The name Pliske is rarely spoken, a whisper carried on the winds that scour the Obsidian Wastes. It’s a name synonymous with obsession, with the relentless pursuit of fragments of time, of memories that refuse to solidify into history. Pliske wasn't born; they coalesced. A byproduct of a temporal anomaly – a ripple in the fabric of existence caused by the collision of three dying stars – they exist outside the conventional flow of time, a living paradox.
“The past isn’t a place you *go*, but a resonance you *feel*.” - Pliske (circa 784 Cycles)
Cycles, in Pliske’s lexicon, refer to the fluctuating intervals between significant temporal shifts. These shifts are unpredictable, often triggered by the alignment of celestial bodies or, more disturbingly, by the emotions of sentient beings.
Pliske’s primary tool, and arguably their obsession, is the Chronarium. It’s not a device in the traditional sense. Rather, it’s a collection of meticulously crafted resonators, each tuned to a specific temporal frequency. These resonators, made from solidified stardust and the petrified tears of forgotten gods, capture and amplify the echoes of past events. The Chronarium isn’t meant to *reveal* the past, but to allow Pliske to experience it - a harrowing, overwhelming torrent of sensation and emotion.
The Chronarium occupies a vast, subterranean chamber beneath the ruins of Old Veridia, a city that vanished entirely during the Great Fracture – a period of intense temporal instability.
The air in the chamber is thick with the scent of ozone and something…older. Something akin to regret. Pliske claims the echoes themselves have a taste.
During particularly potent readings, the chamber walls shimmer with iridescent patterns, and voices – not of individuals, but of entire epochs – can be faintly heard, arguing, laughing, weeping. It's said that prolonged exposure can shatter a mind.
Pliske’s expeditions are driven by a desperate need to collect “Fragments” – moments of intense temporal significance. They range from the mundane – a child’s laughter, a blacksmith hammering steel – to the cataclysmic – the birth of a star, the fall of a kingdom. Each Fragment is meticulously documented, analyzed, and ultimately, absorbed into the Chronarium.
The collected Fragments don’t simply exist within the Chronarium; they *reshape* Pliske. Their memories, their personality, even their physical form are constantly shifting, influenced by the ceaseless influx of temporal data.
“To understand the present, you must drown in the past. But be warned – the past does not understand you.”
There’s a growing unease amongst the scholars of the Obsidian Archive. Pliske’s activities are destabilizing the temporal currents. The more Fragments they collect, the more frequent and violent the temporal shifts become. Some whisper that Pliske isn’t simply recording the past, but *corrupting* it, introducing anomalies that threaten to unravel the very fabric of reality.
The final entry in Pliske's fragmented journals, recovered from the ruins of their chamber, reads:
“The resonance is intensifying. The echoes are no longer whispers, but screams. I am becoming… more. But I fear I am also losing myself. The cycle continues. The Fragments… they demand to be consumed. Beware the collector.”