The Ink

”The Ink, the Scient, the Many-Armed Author is the patron of writers, archivists, and storytellers. With a hundred quills, its passage through the House is marked by tracks of its scrawling, rambling calligraphy. Herein is a practice that may find some truth amongst its manifold fictions...”
-The Pen, Indelible by Dubedat Locke

The Ink
""We call upon The Ink, who does naught but write, who knows only fictions, whose tears are pigment.""
Origin	Light or Flesh
Titles	The Scient, The Ever Writer, The Many-Armed Author
Names	The Head Secretarian, The Editorius, Disembodied Voice of Pedantic But Technically True Corrections
Aspects
Date of arrival	By way of a Great Vessel of Origami
Owner(s)	Leathy Kocktail (Link to your user page here, for example, Leathy Kocktail)

Description

Appearance

The Ink appears in some interpretations as a man with permanently ink-stained arms and legs. He has no mouth, but his eyes are an ever shifting pool of Aspect Pigmentation, that shifts constantly. He has a seemingly infinite number of arms, and a seemingly infinite number of quills and papers in the folds of his cloak with which he is constantly writing. He has been seen with no fewer than a half dozen arms and no more than a hundred thousand.

As he has no mouth (that he shows regularly), the Ink communicates by writing his words as a glowing trail in the air.

Principles

In order of importance, The Ink is bright and knows much from his duties, and shines that knowledge upon his writing with . But he is capricious with his writing, Full of fiction and fabulism, and never satisfied with one story, he will drop unfinished drafts and shed his darlings as would a . But if it is one thing that is true for Ink, he will not
will not
will not stop writing.

History

Before the Hour

Excerpt from The Tragicall Hiftorie of One Scholar & One Soldier, Act II, Scene 5. Author Unknown.
SCHOLAR: Is it the change of the tides or the age? This is not my study, I know not why. I know you leave this post too soon.
SOLDIER: You may leave ‘long side me. You would be cared for.
SCHOLAR: But I’ve a post of mine own to tend to.
SOLDIER: So too long will our parting be! How can I slay the clouds a world away from you?
SCHOLAR: You tempt me to desertion, but Know not that my punishment would be as Severe.

One day, it was said, a scholar decided to put pigment to parchment. Even as their dreams grew strange with his fervor, and a light started to shine from a fiercer place, that scholar did not stop writing. Everything they saw, everything they thought, all streamed into one furious line of ink, charcoal, chalk, and even blood if it was required. Even as a humble mortal, a fledgling Know, the young scholar teetered upon the precipice of immortality quickly. Caught between a finite Ever After and rising to a higher place, he could not decide upon which ending he wanted, so an ending was chosen on his behalf.

But this is only hearsay, fabulism, and rumor.

Long-Hood

There was a Long that, to the frustration of his peers, was rather difficult to qualify, at least in term of the nature of his immortality. He was mute as the Winter, yet constantly followed by the sound of his never ending, fervent writing as endemic of the Heart (And yet, a truly lamentable dancer, according to some accounts). He was flighty and his interest was naturally of the Moth, yet his writing could at times cut with a merciless unkindness, and his publications were in a constant state of ever-changing limbo as he chased his insatiable desire. Some doubt even that publications under his many pseudonyms were even the same author, contemporary Know of the Co-writer's Covenant arguing constantly over most infinitesimal similarities and differences in the the styling, cadence, language.

The one thing that cannot be denied is the author's longevity and proliferance of their writing. Between the many texts, letters, novels, essays, (and any other written form under the sun), It is easy to say this particular long has easily lived for around two thousand years.
It is said as well that the Long could not decide what he wanted, how he wanted to spend his immortality.
But
The world has a tendency to force decision, in time.

Ascension

FNORD

Worship

"My delight is in the written and the document, the memo and the parchment. His joy is the act of writing and the act of writing is my joy."
-What to Do With Paper by Jos. Cz

Cult

The Co-Writer's Covenant dedicate themselves to fervent writer's salons and the hoarding of all texts, and interpreting the nonsense that comes of both pursuits. Wherever stories are told, text is collected, and books are hoarded, you may find a Covenant.

Servants

• The Secretarians

"With his many Arms, the Author lifted up the Beasts of the Wood to stand, to speak, and read as Humanity does. In gratitude, they are his editors, his assistants, his secretaries. They always bear the faces of the furred beasts: the rodent, the canine, the feline, the animals found in the countryside. I have found they appreciate pats considerably less then their counterparts outside of the House."
-The Pen, Indelible, Dubedat Locke

"I never truly liked [Secretarians]. Intelligence gave them airs of sophistication that I've never much cared for, even before my arrival. They do serve well as entertainment, however. There is a way to distract them from their duties, if you've the right bait..."
-What to Do with Paper, Jos. Cz

The Secretarians are animals who find their way into the Wood of the Mansus, and are uplifted to immortal spirits by the Ink. Bureaucrats through and through, the Secretarians are zealously dedicated to their task. and (almost) all are fiercely loyal to maintaining the cleanliness and organization of the Scriptorium. All Secretarians put special care into their fashion and presentation, although they often appear about 50 years behind the current fashion and may fudge some details.

The Ink is fairly lackadaisical and hands off (So to speak) with his servants, their true master being the Head Secretarian. When a Secretarian finds themself in opposition with the Head, they either choose to leave the Scriptorium forever, or are forced by a breach of 'code'.

Names

• The Head Secretarian - - A Jackal-Headed scholar who leads the effort to curate the work in the Scriptorium. He has read more of the Ink's work than anything living, or dead. He is a very busy Dog-Person, so if you seek to enter the Ink's service, you must be worthy of his time.

• The Editorius - - Upon wings of parchment, the Editorius rises with the thinest of blades to cut down the darlings of the writer. They are viscious. They are unforgiving. They are one of the judges that which all those who wish to enter the Ink's service must appease before they are graced.

• Disembodied Voice of Pedantic But Technically True Corrections - What? How did this get here? Why won't they shut up? Why won't they leave me alone!

Long

• Dubedat Locke - - Once a distractable and eccentric playwright of ambition, his writings tell of far off places and fantastical journeys, horrid beasts and a terrifying Wood. Be careful about his publications, lest you fall in. Newly Long, he is eager to speak of his many imagined paths with anyone who would listen.

• "Jos." - - Somewhere in the marked halls of the Scriptorium is a woman who built and destroyed lives with her correspondences. Her poetry and prose wets the appetites of even the strongest mortals, and many are lost in her eternal letters of longing. If you catch her attention correctly, she may send you such a letter.

Locations

The Mansus

The Scriptorium

The Scriptorium’s spires are only of the finest, diamond hard paper mache. They rise from the Edifice, just below the reach of the Arbory, covered in the scaffolding of the lesser Know. They seek to learn of the Ink’s secrets.

The Many Armed Author leaves the door open to all when he passes. As many as could safely be allowed streamed into the paper lined walls, the infinite halls of bookshelves and reference guide. The Last Library was open, much to the Secretarians’ chagrin.

In the tower's cavernous chambers and winding staircases, all can hear the quiet whispers of writing implements scratching upon every conceivable surface and material. Cutting the ambient skittering of quill across parchment is the fervent discussions of the all of the Scriptorium's inhabitants. Secretarians heckled the Long for their drafts, Know followed single run-on sentences that stretched from outside the gates to into deep within its non-euclidean structures. It always smells of freshly printed paper, the acrid waft of ink, and the iron of blood and sweat shed through impossibly hard work and impassioned projects. Within one of the larger departments of the cathedral like tower, a space filled with shelves and desks from every era of literacy, works the tower's Master.

Books

• The Pen, Indelible
  • Description: Locke's surprisingly brazen account of the history of his chosen Hour barely escaped censorship by claiming it is completely fantastical. Those in the Know know better.
  • Start Text: He speaks of a king who folded a grand structure of paper, the bipedal pets he kept to maintain it, and how to glean truths from a trove of fictions.
  • End Text: "The Author's servants know the Pen's mind. It is said you need a bright a big enough disarray and a big enough opening to tempt them out of their homes."
  • Gives: The Rite of the Secretarian's Sorting, Lore 6

• What to Do with Paper
  • Description: FNORD
  • Start Text: FNORD
  • End Text: FNORD
  • Gives: FNORD

• The Tragicall Hiftorie of One Scholar & One Soldier
  • Description: FNORD
  • Start Text: FNORD
  • End Text: FNORD
  • Gives: FNORD

Rites

• The Rite of the Secretarian's Sorting
  • FNORD

Relationships

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Secrets

• In a History where life was Fleeting but Intense, a soldier named Λυσανδρος visited a scholar at a Library often. The only times the scholar left the Library was to walk along the harbor with the soldier.
• A scholar once had a little tabby cat he cared for. their name was λίγος. The scholar tried to name them אבי, but it didn't stick.
• No one knows why the Secretarian's are all so fiercely loyal to their Master. Except for the Head Secretarian.