Editing Kixkti Xri's Journal

{{Intro
 | Patch Introduced = [[A New Threat]]
 |   Related Quests = [[Blackmire Lore]]
 |          Updated = 
}}
{{Item
 |               Name = Kixkti Xri's Journal
 |         Icon Image = Kixkti Xri's Journal Icon.png
 |              Value = 90
 |             Burden = 160
 | Special Properties = 
 |         Additional = 21 of 21 pages full.
 |        Description = 
 |        Inscription = 
}}
{{Textbox
 | Author = [[Translator Aun Laokhe|Translator, Aun Laokhe]]
 | 
"Behold! Gates long closed, opened by blood.
<br />
Behold! I have brought you to sanctity.
<br />
In your new freedom you shall see beyond
<br />
the coil that is one world. Yea, you shall 
<br />
see the spinning world for its infirmity
<br />
and touch the fruit of other worlds,
<br />
where the Masters have yet to fall into war.
<br />
Behold! I bring salvation through our blood,
<br />
and of our blood I shall bring the cleansing
<br />
to the worlds where -we- are Gods. Sisters, behold!"

----

With this she opens wide her arms and carves 
<br />
the symbol of ether into her left forearm 
<br />
the symbol of life etched into the upper half,
<br />
then with swift and gentle motions the blade
<br />
spins to her left hand and she carves,
<br />
the softest flesh from her body and feeds
<br />
a consort, bound upon the offering place.
<br />
His lips go crimson as life flows
<br />
into his throat to slake a thirst,
<br />
not his own desire but hers, growing within

----

his stomach; the blade traces the mark
<br />
of foretelling across the flesh
<br />
of her right forearm, and then the mark
<br />
of distance upon the upper arm.
<br /><br />
Blood flows and fills the cups, the twelve close
<br />
and take their place as she hoists the blade of Writhing Fury.
<br />
The blade is then drawn to his midsection,
<br />
once there a tremor causes
<br />
his lips to quiver and his voice to tremble,
<br />
she sings the perfect note and the Eyes open.

----

The blade slips cleanly into his middle,
<br />
severs the organ that lets all scream and breathe,
<br />
draws sinew and bone apart exposing a heart
<br />
still beating.
<br />
His eyes shudder and he speaks,
<br />
but his voice is drowned by the chorale 
<br />
of the twelve singers. The Eyes draw near and sup
<br />
on his flesh, his blood, all that he was 
<br />
until nothing of what was him remains.

----

Then the way is opened and twelve sisters,
<br />
lead by she who is highest amongst them,
<br />
walk to new worlds to bring the love 
<br />
of the Eyes. To bring back sustenance
<br />
in this time of wicked cold
<br />
and chase ignorance from their surfaces.
<br />
So has this been. So shall I one day
<br />
walk to worlds aside from this.
<br />
Dark haze spun for three days, spilling no sign

----

of our beloved Mother or the twelve sisters who walked with her 
<br />
through the tunnel of murk and lightning.
<br />
For we, the sisters who remained ever vigil, 
<br />
the matter was rife with loss. Eight in all
<br />
had been given to the sleepers, eight in all
<br />
had been consumed to keep the gate open, eight
<br />
had lost their consorts for the greater good.

----

A thundercrack split the air, swirls of violet split
<br />
through the grey dusk of the tunnel and the churn
<br />
of the device ceased. Through the tunnel she came, ebony
<br />
eyes aware and seeking, behind her the twelve 
<br />
and six forms that came on scaled bellies,
<br />
slithering and swaying. 
<br />
Scrawny arms ended in claws like the kukri, 
<br />
hot breath and the smell of bile permeated the air,
<br />
eyes set deep into flesh-hooded skulls twitched nervously,

----

tongues, thin and forked, darted from between a thin crack
<br />
of a mouth. No weapons, bore the captives, no signs
<br />
of war or hate, on scaled bellies they crawled to us,
<br />
bowed their flesh-hooded heads and there, prostrate before us,
<br />
begged in language foreign and vile to serve the will 
<br />
of the Gods.
<br />
Ixir Zi! Be praised by the Sleepers, let our voices raise
as one to praise your name.

----

"A price of blood shall be paid for the glory of the First!
<br />
We, greatest amongst the vigilant, host of the highest,
<br />
servants to none and masters of the Nuanni*;
<br />
(* This is the Tonk name for the spirits of the ones who came before. Lord Asheron has called them Gromnatross.)
<br />
shall see the tide of victory turned against the denizens
<br />
of the deep dark. Our ranks shall grow, 
<br />
filled with the ranks of impotent 

----

consorts who give of themselves, to join with the
<br />
Fiazhat, serpents of the Sleepers. Spill blood for your race,
<br />
that it may survive, flay flesh for your sister-mother
<br />
that she may nurture. Cull the weakest of your herd, sisters.
<br />
The sterile male holds no more use, so he shall be carved,
<br />
ensorcelled and given life eternal, servants ever more to our
<br />
race."

----

The proclamation made, she turned within and drew
<br />
with her the hope of our kind. Twelve sisters and she had
<br />
found their way across the sea of heavens; there, upon a world
<br />
of bile, mire and swale they had found a deliverance.
<br />
The infirmed and decrepit males, incapable of husbandry
<br />
would give their lives to be amongst us for all time.

----

The kukri moved quickly beneath the scales,
<br />
The sacrifice lived still. Its words had been deciphered
<br />
some time prior, and now as it lay 
<br />
flesh opened to musculature, scales peeled away from flesh
<br />
in delicate rows, eyes darting wildly,
<br />
it begged and pleaded to know why. 
<br />
Why had the Gods seen fit to punish?
<br />
What transgression had it brought into their Palace
<br />
to cause it such suffering?

----

The kukri stripped flesh away leaving blood, muscle
<br />
and the living organs.
<br />
A need for alacrity arose,
<br />
death closed on the fleshless Fiazhat, 
<br />
unconscious now but for the awareness of its
<br />
inevitable demise, talons stretching time and again
<br />
grasping at air and begging in hushed muted tone
<br />
for absolution from the Gods met with deaf ears. 

----

"No Gods are we, child of another sun.
<br />
No Gods so cruel or selfish in attention,
<br />
would answer your pleas with such remorseless
<br />
and cruel intent. You shall not rest, nor know 
<br />
death. You shall be unlike any that this world has known;
<br />
an army bred from the army of the First. 
<br />
Darkness shall yield once again to the sisters sent
<br />
to control it at the dawn of all there is.
<br />
You shall be that army, one life given across twenty;

----

One life shared amongst many to safeguard the lives of hundreds,
<br />
part of a race of thousands, sent from the bosom of one."
<br />
Her smile, somehow cruel and gentle in the same turn of the lips,
<br />
pressed against the exposed muscle of the Fiazhat,
<br />
no strength within the bloodied beast to whimper,
<br />
its now lidless eyes went grey from black; not dead,
<br />
slumbering it seemed as pain o'erwhelmed its frame.

----

Twenty barren, infertile males, whose purpose was long used,
<br />
lay on slabs of stone. Runnels, scrubbed dry and clean,
<br />
waited eagerly to taste the precious life that would be let.
<br />
Absolved of their duties, children and mistresses,
<br />
the Willing lay in wait.
<br />
Calling to the sleepers, life begets life.
<br />
A chorus of voices, the twelve and my Mother, 

----

sing to Slithayr
<br />
The sickle splits the flesh of the willing
<br />
flaying wide their forms. Flesh of the sacrifice mixed
<br />
within the Willing, the chorus calls for the wells
<br />
to spill the world's blood into the wounds of the Willing.
<br />
Liquid hot, the blood boils from the mouths of the singers,
<br />
incantations form the power of the sleepers into tangible

----

gifts that fused the flesh of the sacrifice with the Willing,
<br />
wounds begin to close as the hearts of the Willing are snatched
<br />
by unseen hands, lifted above the Willing,
<br />
still living, watching and praying with the sisters.
<br />
A scream of agony is drowned by the songs
<br />
of my sister-Mother and the twelve.
<br />
The spirit of the sacrifice rips in half,
<br />
splinters tear into ten screaming shards.

----

Shards seek the hearts of the Willing and plunge within.
<br />
Black bile, blood and sinew spill into the hungry runnels
<br />
of the offering slabs.
<br />
Hearts, plunged back within closing chests,
<br />
beat with a new furor. The change begins at once.
<br />
Scales cover the faces of the Willing, their forms twist
<br />
and bones break, twist audibly as the flesh contorts around

----

bone newly bent and grown. Hoods of flesh surround scaled faces
<br />
and the eyes of the Willing become obsidian and withdrawn,
<br />
coherent and obedient.
<br />
"Rise, thrall-kin. Serve well your masters. 
<br />
You shall be taught again the Rites of you Mothers.
<br />
You shall call me highest amongst them, I, Ixir Zi.
<br />
I have culled you, once chattel, and crafted you anew.

----

You are my servants, servants to my sisters, 
<br />
servants of the Falatacot, first amongst the highest host;
<br />
undying, obedient, and perfect, sclavi*.
<br />
*(There is no word in Tonk for what this means. It appears to be
<br />
some form of ultimate perhaps, but explains where the name Sclavus
<br />
is born.)
<br />
Rise, thrall-kin and serve!"
}}

== Notes ==
* Obtained by giving {{Itemlink|Etched Fleshy Journal}} to [[Translator Aun Laokhe]]:
{{Dialog
|You give Translator Aun Laokhe Etched Fleshy Journal.
|Translator Aun Laokhe tells you, "The keh have spoken to me and I have translated their words to paper for you. I have used your language so as to not confuse you."
|Translator Aun Laokhe gives you Kixkti Xri's Journal.
|Translator Aun Laokhe gives you Elysa's Pendant.
|Translator Aun Laokhe tells you, "Farewell budhi."
}}

[[Category:Text Items]]
[[Category:Translated Text Items]]