Blade of Selene




Delivered and Facilitated by His Governorship
Bernardino Meneses y Bracamonte, Count of Peñalba
Steward of Española & Gonâve Isle

Inquisition Undertaken:

Julio Bernardino, an unregistered treasure hunter operating throughout the territory of New Spain, has made a noteworthy discovery in the old city of Tenochtitlan. While the Auctoritas paid very little attention to the site due to it being thoroughly scavenged by the Spanish, the Portuguese, as well as some natives, another expedition to the city is to be assembled by Inquisitor Alvaro de Castro.

A sum of gold has been offered to Sir Julio to serve as a guide, but he has declined and is currently seeking a ship to return him to Hispania.

Discovery and Acquisition

Year of Our Lord 1655, Before the Journey

I have yet again set sail for the Tenochtitlan. The city was often pillaged by both our men as well as the descendants of those who built it. Even the thought of returning there feels like kneeling in front of a decaying pig carcass to take one last bite out of it.

While Sir Julio was hesitant to step foot in Tenochtitlan again, we were able to contact a team that he supposedly recruited. I was not impressed. They have advertised themselves as the sailors of the Green Lady — the peeling olive-coloured paint making that name near redundant. Getting information from them revealed very little. Our treasure hunter took fourteen men with him, yet he alone returned carrying nothing of value.

In the end, we secured the passage with the aid of some British sailors working for the Pyre & Neumann Shipping Co. They appear capable if a little distant. I have yet to see them drink or play cards, with the workers spending most of their time absorbed in their duties. Captain Abell, during our limited interactions, has proved himself to mirror the attitude of his crew. Or perhaps, they are mirroring him?

No matter. After what I had to endure, this is a pleasant change.

Archivist Brother Farro: This is in reference to the expedition on Jamaica during which Inquisitor Alvaro de Castro had unknowingly hired a crew of pirates. During the expedition they had turned against him in order to secure the artefacts for themselves, resulting in Alvaro losing an eye and hearing in his right ear.

Year of Our Lord 1655, Day One of Journey

Nothing to report. Setting off from Habana, our ship made decent progress towards mainland Spanish territory. We should be entering the gulf in a few days. Captain Abell assumes that we will be able to reach shore in a week if the wind cooperates. Then, it is just a matter of walking toward the old Mayan capital.

I have heard the tales of peaceful Franciscans being slaughtered by the natives here in Yucatán. Truth be told, during all my expeditions, I never had a negative experience with these people. That could have been because I typically aim to avoid their territories out of necessity, but the few times I was compelled to engage with them, they seemed more curious than malicious.

The memory of my first encounter with the Indians is still vivid. As our ship approached the white shores of an island, dark figures began gathering as if waiting to greet us. They yelled and waved at us despite the fear in their eyes, with some of the young men — barely adults — bold enough to swim towards our ship. Once on the shore, I took out my sword, presenting it to the emboldened men. One of them grasped it tightly, wounding himself by accident. Even then, the fascination on his face almost made him ignore his blood-stained hand.

But despite all my appreciation for the Caribbean, I cannot deny that it is a corrupting force.

Year of Our Lord 1655, Day Eight of Journey

We have landed. Some of my men wished to spend a night at one of the Spanish missionary villages, yet I urged them to move on. In the end, Inquisitor Ulric Creed urged that I consider their request.

Despite his family's alignment with the British Crown, I trust the man. Ulric keeps talking about the Spanish effort here as if the Caribbeans were the Holy Land and converting its inhabitants a crusade. His zealous nature is reassuring in a sea filled with heretics and godless pirates.

Very well. Let them drink. Let them rest.

Year of Our Lord 1655, Day Fifteen of Journey

I have returned to the city among the rocks. I have returned to Tenochtitlan.

We have camped outside of what was once its reach, yet I could see the remains of native architecture refusing to fade away — their sun-bleached stones appearing skeletal and eroded.

And yet, despite all this filth and decay and erosion, Tenochtitlan is older than any man which will ever visit it. Some may think that history is eternal, but will any of our notes and findings even outlift this already desecrated place? And is this even worth pondering?

After all, very few men come to Tenochtitlan to appreciate its history. Gems. Jewels. Gold. Those are the things that men like Sir Bernardino covet. Well, the treasures are gone — that much I can attest for. Before I could even order them to set up camp, I could already see my men poking away at the hard soil. They will not find anything here. None of them will.

1655. Day 16.

We are not sure where they came from, but a group of men surrounded our camp at dawn. While at first, we assumed it to be yet another attack by the natives, European faces were amongst the assailants.

The battle was short yet bloodless. Most of our men ran instead of standing their ground. The oddest thing was that instead of scrambling to the shore, they dropped their weapons and advanced toward the attackers, raising their hands and shouting something in an unfamiliar tongue.

We lost many men today. Only us seven remain. How many are dead I cannot say. In truth, I am not sure what happened or who can be blamed for the disaster. I have taken all the necessary percussions. Watches have been placed at our camp, rotating over the course of the night to avoid exhaustion. What more could I have done?

One of the watchmen mentioned something about a man stationed before him walking off into the jungle at the end of his shift. He did not sound the alarm, figuring that the man either needed to take a brief stroll after sitting on a wooden stool for two hours or relieve himself.

Sir Alvaro was injured — stabbed in the leg with a strange weapon made from volcanic glass. I've already placed milk and honey-soaked bandage on his wound, but it shows no signs of healing. I wish a more experienced brother could examine the injury, but we cannot afford to move.

-Inquisitor Ulric Creed

Night One

I have split my attention between two journals, dedicating one to the writing which must be submitted before the brothers of the cloths while the other shall be used for personal reasons.

Writing on fresh paper is always a stressful ordeal. The only thing motivating me to write this is my desire to recount a dream I had. I just don't want to forget.

With a dry feeling in my mouth, I stood up. Looking up at the milky-white sky, I could see a crimson sun idly resting in its centre as if suspended directly above me. All around me there was ash.

Despite its dim nature, the sun hurt to look at. But it wasn’t the usual kind of pain that digs into the skin, flesh, and bone: it came from the heart — as if the blood it was propelling into my veins turned to white ash.

A dark figure approached me — a native clad in unfamiliar grey robes. Numbers Symbols were imprinted into their material, my eyes darting between them as if they held meaning. They did.

It inspected my arm, finding my veins depleted of blood. His hand moved through my ribcage and my bones posed as much of an obstacle as a curtain floating in the wind. Confirming his suspicions, he could find my heart pale and drained.

It lowered its head sorrowfully before reaching out a hand and lifting me up, dusting the ash from my body. The figure would not ask, for it knew that I could not give which I did not have to give. I found myself following it, for I could do very little else.

1655. Day 17.

Success! I was at first concerned about the strange prayers which Sir Alvaro uttered, but I can see that God truly does understand every language both known and unknown. His wound has healed, and the horrendous bleeding has finally stopped.

I understand why he would want to postpone our departure from the city, and I do not wish for his condition to somehow worsen again, but I hope to abandon this place. The city is beginning to take its strain on my mind.

God, allow me to leave this place.

-Inquisitor Ulric Creed

Year of Our Lord 1655, Day Seventeenth of Journey

My wound has finally healed. And although the pain has subsided several days ago, being able to sit without the constant need to change blood-drenched rugs gives comfort to both myself as well as Sir Ulric. The dullness around my body is beginning to loosen like a knot being patiently untied. We shall rest a few more days before moving on.
Night Two

The only thing putting me at ease anymore is tracing my hands through the glass blade, feeling its rigid shape. It is like a lullaby, soothing and comfortably cold in the scorching jungle. I grasp the sharp edge tightly, my curiosity quenched like the blade's lust for blood.

It used no words, yet I could understand its conviction. Its kind has fallen. It was the last one who still remembered the ways of the Old World. The Suns — the Suns! Oh, how it would talk about the Suns.

The figure hated them — spilling the blood of thousands as a mockery of their will. It didn't accomplish anything, and the state of his realm was an indicator of that. He was like a man trying to quench the Sahara, laughing as it took more and more of his crimson water. The Suns are idle. The Suns will burn. But the Suns will die.

I found its plea sympathetic — like the pleas of Pagans back in Eastern Europe kept from worshipping the True Faith through foul forces. We must meet.

1655. Day 18.

The strain continues. It is as if more and more boulders are placed on my head — the city, my executioner.

It began with a sensation of something moving around my body — grazing against my flesh just to disappear when I look. It was smooth, marble-like, yet almost insectoid.

Then, I began hearing it. At night, the sound of a great wooden wheel moving amongst the Heavens deafened me. But every time I looked, there was nothing. And every time I closed my eyes, it began revving up again — as if taunting me.

Other times, I could hear the sounds of falling liquid as if my head was placed underneath a waterfall. And when I looked, searching to find the source, I found the moon to be its perpetrator — gushing blood like an open wound. I blinked, and there was only its silver glisten.

God, allow me to leave this place. I beg you.

-Inquisitor Ulric Creed

Night Three

We sat in its realm, observing the star-filled sky.

During the night, when their light no longer blinded us, he showed me his Moon. It was a beautiful creature — as if made from neatly cut marble. Comparing it to a pearl would be heresy inappropriate, for it lacked the flaws of being created by the mortal beasts.

Unlike the Sun, I could look at it without squinting.

Night Four

Goodbye, my companions.

I am not gone.

I am here.

I am nearby.

Up, up on the Old Moon.

Letter of Intent

In the absence of Inquisitor Alvaro de Castro, I — Inquisitor Ulric Creed — hereby relinquish this artefact and its care to the brothers of the cloth, Caribbean chapter of the Dominican Order. I submit my findings and hold them true to all accounts, including my word and God's. May the artefact be deemed holy or heretical, in God's name.


Inquisitor Ulric Creed: I would like to make it known that the loss of such an experienced and wise member of the Auctoritas is a tragedy. It is my intent to finish his report in a manner which may commemorate Sir Alvaro's years of service to Rome.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances of his passing, I will personally stand trial in his place for charges of heresy and will not allow in good faith for Sir Alvaro to be excommunicated.

V.S. of the Auctoritas Imperata
The Caribbean Inquisition for Unholy Artifacts

Anomalia Supernaturalis #445

Completed on the 12th of Iunius, Anno Domini 1655

Composed by Father P. Bequel, Auctoritas Collegium Romae

Profile: The artefact takes on the appearance of a ritualistic knife, one likely to have been used by the pagans of the province of México. Its blade is composed of dark obsidian — a moon calendar engraved on its length. When compared to the standards of Rome, the accuracy of the inscription is sufficient.

When cutting into the flesh of humans, blood will pour from the wound. The artefact acts in a manner similar to that of a cloth — its blade absorbing the red liquid. And while it is possible to slow down the bleeding through the use of bandages drenched in a concoction of honey and milk, the wound will only close once the blade allows it. This is not a matter of whatever force is behind the artefact wanting the men to suffer, for only the blood absorbed by the obsidian count towards this tally.

After consuming enough blood, the blade appears to be satiated. It will no longer harm the hand of the individual, instead appearing dull and harmless. How exactly the artefact determines whether it should harm is unknown. It appears that the knife is capable of recounting all those wounded by it, refusing to draw more blood even between periods of rest.

Dreams of those suffering from the weakness of blood endured by the blade, should they fall into a slumber, will see the visions of a foreign realm as described by Inquisitor Alvaro de Castro. These dream realms are too consistent to be a case of afflictions of the mind.

In summary, the artefact is a relic of a dead heretical religion. Therefore…

  • This artefact has been deemed unrighteous.
  • This artefact has not been awarded the full bounty amount.
  • This artefact has been given the right to exist.

Suggested Use: The Dominican Order has deemed that while heretical, the artefact possesses no immediate danger. The dagger is to be transported to Rome for study.


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