The fall of Harran
In the ancient city of Harran, proud capital of a once-mighty empire long lost to the desert sands, there lay a book unlike any other.
Legend had it that this tome was written by the gods themselves and contained the truth about all who dared to read its pages. It was said to reveal both the reader's greatest strengths and their darkest secrets, a blessing and a curse in equal measure.
Its leather bindings were cracked and weathered, its pages yellowed and brittle, but its secrets remained hidden within, guarded by the dust of ages.The writing was in a language that was unknown to all but the wisest scholars, but the words themselves were said to glow with a strange light when the book was opened.
The book was kept in a secret library beneath the Summoner's Guild, a labyrinthine chamber of dusty scrolls and ancient tomes. Only the wise and ancient guild master himself was allowed to read it, and he did so only when necessary, for the truth it contained was often too much to bear for the minds of men.
In the shadowed corner of a quiet tavern nestled within the bustling markets of Harran, Salim, a young heir to a merchant’s house, found his life's monotony shattered by an accidental eavesdrop. Two summoners, cloaked in the traditional robes of the summoners guild, their back bowed by wisdom, spoke in hushed tones of a legendary tome—a book inscribed by divine hands, said to unveil the deepest truths to those brave enough to peer into its pages.
Their whispers were like fleeting shadows, mysterious and tantalizing, kindling a fire of curiosity within Salim's heart. The thought of a book that could lay bare the essence of his soul was both thrilling and terrifying. His mind became a whirlwind of possibilities, each more enticing and daunting than the last. What secrets might the book reveal? How would these truths alter his fates?
Days turned to weeks as the idea took root, growing into an obsession that consumed his waking thoughts and haunted his dreams. Salim wrestled with his longing, torn between the comfort of the life he knew and the allure of the unknown. The book beckoned to him, a siren call promising answers to the questions that plagued him—his purpose, his destiny, his very self.
The decision to seek out the book was not an easy one. Salim weighed the risks, the potential cost to his family and life should he be caught. Yet, the yearning for truth proved insurmountable. He resolved to uncover the tome's mysteries, no matter the cost.
Information about the book's whereabouts was sparse, the rumors elusive, like shadows dancing just beyond reach, fueling Salim's yearning even further.
Under the cover of night, Salim bribed one of the guards to sneak him into the Summoner's Guild. He made his way through the dark corridors, his heart pounding in his chest, each step a dance with danger.
He finally reached the secret chamber where the book was kept. It was a small, dusty room with a single table and chair. The table was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the chair was creaky and old. A single ray of moonlight streamed through a narrow window, illuminating the black leather book that gleamed on the table.
The book was bound in thick, supple brown leather, and its cover was embossed with strange symbols. The symbols were arranged in a circular pattern, and they seemed to glow with an inner light. The book itself was large and heavy, and it exuded a visible aura, the air shimmering with energy. Salim stood motionless before the ancient book, the weight of the last years pressing down upon him. The moonlight cast long shadows across the chamber, and the silence was so profound he could hear the beating of his own heart. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the tome, as a myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. Memories of his long journey, the whispered warnings, and the legends that spoke of the book’s power all fought for his attention. With a deep, steadying breath, Salim reached out, his fingers grazing the leather cover. A shiver ran up his spine, not from the chill of the room, but from the realization of what he was about to do. The book seemed to beckon him, its symbols glowing faintly in the dim light, as if alive with anticipation. As he opened the book, the air around him seemed to thicken, charged with an bristling energy. The pages whispered secrets of a forgotten age, and Salim felt a connection to something much larger than himself. He was no longer just a man in a dusty chamber; he was a conduit for a power that had been sought after for generations. The words were in a language he didn't understand, but he could feel the power emanating from the pages. His eyes wandered the pages, and as they did, he began to see things, hear quiet murmurs. He saw all - all he did, all he ever was, his own self mirrored in the pages of the book, but it was a reflection that was twisted and distorted. He saw his own flaws and weaknesses magnified a hundredfold, laid bare for all to see. He saw the darkness in his own heart, the darkness and the desires that consumed him. He saw the things he had done that he was ashamed of, the consequences, the suffering. He saw the mistakes he had made that he could never take back. All was laid bare before him, dragged out into the cruel light of truth. With a whimpering cry, Salim tried to close the book, but it was far too late. The terrible knowledge he had gained, the pictures and voices had already begun to consume him. Driven mad, he began to scream and rave, tearing pages from the book. The Guild master heard Salim's screams and rushed to the room, furious, his hands already crackling with energy, prepared to strike down the intruder. He found Salim cowering in the corner, surrounded by the torn pages of the book. Salim's eyes were wild and unfocused, his beard full of spittle, and he was muttering to himself in a language that even the head of the summoners guild did not understand.
Days turned into weeks as the Master cared for Salim, hoping to restore his sanity. Yet, despite his efforts, Salim remained lost in his own mind, a shell of the promising young man he once was.
Word of Salim’s condition spread quietly at first, a whisper among the guild members. But as the Master continued to pore over the torn pages, trying to piece together the knowledge that had broken the young man, a sense of unease began to take root within the walls of the guild. The other summoners watched with wary eyes, their trust in the ancient tomes waning.
It was only when the first of the guild’s own, a young summoner who had dared to read from the reconstructed pages, was found wandering the streets, speaking in tongues, that the full extent of the curse became clear. The Master, now a gaunt figure shadowed by regret, made the heavy hearted decision to seal away the book and all its remnants with an elaborate and dangerous ritual. It was successful, even at the cost of his own life, but the damage had already been done.
As the days turned to dusk and the nights stretched into endless shadows, the once-thriving city of Harran began to wither under an unseen blight of dread. The streets, once filled with the vibrant life and the laughter of countless children, now lay silent, save for the mournful howl of the wind that carried whispers of despair.
The guild, once a beacon of knowledge and power, stood as a hollow shell, its spires reaching for a sky that seemed to turn its back on the city below. The summoners, guardians of arcane secrets, now wandered through their hallowed halls with eyes clouded by doubt, their whispers adding to the symphony of fear that gripped the heart of Harran.
The citizens, who had once looked upon the guild with awe and reverence, now cast furtive glances of hate and distrust at its looming presence, watching their every move. The markets, once filled with laughter and haggling, now echoed with silence. The taverns, once brimming with stories, songs and wine, stood empty, their hearths cold and barren. In the wake of the book’s curse, trust became a currency more precious than gold, and suspicion the dagger hidden in every shadow. Friendships unraveled like threads in a worn-out tapestry, and families closed their doors, bolting them against the night and its terrors.
The leaders of Harran, once proud and just, found themselves powerless against the tide of madness that swept through their streets. Edicts and proclamations fell on deaf ears, for the fear that consumed the city was not one that could be quelled by words or will. Those who could, fled the city never to return, but most were already gripped by madness and despair.
Driven by this fear, as distrust turned to violence, for a while, the streets ran red with blood. Brother turned against brother, commoners against the summoners. Chaos and flames devoured the city, raging for days, weeks - a caleidoscope of madness few souls escaped - and those that did were utterly mad.
And so, Harran, once a shining jewel, succumbed not to war or famine, but to a slow, lingering death, choked by tendrils of dread that strangled its people's spirit. The kingdom, robbed of its brightest minds, crumbled shortly after, swept away by rivals and conquerors. As for the book, sealed away in the depths of the guild: It became a legend—a dark fable to caution the curious and the bold.
To this day, the ruins of Harran remain a place of fear, only talked about in hushed tones.The book is said to be still there, waiting to reveal the truth to anyone who asks. However, those few who dared to enter the city never returned.
The book was bound in thick, supple brown leather, and its cover was embossed with strange symbols. The symbols were arranged in a circular pattern, and they seemed to glow with an inner light. The book itself was large and heavy, and it exuded a visible aura, the air shimmering with energy. Salim stood motionless before the ancient book, the weight of the last years pressing down upon him. The moonlight cast long shadows across the chamber, and the silence was so profound he could hear the beating of his own heart. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the tome, as a myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. Memories of his long journey, the whispered warnings, and the legends that spoke of the book’s power all fought for his attention. With a deep, steadying breath, Salim reached out, his fingers grazing the leather cover. A shiver ran up his spine, not from the chill of the room, but from the realization of what he was about to do. The book seemed to beckon him, its symbols glowing faintly in the dim light, as if alive with anticipation. As he opened the book, the air around him seemed to thicken, charged with an bristling energy. The pages whispered secrets of a forgotten age, and Salim felt a connection to something much larger than himself. He was no longer just a man in a dusty chamber; he was a conduit for a power that had been sought after for generations. The words were in a language he didn't understand, but he could feel the power emanating from the pages. His eyes wandered the pages, and as they did, he began to see things, hear quiet murmurs. He saw all - all he did, all he ever was, his own self mirrored in the pages of the book, but it was a reflection that was twisted and distorted. He saw his own flaws and weaknesses magnified a hundredfold, laid bare for all to see. He saw the darkness in his own heart, the darkness and the desires that consumed him. He saw the things he had done that he was ashamed of, the consequences, the suffering. He saw the mistakes he had made that he could never take back. All was laid bare before him, dragged out into the cruel light of truth. With a whimpering cry, Salim tried to close the book, but it was far too late. The terrible knowledge he had gained, the pictures and voices had already begun to consume him. Driven mad, he began to scream and rave, tearing pages from the book. The Guild master heard Salim's screams and rushed to the room, furious, his hands already crackling with energy, prepared to strike down the intruder. He found Salim cowering in the corner, surrounded by the torn pages of the book. Salim's eyes were wild and unfocused, his beard full of spittle, and he was muttering to himself in a language that even the head of the summoners guild did not understand.
Days turned into weeks as the Master cared for Salim, hoping to restore his sanity. Yet, despite his efforts, Salim remained lost in his own mind, a shell of the promising young man he once was.
Word of Salim’s condition spread quietly at first, a whisper among the guild members. But as the Master continued to pore over the torn pages, trying to piece together the knowledge that had broken the young man, a sense of unease began to take root within the walls of the guild. The other summoners watched with wary eyes, their trust in the ancient tomes waning.
It was only when the first of the guild’s own, a young summoner who had dared to read from the reconstructed pages, was found wandering the streets, speaking in tongues, that the full extent of the curse became clear. The Master, now a gaunt figure shadowed by regret, made the heavy hearted decision to seal away the book and all its remnants with an elaborate and dangerous ritual. It was successful, even at the cost of his own life, but the damage had already been done.
As the days turned to dusk and the nights stretched into endless shadows, the once-thriving city of Harran began to wither under an unseen blight of dread. The streets, once filled with the vibrant life and the laughter of countless children, now lay silent, save for the mournful howl of the wind that carried whispers of despair.
The guild, once a beacon of knowledge and power, stood as a hollow shell, its spires reaching for a sky that seemed to turn its back on the city below. The summoners, guardians of arcane secrets, now wandered through their hallowed halls with eyes clouded by doubt, their whispers adding to the symphony of fear that gripped the heart of Harran.
The citizens, who had once looked upon the guild with awe and reverence, now cast furtive glances of hate and distrust at its looming presence, watching their every move. The markets, once filled with laughter and haggling, now echoed with silence. The taverns, once brimming with stories, songs and wine, stood empty, their hearths cold and barren. In the wake of the book’s curse, trust became a currency more precious than gold, and suspicion the dagger hidden in every shadow. Friendships unraveled like threads in a worn-out tapestry, and families closed their doors, bolting them against the night and its terrors.
The leaders of Harran, once proud and just, found themselves powerless against the tide of madness that swept through their streets. Edicts and proclamations fell on deaf ears, for the fear that consumed the city was not one that could be quelled by words or will. Those who could, fled the city never to return, but most were already gripped by madness and despair.
Driven by this fear, as distrust turned to violence, for a while, the streets ran red with blood. Brother turned against brother, commoners against the summoners. Chaos and flames devoured the city, raging for days, weeks - a caleidoscope of madness few souls escaped - and those that did were utterly mad.
And so, Harran, once a shining jewel, succumbed not to war or famine, but to a slow, lingering death, choked by tendrils of dread that strangled its people's spirit. The kingdom, robbed of its brightest minds, crumbled shortly after, swept away by rivals and conquerors. As for the book, sealed away in the depths of the guild: It became a legend—a dark fable to caution the curious and the bold.
To this day, the ruins of Harran remain a place of fear, only talked about in hushed tones.The book is said to be still there, waiting to reveal the truth to anyone who asks. However, those few who dared to enter the city never returned.
