Asher's Journal

first of the lost pages

In the late nineteenth century there was a man born with a rare condition. He had extreme anger problems and his muscles would burn like fire from use. His condition made him inhumanly strong but he had difficulty moving. The Spanish empire had maintained control and a strong slave trade in the regions now known as Mexico and the URNA. This man rebelled against the Spanish and began a campaign that resulted in war of biblical proportions. This man had hallucinations and nightmares and would often find himself in strange circumstances related to his nightmares.
He also had trouble expressing himself, but eventually he learned to read and write, and he chronicled his visions in odd text.
This is from the hand of a man who's actions shook the world.
This is the journal of Asher.

Many tongues of many tongues. They speak in screaming whispers.
My mind though it burns, the truth is revealed.
Speaking screaming as I lie my body, my mind yet does not lie still.
Be it my past, be it my world, be it something beyond, greater than this most plain of worlds.
My body quakes at the sight of this most sinister of beasts.
It speaks.
It is not of human words yet so loud this beast it speaks, no heart, yet this beating within my chest, not ceasing as this madness is of my own.
These are not words, not voices spoken.
It is the shape and sound of the language of madness.
I writhe in agony from its truth.
Its wisdom hot like venom brought fresh to my blood by sting of serpent.
This cost of truth is most wicked, a taste upon my tongue like foul water to the parched dissident in this scorching heat of unyielding desert.
I am poised, I am proud. In this eye I see my fear and it is brought before me. I weep before eternity and I am brought to my knees. I see I am weak before that which is too great to look upon with mortal eyes.
This most maddening of visages is but a taste on the tip of the tongue of the scholar thirsty for knowledge. This taste of a flavor so great in scope and magnitude shall see the world brought before it and wrought weak, by only one drop from the endless sea. This sea with its beasts so great writhing deep beneath the waves. This sea may not be sailed, hands may not be dipped within, no man of mortal coil may gaze upon with greedy eyes freely. No man may say as he would please and listen for its slightest whisper is as a scream that shakes the world.
Bring to me your idle ears and I may share with you this faintest taste I've been offered.
Only knowledge of this greatest of things may drive men beyond what is known as sane and right.
Take note and heed these words. Be wary of the knowledge of this most eternal of sins. A taste of knowledge for the curse of madness, this most eternal of madness. This pure essence too pure for want of this world. The poison, the venom, its touch may corrode the strongest of will to dust. Burn even the strongest of mind to ash.
As it speaks, be wise lest ye be strong.
As it speaks, be strong lest ye wise.
Be you meek fool of fortune?
Be you most pious of fools that you renounce the wicked ways of man?
The man in the church speaks of corruption, not of foul nature as design.
Be you such foolish men that you are blind to the heart if thine kin, be you blind to the truth of thine own heart?
Let not this most comforting of lies weaken your resolve. Lie in comfort and you shall portray that most slothful image of atrophy.
Eyes not open to the truth shall soon close, and mind and soul will be blind.
Beyond scope of reason I have upper limits with which to test my resolve. Many worlds are within reach of the open mind and open eye.
I commit many sins and as such I am tried.
I am guilty and as such I am sentenced.
Within the deepest recesses of my mind I find the wicked perdition I have forged for myself in the fire of battle. It is forged in the fire of battle as the sword that cuts deepest is forged in blinding fire.
My body and mind are as the sword. The adversity that seeks naught short of my destruction is fire, hammer and stone. It shall see me forged, shaped, and honed till I am the instrument of the angel of death.
I am not a mighty blade, I am but a simple blade of humble warrior. I am a dog not of noble baring, sicked on the great beasts that disturb my slumber. I am restless as the world knows not peace. The wicked see no rest and offer no rest.
Only those subjected to this greatest of challenges shall taste of the flavor of madness and wisdom as it comes to those deposed. I am asylum to the deposed. Not king of the deposed, I may not hold so great a title. A man who sees his weakness knows he is naught of kingly throne, and as such is fit to lead the masses of the deposed.
We are cast low and shackled by those of closed mind and blind eyes, they see not, know not weakness, they fill their ears with mortal lies.
They hear not the whispers, they know not the tongue that speaks of truth.
Truth knows no reason. Truth knows all, no one man shall gaze beyond. It is this taste, this drop from the endless sea that is the greatest of all that man of mortal coil may know.
This sound and shape of madness that is one with the ebb and flow of true knowledge.
I have tasted upon my tongue this purest of madness, this truest of truth.
Know me not ad he who has slain, know me not as he strikes down. Know me as he who wishes only freedom of mind and body.
This madness it burns me, and I am reborn as the phoenix.
I am the child of fire, I am the father of ash.