Ninety years ago I walked into the great Mhojave desert. After days of
meditation, I was dehydrated. My stomach felt like a knot in a rotting
tree. I had come to the desert to forget logic, to empty my mind of the
illusion of order. Acting on instinct, I began to dismantle the circle
and pentagram I'd made with dry sticks and weeds I'd found in the
desert. My cracked and dried hands screamed in pain each time I closed
them around a stick. My candles had already burned down to practically
nothing. I grabbed what was left and threw them as far away as I could
in my weakened condition. Finally, I stripped down to nothing, dropping
my clothes in a pile at my feet and lighting them on fire.

There I stood, a naked madman in the desert. I would die or I would
never see sanity again. It didn't matter anymore. A jarbo darted out in
front of me. With speed that I thought had left me, I reached out and
grabbed it by the scruff of its neck. With my other hand, I slit its
throat with a ritual knife I had brought with me. I was ravenous. I sank
my teeth into its raw, tender flesh, ripping the meat away from its
bones. And there, in the distance, was that a rook, a tower? Or merely
an illusion created by my now deranged and animalistic mind. My empty,
withered stomach rebelled. I violently puked up hair, meat and blood. My
mind had gone blank, even my survival instinct had been washed away in
the desert's heat. I believe now that I was functioning totally with the
reptilian stem of my brain. The rest is vague, but I must have dipped my
hands in the jarbos blood and drawn symbols on myself. The next thing I
remember is being back in Ashtan, the Mark of the Twin was painted in
blood across my chest -- II.

And thus was Duality realized for the first time in my mind.

Recently, I made another long trek into the desert, again in search of
answers. My time as the Prophet had become marred with politics,
structure, feelingsin short, the trappings of order. These things, of
course, are illusion and will pass like a drop of water evaporating onto
the red hot iron of a newly forged sword.

As many of you know, I killed my wife. I tortured her for hours first,
of course. I cut her fingers off one by one and fed them to a
particularly hungry monitor lizard. She begged for her life. She cried
like a child and begged for her mother. I ripped out her hair, fashioned
a simulacrum from it and later hid it in an iron locked box for .well,
Ill keep that to myself. The last thing I did before I slit the last
breath out of her heaving throat was pluck her eyes out with my very own
fingers. Her last words to me were, I love you. Hail Babel. You see, she
had asked me to do this for years ago. And, indeed, her soul found its
way back from the hallowed Halls of Maya, but not until she saw much. So
many twisted and rotting things.

Recently, the Babel clan has went through a purging of sorts. While I
came to terms with my actions and my final, everlasting oath to Lord
Babel the veil of illusion swept away from my eyes forever. In the mean
time, my son, Montago, took over my duties and has been persecuted
highly for it. No matter, those things are illusion as well.

The Revolutionaries of Chaos are renewed. Prophet, Auspex, and
Handmaiden stand in triune once again. I wear the mantle once more.
Those seeking to awake may contact us through whatever means seem fit.
Our prophesy to the realm reads as such:

Lord Babel will rise and the World of light and order will break away
like the shattered glass of a mirror. The church will admit they killed
children and raped women in the name of Light and they will pray to
their Gods for forgiveness of the atrocities of the Burning times and
the voice of a thousand voices will echo across the lands and creatures
of unspeakable spirit will feast freely upon the land and the mountain
of grey will crumble and the desert will run red and burn under the
weight of its own hypocrisy and the Demon Pazuzu will tear the rainbows
of folly asunder and reclaim His rightful throne and the great cities of
Sapience will tumble into ash and the sounds of ala ala alo the
illusions of power and safety will cradle babes no longer and the throne
of bone will glow with blessed power of the sludge of matter, the very
atoms of the prime moving energy, the amalgamation of that which was, is
and will be, the crust of the land, the root of the tree, the foundation
of the mountain, the fiber of your being will tremble, the forces of
Light and order will beg for enlightenment, the cricket, the dragon, the
angel of light, the child, the mother, the horn, the shield of the red
cross, the worm in the golden apple will speak Its name at last, the all
of Sapience will fall under the dark shadow of Entropy.


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Glacian, in the year 431 AF.