The Apostolic Scrolls

A collection of prophetic works by doomsayers and madmen predicting the inevitable Age of Worms


Ages glide
Ages wilt
Empires rise
Empires rot
Worms open the breast of the Earth
For all the world to see the blight within
Spires fall
Spires rise
Ages to come
An age of worms

The soul of the devil-bought hastes not from its charnel clay,
but fats and instructs the very worm that gnaws;
till out of corruption horrid life springs,
and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex it
and swell monstrous to plague it.

I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the Age. My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust;

my skin is broken, and become loathsome.
My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle,
and are spent without hope.
If I wait, the grave is my house:
Thus, I have made my bed in the darkness.
I have said to corruption, you are my father;
To the worm, you are my mother, and my sister.
And where is now my hope?
My hope is within writhing into my cerebrum.
For I have consumed the worm,
And gained great power due to its foul touch,
Even as I embrace madness.

Great holes are secretly dug where earth’s pores ought to suffice,
and things have learned to walk which ought to crawl.
Many and multiform are the dim horrors of earth,
infesting her ways from the prime.
They sleep beneath the unturned stone;
they rise with the tree from its root;
they move beneath the sea and in subterranean place;
they dwell in the inmost adyta;
they emerge betimes from the shutten sepulchre
of haughty bronze and the low grave sealed with clay.
There are some which are long known to man,
and others as yet unknown.
Those which are most dreadful of all are still to be declared.
But among those that have been revealed aforetime
and have made manifest their veritable presence,
there is one that may not openly be named for its exceeding foulness.
It is that spawn which
the hidden dweller in the monolith
has begotten upon mortality.
My eyes bewitched by the glassy orbs
which stared loathsomely into them, refused to close;
though they were mercifully blurred,
and showed the terrible object but indistinctly
I tried to raise my hand to shut out the sight,
yet so stunned that my arm could not obey my will.
I became aware of the nearness of the carrion thing,
whose hideous hollow breathing I half fancied I could hear.
For although nepenthe has calmed me,
I know always that I am an outsider;
a stranger in this Age and among those who are still men.
This I have known ever since
I stretched out my fingers to the abomination
Within that great emerald prison;
stretched out my fingers and touched
a cold and unyielding surface of putrescent force,
And felt the womb prepare to birth an apostle.

High above a spire arisen,
In long shadows the palace,
Near the black oily river
The mists always swirl
The Jade morass seeks to shelter,
That place, very old,
And the high shelves full of rot and volumes
Reached back endlessly through rooms
High above the spire rose
To attain heaven for him
To attain heaven for him
I made the five concentric circles of fire on the floor,
and stood in the innermost one
chanting that monstrous litany
the six armed harbinger had taught
The walls melted away,
Swept by a black wind through gulfs of fathomless grey
with the needle pinnacles of unknown mountains below
There was utter blackness,
Then the light of myriad stars
forming strange, alien constellations
I saw a green-litten plain below
on it the twisted towers of a city
A great building of stone in an fissure within the earth
I felt a hideous fear clutching at me
I screamed and struggled,
From whence I could never return
I beheld such a sight as I had never beheld before,
which no person can have seen save in the Abyss
The building stood on a narrow point of land
one hundred fathoms above
a seething vortex of corruption
From the Citadel there fell a precipice of earth
Whilst ahead the hideous worms were rolling in
Gnawing away the land with ghastly monotony
There rose and fell breakers ten fathoms high
Upon the writhing Sea so deep
Above ghoulish black clouds of grotesque contour
twisting and spiraling as unwholesome vultures
The waves were dark and green
and clutched at the yielding rock of the bank
And from the spire, which rose
a hundred Fathoms into the maelstrom
There rose a pillar of beryl light
Which writhed as a serpentine line into the sky
The axis upon which the world now turned
Faster, faster gathered the clouds
Thunders rolled deafening, maddening
Then came a culminating crash whose power
Shook the land, sea, and sky alike
The darkened monolith torn asunder
To attain heaven for him
To attain heaven for him

Mark well the words of the gnawing worm that walks:
An age comes of writhing madness and glorious ascension,
When the stars align and the following portents are witnessed:
The ruin by fire of a city built in a bowl within the spire’s shadow,
The recrudescence of the worm-eaten dead,
The recovery of lost relics from ancient tombs,
The arrival of a Fane of Scales amid a storm of wind and fire,
A battle between parents and children that threatens all families,
The cleansing of an evil taint from a city besieged in the past by giants,
A demon seed growing to destroy a city across the sea,
The gates of lost city unbound releasing power untold,
The reunification of a tripartite spirit,
And on the eve of the Age of Worms,
A hero shall use his fame to gift a city to the dead.

But that is not dead
which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons
even death may die.


The Apostolic Scrolls

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