Transcription
There lies the tale of a cryptic institution named Scholomance, shrouded in secrecy, swathed in dread. The legends of this arcane establishment have spread through the wings of folklore like a poison that taints the heart of the Carpathian Mountains.
It is here, within this document, that we dare to tread upon the hollowed and haunted story of the school that bred darkness, nurtured the macabre, and where the Devil himself taught lessons on the black walls of the damned. How a tale begins with an origin as blurred as the faces of those who feed to speak of Scholomance.
The school's advent is lost in the twilight of history, whispered in ancient texts written in blood and spoken of in hushed tones by crooks and warlocks. It was said to be a fortress of knowledge where the blackest of magics were not only taught but revered, practiced, and perfected. A place where the ceilings were held aloft not by beams of wood but by the crooked limbs of specters, and the windows, mere illusions, gazed into swirling voids instead of scenic vistas.
The admission to Scholomance was elective, as the darkness that engulfed its halls. Ten souls were all it would harbor, ten hearts pried open and hollowed out to make room for the Devil's seedlings of sorcery. These accursed disciples entered into the hallowed zenith, the hall seeking ultimate power, sacrificing any semblance of humanity in exchange.
Their curriculum was as vast as the night sky, as unpredictable as the movement of shadows cast by firelight. They studied necromancy, summoning the dead from their eternal slumber to commune with the living. They learned to whisper of vermin and beasts, commanding them to act against their nature. With each lesson, the hands of the clock turned backward, taking away morality and ushering in a new epoch of the night.
As our narrative weaves through the webbed corridors of Scholomance, it beckons us into the heart of darkness, where the greatest of secrets awaited the trembling hands of ambitious scholars. Secrets such as harnessing the tempest, bending it to their darkest winds, casting plagues of locust, and even riding the winds astride demons forged from primordial chaos itself.
The climax of this sinister education culminated in an unholy graduation, a sinister celebration that would see nine returned to the land of the living, changed, powerful, and feared. The tenth, however, was claimed by the Devil, a chosen one to stand not beside but below their infernal master, sealed with a diabolical pact. This soul would mount a dragon born of brimstone and scale, ancient as the earth and enduring as the abyss.
For it is said, with the heart encased in the ice of the infernal pit, the Scholomancer gradually unleashed upon the world as the Devil's own harbinger. The Dragon Rider, this entity would part the skies, release the floodgates of heaven to herald storms, famine, and despair. The dragon will roam the heavens, a specter of devastation, a promise of the apocalypse, nestled in the embrace of wickedness.
But our story does not end here. Scholomance held within its depths secrets that yearned to be discovered. Laboratories where alchemical concoctions bubbled with the promise of immortality. Libraries that housed tomes bound in human flesh, inscribed with ink pulled from the darkest pits of Tartarus. The greatest of Scholomance's mysteries, the balance of life and death, was a lesson taught in silence within the hallowed halls.
The air was thick with the breath of entities beyond our understanding, creatures of shadow and bone that whispered the final verses of foreboding incantations to those who dared listen. As our chilling documentary draws its final curtain, we peer into the ripple of its legacy. Generations have been haunted by the specter of Scholomance.
Tales of vampiric beings, aristocratic and bloodthirsty, their fangs dripping with the darkness of Scholomance's teachings, began to materialize from the fog. They live in the periphery, the noble guises masking the horror of the void within. Demons too, disguised in beguiling forms, walked among us, the shadow of Scholomance lying heavy on their existence. Their eyes black as the void, the education they received, their whispers as capable of rending the veil between words, their touch as cold as the love they would deny.
It is with a tremulous heart we acknowledge that the blood-curdling tale of Scholomance continues to beat like a dirge. For in the darkest corners of our world, in the spaces between the spaces, it is said that Scholomance still lives. It breathes in the hiss of serpent and the chill wind that slices through the warmth of life, and in the nightmares of those who hear its name and feel the irresistible pull of its malignant halo.
This documentary serves as a grim reminder. Some stories, no matter how steeped in the guts of superstition they may be, carry a weight, a resonance that defies the light of reason. For within the mask of myth, the spine-tingling fantasy of Scholomance continues to be a seductive abyss, whispering an invitation that promised his power, but often, his perdition.
Remember well this tale, this dance with the macabre, for Scholomance lives on, whether in the minds of the fanciful or in the bleak, uncharted depths of our world. Only those who heed its call know the truth, and they, they never speak.