From The Desk of Meter Matan

A collection of documents scanned by a Finnigan.L.MoR. This set of Documents, while not all penned by the Good King Meter, were collected by him prior to his death and eventually scanned and uploaded to an almost derelict website that you can visit! Several documents seem to not necessarily be from the time of Meter Matan, but comment on or bridge off of what he collected and wrote.

Robasa Upkeep - Two iterations, one by Viscount Charles Limbertly III and Finnigan Leagallow

Excerpts from Robasa the Goddess

It pops open, the document is also old. It doesn’t appear to be photographed well, as you can see the space around it. A purple rug is constantly visible. On one page, the *smallest* snippet of what looks like a tail with long dark-brown-grey hair at the end of it can be seen right on the side. It's blurred in the next photo. The book itself is penned well, by a Viscount named Charles. Charles Limbertly III. It goes into extravagant detail about the *experimentational* ways they, the Matans, have been caring for Robasa as they build the kingdom. Everything detailed in this document is presumptuous. They're learning about the goddess, still, they don't know anything about her. She's the only one that exists, they're building the other towers in her likeness, or at least finishing the ones that were started by the Escherins. What communication they have had with her has been outstandingly helpful. She knows how to defeat "Evangelion", she knows how to build other towers, she knows how to create the flames, she knows how to establish a mayi council, she knows how to maintain the glass, she knows how to do *so* much. So they want to keep her happy. So they're, first and foremost, restoring a shrine. And dedicating the kingdom to her. Robasa is the patron goddess of the Matan family line, according to this book, all future heirs to the throne must dedicate their lives to her upkeep and preservation. In this short book you find that the first heir of the throne after King Meter is a young crown princess named Sherriana, following her is the young prince Finnigan. Both children have delightful little ink portraits on a wonderful little family tree.

Excerpts from ‘Healing Robasa’

The Viscount talks about keeping track of and caring for the shrines, ensuring that rotations of the city are clean and "blessed", and that "the proper mayi, if available, is providing constant communication between Robasarai's avatars and the mystics. A stall in conversation can occasionally result in famine or plague. Robasarai dislikes being alone."

Finnigan talks about keeping the population under control. That, while Robasa may want to be a Capital City again, she's unable to accommodate that many souls, the population should be kept under 1-2 million, 5 million max.

Finnigan also talks about cleaning the gears, changing them out whenever possible, there's a massive swath of redacted information followed by a paragraph written on how to update, read, and restore sigils Robasa uses to maintain herself, sigils that the Mayor made and carved. They have specific locations around the city.

He adds an update that the loss of Level 5 means he has had to move a bunch of sigils.

He talks about the importance of the glass being healthy as well, how Robasa is directly tied to the glass, more than other cities are, and how The Storyteller can be used to take the weight of "it all", as Finnigan vaguely puts it, off of Robasa for a time if needed.

Function and Form of Robasarai, Capitol Repairs, Census, Dragons, Maps, Language, and Other - Meter Matan: 1/10/0 to 9/1/2

Chapter on “Summoning Fires” - Keyword ‘Broken’

Considering, briefly, the thought that Metrian might function somewhat similar to Tanzanon, Cenian, Perin, or Faeth, I took it upon myself to speak with the Nevergreens and the Absors once more. Nothing short of a terabyte of information was given to me by either kingdom. Thankfully, with the assistance of Lada and Charolette, we slimmed down what we needed into a few gigabytes of data. While the digital gods are certainly comprehensible for a technologically advanced peoples such as us, the sheer amount of data any of their own followers seem to store on any given day is insurmountable and quite inconvenient, especially considering I am supposed to be killing the Tenebri at this damn moment. Instead this dear old dreary king finds himself daydreaming of bloodshed with his lovely wife while documenting nonsense about living cities. Good luck to her and her crusade.

That aside, I found myself with a smorgasbord of information, most of which is dedicated to upkeep for this odd tower. Its presence hits a sort of deja vu in my heart, yet I have never once seen something quite like it. I wonder if that is an effect of the supposed goddess within her slate or my homesick brain playing games with me. Perhaps it is something more nefarious.

I am getting away from myself once more. Back to the point, akin to my bloodline’s other conquests, we wish to establish a gateway. To begin even constructing a gateway we need portals. To even begin constructing portals I need to know what language this Elseworlds speaks. And, according to the Escherins, it is fire. Robasa speaks in fire and death and blood. The Absorans call her Death. Pah.

I have begun crafting the spell to ignite a fire with which to summon some warriors to assist us in building this kingdom. The best of the best, supposedly. My informant, who is searching for a second shrine to “Death”, tells me that Robasa has some particular herbs she enjoys. and dragon eggs. I must collect an egg from a dragonoid. I presume the Tenebri will suffice.

My informant, once again, informs me, as he tends to do, that only one of the two Tenebri have hatched. The daughter of Evangelion has had her son birthed, a Yevie. The son of Evangelion’s partner has yet to have had his own egg hatch. Perhaps I could take that one.

I feel wrong about kidnapping children for these deeds. But perhaps if this egg does not hatch I could take the Yevie child. Though I presume his mother will have quite a guard on him, as I do on my own children. I doubt I need to sacrifice an entire toddler to a god of Death, perhaps some blood will do. This is all presuming, of course, I am unsuccessful in my egg-attribution. Eggtribution, as one might. The world does not need more Tenebri so a little abortion would do them some good.

Regardless again, tangent aside, egg, herbs (rosemary I believe, I should find some grown here.), crystals, all that sort of haggish material. Grind it all up and melt it into a carved magic circle, say a prayer, ignite the candle, and the lower disk should ignite. Otherwise I need to one of the 13 Mayesses. Which is impossible at this point. Considering my blade.

I do not feel bad. I have done what must be done.

Once more, everything aside: the candle’s fire will ignite the flame in the newly-built little ashtray-thing in that lower lobby. I think it’s garish but my architect says it will hold strong. So be it, whatever gets us closer to day 1.

Chapter on “Summoning Fires” - Keywords 'Ingredients’

The marmalade of victory is something as follows. Prior, though, to my instruction, a welder's set will do one much good in the event a fire is not enough to melt the ingredients. Flame. Fire. Language of the GODS.

Aside, place a pot of casted iron, over whatever vehicle of heat you drive, inside this pot, patinated comfortably, place the appropriate shavings of gems and metal to match your god, include a decent chunk of The Glass, the clearer it is the healthier the glass. Socialize them. Once mingled appropriately place your crude stew into the ashtray, a single coat of this concoction should suffice for about two thousand years of summons preventing wear and tear from destroying Robasa or whatever other cities we construct.

This liquid is appropriate for a variety of uses regarding City Care. Repair to the tower itself should be made with concoction or stones and gems unearthed by the dwarven tribes of Escherin, and any teleportative circles made with intention to lead back to Robasa should be cast with it. Summoning circles for specific Knights, such as the one up top, must be made with this. While I enjoy placing symbolic vegetation and creatures within the sigils to coax Robasa to bring Knights that fit my, to put it kindly, needs, it is wholly possible to not include them.

Regardless, the completed veritable Neosporin ️ for gods should look akin to a liquid mirror, and if done properly should be cold after amalgamating. DO NOT TOUCH. It can cause unintended side effects if ingested or absorbed through skin. One of my tails went out due to this, and I am having quite an issue reigniting it. And the damned thing zapped my colour. Ridiculous.

Excerpt 1 from Chapter on “Summoning Fires” - Keyword ‘Wooden Key’

With all that has been said and done, I have gone about whittling what the Mystics and the late Mayi have referred to as a "key".

Frankly it looks nothing like a key. So I made it look like one.

The mystics, and Mayi, claimed that all I need to make a working 'key', silly as it sounds, is to create a master copy from a particular sort of wood. Which was damned near impossible to source without killing half my squadron! I have to hire all new men to accompany me on my outings now. Preposterous. I quite liked the old guard.

Aside, I found the old tree, chopped a branch off, took it back to camp and began learning a new hobby. The wood is all knotted and gnarled and hard to work with but despite my trials and tribulations the master copy has been created, now all I need to do is keep it safe and sound! From here, Robasarai should be able to send in orders to the key makers using my copy as a reference and they should be able to take a fraction of a knight's soul and input it into the key! This will allow them to enter into Robasarai's rooms, read certain languages, create sigils, teleport, not perish from magic exposure, explore the hallways of The Glass, talk to and see gods, and not be driven insane from the sheer madness of Escherin alone! Goody!

I know they have a few more usages, and I have cleared with my informants that the smidgens of souls are fine and safe to take (not that I was that concerned about it, but those fools would have died without our intervention regardless so perhaps they owe us one, eh?) so I just need to find a key maker.

Perhaps this is a task I can employ Leagallow with? He has been aching for a craftwork hobby.

Excerpt 2 from Chapter on “Summoning Fires” - Keyword ‘Wooden Key’

PREPOSTEROUS. It seems I must be the one who makes the keys. From metal and glass and the damned amalgamate I've already been SLAVEING over. "על שליט הארץ להכין את המפתחות לאבירים, פן ירצה לאבד שליטה עליהם." RIDICULOUS. I am no CRAFTSMAN I am an ADVENTURER. Silly.

Regardless of it all, I have taken it upon myself to learn how to use the forges. I suppose I must also teach my children. At least this makes for good bonding time.

Leagallow will learn as well, so he can assist, I am a horrible teacher these children will learn naught but poor language from me, my mother was correct dear gods and gold heavens above save me from this wretched fate.

The next fool to enter this damned tent will get a bitching of a gilded lifetime.

Chapter on “The Dhalia”

The Dahlia.

Stalwart, steadfast, hearty, yet they exhume a certain delicate air to them. Tens of little petals arranged in rhythmic uniformity to create a perfect flower. Living for ages past other flowers, determined and stoic amidst the razed bodies of their kin. Blooms lasting for ages upon eons.

Queen of the Autumnal Garden.

Symbolic of kindness, commitment, beauty, lasting bonds. Strength, fervor. Good luck, support. Congratulations. Positive change. Honesty. A love for others. Elegance, inner strength, dignity, creativity. Betrayal, dishonesty, instability. Something new. Diversity. Change. Power. Well wishes. Purity. Innocence. Royalty. Feminine beauty. Grace. Service.

I loathe floral symbolism.

Why are they always so damned complicated, convoluted, inconsistent, repetitive, and useless? There is no language here, no pattern, every other flower seems to represent Kindness and Change and Strength and Grace and Feminine Beauty.

There is a particular type of dahlia that grows in Robasa. Between her cracked and aging stone, sprouting up like weeds in a perfectly manicured lawn.

Oh how I despise Dahlias.

The Mystics claim my true successor will be represented with Black Dahlias, yet my children are anything but.

I loathe this omen. I loathe this flower. Usurper. Mythical idiocy.

The flowers are not even BLACK, damnable THINGS. They are a DARK BURGUNDY.

The fact that I must farm these atrocious pests is horrendous. My informant tells me that if the tower stops producing these flowers then I have every reason to panic. Though so long as I have some petals I may replenish the supply.

Why is this my responsibility? I have wars to fight! Books to write! Yet here I am, doing Gardening and Welding, like some sort of guild artist. I am no creative!

These black floral confettii-esque petals are just a religious crutch for these superstitious irrational idiots. Why would a flower be an omen for a building? OBVIOUSLY it is an omen for a KING.

.

.

Innocence. Royalty. Strength.

What was Robasarai?

Excerpt from the Chapter “My Children” - Keyword ‘Dagger’

With GREAT CELEBRATION I welcome my firstborn to this world. My firstborns, truly. Children destined for greatness! Spitting images of their father. How wonderful fate is to us, lucky creatures, blessed with children so soft, innocent, and clean. Pure of the violence of their future, staring off into the smoke with eyes full of stars and visions of the future's past. Kharasho! Kharasho! I have troves of knowledge and joys to share with my children, how I so delight in the prospect of watching them grow. Blossom like flowers, like steel, crystalize into full and prideful beings.

Lucky am I. How lucky I am.

My wife has completed their daggers. As large as they are, clean, fancy, sharp, and bright. I shall sew them into the linings of their bindings. I adore them. I adore them all.

Excerpt from the Chapter “My Children” - Keyword ‘Dagger’

Finnigan has not taken to his dagger as his sister has, I am worried. Everywhere I go I am followed by omens. He is to be the one who inherits my throne, why does he forsake our sacred duty? Why does he throw our work to the side? For books? I support him in his desires but my concern is palpable. I worry I might be overbearing to the poor lad.

He is still a child, he has more than enough time to prove me wrong. Perhaps he will not be a warlord. I ignored my dagger in my youth, though at least I had the sensibility to carry it with me to spare my poor mother heartache.

Though Lada seems to not care, she has been spending more time with General Hargrave than with our children.

I worry.

Excerpt from the Chapter “My Children” - Keyword ‘Dagger’

This book is supposed to be about Robasa and I am using it as my own personal diary. This is silly.

Regardless, I should speak on the usage of the daggers the children wield with regards to their meaning for Robasa.

Now that a gateway has been established, and Robasa is the center of my kingdom, and Metrianda is fully realized, these daggers will be how the children are to take over when I am ready.

I have given myself over to Robasarai, I will die on her shrine, one of my two eldest will kill me. Ritualistically, cleanly. When my time comes, that is. I have tens of thousands of years left of my life to live.

The metal everything is forged from is the same metal the dwarves create the towers from, the gems are the same crystalized structures that make up the glass, the leather was dyed in the smoke. Everything they need to truly cement themselves as leaders of Metrianda. All my work come to beautiful fruition.

I am no sentimental fool, but I do hold some sort of eager breath for that cycle to complete. A perfect closure to a difficult time. Under Finn, years of peace and cultural development, under Anna, strength and prosperity.

But my gut still pains me. Something is amiss.

Excerpt from Chapter on “Color Wheel” - Keyword ‘24’

Why are there 24 sides? Metrianda can only physically handle 12 major city gods, 13 if you count Mairhm.

The mystics tell me this is a layover object. I do not know what that means.

They tell me to keep my distance from the dwarves. They handed this to me, they aim to give me a tour of the lower worlds.

I shall trust the mystics for now. This object fills me with such unease and dread.

And once more, deja vu.

Something is wrong with this place. Something is wrong with Escherin, Metrianda.

Where did I even get that name?

This world will be my tomb. I willingly walked into this coffin. 24 sides. 32 cities. 24 cities. 12 sides. 12 cities. Something is wrong. I am afraid.

Excerpt from Chapter on “Attacking Robasa”

It is likely of good practice to ensure that future generations, presumably of my own kin (hello, assumed grandchildren!), understand what to do in the event that Robasa is attacked, destroyed, falls, or something of that sort. Whatever that something might be. I have a variety of somethings that have already occurred during my time on this Elseworld that were improved using the following tactics. One of those things was a dragon attack by Elysium Tenebris that nearly killed me! Which is, decidedly one of the more recent of the damned somethings that occurred. She nearly destroyed the entire tower, the whole upper half was aflame, I lost a decent chunk of my people, and all my hard work over the past 3 months was completely undone.

While my hard work and effort and blood and sweat and tears and people cannot be rebuilt or fixed quite so easily, Robasarai has so graciously provided us with a means to repair her almost as easily as one might repair a house, and not a thousands of miles tall superstructure built like a gods forsaken matchstick.

I miss floating islands and crystals, things that made sense. This is obnoxiously esoteric. And for what purpose? Originality? What does this all accomplish besides making normal life horrendously difficult?

Regardless, the entire situation is easily fixed. Not as easily as other things, which can be accomplished easily with a simple prayer and a blessing, but still easily in the grand scheme of absolute horrific difficulty that Escherin has decided that we must fully fall victim too at any given second moment.

Regarding fire damage. Robasa is very skilled at handling fire. Simply maintaining the bricks should be sufficient enough for the goddess herself to repair the tower. Any shrine that the readers and privy to should be cleaned and lit with appropriate flamage and swag, lest Robasarai express her dissatisfaction through inaction.

In the event of damage to the tower itself, if the above is true, Robasarai should be able to repair herself in given time with enough energy. It is important to make sure that she has energy, be that through a proper amount of living individuals residing within her, legitimate actual electrical energy, or heat. Heating one of her "hot spots" up to the proper temperature, which I have been told is relative to the total square area of damage, should also suffice, and let her know which part of herself she should focus on. I am currently in the process of discovering how to heat a square foot of space to 250,000,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Which is completely doable and appropriate to ask of a singular man to accomplish in about a week while he babysits two temperamental toddlers and an aggressive war general.

If a rune is destroyed, the concoction should suffice. Robasarai will let you know where she will need the replacement.

If the mirror is destroyed, the concoction should also suffice. Both are the same material, so simply reapplying the solution should be a proper solution.

If the internal gears are destroyed, concoction.

If a window is destroyed, concoction.

If the base is destroyed, dwarves and the concoction.

If the tower is more than halfway destroyed, to the point that it is no longer touching the glass it is supposed to be supporting, sell your life to a mystic and pray she is not too much of a bitch to scam you out of fixing the damnable superstructure you already dedicated your life to.

If the tower is completely destroyed, wish. Or die. Either works.