Learn more about the story of the Grim Syndicate, and the very vast reaches of the Knownverse.
*As I have traveled far beyond the reaches of Knownspace and plumbed the depths of worlds unimaginable, I have come to know this simple, ineffable truth: Every living thing has a Soul; a sentient spark that is every bit as divine as the Hrozic decreed it to be and just as mysterious and unknowable as the Krii’jyx Idra supposed it should be. There have been many words across countless worlds used to describe and define the indisputable truth of Soul, but no one word can ever fully grasp in the palm of their hand or with any plain language just what this beautiful living thing is or how it came to be.
To the living, this may sound somewhat abstract (or possibly absurd), but the universe is neither as predictable as we’d imagine, nor as tame as we may want to believe it to be. But what then is a soul? And what are we then, as the living, if not mere casings for these ethereal constructs?*
The Immortal Omnibus, by Pilgrim U'sol
It is quite difficult to accurately compile a history of what came before because such contextual backstory is often penned by the victors. Surely, dear reader, you must know that what is contained within these pages and may surmise outside of them is but an amalgamation of rumor, hyperbolic revisionist history, and mere whispers of truth entangled in a great mass of misdirection and outright lies. And so it is with this account of what came before the Ethereal Transit Authority’s total control and market dominance on the business of Death.
For the uninitiated, the Ethereal Transit Authority is solely responsible for one very specific but universally critical task: the transportation of recently severed Souls from their native universe to their new eternal home in the Ethereal Plane (colloquially referred to as the Hereafter). It’s big business, and just like any other business endeavor, the ETA won the exclusive contract to become the ferrymen of the dearly departed from Nazuul — God of Death himself.
The timeline before the formation of the Ethereal Transit Authority is about as spotty as you’d imagine it to be, but that doesn’t mean it’s been completely lost to the Abyss. However, I should warn you, dear reader, to consider these musings as conjecture, oral legend, possible fiction, and (in some cases) indictable heresy.
There are whispers of a cruel universe only in its infancy, where Gods, wrought from the cosmic ether, ruled from their celestial kingdoms; interfering and directing the affairs of this new life as it awakened into pioneering existence. While little is known of the origins or forerunners of these divine beings, each God was given authority over an aspect of reality; a Sacred Purpose to carry out their celestial duties, from whom it’s unclear. The gods (or Astrals as they’re described by the Pilgrim U'sol), as we understand them, were not the direct summoners of life itself — that is a Magick far more primordial and mysterious. But they did believe themselves to be the rightful rulers of that life. And so the Astrals saw themselves less as caretakers of existence, but as conquerors.
But the universe can be a harsh place – even for a God.
While we may never know the specifics or what became of the other Astrals, we do know that they were not nearly as infinite as their power may have made them out to be. In the tattered and ravaged corners of the Infinitum, far from the reach of Knownspace, we see celestial entrails; signaling that the Age of Gods was an age that had both a beginning and an end to the epoch. But while most of their myths are lost to the ever-fragmenting sands of time eternal, we do know that Nazuul, the God of Death charged with the Sacred Purpose of shepherding severed Souls to the Ethereal Plane, expanded his empire as famine, war, and pestilence continued to spread across the Infinitum. Cruel, hungry planes of existence call for sacrifices in bulk. Eventually, the burden became too much for Nazuul and he, in his omnipotence, created what could almost be considered new life, fusing untethered Souls and his own divine energy. Thus the Heralds (or Angels of Death), powerful divine beings with that same Sacred Purpose, were created to assist Nazuul in his work as shepherds of the dead.
But as Nazuul’s ranks grew, great beings, known as Ancients, began to emerge and take root in the universe. They were unlike any life that had before them: massive in stature and studied in the mechanics and arithmetic of the stars. Their cause was simple: to advance their species to the furthest reaches of both technology and innovation — and, even in the midst of what could be considered the celestial dark ages, they were doing it. They soon gave birth to Ancient Runic Technology, a fusion of science, magick, and mysticism that allowed them to pierce the veil of reality itself with what is commonly referred to as The Jump; the ability to travel between the very planes of existence – or, at least, many of them.
While the Ancient Runic Technology did indeed catapult the Ancients into a new technological revolution, it did not come without its price to be paid. New technology will always pose new risks and open its newly minted wielders to grave dangers and ruinous consequences such as aberrations; tears in the fabric of reality that would distort and corrupt Ancients into abominations. And new horrors would soon greet these intrepid pioneers of the unknown.
Beasts that lay in wait in the void planes between the universes, in the Abyss, began to creep their way in, bringing with them cosmic horrors — the likes of which had never been seen before. Like a fetid cancer, the Abyss crept into our Knownspace, bringing untold terrors both hostile and alien to our worlds with it. Here be monsters — and those monsters were Daemons, clawing their way inside the doors of reality.
While the Ancients’ dabbling in the very fabric of reality was creating new monsters, it was their own fascination (and rejection) of death itself that compelled them to find a path beyond the boundaries of existence; in search of immortality.
But what is a God if not an arbiter of their own Sacred Purpose? Nazuul and his Heralds feared that the Ancients’ own meddling would imbalance the living Infinitum. All life must end. It was a sacred aspect of reality that was to be upheld by the God of Death himself. And so it was that Nazuul sought to broker a deal with the Ancients, dispatching his Angels as his heavenly ambassadors. The treaty was simple: the Ancients would cease their search for immortality, destroy their sacred arithmetic, and Nazuul would bestow upon them Ancestral sight; the power to harness visions from Souls, and granting safe passage to the Hereafter. In this way, Ancients could become both emissaries and caretakers of the untethered.
But the treaty never came to be — the Daemons had found their way into the Ancients’ reality. They had obliterated the Ancients, and the once-great civilization of Nycroptis now lay in ruins. Nazuul’s Heralds took up the fight, waging an all-out war against the Daemons and ultimately pushing them back into the Abyssal Plane. But in order to seal the breach and wipe out any last trace of the Daemon scourge, the Heralds set off their own mass extinction event. To win the war against the hordes of the Abyss, the Angels of Death setting loose upon the universe a power that not even Nazuul could have predicted: this “God Bomb” may have saved our universe from total annihilation, but this final act of desperation fueled by Sacred Purpose forever marred all planes of reality for all time thereafter.
*Life is not beautiful solely because it is fragile, but it is indeed fragile because it is beautiful. We struggle to cling to knowable life with clenched fists and gritted teeth, only to watch it slip away before us; overpowering our grit, our strength, our anger, and even our desperation. The mysteries of purpose and prolonging reclaimed by the infinite sea, making its hasty recession to crash on some other distant shore — perplexing those there as it has done with those of us left here.
But revelation of purpose is not what gives life beauty or value or meaning. To be sure, these have eluded the scholars of every world in each and every age. We are weathered by our grappling with purpose; marked by our dance with divine appointment. And in this, we settle for mythology and the hope for a world abundant in “more”. We yearn for a glimpse behind the great curtain, only to ever be rewarded with none.
But all is not lost.
The Soul understands that life cannot be contained in mere statefulness. It is both pilot and passenger — in life and beyond it. And its purpose, however unknowable, does not require our comprehension.*
The Immortal Omnibus, by Pilgrim U'sol
Life is indeed a fragile thing. It’s more delicate than anyone can possibly realize. And it’s a miracle that any of it (and, by that token, we) exists. This facet of presence faces most of us on either the precipice of great tragedy or staring down our own precious mortality.