The book, physically is not a trivial tome, in fact, it is probably one of the largest books ever constructed. It splays open with a wingspan roughly equal to that of a Moor Heron overflowing a lectern by a factor of at least two and dwarfing all but the largest alter. The mauve dyed leather bound hard cover is over an inch thick and appears to have been taken in a single pull from an immense and likely mythical beast. Inside are signatured thousands upon thousands of wanted poster sized pages leafed in a deep rose gold. Five leather straps secure it with buckling iron closures each with a device enameled to mark the seal of one of its creators.
It is important that we do not confuse creators with authors just as it is important to note that, while the volume is larger than nearly any other, the physical size is dwarfed by the information that it contains.
No one wrote the Pandect, though Bolish Organnon did initially conceive of it. It is a thought experiment turned reality. A contradiction. An answer to the question, how large would a book would be required to contain everything.
And it does. Every spell, every bit of history past, present, and future. The true names off all things. The maths that break stars and render the world mute. The words of every poet and author in this world and the next. Your fantasy and reality. Your secret. My secrets. And the stories, and thoughts, and panderings, and mundanity of this and a thousand other worlds. And also the rumors. The deceptions, The misunderstandings and mistakes. The lies. The book has them all.
But no index. no table of contents. no page numbers. no punctuation.
Endless pages existing in some pocketed inter-dimensional library with the only curators being the personalities of those that imbued it with existence. Organnon’s dark gift to his co-creators. The applique of their seals was an everlasting contract to be infinite monkeys: internal scribes of the book eternal. It is their will, desire, and whim that determines what will manifest when you open the book to a given page. They know all, but of them, the reader will likely never know a thing.
At any given time they can give the reader any information they desire. But their minds are clouded, dark and broken. Their numbers are four. Old Organnon did not follow them into the void, but attempted to use them to his advantage to gain infinite knowledge. You do not need the most vivid of imaginations to posit how this hubristic and foolish endeavor ended.
The pandect was lost in the ruins of Old Urbitahn Keep when Roguhurah the First fell and the Fortress of Emperor Lounar was sacked.
Lost but not destroyed. It can not be destroyed. The book is eternal. The book is infinite. And somewhere it yet lies, in dungeon horde or library stack, willing itself found.
Haucumgalium 