A massive, multi-floor room containing books, newspapers, and audio recorders from various points in history across various realities. The people at Syntech have collected a surprisingly enormous library that seems to span time and space.
[Preshow] The Library
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Most of the places Rory had been, he didn’t have much use for libraries.
Sure, if it was a small-town kinda situation the local public library’s newspaper archives could be useful for getting a feel for stuff, but the penguin was more of a in-the-town-hall-archives-altering-the-deeds-of-record kinda guy. If he wanted to look something up, he usually just used somebody’s interstellar data-relay, or the local internet-type-computer-cloud – or, since coming to the Crossroads, the medium. If he wanted to read for pleasure, he pirated some PDFs or set up a fake publishing company – or a real one, depending on how much liquid capital he was working with at the time.
The mendacious waterfowl had, however, many times over his career as a completely respectable businessperson, found himself standing in a private library. Frequently, he was there being monologued at by someone who would later try to kill him when it turned out that the property he’d sold them was located in a parallel reality where they already owned it; That specific scene had happened to Rory scads of times with different versions of the same old rich d00d who always fell for it.
There had a been a period in his life where scamming that d00d in all possible worlds had been Rory’s comfort-zone. Picturing the way his handlebar-moustache – a multiversal constant - trembled when he got angry brought a nostalgic tear to the penguins eye.
The point was, Rory knew what an impressive library looked like – and this was a very impressive library.
There were just… walls of books: a multi-tiered dome entirely lined with shelves, racks, and cabinets, holding every form of media a person could possibly think of or want. There were ‘floors’, accessible by tightly-wound black-iron spiral staircases, but these were mostly just so that there would be a place to put the tables and chairs – broad walkways hugging the walls around a central column of empty space through which silent little orb-shaped drones flew, delivering requested media, returning it to the shelves, or performing other miscellaneous tasks.
There was a reception desk, with several Syntech employees. All of them were wearing company-branded librarian costumes, at varying levels of sexiness – at least, if you were into mammals, which Rory was not.
He waddled up to the desk, and with a little grunt of effort hefted himself up onto the countertop by his flippers. The two nearest librarians stared as the penguin rang the quiet little service-bell with his foot.
One of them cleared his throat, speaking softly as the corporate training took over. “Welcome to the Dante’s Abyss™ Pan-dimensional Library Experience, brought to you by Syntech. Can we, uh, help you?”
Rory nodded approvingly. He respected anyone who knew how to imply a trademark using only tone-of-voice.
“Yeah mang. Do you have any, like, books of ancient and forbidden lore? You know, the kind that you read it all in one sitting and then it turns out that civilization crumbled into anarchy and madness around you, but you didn’t notice because now you understand that time isn’t real, but it still kinda hates you and it won’t stop screaming?”
The librarians went back to staring. They’d only been librarians for a few days, and while they’d been taught to deal with eccentric psychopaths, there was bloodlust and then there was… whatever this was.
Rory preened, poking at an itch on his hip with his bill.
“Stuff that mentions austroavian penguins, though. And like, giant monsters.”
The other librarian adjusted her frilly v-neck blouse, and tapped at a data-pad.
“…. We actually have something for that.”
Her partner leaned on the counter and looked at her incredulously, fiddling with the sleeves on his own low-cut sexy-library top (Syntech objectified all its employees equally).
“… and we’re just going to give it to him? Sometimes I wonder about this job.”
The woman with the datapad continued, thinking that sometimes she wondered how she kept getting paired up with people who clearly didn’t understand who they worked for.
“… the Austromundia Obscuricon – the Book of the Hidden Southern Worlds, penned in the Second Age of Grand Austroavia by the undead priesthood of Titania Sable. According to our internal catalogue, nothing descended from an ape can read it without compulsively drowning themselves.”
Not a lot of things were illegal where Rory came from, at least not in the way a lot of civilizations thought about laws.
He was pretty sure reading that book was illegal.
“Oh, fuck yeah, d00d,” he crowed. “That’s definitely what I’m looking for. Lemme at them word-crimes!”
The male librarian shushed him.
“Sorry mang,” the penguin said, speaking more quietly. “Seriously - Could I check out the book though?”
Sure, if it was a small-town kinda situation the local public library’s newspaper archives could be useful for getting a feel for stuff, but the penguin was more of a in-the-town-hall-archives-altering-the-deeds-of-record kinda guy. If he wanted to look something up, he usually just used somebody’s interstellar data-relay, or the local internet-type-computer-cloud – or, since coming to the Crossroads, the medium. If he wanted to read for pleasure, he pirated some PDFs or set up a fake publishing company – or a real one, depending on how much liquid capital he was working with at the time.
The mendacious waterfowl had, however, many times over his career as a completely respectable businessperson, found himself standing in a private library. Frequently, he was there being monologued at by someone who would later try to kill him when it turned out that the property he’d sold them was located in a parallel reality where they already owned it; That specific scene had happened to Rory scads of times with different versions of the same old rich d00d who always fell for it.
There had a been a period in his life where scamming that d00d in all possible worlds had been Rory’s comfort-zone. Picturing the way his handlebar-moustache – a multiversal constant - trembled when he got angry brought a nostalgic tear to the penguins eye.
The point was, Rory knew what an impressive library looked like – and this was a very impressive library.
There were just… walls of books: a multi-tiered dome entirely lined with shelves, racks, and cabinets, holding every form of media a person could possibly think of or want. There were ‘floors’, accessible by tightly-wound black-iron spiral staircases, but these were mostly just so that there would be a place to put the tables and chairs – broad walkways hugging the walls around a central column of empty space through which silent little orb-shaped drones flew, delivering requested media, returning it to the shelves, or performing other miscellaneous tasks.
There was a reception desk, with several Syntech employees. All of them were wearing company-branded librarian costumes, at varying levels of sexiness – at least, if you were into mammals, which Rory was not.
He waddled up to the desk, and with a little grunt of effort hefted himself up onto the countertop by his flippers. The two nearest librarians stared as the penguin rang the quiet little service-bell with his foot.
One of them cleared his throat, speaking softly as the corporate training took over. “Welcome to the Dante’s Abyss™ Pan-dimensional Library Experience, brought to you by Syntech. Can we, uh, help you?”
Rory nodded approvingly. He respected anyone who knew how to imply a trademark using only tone-of-voice.
“Yeah mang. Do you have any, like, books of ancient and forbidden lore? You know, the kind that you read it all in one sitting and then it turns out that civilization crumbled into anarchy and madness around you, but you didn’t notice because now you understand that time isn’t real, but it still kinda hates you and it won’t stop screaming?”
The librarians went back to staring. They’d only been librarians for a few days, and while they’d been taught to deal with eccentric psychopaths, there was bloodlust and then there was… whatever this was.
Rory preened, poking at an itch on his hip with his bill.
“Stuff that mentions austroavian penguins, though. And like, giant monsters.”
The other librarian adjusted her frilly v-neck blouse, and tapped at a data-pad.
“…. We actually have something for that.”
Her partner leaned on the counter and looked at her incredulously, fiddling with the sleeves on his own low-cut sexy-library top (Syntech objectified all its employees equally).
“… and we’re just going to give it to him? Sometimes I wonder about this job.”
The woman with the datapad continued, thinking that sometimes she wondered how she kept getting paired up with people who clearly didn’t understand who they worked for.
“… the Austromundia Obscuricon – the Book of the Hidden Southern Worlds, penned in the Second Age of Grand Austroavia by the undead priesthood of Titania Sable. According to our internal catalogue, nothing descended from an ape can read it without compulsively drowning themselves.”
Not a lot of things were illegal where Rory came from, at least not in the way a lot of civilizations thought about laws.
He was pretty sure reading that book was illegal.
“Oh, fuck yeah, d00d,” he crowed. “That’s definitely what I’m looking for. Lemme at them word-crimes!”
The male librarian shushed him.
“Sorry mang,” the penguin said, speaking more quietly. “Seriously - Could I check out the book though?”
- Joined
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The Austromundia Obscuricon was a trip and a half.
It was twice the size of a phone-book, and could probably have been used with equal success as a door-stop, a boat-anchor, or a tool for efficiently slaughtering goats via blows to the head. It was bound in weird green leather – and had Rory’s face embossed in gold leaf on the cover.
Not just any penguin’s face – Rory’s face. A non-penguin probably wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference, but he could, and it was freaking him right the hell out, mang.
“D00d,” he asked the librarians, hefting the book between his flippers with visible effort, “Why does it have my face on it?”
“We hear the call of the depths, and we turn away. We turn our gaze aside, and embrace the skyborn flame,” came the response, a chorus joined by everyone else in the room, readers and librarians alike.
All of them, to a man, were now facing way from Rory, standing stock-still.
The quality of the light went sideways, shifting from bright, artificially-warm old-world yellow radiance to a kind of dishwater sepia. Something smelled like rotting seaweed and vulcanized rubber.
“Oh, come on d00d,” said Rory. “I haven’t even opened it yet! Also, you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that if you wanna rustle my jimmies. You think this is the first time I’ve been in a reality-bubble, mang? The coin is probably still in the air whether this creepshow is actually happening or not!”
Not to be discouraged. The penguin thumped the tome emphatically down on the countertop, and opened the cover.
There was an engraving on the first page, rendered in exquisite detail– a grotesque penguinoid creature, its feathers patchy, its bill gnarled, all crusted barnacles and mange. The lower half of its body was that of an octopus – and beneath its tentacles lay broken cities, shattered armies. A scintillating aurora streamed overhead, moving on the page.
The image bore the legend: The Last Emperor.
Seven hours later, Rory read the last page – a weird little poem about shellfish that ended on an ominous note - and closed the book. Something had happened in between the picture and the poem, but all he could recall was a step-by-step list of what he was supposed to do to be The Last Emperor and like, ring down the curtain on the final age of mankind or something ( which he was now fairly certain was on his bucket-list somewhere – probably pretty near the top).
Rory looked around. The library was still lit like the inside of an old person’s attic, there was antediluvian slime dripping down the shelves, and all of the patrons and employees remained frozen, offering him only their backs.
“… huh. Okay. All you d00ds can stop now. I can probably figure my way out of this if you don’t want to help, but, like, why wouldn’t you? I read the book, and that’s step one of the prophecy, though I guess I was supposed to find it in a castle somewhere while running from an angry mob?”
Rory ruffled his plumage, shaking himself ‘til it settled.
“I think Syntech might’ve pre-empted some stuff, d00ds.”
The chorus responded:
“You are yet uncrowned, but still we obey. The appointed time has come: your accession draws near.”
Abruptly, the library was back to normal. The slime was gone from the walls, the light was no longer creepy, and the patrons were all abruptly facing the appropriate directions, and doing whatever they had been doing before Rory began messing with ancient forbidden literature.
One librarian jumped. The other lowered her sexy-librarian glasses to peer over the tops of the rims. “… So. Seeing as the book you ordered just appeared on the counter without input from us I’m going to guess something eldritch happened.”
“Yep,” said Rory, scratching his chin with his foot. “It was a whole skein-of-reality-peels-back-to-reveal-the-horrors-beneath kinda deal. You brought me the book, everyone did the creepy talking-in unison thing, and I found out I’m the destined destroyer of worlds. Well, a destined destroyer... and maybe not worlds: multiple. But still, it’s pretty cool beans!”
Rory paused. His head was beginning to hurt. He was pretty sure that destroying civilizations wasn't good for business: you couldn't sell anything to moon-mad lunatics picking through the ruins of a fallen age. So why did being an endbringer suddenly seem like such a good career-move? Like, even if he wasn't in an elaborate competition that it was going to be super-useful for, which would make him a household name and let him pay off his creditors and maybe launch his own line of brand-name designer sportswear, Rory felt like he would have been enthusiastic about transforming into the Last Emperor and breaking things until there was nothing left to break.
It was the damn book, playing to type. It had to be: All the stuff in there he couldn't consciously remember was probably knocking around in his brain, pulling on levers usually reserved for money, fame, and success. But he'd expected that - and he knew that the way he was feeling now wasn't maybe strictly his feelings, so it was all good. He could handle it!
"I'm probably fine, " he said, louder than he meant to.
The librarians shushed him in unison.
It was twice the size of a phone-book, and could probably have been used with equal success as a door-stop, a boat-anchor, or a tool for efficiently slaughtering goats via blows to the head. It was bound in weird green leather – and had Rory’s face embossed in gold leaf on the cover.
Not just any penguin’s face – Rory’s face. A non-penguin probably wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference, but he could, and it was freaking him right the hell out, mang.
“D00d,” he asked the librarians, hefting the book between his flippers with visible effort, “Why does it have my face on it?”
“We hear the call of the depths, and we turn away. We turn our gaze aside, and embrace the skyborn flame,” came the response, a chorus joined by everyone else in the room, readers and librarians alike.
All of them, to a man, were now facing way from Rory, standing stock-still.
The quality of the light went sideways, shifting from bright, artificially-warm old-world yellow radiance to a kind of dishwater sepia. Something smelled like rotting seaweed and vulcanized rubber.
“Oh, come on d00d,” said Rory. “I haven’t even opened it yet! Also, you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that if you wanna rustle my jimmies. You think this is the first time I’ve been in a reality-bubble, mang? The coin is probably still in the air whether this creepshow is actually happening or not!”
Not to be discouraged. The penguin thumped the tome emphatically down on the countertop, and opened the cover.
There was an engraving on the first page, rendered in exquisite detail– a grotesque penguinoid creature, its feathers patchy, its bill gnarled, all crusted barnacles and mange. The lower half of its body was that of an octopus – and beneath its tentacles lay broken cities, shattered armies. A scintillating aurora streamed overhead, moving on the page.
The image bore the legend: The Last Emperor.
Seven hours later, Rory read the last page – a weird little poem about shellfish that ended on an ominous note - and closed the book. Something had happened in between the picture and the poem, but all he could recall was a step-by-step list of what he was supposed to do to be The Last Emperor and like, ring down the curtain on the final age of mankind or something ( which he was now fairly certain was on his bucket-list somewhere – probably pretty near the top).
Rory looked around. The library was still lit like the inside of an old person’s attic, there was antediluvian slime dripping down the shelves, and all of the patrons and employees remained frozen, offering him only their backs.
“… huh. Okay. All you d00ds can stop now. I can probably figure my way out of this if you don’t want to help, but, like, why wouldn’t you? I read the book, and that’s step one of the prophecy, though I guess I was supposed to find it in a castle somewhere while running from an angry mob?”
Rory ruffled his plumage, shaking himself ‘til it settled.
“I think Syntech might’ve pre-empted some stuff, d00ds.”
The chorus responded:
“You are yet uncrowned, but still we obey. The appointed time has come: your accession draws near.”
Abruptly, the library was back to normal. The slime was gone from the walls, the light was no longer creepy, and the patrons were all abruptly facing the appropriate directions, and doing whatever they had been doing before Rory began messing with ancient forbidden literature.
One librarian jumped. The other lowered her sexy-librarian glasses to peer over the tops of the rims. “… So. Seeing as the book you ordered just appeared on the counter without input from us I’m going to guess something eldritch happened.”
“Yep,” said Rory, scratching his chin with his foot. “It was a whole skein-of-reality-peels-back-to-reveal-the-horrors-beneath kinda deal. You brought me the book, everyone did the creepy talking-in unison thing, and I found out I’m the destined destroyer of worlds. Well, a destined destroyer... and maybe not worlds: multiple. But still, it’s pretty cool beans!”
Rory paused. His head was beginning to hurt. He was pretty sure that destroying civilizations wasn't good for business: you couldn't sell anything to moon-mad lunatics picking through the ruins of a fallen age. So why did being an endbringer suddenly seem like such a good career-move? Like, even if he wasn't in an elaborate competition that it was going to be super-useful for, which would make him a household name and let him pay off his creditors and maybe launch his own line of brand-name designer sportswear, Rory felt like he would have been enthusiastic about transforming into the Last Emperor and breaking things until there was nothing left to break.
It was the damn book, playing to type. It had to be: All the stuff in there he couldn't consciously remember was probably knocking around in his brain, pulling on levers usually reserved for money, fame, and success. But he'd expected that - and he knew that the way he was feeling now wasn't maybe strictly his feelings, so it was all good. He could handle it!
"I'm probably fine, " he said, louder than he meant to.
The librarians shushed him in unison.
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