[Warden's Archive] Preview of the "Excerpts of the Lögdjöflaogdreki"

This has been a long time coming, to be honest. Been meaning to rewrite my first apocrypha for ages, and the original Eight Anecdotes of Perakeluin will be included as a downloadable children's book when it's released next month. Hope you like the sneak peak - IFW

>#The Lögdjöflaogdreki

Publisher’s Note: The Lögdjöflaogdreki is a set of ancient parables, chronicles, oral renditions, dances, and rituals that detail the eternal conflict between Sheor the Bad Man and the time-spirit Aka-Tusk and his brood, as remembered by the strange Druadach men of Altbal (High Rock). Although neither of these spirits are held in high esteem by the Witchmen, Sheor is without a doubt the worst, and these eight legends - referred to collectively as the Peralkeluin within the Lögdjöflaogdreki - depict his struggles and history with the forgotten spirit Alkel, a member of Aka’s brood before he later on became the great fickle demon Pyrite. The Lögdjöflaogdreki is believed to have originated during the time of Red Eagle, when the Reach was divided amongst ten kingdoms and ten kings, and the blood of its children were more Nord than Nede.

>##EXEMPLUM ONE, “On The Birth, Death, and Rebirth of Alkel”

...It was with the final [stomach-mumblings] of Tharstaag the World-Devourer (who the northern men call Alduin, drako-world-lich of [much] rotten tooth and scale itch) that the world was [crapped out?] of the dragon’s arse, stench-ridden yet renewed, and the [spirits/shameful ones] who had been [belched] up from his maw yet again made their way back to its’ dung-hills and barren river-banks, to once again fight and fight and fight until their fight was all [crapped] out and their blood fertilized the earth.

But this was [also? once again?] the time that those we refer to as [demons], those spirits of useless-and-therefore-unneeded cruelty and mischief who escape from Tharstaag’s maw every Feasting (for [their tricks are Evil]), returned to this world as [legion?]...and the first of their number was Sheor, Bad Man and Hell-King. Sheor, the Dagger-Eared and Burly Chested. Once, Sheor had been an ancient hero who fought for man, but his [heart/briar] was of drakes, and in madness-laughter led the [Ice Tribes] in the fall of wicked Saarthal (which is why, even today, we [shit-piss?] on those ruins ever still).

In fact, the Hell-King was [laughing] still, a laugh so terrible that the roots in his chest [exploded forth?], spraying blood and briar-thorns into the east (which is why we do not go there). “Here we are again, split-shit and merry, dancing upon Tharstaag’s dung ball once more,” he screeched in delight, using his tricky movements to [slaughter] the lesser beings beneath his feet. “I grow so [?] sick of it! It is practically the same after every [Feasting], and not much changes, but this time it [?] will!” And with that Sheor [made] of himself a [bag? sack?], which he used to [scoop] up those things that are best left forgotten every [Great Fart], for he had made a deal with another spirit to steal and steal and steal until there were more things that were actually needed (for he is [greedy] in his ways).

But it was then that from the [fart-clouds], enveloped in the light of the Heavens, that a great drake landed in front of Sheor, perched on the [Great Shit Heap of the World], and breathed much fire. His scales were like emeralds (or maybe the leaf, after the [rain?]), and his teeth were so shiny Sheor had to [blink] between blinks just to see him correctly. And the green drake said, “Oh, you little [?]!”, and we all knew him as Alkel.