May 22th, 2020
This document is a collection of ancient rumors and stories gathered by The Lost, supposedly since the foundation of the group. The majority of the information predates the civilization's official founding, leaving the original witnesses to these events untraceable. This page serves as a gaze into the history, folklore, and beliefs of the oldest known people in the backrooms and their supposed predecessors.
Barsil Barag, one of the key figures in a number of songs and stories, is described in some instances as an ancient hero and protector of the humanity — while other documents, especially later ones, contradict this depiction, instead portraying him as a traitorous and cruel individual. What is known for certain is that he was a warlord, who fought the worshipped deities of the old world, and the supposed founder of the group later known as The Iron Fist
Wielding anomalous objects and possessing an extraordinary power, Barsil had strength beyond that of an ordinary man, rivaling those who stood atop the world. He taught his men the secret behind slaying gods, later waging war against the Pantheon to reclaim the freedom of the mankind. As the years passed, more people saw the opportunity to completely erase a need of deities, grasping onto their newfound independence, resulting in the fall of the ancient pantheon.
Following their victory, however, The Iron fist would disappear almost as soon as it had been formed, erased from history by the same man who founded the group. People in the backrooms were left alone in a never-ending fight for survival amidst the aftermath of the war, which persists to this day.
Barsil Barag is described as a tall individual, with long black curly hair. The most striking element of his appearance is a metal mask embedded into an object resembling a crown, which he is consistently depicted wearing. Very few of the Iron Fist's members actually saw his face, with the exception of his closest confidants. The right half of the mask is blacked out with no eye socket, leading to speculation that he lost his right eye in the war.
Being a powerful human, with his strength having anomalous and enigmatic origin, he needed more people to achieve the same plane of existence as his own. He divided his soul, giving its small fragments to his most loyal men, lending his own strength to them. This procedure not only gave one power, but also left an eternal mark on one’s soul and body – mark of the eclipsing sun, which was treated with greatest honor. However, in his time of need, Barsil Barag summoned back all the slivers of his soul back, taking away not only life and power of all his champions, but even their own souls, so he himself can survive his last battle. After those events, the symbol of the eclipse started to get treated more like a jinx or a sign of bad omen; this tradition even preserved in present-day Lost.
It is currently unknown how exactly his story ended. Some speculate that his attempt to save himself sacrificing his own people wasn’t successful, burying the whole Iron fist together with himself, some believe that it was a simple treason, vengeance of the previous exiled ruler, who beheaded the very thing he was building for ages, and some believe that he is still alive, after all the ages passed, repenting his past sins.
October 6th, 2023
Several other descendants of Lost were asked about their old folklore and beliefs, yet the general knowledge about the subject rarely got any expansions, mostly remaining vague and basic in its structure. Even if there is nothing left from that point in time, if everyone mentioned in the ancient stories are dead, yet existed at some point, then there must be their graves in the level (___). Additionally, while not being a part of the Lost, but certainly old enough to know them, Undertaker might shed some light on the long forgotten stories.
Of course I know this fairytale; it is as old as the humans’ world itself. A story about prisoners of this reality, forever dreaming to escape it, and a harsh lesson of their cruel saviors. Back then this place was much more like an ancient epoch rather than an agonizing array of empty spaces that are lost in time.
There is a special road in this graveyard. It keeps and treasures all the past stories of this world, unfolding in front of the one who walks its way, listening to its recital with one’s mind, heart, and soul. You’ll need neither eyes nor ears to witness it, but I will ask you to walk with me this path, to heed the story that I shall bestow upon you.
[Walking through the endless memorial stones and plates just several steps ahead, Undertaker starts to narrate the ancient story.]
In olden days there was a small united civilization of all who is lost; some of them fell into this realm, some of them were born within its domain, but all were one in their desire – to reach their long lost home, to leave this realm behind. Some with lingering memories of the lost life, some with immeasurable urge born from the stories of their elders about the long lost land of the blue skies and peaceful clouds.
While not as tortured and abstract as the current one, the world was still cruel and untamed, leaving no chances for anyone to survive alone. But then the gods came, claiming people under their wings. Living manifestations of the universe’s aspects, born from the humans’ beliefs and otherworldly will, they reigned over their people for generations, with their essence getting tied to their worshippers.
Worshiping them one could achieve unimaginable things: access to anything in existence, sacred knowledge beyond the scope of one’s mind, blazing love, greatest desires coming true, gentler embrace of death, but also, above anything else, a promised life without an endless fight, yet at a cost of one’s freedom. And thus they prayed forever to their gods, and their gods were giving and forgiving them everything.
But nothing lasts forever, nothing can escape the grasp of time in the forever-changing world, and with stagnation and absence of freedom came impunity. Men became props on the stage of life, forever bound to be servants and pawns, relying only on the divine indulgence until the day when they become disposable, getting further and further from ever hoping to leave this land. Gods were their judges and their executioners, being able to do anything with mankind without any resistance.
Eventually one of their gods, Y’liad, descended down upon their lives, crushing down countless crowds, leaving nothing but mountains of the broken bodies beneath his blade, claiming all the poor souls for himself. That day not only left an eternal scar on the fate of this world, it brought much more than that. All the hate and suffer of men boiled up, tormented souls finally found the will to fight back, yet not the means of doing so. They studied this cursed world, seeking for any ways to destroy their former tyrants, searching for any opportunity to bring their justice.
That is when he came – Barsil Barag, known at a time as Barsil Lahama, the slayer of gods, coated in metal, with his face hidden behind an iron mask. His actions were unbelievable, igniting the long-lost hope in hearts of the people. If one man can rival gods of this forsaken world, then there is a chance for others as well.
He gathered all the people who suffered from the reign of their deities and taught them the greatest weaknesses of their gods, after which they dwell into their studies, bringing true miracles, combining their limited science and gifts of this realm. Weapons, armor, instruments, all the progress given into their goal to get a final grasp on the world and then leave it forever to rot in their memories. While succeeding at harming bodies of their past deities, none of their creation could compete with Lahama’s own masterpieces: Gishgazan, gifted by the goddess of life to her beloved champion, spear, that ultimately ended her own life, and Ittidgir, sword that was forged by the suffer of men after the Y’liad’s bloodbath, with a piece of Lahama’s soul inside it; strike of that blade was burning with a hellfire on one’s soul, like a bite of a hungry darkness, reaping the very soul, mind, and body of its victims apart.
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[An array of memorial pillars unfolded before them, scattering across endless fields, reaching the horizon. Bathed in beautiful flowers, these black obelisks bloom forever under the white sky.]
Here they lie; old heroes of the past, crippled souls, who gave up everything in exchange for the future of the mankind. Long gone champions and the very people they were fighting for…
You won’t believe, but even some of the pantheon members agreed with them, joining their side in that war. Deities, who ruled over minds, bodies, and souls of men were defeated, their domains were gone, and the humanity was triumphant.
But those who’ve lost the feel of regret and remorse, who can’t find the empathy in their hearts, they are bound to forever punish themselves with their own sins, bound in the cycle of hate and domination.
Pain and suffer give us empathy, yes, that’s what some of those deities lacked, and that’s what a triumphant humanity lost with time. Forgetting their lessons and wisdom, they were left only with past scars and ashes of love.
Maybe it is not the people’s fault, maybe that’s how the cruel rules of the world are, but they were never able to break free from the tyranny, they were only able to switch positions of the stage, taking the role of the pantheon by themselves, leaving their honest desires to change the world behind, being deluded by power.
Maybe people had a chance for salvation, but they’ve faced their damnation instead.
Their heroes were never fighting to rule the world, they were fighting for the sake of humanity, for the lost souls of this reality. That’s what these people were fighting for. What Barsil Barag forgot.
The Iron ruler kept fighting until the last bloody tears of his enemies, drowning own heart in his blood, with reason being left behind, driven only by the cursed duty to his people, duty that can be never fulfilled. That is how he fell, fighting self-proclaimed deities of the humanity, losing everything on his path towards ethereal salvation of his people.
There were no gods for him. He believed that life is not about a triumph of one over another. He believed that we, people, create our own kings, our own gods when we need them, but we fail to leave them behind once we are finally strong enough to stand on our own. He wanted to give his people a life without any deities, with only human’s capabilities at their side, embracing both beauty and cruelty of the world. But he failed to see how he turned into another ruler, how his men stopped praying for him, and started to pray to him.
I agree with him.
There are no gods in this realm. “Gods” are not about the power or strength, that’s what I believe in. I may be infinitely more powerful than an ant, my mind may beyond its comprehension, my actions may be miraculous to it, and even its life may be just a consequence of my pity towards it, but I am not a god of ants.
The world – that is what stands above any of us…
