Into the Wanderers' Library - Episode 11 - The Catacombs

Sam. Well, here we are again. Before you worry and before you panic. Before you say anything, don't worry, I'm fine. As is Theo for context. We're currently hidden in one of the catacombs of the library. I say catacombs. I don't quite know how to describe it. It's like a massive cathedral with tunnels going on for miles on end. I'm currently curled up in one of my little cocoons. I've got Theo next to me. He's fast asleep, bless him. He's been having a ball. He's feeding off the darkness. Quite literally, the darker environment is the more powerful he becomes, as a shadow and everything. So he's been happy, he's been content, and he's been able to furry some of that power into this little mobile telephone so I can keep in touch. And I figured since I have surprisingly good WI fi for deep seated catacombs, I could send another message across. So this is for you, Maddie. I'm doing okay. Tell Grace to calm down. Tell Robin to put down the pitchfork so he doesn't have to attack anyone. We're all good. Promise. And while I'm here, let's see if I can get the digital copy off. Yes, I can. Oh, it's been a while since I've said this right. Actually. Get some air here. Hello, everyone, and welcome once again to into the One Wanderer's Library with Professor Artyom Harkin. It's been a while since you've heard me, but I'm doing all right, I promise. Before I start, I would like to give a special shout out to two of my lovely listeners to this. Actually, no, not two. Let's give a shout out to some wonderful listeners of these mad, mad little ramblings of mine. In particular, Matthew Mills, who I hear is going to be a father soon. From one parent to another, you're going to be brilliant. I have every faith in you. All the love. All the love to you and Haze, as well as Spooky Specs, Doodles and a very particular one. This is someone I remember from some of my classes from before I entered the library. A very, very special person. Very near and dear to myself and to Theo. I don't know what name they'd go by, but on my contacts they're called Rowan Smith. On social media, they'd be known as Wandering Jackalope. They do some phenomenal artwork, in particular of the Magnus archives, which I've grown increasingly fond of over these years. If you're hearing this Rowan, and I imagine you are. I love you. And I'm safe. Don't worry. Yeah, we can drop the formalities. I feel like you all know enough about me. But don't worry. Rowan's probably not going to turn up here anytime soon. I imagine they're safe. Safe. Lord Jackalope. B.S. all my love to all of you. Thank you so much for tuning in. It does mean a lot that you've all been keeping up. And I hope you haven't forgotten about the daft professor and his many, many, many books to read. In particular, we have another one from a Dr. Everett Mann. Some of you may remember one of those texts I had read for, I believe, my second installment of into the Wanderer's Lib. I think it was the second. It might have been the third. Let me go through his library. What did all his entries scaldy? It wasn't Sky Day by Day, Marday, Everyday might not have been this one, but Dr. Everett man does sound familiar. And this is a very I won't say familiar text because it's the first time I'm reading it. For context. Of course, I don't have access to any of the actual books right now, but as a resident and as a librarian, I have access to the digital copies. Vetted digital copies, so they lack any of the cursing and the potential horrors that could erupt from this digital device when I access them, so should be fine to read them. Anyway, this is 81st turn, 7th year, 16th cycle tro day. An entry by Dr. Everett Mann with translations in Japanese and French. So without further ado, let's get to it. From the Journal of Aframos. Long Journey Pilgrimage with notes by Avos Tor, scholar of Reeve Library Cho Day, 16th cycle, 7th year, 81st turn, 26th day in the trees today we found a body. I needed to relieve myself and so had taken myself off the path for a moment. While I was doing so, I saw something trailing from behind a nearby tree. It was an arm. I finished what I was doing in Colter to Torn. We rounded a tree and saw the arm's owner had died. He had not been dead for too long, perhaps less than a day. The scavengers hadn't yet touched the body. He'd been taller than Torn, but shorter than me and covered with thick brown ropy hair. The face was like that of a horse, and he had been a slave. Tw for mentions of chains. Just thought I'd add that warning there. The chains were still attached to his wrists and ankles. Footnote sadly, few slaves managed to Escape from the trading company. Blimey. His clothing was more ragged than my own. He was dirty, filthy, and had probably been starving. He had nothing but a rusted knife. There were no wounds on his body. Torn is fairly sure he died from ex exposure or starvation. He was very thin, yet on the tree he was leaning against, he had taken the time to carve a single word free. Get those chains off him. Get those chains off his wrists, for pity's sake, taun said. I looked at his face and he looked more serious than I had seen him before. There was no joke on his lips, nor laughter in his eyes. His voice was strained, as though he'd trouble getting the words out. I did as he asked, using the tools my first father gave me, torn through the chains as far as he could, as though they were cursed. Then we buried the poor soul at the base of the tree, letting it serve as his headstone. Now we do not keep slaves the Barrow, nor do any of our neighbors, but we know about slavery. The caravans come through, and sometimes they bring slaves from one part of the world to another. Sometimes we will buy one or two and let them return home free. Sometimes we will buy one or two and let them free to return home. But there are so many, and it seems impossible they should all be free one day. But we hope. I am sad for the one we buried, but he was free for a time. Let that be his epitaph. Free, whoever you were, stranger, water on your journey and stars to guide your steps. I am forever baffled and disgusted by the mere concept of slavery. The idea that a human being can look at another human being and see them as lesser, as minor enough compared to themselves that they can diminish them, treat them as cattle, as an animal, as a servant. I mean, servitude is one thing, but to be a slave, to be bound and chained and treated as subhuman? That's disgusting. A pitiful act done by pitiful people who want to feel closer to God, despite the fact that they will go to the furthest depths of hell for their actions. I It's one of the things about humanity that I find sickening and is specifically humanity. Animals don't keep slaves. Monkeys, lions, spiders. Slavery is a human invention, one you should be wise to never utilize, one you should be wise to abandon. I have faith that those listening are not inclined to implore the services of a slave outside of very specific circumstances involving safe words and presumably cat ears. But But I still implore those listening to think on it, at least for a brief moment. What is it that drives people like that to such horrible lengths? To the ownership of another man, to the ownership of many, to the destitution, the abuse, the cruelty inflicted on people for no other reason than because you can. No one is born to be a slave. No soul is born to be shackled, to be contained. Whoever, whatever we are, whoever or whatever you are, I should say you were born to be free. To be free. Dear listeners, revel in the freedom you have, and think on those who do not have that freedom. Wish them luck, wish them survival. And should they be lucky enough to find their way to escape, should they be fortunate enough to journey far from their captors, remember these words, whoever you were, whoever you are, Stranger water on your journey and stars to guide your steps. In an ideal world, we would all be free. But part of that freedom is turning to the people who inflict such cruelties and delivering to them their due diligence, Delivering onto them the debt in which they now owe. Because they owe a mighty debt. Now, when you commit atrocities like that, you damn yourself completely and entirely. Quite a sombre one. My apologies, I. It's odd talking about this as someone who isn't human, but as an outsider looking in. The cruelty of man always baffles me, particularly as one who has lived through some of these periods. But I take comfort in knowing that there are so much more kinder souls out there that greatly outnumber the cruelty. And I have faith that you, dear listener, are one of those many kind souls. Once more. Shout out again to incoming Father Matthew Mills. Also Dr. As well, I will be quite candid. I've listened to some of the audio dramas that he's performed for the channel's man at Desk and Whatforth Wall as the Emph Doctor. Is it Emph? M. Th. Yes. Emf Doctor and the Goblin Doctor. I think he's smashing. Absolutely smashing. His partner Hayes or Haley plays the witch doctor, I believe. On what forfall. I do recommend checking them out if you're inclined to sci fi audio drummers shenanigans such as myself. But once again, actually, no, no, no, no, no. If I'm going to mention one, I have to mention the other. Once again, I also have to mention Rowan. My dear beloved Rowan. Never stop running. Never stop making art. Never stop being wonderful. I miss you dearly and I love you. And internally, yes, I can feel my husband poking into my head going, ha G. But I'm positive he feels the same. And no to the rest of the audience, you're not getting an elaboration. I'm just going to let you. Head cannon. Whatever this all means. But anyway, once more. This has been 81st turn, 7th year, 16th cycle. I hate my tongue sometimes. This has been 81st turn, 7TH year, 16th cycle. Shrow day. An entry by Dr. Everett Mann. This has been into the Wanderer's Library with your host, the illustrious rambly lisping ball of nonsense. That is Professor Artyom Harkin. Thank you so much for listening. It's a pleasure to be back. And I hope to hear you all again soon. Take care, everyone. And once more, to quote this end passage that I am so fond of. Now I may make a private note of this for my notebook. Whoever you are, stranger, water on your journey. And stars to guide your steps. Take care, everyone. Bye bye.