It was Ul'jvot, the watcher. The feeler. The archivist. Its entire purpose was to simply be, to listen, to watch, to feel the universe as a bystander, remembering all so that the veritable archive accumulating within it could one day be retrieved by the one who had created it.
Ul'jvot, whose presence can be felt by those with the right insight— is an ever-present being. They watch. They feel. They hear. Everything, always. Nothing is unknown to the archivist.
Who or what their master is, is unknown— simply that even with their prodigious size and knowledge they are not among the ruling forces of the universe. What is known, is that Ul'jvot is an archive— filled with memories of all that it has seen in its lifespan of untold aeons. The great being is everywhere, always. No star, nor speck of dust goes unseen, unheard, or unfelt by the archivist.
Ul'jvot cares for nothing but this goal, and does not move, nor speak. They are an impartial being— caring not who or what enters its great archives, as its memories cannot be removed. They simply watch. And listen. And observe. Beings, both great and meaningless, pass through in search of knowledge, secrets, cherished memories, or reprieve— and in none of these circumstances does the archivist so much as direct them towards their desired memory. All are left to their own devices, and can even become lost among the veritable web of memories within.
Her conscious floated within a veritable ocean of information. A great nest where each and every fiber was made of thousands of different memories. It was overwhelming, how could she even begin to search for a cure?
In their sleep they probed into their newly bound archive, searching for what would bring their enemies the most pain. They moved their mind past knowledge of medicine or history, into the archives of their enemies, past their moments of happiness— seeking out their pain, anger, and sadness. They drank eagerly of these moments.
Mortals on Qet, too, can utilize the archives to achieve their own goals. However— one cannot access their entirety at once. A section of the archives must be bound to a physical object containing obsidian and components of human bodies— a ritual that takes up to ten entire days of tireless chanting, myriad runes, incense, forgotten words, and crystallized blood.
This is to say that this is nothing an amateur should attempt— it is a taxing and expensive undertaking that leaves the unprepared as lifeless husks. As a result, these bound objects are fairly rare— and greatly desired by those who know of their existence.
One must sleep, bound-object in hand, to enter the archives. In their dreams they can explore and experience at their leisure. These thought-forms are akin to clouds, though even this analogy is not quite apt given that these are thoughts.
Those who remain within Ul'jvot's archives for too long will be assimilated by them— their thought-forms spun into string used to connect future memories.
Sections of the archive generally pertain to location, and can be as small as a single house, or as large as a lake. All knowledge that has passed through the region can be accessed, be it the life of an insect, the building of a city, or the practice of medicine. As it is recorded, it is experienced— and so, one who chooses to experience a memory will see, hear, smell, and feel all that came with it. This can be overstimulating, and it is not uncommon for one to become enthralled by these memories and remain forever.