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Myth III Manual Prologue

Posted By: Zandervix (
Date: 11/8/2001 at 11:39 a.m.

For those of you who do not have PC's, or have not purchased Myth III (assuming you can find it), here is a little something to whet your appetite. Don't worry, I WILL GIVE NO SPOILERS FROM THE ACTUAL GAME ITSELF! This is because I can't actually play it. If you take the minimum requirements and divide by 4, you basically get my system. I thought I could get by, but no dice.

Anyway, I digress. Since I can't play the game until I upgrade, all I have is the manual. I will put the Prologue story here, and maybe after work today, I will put unit descriptions. This is only from the manual, but if you don't want to know anything until you get the game, then stop reading. For the rest of you, here goes:


Nothing but dirt.

Weeks have I spent at this site, digging into the dirt with my callused and cracked hands. And for my troubles, I have naught but dirt. Dirt on my clothes, in my eyes, filling my tent. The dry winds carry it in clouds as thick as it lies on the ground. I have had little taste in my mouth save the accursed dirt for days now.

Though I do know the healing ways to sustain myself, I fear that even I will not be able to last much longer in this waterless, sand-blasted desert.

The winds are blowing out my candles now. I have finished my writing for today.

The ruins that tower about my campsite sheltered me from the brunt of the sandstorm last night. I am thankful that even if they do not reveal their secrets to me, they have at least made it bearable to dwell in their presence.

In the heat of mid-day I scaled a nearby dune, and at its top I took in the broken desert about me. The crumbling walls and arches of the ancient city stand as remnants of incredible disaster. But looking through this veil, I began to gain a sense of the great city that once stood here. For as far as my eyes could pierce through the desert day, the ruins of the great city of Muirthemne stood about me, and I was humbled in the presence of such magnificent glory of forgotten ages. I now understood how the Heron Guard of the Cath Bruig could be so distraught at seeing their beloved city destroyed by Balor and his Fallen Lords. Though this atrocity is almost two centuries past, many still wear the robes of the Journeyman, as I do.

I do aspire to be counted among the ranks of the Heron Guard someday. But, for now I am contented with aiding the needy and uncovering our ancient past. Oh, how we have fallen! The knowledge of our very history is lost to us - buried under these mountains of shifting sands.

Still my shovel has uncovered nothing this day. Yet still I dig.

Light of the Wyrd, this day has been Portentous! Where do I begin?
It was morning when I had seized a few small eggs from the rock lizards near the cracks of the ancient walls. Looking for a shady spot for my meal, I found a darkened cliff face nearby. As I approached, I began to notice something odd. The windstorms of the previous nights had eroded the cliff drastically since it had last made my notice. And now, as I scrutinized, I saw a perfect vertical seam running through its face.
It took me no time to gather my equipment and return. With chisels and great shovelfulls of dirt, I slowly uncovered the miracle. It was a doorway. A doorway set into a cliff side that was not truly a cliff. The tons of rock and soil were covering a large structure of some sort. And with the blessing of fate this portal had been exposed for me to find. My excitement knows no bounds, and my imagination cannot be quelled. At first light I will try to open this door into the forgotten past.

It has been several days of feverish excavation. It appears I have underestimated the size of the doorway. It is three times the height of a man and nearly the same dimension wide. I have moved a literal mountain of dirt from them, and yet their base appears to be still deeper into the earth.

Just as the orange blaze of the horizon slowly gave way to a star filled night, my shovel hit rock. Finally, I have reached the base of the portal. Over a fathom of soil have I uncovered to reach it. I think of the terrible magics that werwe called upon to bury this city, and I shudder.

I have bent two chisels attempting to part the doors even a crack. I fear that I may run out of equipment before I get this thing opened. The only good news I have this day is that the howling winds have abated.

What horrors have been visited upon me? I cannot conceive what I have witnessed. Wyrd protect me!

I had moved my meager encampment to the base of the doorway - I fear this is what has angered the thing. It was late day when I felt the devil breeze begin to blow. Strong it grew, and I had to cover my nose and mouth to breathe. The wind battered me like hammers and sucked the breath out of my lungs. As I rushed away from the rock, I felt the wind abate. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the thing.

As the funnel of dust moved with the sinuous spirals, I saw lurking within its depths a shadow of human form. It remained motionless as the column of dust spun about it. The white embers of its eyes stared directly at me as a rattling cry howled out over the wind.

After that, I can only recall running from the place.

I returned to my encampment today. Having spent another restless night in the open desert, I found my resolve. The thing which met my intrusion was undoubtedly a guardian spirit. I remember hearing tales of ancient sorceries which could bind a spirit to the very mortar of a place - forcing it into servitude for one-thousand and one years.
I have returned to the doorway. I had hoped it had gone, but as I approached, The funnel of dirt spiraled back into fearsome shape. I again retreated to my campsite.
I must think of how to rid this place of such a thing! I believe the lack of water has addled me somewhat.

I now know what I must do. I have no malice in my heart. If the creature at the portal is indeed a guardian spirit - and not some horror born of the atrocities committed here - it would only attack if it sensed malice. I can think of dozens of reasons why this line of thinking is flawed. Yet, somehow I feel this is correct. I fear that if I were to leave to gather aid from my distant comrades, the spot would again be covered by the shifting desert sands. I cannot allow that. If I am to die, I have lived a good scholarly life. I will leave this journal behind, in hopes that someone may find it if I have failed.

Great Wyrd in all his Glory! The discovery that I have found! The secrets and mysteries of the ages have been re-discovered! I must get back to the citadel and tell the others of this! I have made what notes I could, but there is information here that will fill entire volumes of books!
I will try to write down what has occurred to me in the last few hours as accurately as I can with my trembling hands.

I walked to the stone entrances and confronted the guardian. As I approached, it rose from the sands like a serpent. Each step I took towards the doors, the stronger it became. Its winds buffeted me and forced me to my knees, but still I crawled. I heard a voice like dry leaves whisper of horrors that would befall me if I did not flee. It was only the powers of Wyrd that granted me the will to continue. I stretched out a flailing hand and touched it upon the stone door.

In almost an instant, the fell winds stopped. I heard the hiss of sand falling onto the ground. Crouching and working sand from my eyes, I saw that the guardian had left me. As I tried to stand, a great rumbling shook the earth. The doors of the ancient building had begun to open. Sand ran in streams down the face of the cliff and into the yawning darkness of the portal before me. With a great thunder, the tremendous doors grinded to a halt. Beyond was only darkness. Even the bright light of the desert day could not penetrate into the black opening.

Fetching a dry log from my campsite, I wrapped an oily rag about it to make a primitive torch. At the precipice of the doorway, my flame revealed a long room lined with long pillars. The long hallway danced in the orange light of the torch as I began my exploration. The building appeared to be a temple or shrine of some sort. The cataclysm which ended Muirthemne had extraced its toll on the building. Many pillars were toppled and areas of the ceiling shattered by the rock above. Who or what this temple was dedicated to was still unclear.

As I walked down the dirt covered tile floor, I spied a shallow oil basin or brazier against the wall. Hoping for some extra light to see by in this cavernous hall, I dipped my torch down and lit the black fluid within. As the oil basin flamed to life, a rivulet of fire trickled down the wall behind it. Fearful that the stone basin was cracked, I moved to extinguish the flame when I noticed that the flaming oil resevoir was carved into the wall itself. The smokeless flame descended to the edge of the floor and continued its flow away from me, carried by a thin trough built into the wall. Amazed as I was, I did not hesitate to follow the moving flame.

The flame was leading me deeper into the structure. Ducking past a fallen pillar, I turned into a vast opening. The whole of the cavern was darkness. Even the torch I carried did not give light to the immense expanse. The oil flame had darted into the room and began to spread. To my amazement, The flames began to crawl up the walls of this chamber in fabulous intertwining flickering lines of light. As I followed the flaming trails, I was stunned at what I was seeing.

A mural drawn of fire. Gold inlays caught and reflected the orange light as the flames illuminated scenes from the long forgotten past of our world. Heroic spearmen battling against furred monstrosities that could only be the vile Myrkridia. Massive Trow, wearing suits of armor, attacking castle walls. A cloaked villain directing shambling forms towards soldiers. All this and more was depicted in the splendid luminance.

As I stood in awe of the incredible fiery arabesques, I began to notice the room becoming brighter. The flames had lit small braziers inset upon massive stone pillars, disappearing into the still darkness of the towering ceiling. I gazed down at the tile under my feet. Beautiful mosaics ran the length of the floor, showing stars and strange writings. Walking deeper into the still brightening chamber, I began to see the tiled pattern that I trod upon - and realized the purpose of this temple. Under my feet a brilliant comet was depicted, its frozen white flames glittering on its blue canvas of night.

This was "the Apparitor" - the celestial occurence that happens only once in a millenia. As this revelation exploded into my thoughts, a great light began to shine.

Great mirrors had gathered the flame's light and focused it into a golden globe suspended at the far end of the shrine. Beneath the fiery globe towered a statue ten times as tall as a man. A crown rested upon his brow; his hands upon the haft of a mighty axe. His shadowy eyes were stern, but I could not help but sense sorrow deep within them.

I was standing in the shrine to the greatest Emperor of the Cath Bruig - the greatest hero to ever live. He who saved humanity from utter destruction over a thousand years ago. He who slew the nightmare Myrkridia and crushed the iron temples of the Trow. He who defeated the dark sorcerer Moagim and brought an end to the age of Wind.

I had found the shrine of Connacht the Wolf.

It took several hours of exploration, but I have uncovered a stone vault lined with rows and rows of scrolls held on dry wooden racks. These scrolls hold the sacred accounts of Connacht's life. Undoubtedly, they have only been seen by the clerics who worshipped at this shrine so very long ago.

I plan to carry these scrolls back to the Heron's Citadel. With their deciphering, the long lost histories of our world might once again be revealed.


Well, that's it for the Prologue. Stay tuned later today, and I will post more info from the manul of Myth III.


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