Work Text:
Editor and Translator’s note:
On the Origin
The following collection of poetry was recovered from a journal found in the Wrath layer by a power plant worker who brought it back to Lust to be examined. The worker recounts that they were sent for maintenance repairs on the main hydroelectric plant after the most recent tsunami when they found this journal washed upon the shore. The original text was written in Attic Greek, with most fragments in elegiac couplets, akin to Hellenic elegiac poetry, although deviations from this form is noted. The writings were bound with waxed twine and leather detailed with several sigils that emanate Holy energy, which is likely how the journal survived at all. Pieces of the paper were analyzed, and although they are water-resistant, they are not water-proof, meaning that the text could have been lost at sea for five years, at most.
On the Syntax and Symbols
Due to the water damage, numerous passages were lost. Square brackets will mark salvageable material: where an open-ended bracket, ] and [, will stand for missing text, and closed brackets [ ] will stand for missing context by containing an ellipses, like [...], or the best approximation of mission word(s), like [this].
On the Author
This work is presumed to have been the property of a Ferryman, judging based off of the language and residual Holy energy emanating from within, much akin to the Idols they carve. Ferrymen are Supreme Husks created in the Wrath layer and are known to captain ships for transporting lost souls and sinners for a price, similar to their mythological counterparts.
It is known that there are a limited number of ships allowed to sail, typically around twelve to thirteen, but no theoretical limit to how many Ferrymen Hell may raise, leading to the ships being fiercely fought over. Typically, a newly raised Ferryman would challenge the first sailing Ferryman they meet for the rights to sail their ship through a duel to the death. Whoever survives will become the ship's captain, until they are dethroned by another.
Judging from the language and dated vocabulary contained within, it is plausible to assume that this particular Ferryman lived and died around the latter part of the third century BC, as some stylistic choices in the text are reminiscent of Koine Greek, the successor to Attic. However, this idea is contested within the Editing Team, as it is highly unlikely that a Ferryman was capable of defending their vessel for such a long period of time.
On the Translation
Several sections of the journal were severely water damaged, and only a meager sliver remains. What could be preserved was transcribed and translated below in the plainest language possible. The translation process was difficult, and draws primarily from plays written by the likes of Sophocles and Aristophanes and preserved by the scant scribes of Lust and Greed. Unfortunately, poetry was not referenced as there are few surviving poetry works written in the Attic dialect, if any at all, and fewer still available to the Editing team. In the process, the original meter of dactyls, spondees, and trochees were lost, but the rough number of syllables per line was preserved.
His eminence, King Minos, was consulted on the vocabulary, but declined to comment, citing disagreements with the contents of this book. Nonetheless, we pieced together a rough translation, aiming to preserve the original language and phrasing as much as possible while maintaining ease of understanding. It is my hope that through this process, we may glean better understanding of the elusive Ferrymen of Wrath, and the Angels who oversee them.
Fragment 1
Grey Alea, save me from he who, bare in flesh and sense, wax poetic1
of past airy delights and torment-less being, bemoaning.
Happiness, he complains, how must I live without it? O how shall I live?
His naivete apparent and complacency disturbing.
Life is devoid in comfort’s absence, he cries, no, it is all too cruel!
I cannot live a life that is not soft and cushioned, he says.
To this I scoff. No greater lie that may fall, which stains that divine cloth more.
A simple truth lies in plain sight, the reversal of his tongue.
I thirst for the lethal bitter lash of sea-salt upon my bleeding wounds—
Stinging, biting, like a rabid dog's teeth twisting upon flesh.
May the waves burnish my soul, strip the profane from my bone, and set me free.
Through it I am made holy. I am so alive and so free.
Fragment 2
]
[...] Mapped within my memory [a] [...]
Cocytus, Acheron, Lethe, Phlegethon, Styx, in shimmering rows.
Little boats lay pacified, splendid, on the waves[
] Current, baleful [and] heavy [...] Fierce Noto’s hate [...]
] Aeons past… [Now] an ocean[…]
Restful [Heart] be warned, for [
[
]Gone[...] [
[
Gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone [...]
]
Fragment 3
]
Purify. Sanctify. Make [me] awhole.
Like Adam was made from clay, fire me in a kiln and make me pure[...]
I wash and wash and wash and wash and I scrape and scrape and scrape and scrape [...]
[
[...] arteries, veins, capillaries, all gone, with muscle and tendon singed,
with only bone left to bare. [
]
And it is still not enough[...] I beg [of you] my God, set me free.
I am free. Let me be freer.2
[
Fragment 4
I was endowed by the most dazzling vision last night, one so
Splendid that this ink dare not to record. Consecrated in my spark,
Etched within bone—All brilliant, all vivacious, as if the light of God had
pierced my veil of solitude and ambrosia spilled forth, overflowing.
There I was, ripped apart by torrential tides, swallowed by the watery womb.
[...]Then, I see you, a wayward traveler at sea [...] powerful strides breaking air:
Equal parts of a sharp eyed scout and a rain-hardened soldier.
You pull me from a sea of doubt, the waves barely licking my bones[...]
And lulled me in your arms, a [...]
]
He seems to me an incontestable light, distinguished among all His Kingdom,
With a timber that engulfs my sparrow-like heart, I proclaim him beloved.
The sleepless nights, so laborious to [endure] now float [...]
Away like a dream half empty [...] forgotten if not for the Hyacinth3
Which color my bed sheets. I curse you, Eros, for bestowing this affliction—
For cursing me with your sacred arts, the pin-prick of pain, the shower of shame,
And a flaming burden no tide nor rain may quench. Nay, find another
Soldier to bear your labor, for my work tires plenty.
] [...] Endless war [contesting] [
]
You embrewed my horrid heart which beats with unrepentant passion
That I now toss and turn in bed for a lust so heavy it drives holy men mad.
I rebuke you, devil! [For] your wicked tongue that twists virtue to vice [...]
] Although, in contrast, who am I to resist? [...]
Love and lust punishes the unrepentant and stubborn with reckless abandon,
Just as a chained dog hurts itself most when struggling against the chain,
I cannot hope to escape unscathed. Then, fine! I admit, Eros,
You may win this match. I hand my wrists over to you In silvery chain.
All I ask of you, is to plead to your gracious mother, Sweet Aphrodite,
For her grace, and to your father, Fiery Ares, I salute.
I surrender my life in six feet, but O’ you—treacherous Eros,
force my hand and let me retrace my Light in five—
And so I shall repent, with your acerbic vision as muse [...]
] Let me worship you, O gracious one.
Fragment 5
Like a wave that crashes against shore, he shakes me to my spark.
The gnashing of teeth cannot compare to the ravenous maw
That opened deep within my mind. Slobbering, hungry, it chatters.
During the gilded prayers I lead in the day, recanting gospels,
I pretend that love is naught but temptation, and lust a grave danger.
But dreams remain buried under star cover. Upon my unkempt mattress,
With sheets that refuse to stay on [...] Burnish flaming swords [...]
[to] plunge into me [...] He seems to me, a light [that] surpassed the Gods,
He who leans close to fan the furnace[...] [sparks] alighting ember [
] Sweet words that beckon honey, dripping golden ichor [...]
The fabled tenth muse laughs at me as I grow moist with sweet myrrh.4 [
]
I sit waiting, wishing for a lover's embrace so gentle it rocks the foundations of Athos.5
Clad in pallid silver and gold, brushed by aquamarine,
He shapes my being from sand and clay, sculpting with humble hands,
]
[...] to purify and sanctify with a love so strong the tides of Acheron tremble.
If you ever did so as to ask, I would gladly open my ribcage, and let it be filled,
With the love you described, saline-filled and all.6
] [My] Angel [...] descending fervently [...]
] Dances on untamed flame, you [...] virgin, let me worship [...]
I lay awaiting [for] your touch, half-starved [...]
] fulfill [
[...] lover. [
Fragment 6
O Angel, how could I be deserving of your notice? To imagine
That you, most holy and precious for these tainted hands to hold,
Yet loves me the same. What a joke! You, whose palms weaves silken beauty and grace,
And whose laughter, most cherished upon my borrowed hours, plays the reed of my heart.7
O Angel, how shall I be deserving of your time: aren’t I a coward?
So proud to bear myself, whole and naked, yet terrified as to tuck my pride away
into the shadows. Too fearful to show it, in the chance that
Your gaze will turn frozen and rip my trembling heart.
You stare. O Angel! Why are you looking at me like that? Why, it must’ve been me.
What did I do wrong? Tell me, Angel. I’m so sorry, for whatever wrong
I must have transgressed. How can you ever find it in your soul to forgive me?
Besides you, the fickle Eros sighs with mirth. But still, Angel, you watch.
Flanked by a coven of clouds, aloft like a voyager among the stars,
You smile, softly, and color seeps into my barren soul.
Some day, maybe you will love me, as I loved you:
Told with intertwined hands and kiss-stained cheeks.
I pray that you feel the same. Ah, if only I hadn’t been so timid.
I think, reminiscing your embrace, crushing waves against rock.
Fragment 7
Your absence colors my days with a lacquered dullness [that] Limbo shivers in awe.
I rid myself of fleshly pain, and vascular thinking [...]
[...] in their place[...] I steady my resolve, faith, and dedication.
Without your presence, I wish that I may be dead and lit aflame by pyre,
So that I may pluck this traitorous feeling from my chest and
Brandish it upon a gilded plate for Hades to judge. Instead, I am cursed
To wither in a shallow grave disguised as shelter from the blistering tempest.
Like a tortoise beholding the soaring eagle, O cruel Eros, you granted me
The most tortuous form of labor —to worship a love as the waves to the moon.
Eros, I forsake your blessing! There are no words to describe my
Malcontent with you, trickster. You plunge my heart to the darkest of chests,
So that I may be the one clad in a crown of silver and veiled in
Beautiful evil who releases all-damnation and all-torment.
Yet, that is not to say I do not clutch blinding hope, chained[...] know this, I [...]
And you, O Angel, do not fret, I still surrender my heart to you.
Give me a sign, a fluttering of gold dancing beyond the three stars,
Of the celestial intertwining, give me a sign that you are still there, waiting.
] Viperous jealousy snake my wrists [...] My Light, my perfect one[...]
Rhythmic, sensual [...] I hold you close [...] Flanked by three-figured graces:
Splendor, Joy, and Cheer [...] And alights the poor spark 8
hidden and trodden in my ribcage, which claws at its cell bars, desperate for
You [...] are that light [...]
]
[You] are my light [...] Amidst the darkness.
Translator’s Notes:
1 “Grey Alea” likely refers to the Goddess Athena, where “Alea” translates to “Escape,” a common epithet for her among her cults in Arcadia.
2 This fragment was particularly obscured, whether by water damage or the particularly rough penmanship.
3 The use of the word “Hyacinth” could either refer to the flower, or to the mythological lover of Apollo. Hyacinth in the myths was ultimately killed by Apollo, then resurrected by him and attained immortality.
4 The “Tenth Muse” is an epithet of the poet Sappho. The numerous references to geographic locations and styles suggests that the writer was very well-traveled while they were alive.
5 Mount Athos is a mountain in Greece that is especially important to Orthodox Christianity.
6 The word for “love” here is specifically “ἀγάπη” or “unconditional love,” most often attributed to the love God has for Man and vice versa. This is an interesting contrast to the erotic nature of the previous lines.
7 The exact word used here is “αὐλός,” which refers to a double-reeded instrument which often accompanied traditional elegies.
8 Another name for the Charities.