Personal Journal of Vallen Dirthridir
By Simon Wigley
HYPERION!
I recognised the place as soon as I passed through the gate, although I only knew it from two sources: the drunken scrawl of Golodon The Unmanned, shortly before his destruction at the hands of the Gibbering Twelve; and a passage of the travels of Permidion Stark, who also met an untimely end at the hands of planar assassins (the list of their suspected employers is legion). I must be circumspect.
We were greeted by “Yalo”, who seems to be some form of genius loci of this place, but also a…shopkeeper of sorts. While we were directed to adequate food and shelter, his concern with our safety seemed to extend mainly to our coin purses. The absence of hulking mercenaries and their tiresome bluster implied that as long as we have coin, I suspect we are safe enough. And the wares! A…thin, selection, for a magical pocket plane, but dazzling none the less. My erstwhile comrades feast their larcenous and murderous intents: I shall limit myself to a hat that seems to aid concentration under duress, something appropriate to my travels with this motley crew.
I must turn their thoughts somehow to the Library, which Golodon raved of and from which Permidion claimed to have gleaned his knowledge of the astral splines, and the manner by which he subsequently slew a Bandersnatch. Access turns out to be easier than I’d expected, and this time I was not disappointed. One could spend a dozen lifetimes studying here: but it would take a hundred lifetimes to afford the room and board. Never mind. I shall prepare a course of study: and ensure that I retain access to the pagoda portal, until a more convenient access can be found. I may also, on the example of my two now-predecessors, need to invest in assassin-proofing.
My first course of study: the planes. When offered a wish by a genie, demand ten more wishes: when confronted with a single visit to Utopia, seek the means to return. The classification scheme is archaic and could be improved – perhaps this is how I could work my passage? – but eventually the relevant tomes could be located, most usefully, the Xenon Codex, that I wish I could smuggle out under my cloak. I also had to assist the group with their mundane research tasks. Bah! What they understand of this place could be etched on one of their axes, as if they could read it. But while they clamour, my own voices fall silent as if hushed by the Librarian. My many selves are all sated in this place.
Alas now we must set forth to battle the blood plague again. Though I am sure every day I spent here in research would be worth a thousand flinging shards of flame at their shuffling enemies. Now I have a place worthy of my talent, where my demons are still. I shall return.