View source for Ibrexi Jikti's Journal

{{Intro
 | Patch Introduced = [[A New Threat]]
 |   Related Quests = [[Blackmire Lore]]
 |          Updated = 
}}
{{Item
 |               Name = Ibrexi Jikti's Journal
 |         Icon Image = Ibrexi Jikti's Journal Icon.png
 |              Value = 90
 |             Burden = 25
 |         Additional = 12 of 12 pages full.
 |        Description = 
 | Special Properties = 
}}
{{Textbox
 | Author = [[Translator Aun Laokhe|Translator, Aun Laokhe]]
 | 
Slithering on their bellies
<br />
through the mire, through the muck,
<br />
here come they who worship,
<br />
at the foot of Ixir Zi. 
<br /><br />
Tears from their sun stain their land,
<br />
burn swamp to sand; arid desert.
<br />
Here their voices sing the strongest,
<br />
far from the sun Au.
<br /><br />
Upon this scorched world,
<br />
within its fetid muck they lived,
<br />
now forced to desert,
<br />
their flesh scarred by sun most cruel.

----

Singers call them, act as saviors.
<br />
Temples grow as does her name.
<br />
within these halls, this hallowed ground,
<br />
the slithering masses teem.
<br /><br />
Come greet the distant Gods,
<br />
enjoy their gifts and then cast eyes,
<br />
enscorcelled with chimera,
<br />
toward the tunnels;
<br />
find your way to temples 'neath the moons of Au.
<br /><br />
Come you, slithering on your bellies,
<br />
the Willing wait for thee.
<br />
On slabs of stone, with flesh and bone,
<br />
only souls from you partake.

----

Song of Summoning
<br />
Ibrexi Jikti Chief Consort to the Mother Ixir Zi
<br /><br />
Long have words been passed of my longevity.
<br />
Lesser sisters come before the Mother,
<br />
beg the lives of consorts whose time is not yet sour,
<br />
bring within conversation my name,
<br />
then suffer the fate of all the -Willing-.
<br />
Defame my name, I tempt all who would,
<br />
but think not that I abuse my station.

----

I am as the next breeder; afeared in time
<br />
my worth will pass and I shall become the Willing.
<br />
When time calls I shall walk with honor
<br />
to that endless service, accept the hood with grace
<br />
and cling to the memories of my lover-Mother.
<br />
If the sleepers deem me worthy, may the thoughts
<br />
of all I have known remain for my eternal service,
<br />
in the prison of the hood, talon and fang.

----

War rages about us, winds turn cold and the Sclavus*
<br /><br />
(* Apparently Sclavus became a commonly used word to describe the unfortunates who underwent a strange process that fused the lives and spirits of the male Falatacot and creatures called the Fiazhat.)
<br /><br />
have failed her cause. They sleep too often, become torpid
<br />
as the cold winds rain into our halls.
<br />
The moons draw across the sky less, and the last
<br />
sleeper awake threatens to sleep forever.
<br />
She has sent a call to all sisters now.

----

One final ritus, one final gift before we slumber
<br />
as our lords beneath the world,
<br />
in temples of obsidian and blood.
<br />
Darkness has churned the war against the shadow, 
<br />
the shadow has churned the war against the Darkness,
<br />
and Light has fallen 'neath Darkness's sway.

----

Now shall we fall dormant, knowing still that sisters
<br />
across seas of gold and sapphire will one day
<br />
crawl from turbulent dreams to awaken us.
<br /><br />
Us, I am above my own station. A male gifted immortality. 
<br />
So few shall be given this gift and maintain their minds.
<br />
The process will bring me pain and though we shall wither,
<br />
with the blood of our sister-mothers and brothers
<br />
will we wake again with strength, and vigor.

----

Peril lies still, while torpid, we have no guardians.
<br /><br />
Nay, a lie. Slaughtered are unbelievers,
<br />
fettered to this world against their will,
<br />
some with memories washed clean, others with hatred
<br />
boiling within the minds, lacking body to perform
<br />
atrocity upon the Mother and her trusted children.
<br />
Guardians they shall be. Ever watchful of our crypt,
<br />
only letting those who can wake our forms again

----

to gain access to these hallowed halls.
<br /><br />
Else disaster come from the world beyond 
<br />
whereon the war of our sibling-kin grew.
<br />
There, across millennia, a war on nature waged.
<br />
Victims of the plague of life,
<br />
the Fiazhat, no longer worthy of ministration 
<br />
and of eternity, forgotten.
<br />
Left to perish at the hands of enemies,
<br />
made strong by supposition, by acts of hubris.
<br />
Only the touch of our sibling-kin kept the threat at bay.

----

Woe be that day, when last the mired tunnel was opened.
<br />
Where we crossed with the twelve and the Mother,
<br />
saw atrocity given a new face, felt the burn
<br />
of acrid wind upon our flesh and saw the bloated
<br />
mass of a swamp thing drunk on power.
<br />
Seamless passage, hidden with arts, we fled.
<br /><br />
Now, we return and the air is frigid.
<br />
Life threatens to cease in the War of Hate

----

and sisters flee our land. But the twelve and the Mother,
<br />
recalling our sister-kin who crept beneath the earth
<br />
with the first sleepers, have dreamed a different ending.
<br />
So we call, and wait; we wait and prepare,
<br />
soon to enact the ritus that will give us life unending,
<br />
but sleep eternal until blood and sacrifice.
<br /><br />
I am gifted eternal service, with my mind intact.

----

Only thirteen brother-kin are given this honor,
<br />
I am one of the last. I am Ibrexi Jikti.
}}

== Notes ==
* Obtained by giving {{itemlink|Scarred Fleshy Journal}} to [[Translator Aun Laokhe]]:
{{Dialog
|You give Translator Aun Laokhe Scarred 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 Ibrexi Jikti's Journal.
|Translator Aun Laokhe gives you Elysa's Wristlet.
|Translator Aun Laokhe tells you, "Farewell budhi."
}}

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