The Baleful Hymn of Ruin: A Final Warning

The physical etchings of The Baleful Hymn of Ruin: A Final Warning are as haunting as the words they contain. Each copy is crafted on dark, tempered sheets of metal infused with Helix magic to prevent degradation or tampering. The surface is etched with precise, intricate lettering that shimmers faintly in dim light, giving the impression that the words are alive, writhing as if resisting the act of being read. The title, "The Baleful Hymn of Ruin," is inscribed at the top of each page in bold, angular script, surrounded by a border of ominous, twisting tendrils that evoke the malevolent energy of Ruin itself. These embellishments serve not only as decoration but as a subtle warning that the contents within are not to be taken lightly.
The document’s layout is meticulously ordered, with sections divided by angular, almost mechanical lines reminiscent of fractured reality—a subtle nod to the chaotic nature of Ruin. In the corners of the pages, faint glyphs pulse faintly with protective wards, meant to shield the reader from direct corruption while handling the manuscript. Despite these precautions, a faint, acrid scent clings to the etchings, as if they carry a lingering echo of the realm they describe. Touching the metal leaves a subtle tingling sensation, a reminder of the dangerous knowledge contained within. The edges of each sheet are slightly uneven, jagged as if cut hastily, suggesting the urgency with which the document was produced and distributed.
The cover is a single sheet of polished obsidian metal, engraved with a chilling depiction of Ruin’s crimson sky and a jagged, desolate landscape. In the center, a shadowy figure looms—a symbolic representation of Rhakspit, the Lord of Ruin—its skeletal form stretching unnaturally toward a fractured horizon. Tiny details, such as swirling Bile rivers and scattered ruins, are embedded into the background, providing a sense of depth and unease. This cover design was deliberately chosen to leave a visceral impact, ensuring that even before the first word is read, the reader feels the weight of what lies ahead. Each copy bears a subtle watermark in the corner: the sigil of the Black Holds, a stark reminder of its origins and the price paid to create it.

Purpose

The purpose of "The Baleful Hymn of Ruin: A Final Warning" is to expose the true nature of the Plane of Ruin and its insidious impact on the multiverse, breaking centuries of secrecy upheld by the Black Holds. Penned by Cataster Vainglory, Head Adjudicator of the Black Holds, the document was prompted by her mounting frustration with the organization’s silence, which she believed allowed Ruin to fester unchecked in ignorance. By detailing the horrors of Ruin, its Sovereigns, and its connection to the Frozen Pillars, she sought to equip common folk and rulers alike with the knowledge to recognize and combat this existential threat. The treatise aims to unite people in vigilance and resistance, offering hard truths in the hope of preventing the slow annihilation Ruin promises. Ultimately, it was her desperate attempt to arm the world with awareness, even at the cost of her life and reputation.

Document Structure

Clauses

The document is divided into several sections, each addressing a critical aspect of Ruin and its dangers. The introduction outlines the urgency and intent behind its creation, warning readers of Ruin’s existential threat. Subsequent sections detail the nature of Ruin as a plane of corruption, the characteristics and dangers of its creatures, the allure of Ruin magic, and the twisted Sovereigns that rule it. A dedicated section explores the controversial parallels between the Ruin Sovereigns and the Frozen Pillars, highlighting the potential vulnerability of seemingly divine entities. The document concludes with a personal account of Cataster Vainglory’s motivations and a plea for vigilance, emphasizing the catastrophic consequences of ignoring these warnings.

Caveats

The document is a dire warning, not an instruction manual. Its contents, while revealing, carry inherent risks. Misinterpreting or improperly handling the knowledge within may lead to an increased risk of corruption by Ruin, as even reading about it can draw its malign attention. The document explicitly states that vigilance and containment are the only options; attempting to weaponize Ruin’s knowledge will inevitably lead to disaster. Additionally, the information shared challenges the Black Holds' traditional secrecy, creating potential political and religious ramifications.

References

The document draws upon numerous classified Black Holds reports, including field accounts from Ruin Hunters and records of captured cult artifacts. It references ancient texts related to the Frozen Pillars, as well as testimonies from corrupted survivors of Ruin encounters. Some of these documents are explicitly named, such as The Lament of the Ru’kiv and The Forbidden Codex of Rhakspit’s Hymns. These references lend credibility to Cataster Vainglory’s claims, while also exposing the depth of her forbidden research and its eventual cost to her sanity.

Publication Status

The document has a limited but public release, distributed strategically by the Black Holds to regional leaders, scholars, and certain religious authorities. While it is not widely available to the general populace, copies have found their way into the hands of common folk, often through covert means. This controlled distribution reflects the Black Holds' desire to inform without inciting panic, ensuring the document reaches those with the capacity to act against Ruin.

Legal status

The document holds a contentious legal status. While sanctioned for posthumous publication by the Council of Adjudicators of the Black Holds, it remains outside the jurisdiction of most national laws due to the Black Holds' autonomy. Some governments and religious institutions have deemed its contents heretical or destabilizing, leading to restrictions in certain regions. However, within the Black Holds' jurisdiction, it is considered a protected resource for educating Operatives and preparing them for the threat of Ruin.

Historical Details

Background

"The Baleful Hymn of Ruin: A Final Warning" emerged from a climate of sustained secrecy and containment. For centuries, the Black Holds had maintained a strict policy of silence, confronting the existential threat of Ruin from the shadows and leaving the broader populace uninformed. This approach stemmed from a deep-rooted belief that ignorance was a shield—if people knew too much, panic and corruption would spread like wildfire. Culturally, this hush reflected a society where dark truths were the private burdens of elite guardians, while common folk were encouraged to believe they lived in a more or less stable world. Politically, the Black Holds wielded immense authority, operating with near autonomy as supranational protectors. Within that delicate equilibrium, Cataster Vainglory’s decision to break the taboo and reveal the horrors of Ruin was seismic. It was not meant to end a war or seal a treaty, but to spark a new era of openness and alertness, a gamble that the truth could be a weapon as well as a terror.
In releasing the document, Vainglory disrupted a longstanding modus operandi. No contract between crowns was defined, no truce declared; rather, a social and informational contract was proposed between the guardians and the guarded. This manifesto of horror did not mark subjugation or liberation in the conventional sense, but rather an end to institutional silence. It was a pivotal cultural moment that challenged the political order—people would now question the Black Holds’ authority and methods more openly. Instead of maintaining ignorance as a defense, Vainglory demanded collective vigilance, suggesting that even the weakest villager had a role in resisting Ruin, if only by recognizing it. In doing so, the document reshaped the relationship between the defenders of Tilith and those they protected, shifting the balance of knowledge and fear.

History

Preceding the treatise, the world had endured a thousand-year struggle against Ruin known as the Ruin Incursion, a crisis that had left deep scars on nations and peoples. The Black Holds, forged in the aftermath of that calamitous era, held to a doctrine of silence, believing that public knowledge would only empower cultists and spread panic. The discovery of Ruin’s connection to multiple pantheons and the rise of heretical cults had long been classified. Vainglory’s decision to open the vault of forbidden lore ran counter to centuries of protective censorship. By doing so, she did not instigate a war or break feudal traditions as might a great charter, but she tore away a veil that had muffled the realm’s understanding of its deepest peril.
Her revelations came at a time when the Black Holds were facing increasing internal pressure—young Operatives questioned why they fought an enemy nobody knew, and why entire operations happened under the cloak of darkness. While the document did not singlehandedly ban a particular magical school, as some historical decrees have done, it did throw into question the policies that had for ages kept necromancy, Ruin magic, and other forbidden arts in check through silence alone. Now people could ask: If Ruin was this dire, why were they not informed sooner? Though it did not spark a magical revolution, it altered the informational economy of the realm, laying bare the truths that had once been as carefully hidden as the most proscribed sorcery.

Public Reaction

The public’s initial response ranged from stunned disbelief to mounting dread. Many had never heard of Ruin, let alone understood its malignant nature, and suddenly they were confronted with grotesque details and whispered parallels to their cherished gods. Some wept or raged, condemning the Black Holds for withholding such knowledge for centuries; others curled into despair, terrified that their prayers might be misdirected or that their faith had been built on uncertain ground. Still, there were those who found resolve in Vainglory’s words, taking her warning as a call to vigilance. In some corners, curiosity overcame fear, as scholars and common folk alike pored over copies of the treatise to understand the threat lurking beyond their known horizons.
As the shock settled, the emotional landscape became more complex. Conspiracy theories flourished, with some accusing the Black Holds of embellishing the danger to tighten their grip on power. Others hailed Vainglory as a tragic hero, someone who sacrificed herself for the greater good. Religious leaders were forced to address uncomfortable parallels between Ruin Sovereigns and the Frozen Pillars, resulting in heated theological debates. The general populace oscillated between anxiety and cautious empowerment—yes, the truth was horrifying, but at least now they knew. In time, a reluctant respect grew for the audacity of the document, even as many wished they could return to blissful ignorance.

Legacy

Over the long term, "The Baleful Hymn of Ruin" reshaped public discourse and institutional practice. While not all who read it agreed with its conclusions or supported Vainglory’s methods, few could deny that it changed how people thought about secrecy and security. It set a precedent that truth, no matter how terrible, might be a more effective bulwark against evil than silent guardianship. Over generations, its influence would be seen in the formation of new alliances dedicated to research and understanding, in religious orders refining their doctrines, and in the establishment of schools where young minds learned to detect Ruin’s subtle signs. Among Operatives of the Black Holds, it became both a cautionary tale and a guiding star, proof that silence might not be the ultimate virtue.
Culturally, the manuscript attained a contested but legendary status. Some reviled it as a vector of panic and moral decay; others revered it as the first real armament in a long intellectual war against oblivion. It became a touchstone for subsequent policies and treaties—the justification for transparency and inter-kingdom cooperation against a universal threat. Historians would recount Vainglory’s downfall not as a national embarrassment but as the painful birth of a more resilient, informed populace. While it never became a universally cherished treasure, it nonetheless imprinted itself on the world’s collective memory as a sobering reminder that knowledge, however fearsome, can be the strongest shield we have.

Term

The content of the document was never intended to be ephemeral. Vainglory’s revelations were meant to equip the world with a lasting vigilance, an alertness that should persist so long as Ruin endures. Thus, its effect was not bound by a treaty’s expiration date or the conclusion of a particular conflict. Instead, it was designed to serve as an evergreen warning, a perennial wake-up call echoing down the corridors of time. Many copies were carefully preserved, hidden away in secure archives or cherished libraries, ensuring its message would survive the rise and fall of kingdoms.
Over centuries, the urgency of the document’s call to arms would wax and wane. In quieter times, it might be dismissed as relic fearmongering; in darker eras, it might be rediscovered and embraced with renewed fervor. But the knowledge imparted by Vainglory did not expire with her execution. If anything, the reality of Ruin’s persistence ensured that the warning remained forever pertinent. Whether read decades or hundreds of years after its publication, the treatise retained its potency as a stark reminder that Ruin, and the truths surrounding it, know no temporal bounds.

Read the Document

The Baleful Hymn of Ruin: A Final Warning

Penned by Cataster Vainglory, Head Adjudicator of the Black Holds
Published Posthumously by Order of the Council of Adjudicators

Know that the words you read were written by my own trembling hand. I, Cataster Vainglory, once served as Head Adjudicator of the Black Holds, entrusted with secrets too terrible to share, yet too dangerous to hide. In my final act, I have chosen to break the ancient silence, to bring forth truths that were once shielded from your eyes. The counsel of my peers would have kept you ignorant, would have let you slumber in false safety while Ruin prowls at the edges of existence. But ignorance only feeds the beast. I have seen too many horrors, lost too many good souls to the corrosive embrace of Ruin. By the time you reach the end of these words, you will understand why I sacrificed my life and reputation to warn you.

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The Plane of Ruin is not merely a distant hellscape, but an endless maw of cosmic decay yearning to devour all creation. I have studied records from forbidden archives, peered through scrying mirrors until my eyes wept blood, and I tell you this: no mortal realm can fathom its depth of malice. Within its crimson skies, impossible storms of corrupted energy rage, shredding the fabric of reality itself. The ground writhes like diseased flesh, pocked with wounds that ooze caustic bile and the quivering remains of once-living worlds. Nothing grows there but agony; nothing lives but torment. Those who enter do not return whole—if they return at all. Every breath taken in Ruin is a step closer to becoming one with that boundless corruption.
The promise of power, knowledge, or deliverance draws the unwary into Ruin’s embrace. I know this temptation well: my duties forced me to study and understand these foul inducements. Ruin sings to the desperate, the angry, the unfulfilled, whispering that they might find strength beyond measure if they but kneel. Yet all it offers is a poisoned chalice that hollows the soul. Those who heed its call stagger into an inverted logic where suffering is worshiped and mercy anathema. Once inside, even the most cunning minds falter, their intellects disintegrating under the weight of unnatural horrors. Pride melts into bitter ash, hope shrivels like charred parchment, and ambition becomes a curse that binds you to Ruin’s hungry jaws.
I have seen accounts of those who dared to wield Ruin’s own energies, believing they might snatch forbidden secrets. These warlocks, witches, and twisted mages thought themselves clever. They learned too late that Ruin exacts a terrible price: flesh blackens, bones twist, eyes burst, and the mind, oh the mind, it shatters like cheap glass. They become conduits of entropy, spreading Ruin’s vile message to unsuspecting corners of creation. Their spells do not build, they unmake; their knowledge does not enlighten, it erodes. In the end, they serve as hollow vessels for Rhakspit’s will, their final screams a hymn of dissonance echoing in silent halls. Approach their grim tomes or whispered secrets at your peril.
The beasts birthed in Ruin’s hemorrhaging womb are living nightmares. Each is equipped with organs that secrete Bile—a toxic, virulent substance that infects by proximity alone. I have studied dissections performed by our bravest Ruin Hunters, and I confirm that their victims’ flesh dissolves at a molecular level. Death is not always quick; Ruin savors the agony of its prey. These creatures, these Ruin Beasts, do not kill for sustenance or territory—they kill because the plane that spawned them knows no other language. They are ambassadors of annihilation, acting on instincts guided by Rhakspit’s silent commands. Flee if you can, but know that distance and time mean nothing within Ruin’s warped dominion.
Think not that wards or spells of protection can shield you. In Ruin’s presence, the strongest enchantments unravel like rotted twine. I have handled relics believed incorruptible, only to watch them melt into pools of shrieking metal. Knightly armor rusts and collapses, swords snap like brittle twigs, and spells rebound upon their casters with cruel precision. In Ruin, all strategies fail, all preparations prove futile. The environment itself conspires against you, warping logic, distorting senses, and inverting cause and effect. Even I, who studied this abomination from afar, felt my mind stretch and fray.
Within Ruin, time and distance become cruel jests. I have read testimony from survivors—few though they are—who wandered for hours only to find themselves treading the same ground. Light is a liar, showing half-formed silhouettes of impossible predators gnawing on your shadow. The air resonates with low, maddening hums that unspool your reason. Gravity may shift without warning, hurling you into seas of corrosive filth or broken landscapes of jagged glass. Sanity is a fragile luxury, discarded by those who must fight to live another minute. No compass can guide you, no map can chart the madness.
Yet it is not only beasts and warlocks that serve Ruin’s will. Entire cults form in secret, hungry for the dark promises whispered into their dreams. They hold clandestine rites, drinking Bile-drenched concoctions to strengthen their resolves. Soon, they cease to resemble the men and women they once were. The corruption takes them slowly, then all at once: minds curdle, morals evaporate, and emotions twist into cruel parodies. They become evangelists of oblivion, sowing chaos in the lands we call home. Even our best Witch Hunters struggle to infiltrate these cults before their darkness festers into an open wound on reality.
To understand why anyone would bow to this horror, you must consider the nature of temptation. Ruin preys on weakness, pride, desperation. The sorcerer longing for forbidden spells, the warlord craving an undefeatable army, the priest seeking an end to their flock’s suffering—Ruin caters to all these urges. But these gifts are poisoned. A spell that can shatter mountains will eventually shatter the caster’s bones. The undefeatable army becomes a plague of unspeakable horrors that devours friend and foe alike. The miraculous cure rots in the patient’s veins, transmuting them into a twisted husk. Ruin is a carnival of false hopes, each attraction more deadly than the last.
Rumors persist that the power of Ruin is not alone—that it is flanked by entities known as Ruin Sovereigns, each a personification of some vile aspect. I have uncovered half-forgotten scrolls and pried secrets from tongues loosened by terror. These Sovereigns—Aodin, El’shi, Ode’Bale Shed, Rak’neire, Vegga—are said to be dark mirrors of divinity, twisted gods that feast on suffering and chaos. They are not saviors but devourers, overseeing domains of pain, fear, war, blood, and deception. Their followers are promised dark boons that erode the very soul. Beware these sovereigns, for to serve them is to serve Ruin itself.
Some have drawn parallels between these Ruin Sovereigns and the Frozen Pillars—the pantheon worshipped openly by many across Tilith. I have read the old debates, secreted away in our vaults. While the Frozen Pillars are revered for their elemental and moral domains, their detractors whisper that their gods are too similar to Ruin’s foul pantheon. The names differ, the rituals vary, yet the echoes of power and sacrifice blur moral lines. Is it coincidence or design that certain gods and sovereigns share domains of war, life, and death twisted inside out? I cannot say. But I suspect these similarities are no mere accident.
Remember, I risk my life by revealing such links. Tradition states that the Black Holds must keep these truths hidden, letting operatives handle Ruin’s threats in silence. But silence gives Ruin room to grow. If the common folk know these parallels, they may watch their altars more closely, question their prophets more keenly. We must acknowledge that even some deities considered holy might be tainted reflections, or at least vulnerable to Ruin’s influence. The line between worship and enslavement to cosmic entropy is thin. I beg you to remain vigilant, to keep your faith tempered with reason and suspicion.
The Ruin Sovereigns, unlike the benign (or at least neutral) pantheons, demand sacrifice without end. They revel in fear and brutality, commanding their followers to spread corruption and death. Those who align with them believe themselves chosen, but they are puppets dancing on strings of rot. Our Ruin Hunters have confronted such cultists, and the aftermath is never clean. These traitors harness Ruin’s energies like ravenous beasts, turning fields into charnel houses and cities into silent tombs. If left unchecked, these alliances between mortals and Ruin Sovereigns would plunge our world into endless darkness. This is why I write, why I risk my soul.
The Plane of Ruin is no static entity. It presses outward, infiltrating cracks between worlds. You may think your home safe, shielded by distance or mighty wards. But I have seen its tendrils seep into unsuspecting lands—blighting crops, warping animals into monstrosities, maddening townsfolk with nightmares. Entire kingdoms succumb before they can name their tormentor. The cunning agents of Ruin know how to hide, to smile falsely and feign piety, until the moment is ripe. By the time you suspect something is amiss, it may be too late to stem the tide.
Those who escape Ruin’s clutches—if such a word can be used—return as hollow shades of their former selves. I have read their testimonies, watched their trembling hands and haunted eyes. They cannot bear to describe the horrors they witnessed, for words fail in the face of such unspeakable cruelty. Some try to warn others, screaming their truths in market squares until guards drag them away. Others seal their lips forever, preferring silence to reliving what can never be forgotten. Still, there are always those who doubt these warnings, believing themselves immune to corruption. Fools, all of them.
Heroism shatters like brittle glass in the face of Ruin’s relentless entropy. Warriors cannot stand firm when the ground melts beneath their feet. Scholars cannot reason with logic turned inside out. Priests find their prayers devoured by hungering silence. Alliances crumble and treaties fail when confronted by a foe that recognizes no boundary. Each attempt to contain Ruin leads to tragic heartbreak. Cities once proud and safe become breeding grounds of despair. This is not a foe you can bargain with, only one you can attempt—desperately—to keep at bay.
If left unchecked, Ruin would consume every star, every god, every dream. It does not seek rule; it seeks total negation. Imagine a silent void where nothing stirs, no memory lingers, no stories remain. That is Ruin’s true goal: an end to all becoming, a finale to existence’s symphony. Its victory would leave the multiverse a hollow crypt. No historians would remain to curse its name. Only silence would stretch into eternity.
Why then do some still long to taste its forbidden fruit? Because despair, pride, and longing for escape are potent lures. When the world feels unjust, when the gods seem distant, when one’s efforts yield only dust, Ruin’s whispers become tempting. It offers shortcuts and absolution from mortal troubles. But know this: these gifts are illusions. The moment you claim them, you belong to Ruin, body and soul. There is no bargaining after that.
I have studied entire civilizations that vanished overnight after courting Ruin’s favor. Empires that once boasted unrivaled knowledge and power now exist only as smears of ash and twisted bone. Their grand monuments, libraries, and temples reduced to heaps of pulsing flesh and screaming metal. Survivors, if any can be called that, wander as broken specters incapable of rebuilding. Over time, even their memory fades, leaving nothing but uneasy legends. Another silent victory for the infinite hunger.
Some call Ruin a cosmic cancer, others a living apocalypse. But these terms fall short. Cancer can be cut out, apocalypse might herald rebirth. Ruin leaves no hope behind, no spark from which a new dawn could ignite. It erases potential, obliterates possibility. To contemplate its existence is to court despair, yet we must acknowledge it. Otherwise, we stumble blindly into its jaws.
The Black Holds stand vigil, bastions of defiance against creeping oblivion. Within these fortress walls, we train Operatives and Adjudicators, Witch Hunters and Ruin Hunters, each wielding tools and secrets gleaned at great cost. We dissect the limbs of captured abominations, experiment with wards, and share tales of failed missions so we might learn. I myself oversaw these operations, reading grim reports by torchlight. We are not heroes; we are custodians of a fragile hope. For every victory we claim, Ruin resurfaces elsewhere.
Even as we strive to contain it, dark covens and cults proliferate. They raise effigies to Rhakspit and chant malignant hymns. Sometimes, Ruin whispers back, its laughter peeling skin from bone. The faithful of Ruin are tricked into thinking themselves chosen, but they too shall be devoured. Faith becomes a weapon turned inward. They hasten the end they believe will exalt them.
How does one fight what unravels the rules of the game itself? Swords turn to rust, spells collapse, allies betray their own hearts. Each step forward carries the stench of futility. Even sealing a rift or slaying a Ruin Beast leaves scars. Ruin only needs to win once. It has forever to wait, forever to scheme.
Ruin does not hate. Hatred implies emotion, and Ruin is beyond such mortal frailties. It is an absence made manifest, a hunger that knows no sating. Philosophers break their minds trying to find meaning or morality within it. They find only silence. Nothing you can offer sways it; no plea moves it. This is why I break tradition and warn you openly.
If you listen, you may hear Ruin’s lullaby—scraping bone, dripping bile. Its song travels through dreams and visions, leaving empires shaking in terror. Gods and demons alike cower before its finality. Nothing is safe. In time, all that thrives shall wither. Such is Ruin’s domain.
The Ru’kiv, those unfortunate souls who survived partial assimilation, now roam lands that can barely sustain them. Their mutations run deep, granting them immunity to Bile but chaining them to Ruin’s memory. They know what I speak is true, for they carry the mark of that horror in their flesh. Beauty and horror entwined, they persist in a twilight existence. They are proof that surviving Ruin is not salvation. It is endless torment. Learn from their fate, or join them.
I ask: how can such a place exist? Perhaps Ruin is the cosmic check on growth unchecked, the poison in the well of eternity. Or maybe it is a malignant tumor that was never meant to be. None can say. We can only stare into that scarlet horizon and know we are outmatched. Still, to ignore it is folly. To confront it blindly is suicide.
Let it be known I pen these words in defiance of centuries-old oaths of secrecy. By the time you read them, I will likely be dead, executed by my peers who fear the spread of panic—or worse, who fear Ruin’s taint in my blood. I sense it creeping within me even now, warping my thoughts, making my hand shake as I write. But if my death warns you, if my transgression arms you with knowledge, then I accept this fate. Better one life lost than a thousand worlds devoured. If my name is cursed for breaking silence, so be it.
The Plane of Ruin stands as both warning and seduction. It promises impossible things and delivers absolute oblivion. Mortals who heed its whispers are doomed, those who scoff at its existence court disaster. Left unchecked, it will smother all worlds in suffocating silence. This is not a place to trust, nor power to believe in. There is no redemption in Ruin’s embrace, no sanctuary, no boon. To know it is to witness the death of hope itself.
Know that the Black Holds, for all their stern authority and secretive methods, have your survival in mind. They have allowed my words to be distributed—though they plan to strike me down before the ink dries. Remember my name: Cataster Vainglory, Head Adjudicator. I have seen Ruin’s reflection in a thousand terrified eyes, in broken armies, and in the shards of corrupted relics. Heed this warning: vigilance is your only shield. Doubt every promise too easily gained.
As I finish this final line, I can feel Ruin gnawing at my soul. I will not resist my coming end, for I have done all I can. These pages bear truths once hidden—may they serve as a blade in your hand against the crawling dark. If you understand nothing else, understand this: Ruin thrives on ignorance and disbelief. Deny it that feast, arm yourselves with knowledge and courage. Fight, or flee, but never bow. Let my death not be in vain.

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Afterword by the Black Holds Council
These words, delivered to the people, are Cataster Vainglory’s final act of defiance. She has been executed for succumbing to Ruin’s corruption shortly after completing this manuscript. May her sacrifice illuminate the path we must walk. Stay vigilant, for Ruin endures, and we must endure against it.
—Council of Adjudicators, Black Holds

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Type

Manuscript, Literature

Medium

Metal

Location

Ruin Plane

Authors

• Cataster Vainglory

Signatories (Characters)

• Cataster Vainglory

Signatories (Organizations)

• Blackhold
• Council of Adjudicators