The Angel of the Gathering Blood, Herald of the Heptameron.

“My Fathers Great Grand Father used to tell a tale to him when he was a boy and he in turn  has told it to me and now I tell it to you my boy.”

“It tells of an Angel of such wrathful beauty, blazing colour and dripping blood. She flys through the spaces of The Chapel gathering the lost and the damned, the loved and the cherished for all are welcome in her embrace. Voice so sweet it lures you in and it is said you fall helplessly in love with that Angel of colour and light, so much so that the changes she brings are welcomed with dying arms.”

“What sort of changes Grandpa, does she make you magical?”

“So the legend tells the change is one of transcendence, so yes you could say she makes you magical for you become part of something greater than yourself.”

“I don’t like change and it seems like a lot to give up for a icky girly thing like love”

“Ha ha ha, yes but you don’t yet understand how powerful love is. It is one of the strongest emotions we have and many a man has fallen for it and given up many things to pursue it”

“Not me! I’m tougher than that, if I see this Angel I’d tell it frak off! You’re not transcending me”

“My boy, if you see this Angel I suggest you run. For if she existed it would mean the doom of us all. Would you like to hear why?”

“Will it give me nightmares?”

“Oh most definitely.”

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The Angel of the Gathering Blood, her Tzanguinors and the Cauldron of Offerings. Together they are the herald of the Heptameron, the evil that will rise like it has in histories past but for it to rise fully it needs the fuel of sacrifice, blood offerings and souls.

The Chapel has called and The Angel has risen. The gathering has begun and The Heptameron will have it’s share of souls to rise once again.

 

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Wisps

But starts if a shadow fall;

And never a voice can make him turn

But the far off winds that call.

The twilight covers the dreaming hills,

The evening dews begin;

There’s none to care that he wonders there

There’s none to call him in;

And all the night, with his lonely light

He goes where the mists have been.

A.C. Huestis



Wisps are said to be parts of a young lads soul, who got lost within the wilds of the Albino Woods. The story goes that he went wondering but wondered to far and became lost and ultimately was consumed by the woods. At the time of death he asked the spirits to send lights to guide lost souls home for he was saddened to never see his family again. The spirits agreed and shattered his soul into tiny fragments and cast them to the wind scattering them through out the lands of  The Chapel.

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Wisps can be found from the Albino Woods and rocky lands of the surface to the depths of the industrious hive that lays below. They are thought to be a good omen by many and have been known to guide to good fortune but equally for others they are a bad omen and have also been known to lead to your doom.

The Ostium Guides have many tales to tell about these mysterious things and if one is sighted while guiding a traveler, they would ask the traveler to decide whether they would follow it or not, for once decided to follow then the contract between guide and traveler is done and payment forfieted as the Ostium Guides know not to follow for they have a new guide now, one that could lead to a very different fate.

The Book Ghoul

While most of the ghosts that float around in the depths of The Chapel are hell bent on depriving the living of life The Book Ghoul is only really interested in knowledge.

He can be found in the many libraries of The Chapel scribbling notes with his bone pen and his skull pot of ectoplasmic ink, while muttering to himself on how stupid everyone else is. You see this is his problem, he’s not violent but extremely condescending, patronising and overly insulting to all those he speaks to. So much so that many have walked away doubting their very existence and purpose in life.

If you can suffer him though the knowledge he can bestow is pricless. This leads to his next problem, the fact that he’s so damn hard to find! Because he thinks everyone is stupid and are better off killing theselves, he only likes the company of books and scrolls and information devices. He devours information, sucking it into him like a leech with blood and writing interesting parts down to add to his personal collection. It’s this collection of knowledge that those who have heard of him and seek him out want for it is said to contain the darkest of secrets of the early days of The Chapel from sources that have long since disappeared. This also raises the question of who he once was and how old he really is.

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” That acid tongued wretch! How dare he tell me I’m no smarter than a rusted, squashed skull crab!!”

Inquisitor Dahan after meeting the Book Ghoul.

He later died by having a large part of a statue fall on him,which was shaped like a skull.

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It’s been a while since I posted and like most people it’s all lifes fault and ghost 4 had been sitting on my bench for a while and so I thought I’d better finish him before my Ostium Guide. I hope you like him.

There is a lot to do still and there is more to come, mysteries about The Chapel to tell and models that you have all greatly inspired me to make. The Chapel is constantly calling and something ancient and evil will soon rise.

The Eyes of Knowledge

Here I sit on an impossible chair. Charged with what seems to be an impossible task.

I sift through endless words looking for signs from histories past with eyes that were never mine, they are seeking something now aware that the ticking of time is passing by.

This much I know. The balance, that most delicate of things, is being tested. From the surface and from within stirrings from the depths of this our home threaten to tip that balance. A sighting of the Angel was the first sign that things are changing. That bright herald, blazing with light and blood soaked intentions, how many have been claimed so far?……… A name, that name again. They read it repeated, a name of fear, of change, a thing that should not exist but must. The name of The Heptameron. The eyes tell me much of the power it wields and of the suffering that will come.

Page after page, snippets of knowledge, useful knowledge gathers in my mind and on this day my Lady Elect has much to learn from me. The Sentinels have been busy culling those who would enter as that thrice damned Guild of The Ostium guides bring travellers from afar. Most are unworthy of the Call and fall on my Ladies blade or burn from righteous fire. Others, though tested, have made it through and aloud to seek whatever it is they have been called to seek. For better or worse only time will tell but the blood of innocents will run freely before the end.

Such doom, history is made up of this. I want to cry but the eyes do not, tears of blood they assure me shall be shed soon enough. I grip my sword knowing they are right. After all The Call has been cast and of those near the core no sign as yet been seen. They could be the key? The eyes do not read much about them. I must know more for time is passing. I need eyes! More eyes! Trusted eyes.

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