIA DELACROIX
SURVEILLANCE LIAISON FOR REGION-5257GR4 "STELLA SECUNDUS"
GLORY TO JALAKÅRAATTN: COLONEL MARIA DELL
RE: INCIDENT-5257GR4-BLACK
Colonel,
Like the rest of us back at Gamma Outpost, I came here under the assumption that this scouting assignment would only be to display good faith to an overreaction. The tone used by Mr. Van Hock in his letter gave the impression of a severe overreaction to something Corbenic's latent healing factor would quickly patch up.
If anything, the petition was putting the state of things at Stella Secundus too mildly. Whatever happened here left the island worse off than a Strider harvest.
Incident-5257GR4-Black in question has been confirmed to be a nuclear attack — though I'm not sure what would warrant the use of such force against a minor target. And even then, the land and its people would heal, as they always have — but the regeneration rate has been slowed to the point of indeterminability, if not stopped altogether. The bomb had to have been thaumaturgically enhanced.
The fact that we're not the only ones in Corbenic capable of creating thaumokinetic weaponry is terrifying, at best. Identifying the attacker should be our top priority.
The only major settlement that remains is a makeshift shelter in a derelict wooden boat. I've been informed by the locals that it used to be an early-19th century brigantine with the British Navy on Earth (Iteration 1M), and the settlement is still referred to as "the Jolie Regina."
The locals are barely even alive — the transmutational effects of the bomb have reduced their flesh to a dark brown, gelatinous slime. Comparisons have been drawn with the unsalvageably FUBAR state of Earth-8F. Fortunately, the causal agent is no longer active — but I'm sure that's little consolation for Mr. Van Hock and his liquefied legs and pelvis.
To make matters worse, the climate is dependent on PTHÅM's mood — positivity brings warmth, and vice-versa. Being that PTHÅM Himself is screaming and crying3 at the bottom of an irradiated crater, the island has gone into a deep freeze.
Which means that the melting locals on the boat are the lucky ones. We set up a dig site on top of the original PTHÅM tribe camp. After cutting through some of the ice, we came across a blend of non-regenerative human tissue and trinitite.
Weaver forbid that this kind of bomb would ever land on one of our colonies. Just in case the offending party has more, I would raise the initiative-wide DEFCON a few ticks.
Glory to JALAKÅRA,
Comdt. Patricia Delacroix, ☽☽☽ HDC 105th Scout BrigadeP.S.: Among the requests for resources, the one I hear the most from Van Hock and his subordinates is for rum. They ran out a few centuries ago, and don't know if it still exists in Corbenic. So don't panic if you see a charge in the commissary account for 30 cases of Saklovaian Norn Reserve — I'll reimburse it by Friday.
From the Desk of Archbishop Franz Melchett
Church of JALAKÅRA, Office of Interfaith Affairs
Corbenese Deity Profile
Name: PTHÅM
Title: Boy-Duke
Aliases, if any: Thaam, Phom, The Shrieking Piper, The Huskbringer, The Liminal Burglar
Gender: Male
Patronage: Youth, locusts, flutes
Next of kin, if any: Lord ABBAD4 of the Red Crater, Third Prince of Corbenic, and brother of JALAKÅRA — Father
Date of birth, if any: Unknown
Appearance: A locust, approximately two meters in length, with the face of a young humanoid.
Alignment: Unknown/ambiguous
Notes
PTHÅM is, in the politest terms possible, a bit of a mixed bag. On one hand, He's a minor deity, and has interfered little with the rest of Corbenic. Public opinion is scarce. But from our surveys, what little there is of his reputation can be either "PTHÅM is a cradle-snatching maniac" or "PTHÅM is mysterious, beautiful, and benevolent," with the middle ground all but extinct.
Even among deities, there's only debate. Our Blessed Weaver had no knowledge of PTHÅM. We've sent an emissary to Lord ABBAD5 and He refuses to even acknowledge His son's existence. The clearest answer we've received comes from the Marble Hall; in-between the Church's attempts to de-escalate the accidental meat orgies, Lord Ghantouris/Elephant King mentioned PTHÅM in passing.6
The more problematic elements stem from his interaction with several different iterations of Earth. For the past few millennia, He's been in a regular pattern of frequenting parts of Europe to abduct small children "for adventure."7 In any iteration of Earth where there's a story about PTHÅM and Stella Secundus, it's written by one of these children when they're older — with the names changed around a bit, so as to avoid unwanted attention.
Hijinks and derring-do aside, PTHÅM is still carrying out a form of human trafficking.
The more objectively troubling issue here is the exposure of adolescents to Compound-Anima-Ventus-8, an arcane substance present in the skin-sheddings of PTHÅM's larvae.
• Pro: it temporarily grants the ability to fly.
• Con: it has been clinically proven to induce acute runic cognitive pyroclasm in mortal subjects in as few as 20 years after exposure.
In addition to His juvenile subjects, Stella Secundus also included two adult human populations in its prime: a tribe of PTHÅM cultists led by a senile shamaness named "Lî the Unspeakable Black Tiger" [now incapacitated], and, of course, Wilhelm Van Hock — ("Captain Van Hock of Her Majesty's Navy," back in his Iteration 1M) and his men, who were taken with their ship by PTHÅM some time ago.
The reason for Van Hock's imprisonment in Corbenic is unclear, but nearly all of PTHÅM's interactions with them have been violent and hostile. Still, from what the old sailor has been telling us, it's more of a longstanding rivalry that they have come to treat as a game — Stockholm Syndrome?
In short, what we have here is an insectoid demigod with the mind of a 7-year-old. He is not only capable of taking organic matter to and from Corbenic, but also feeds His brain-melting skin chemicals to children He's consensually kidnapped.
It is unfortunate that PTHÅM has been incapacitated, but imperative that He remains that way.
- Rachel Doppler, Holy Scribe
Scouting Mission to Incident-5257GR4-Black Ground Zero
October 6th, 299
[Drone camera flicks on. Three recon troops from the 105th Scout Brigade (Hereafter Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie) are situated on the ice outside the base camp. The Jolie Regina is visible approx. 200 meters away. All troops are wearing heavy scout armor with radiation-absorbent rune engravings.]
Alpha: Camera check… good. Helmet comm check — sound off. This is Alpha.
Bravo: Bravo here.
Charlie: Charlie, present. The Commandant said there'd be a native guide, but I'm not seeing —
Van Hock: [Via the helmet comms, guiding through the drone] Well met, ye Stella-Secundan Scalliwags! Never fear, for the treacherous crags of this island have been forever engraved upon the meaty cockles of my evil intellect — and through this fantastic flying thingamabob, I shall part through the red sea of the your unfamiliarity!
[Bravo gives a "wrap it up" hand gesture to the drone.]
Van Hock: You're… twirling your hands together. The meaning of this manual maelstrom simply discombobulates me. …another of PTHÅM's cryptic riddles, perhaps! Little does the fool realize that I, the great Captain Van Hock, am an alumnus of Eton College, where such brain-teasery is —
Alpha: We have a job to do. Lose the poetics.
Van Hock: Fie, if only I could, me hearties! But that accursed, wretched PTHÅM bade me be his ridiculous-sounding archnemesis, and so, maledicted my diction to pontificate as such for eternity! O, to think of those halcyon days when I could say a solitary, singular "fuck you, PTHÅM" without a damned soliloquy!
Alpha: I'm gonna go ahead and put in a request for a different —
Charlie: They're literally all like this.
Alpha: …I see. My apologies.
Bravo: Come on, we gonna Oscar Mike, or we just gonna bitch about our guide?
Alpha: Let's move.
Van Hock: Then move, I shall! — and alack, alack, how I apologize in advance for this, but I am compelled to sing as we go. Ohhhh, weigh-hey—
[Charlie temporarily disables Van Hock's comm.]
<Redacted for brevity>
[Van Hock's comm is re-enabled at a frozen plain of vitrified soil. PTHÅM's screeching can be heard in the near distance, drowning out all exterior sound. Five metal rods jut from the ground ahead in a star pattern.]
Van Hock: —ll me a stickler, but PTHÅM in partick-ler / can lick Strider shit from me boots, yo-ho!
Alpha: Good for you. Radiation?
Charlie: 5.5 million μSv. This is definitely where it landed.
Bravo: Those five rods - what structure was that? Looks like the bomb fell right on top of it.
Van Hock: 'Tis a mystery, to be sure. Me first mate led a similar expedition to the invisible belly of this equally invisible leviathan of a conundrum — but alas, the moment he lay his unprotected palms against the horrid metal disc in central terminus, a great malady of unseen chemical horror waylaid his broadside, and the poor fellow hasn't been the same a for moment since.
Alpha: This disc - is it still here?
Van Hock: Verily, by Blackbeard's gushing carotid, that it be!
Alpha: Where is it?.
Van Hock: HA! Foolish landlubbers that you be, do ye seriously believe a gentleman of such demonic intellect and such an encyclopaedic ledger of treachery would disclose the hidden location of his buried treasure which is covered by a very small amount of snow in the middle of the five rods look where I marked that circle I fucking hate talking like this please kill me?
Bravo: Retrieving.
[Bravo uncovers the marked area, revealing a charred metallic surface with obscure markings.]
Charlie: Watch the radiation. These suits can't —
Bravo: Fuck. Oh, fuck. This isn't happening.
Alpha: What's wrong?
Bravo: These markings — research and development for the Global Occult Coalition, from Earth-7M. My Earth.
Alpha: I'm not sure I follow — hang on, you mentioned you were ex-GOC, right?
Bravo: I was in R&D, too. These rods are blast-resistant surveillance pickups. Looks like they sent an extradimensional monitoring station after the bomb. …Van Hock, I'm sorry, but my people did this to you.
[The drone slowly turns to the direction of PTHÅM, then turns to Bravo. It draws slower to the ground in an apparent attempt to kneel.]
Van Hock: Good sir, I am in your debt, for you have bested my hated opponent in—
[Charlie disables Van Hock's comm again.]
Bravo: They can probably see us from the other side. Get some pictures, quickly.
<end log>
Diplomatic Negotiations with the Global Occult Coalition (Earth-7M)
December 12th, 299
[relevant excerpt selected]
Eternal President Girard Niang: …your tone is both troubling and unbecoming of your station. You bombed Corbenese territory — why is it so surprising to you that we're —
[On the other side of his monitor, GOC Under-Secretary-General James Fine downs half a bottle of vodka, interrupting Niang.]
Niang: Excuse me — are you drunk?
Fine: Probably. [chuckles]
Niang: …what year is it in your iteration?
Fine: 3870 CE. Oh, excuse me, A.D.
Niang: I'm sorry, there must be some kind of mistake. The Great Senility Plague doesn't hit until the 45th Century. Those timelines are the only ones we've seen where the GOC is run by drunkards.
Fine: This is the first time I've drank in my life. Never had a reason to, until now.
Niang: I see. I'm sure it wouldn't have hurt to pick a different time for this little experiment — i.e., when we're trying to negotiate whether or not I should have you shot from orbit and replaced with a remote-controlled body double.
Fine: Look, if you wanna run the GOC in the 48 hours before the world ends, be my guest.
Niang: I… pardon?
Fine: Here's a question: why would any idiot unironically point an ICBM at the second star to the right?
Niang: If the next four words out of your mouth are "for shits and giggles," you're spending your first century of the afterlife cleaning toilets.
Fine: Desperation. The thing that hit Neverland was a 1/fuckin' gazillions scale model of what we had to launch at Khahrahk within six mon—
Niang: Enough! That name has too much power to use on this communications channel.
Fine: Gee, y'think?! Our world's been doing nothing but feeling that power for the last five years. And the best part: the Scarlet King broke into our world ahead of schedule. We nuked Peter Pan for nothing. You can shoot me from orbit, right? Then you can see how dead we are from orbit.
Niang: If that's truly the case, we could provide military assis—
Fine: He fucked the Sun, Niang. The Scarlet King literally fucked the Sun itself to assert dominance, and now it's gone. The greenhouse effect is the only thing keeping us from immediately freezing to death for a few days. And even if you could come to help — which you can't — and even if you did come to help — which you did not — how much would you be willing to risk? How much of a shit would you be willing to give? — and more importantly, how many versions of Earth do you claim to care about?
Niang: That's classified information.
Fine: More than one?
Niang: That much, I can confirm.
Fine: And how many Corbenics are there?
[Approx. 10 seconds of silence]
Fine: Know when to look out for your own.
[Screen goes dark]
Niang: …and that kind of attitude is why you're the ones about to die. We'll be seeing you soon. Hope you like cleaning—
Presidential Intern Jillian Falstav: Your Excellency, he cut the feed.
Niang: Oh. How much of it did he hear?
Falstav: Um… the "and", then that's it.
Niang: Damn. …if he had heard it, would he have been intimidated?
Falstav: Unlikely, your Excellency.
Niang: See, these things sort themselves out.
[relevant excerpt ends]
