t.g. bolme: the great book of lost mythological entities

T.G. BOLMET.G. BOLME ™™

The Great Book of LostThe Great Book of Lost Mythological EntitiesMythological Entities

A.E.H. Veenman

A.E.H. VEENMANPage| ii

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T.G. BOLME (The Great Book of Mythological Entities) Page | 3

PREFACE

This past summer, one of M.H.I.'s chief archeologists, Viktos Kefellanis, contacted me at my New York office. He spoke of strange remains he and his team were researching at the organization's facility in Prevaria.

Archeo-News Today is a periodical renowned for its hard-nose scientific criticism; so, as editor, I was skeptical about the research at the time. Nevertheless, I agreed to meet with him, and M.H.I. arranged my travel for the following week to the institution.

On a Wednesday afternoon, I was seated beside the pilot of a small charter plane when it finally reached

Prevaria after five hours of flight. We circled above a plush, green, octagon-shaped islet with emerald and azure swirled waters surrounding it. Soon, we landed on a bald area in between the trees at a secluded airport, which only operated for sending and receiving low-traffic, non-commercial planes. I exited the charter, tired and queasy from turbulence throughout the flight and disoriented from wearing communication headphones throughout the travel. My ears were attempting to accustom themselves to the surroundings: engines fluttering, noisy vehicles revving as they passed by, and engineers shouting to one another. I reached for my camera, hanging by its strap around my neck. However, I didn't have time to take any photos before my host, Viktos Kefellanis, approached me with a welcoming smile. We shook hands and then he took sympathy on me by quickly relieving me of my luggage and briefcase.

Viktos was tall and lean, naturally tanned with smooth olive skin and his eyes, dark and clear—a sign of an honest man, in my opinion. He had a Sherlock Holmes demeanor about him: mature, soft-spoken, intelligent. Or, perhaps it was the thick black mustache, the same color as his hair, that twirled on its ends and extended out from either side of his face.

After our greetings, we moved from the runway and toward an all-terrain vehicle. Viktos carefully placed my bags in the back, then sat behind the steering wheel and started the engine. I focused my camera lens for hi-

A.E.H. VEENMANPage | 4

speed movement and then, as he drove, took as many steady pictures as I could while holding onto the crash-bar above with one hand. Not too long after our departure, however, I regrettably lowered the Nikon onto my lap and simply looked around. I noticed a scarcity of modern roads, traffic signals, business facilities, and corporations. How could a scientific organization conduct research in such an environment barren of technology?

A sense of disappointment washed over me; I guess I'd secretly hoped for—no, anticipated—seeing evidence within Prevaria´s geographical settings that Viktos and his team’s research could have lived up to scientific proportions, the likes of which I'd never seen. To the contrary, I was having serious doubts. It seemed highly unlikely that this group could have raised enough funds to set out on an expedition as the one Viktos had previously described to me without any corporate backing: Where was Microsoft, IBM, or Pfizer Pharmaceuticals? What university had supported the research and did M.H.I. have proper transportation? I remember while considering all this, Viktos asked me what I thought of Prevaria so far. I smiled and told him how beautiful I thought the land was and that I couldn't wait to see more. It was the most appropriate and diplomatic response at the time.

Our jeep continued onward, along sandy trails, whipping up puffs of dust in our passing. We had reached a place hidden in jaded areas and headed toward a large gray facility, bordered by a wire fence and surrounded by armed guards. Viktos parked nearby the entrance and helped me out of the vehicle. By the time I retrieved my belongings, the dust began to settle. I set my luggage on the ground and attempted to take photographs. However, two guards wearing Grecian army uniforms and bearing rifles confiscated my camera and briefcase. This is where, of course, I could no longer take pictures or notes about the premises, the staff, or any details pertaining thereto. Viktos warned me that I was about to access highly sensitive information; he assured me, though, I would have the opportunity to review as much supporting materials as I'd wished.

In honor of my promise to keep the institute´s location and contents secret, I have not listed the exact address nor described the interior of this facility in this account of my journey.

It took a week to learn all about the individual team members and their undertakings to grasp the full extent of their dedication to this project.


For instance, nearly all of the scientists had provided the funding for the project themselves, and the government had provided grants for additional costs. Furthermore, M.H. I. had decided that any technology needed was already available in their lab, so they would proceed without any corporate support. Transportation, however, was and would remain an issue, from the time of my stay in Prevaria with the scientists to the continuation of their research, as can be read in later chapters.

Nevertheless, fourteen days and nights allowed enough time for me to read the field studies, reports, and analyses and to view the bone fragments, genetic cross-mapping charts, and photos. Afterwards, I returned to the United States with a newly found share in the Prevarian team's enthusiasm.

It is now my sole intention to present to the readership of Archeo-News Today an eye-opening account of the information contained within those records, based upon The Prevarian Scrolls, and the research bestowed upon me by M.H.I., for which I will remain eternally grateful.


MESSAGE TO THE READER

Dear Reader:

The following chapters relay individual tales of the newly found entities secretly held by the Greek government for scientific research. You will come to learn of the beings’ origins, their intellectual and emotional developments, and relationships.

This reference will give you the opportunity to peer into the creatures' existences (presumably as they have lived) given their environments, the assumed nature surrounding their deaths, and the legends their very being left behind to speak to mankind to this present day.

All this is, of course, pursuant to what the scientists and I now know of their time and realms, for which we have put together this re-enactment.

Reader, at this moment, it is suggested that you prepare yourself for a mental voyage into a world of gods, goddesses, myths and legends, bearing in mind what I've shared thus far.

Written in this reference book, for all time, are those details to become collectively known as T.G. BOLME.

A.E.H. Veenman


Book 1: PRIMATHOR - The Pithikos Blabi

Primathor [Prĭm-ă-thōr] is the name the research team dubbed this specimen of primate, most closely related to the ape yet with human features and male organs.

Pithikos [Pĭth-ĭ-kōs] was an ancient breed of ape indigenous to the forest areas of the Kavalan Islands.

Blabi [Blah-bi], or wrong monkey as best translated into English, is how the Kavalan people would for centuries come to describe Primathor: born of wrong genetic make-up and at the wrong time.

The research team (Viktos, Krista, Yanni, Gregor, and Hannah) found their first lead toward identifying the creature within the myths and superstitions of a people resident to the Kavalan Islands, located just south of Prevaria. The following handwritten excerpt reveals M.H.I.'s introduction to the legend known as Primathor, taken from the onsite diary of Viktos Kefellanis, September 28, 2000.

The five of us had grown up on the mainland. We've all heard the stories about a secret clan living in the jungles. Naturally, as adults, none of us ever had reason to question whether the tales were true. The folklore had only been something of a ghost story, so no one really cared. That is, until we began our investigation two years ago.

We arrived by the setting sun, having traveled hours by rowboat. Several children dropped their fishing nets and fled into the dark void of the trees. After Krista told us she saw others hidden away in the forest, we grew worrisome that the strangers wouldn’t welcome us. We proceeded carefully onto an area of the beach a half-mile from where we were first spotted. Yanni and our guide continued to drag the boat onto land. Hannah and Gregor retrieved our files, equipment, and test kits from the vessel while I cleared the sand of twigs and scraps. A trench needed to be dug, fire wood gathered, and the tent set up. We wouldn’t have time, however, to complete our build.

M.H.I. Sketch Artist’s Impression

IMAGE IN OFFICIAL RECORDS ONLY


A committee of elders, deeply tanned men with white wooly beards and brandings on their biceps, carried lit torches as they came to greet us. A horde of curious onlookers followed suit. The men and women were scarcely dressed in skirts and bermudas, shell necklaces and face painting. The primary male was distinctive in that he waved the others back and they moved. He interrogated us in ancient Greek and I was barely able to understand him. However, I could decipher that he wanted to know who we were and why we had come.

For a while, we explained our intentions. When we'd finally convinced them that our reasons were purely scientific and objective, they led us through the soggy tepid jungle and into their village.

Viktos Kefellanis, Chief Researcher


The scientists entered the village, where a small portion of a nearby mountain range cut off rear access to the location. Upon seeing the strangers, some women fled from the central gathering place and children, who remained, stared at the team. A couple of youngsters quickly knelt and balled mud and animal feces in their hands. Instead of continuing their trek, the team was occupied with ducking the filthy arsenal catapulted at them.

The Elder didn't take kindly to the boys' behavior and spoke indiscernibly, his voice stern. A man who witnessed the event grabbed the youngsters and gave them each a good smack on their bottoms. That was satisfactory to the Elder and he apologized to the M.H.I. members, who were cleaning themselves off before finally being able to pass through.

Various sounds created a rural ambience: wails coming from the spanked children, the chattering of women seated around a huge fire that served as a communal stove, and the whacking of axes against wood some men were chopping. The wetness of the forest carried the smoke throughout, nearly suffocating the atmosphere. The Elder led M.H.I. to the women at the fire. One had a pile of grape leaves and two others dug their hands into the stomach of a goat. The woman who appeared much older than the others received the meat and ground it on a flat rock by scraping it with a round stone. Lastly, the youngest female, barely in her teens, would take the chopped flesh, portion it onto a leaf, and then wrap it securely before placing it in the flames. The team patiently waited until she wiped her hands and took up a ladle. Despite the heat, Viktos, Hannah, Yanni, Gregor, and Krista were offered hot drinks, which they gladly accepted as a sign of their gratitude to their hospitality. As they drank, the Elder introduced himself as Naiku [Nigh-koo] and explained that he would lead them on their journey for what they sought.


It was nearly evening when M.H.I. followed Naiku into a shallow opening in the mountain, merely a rounded chamber. There, a young man sat on the ground with his legs folded over each other; his thin, brown upper body swayed in elliptical patterns while his hands rested on his knees. A deep, esophageal humming came from him as he continued his mediation. Naiku clapped loudly and the man stood. He walked over to them and bowed, kissing the Elder's hand. Naiku introduced him to the team as his apprentice, Solan.

Solan stretched out his hand toward the ground, signaling the others to sit around the fire. He then took a stick swaddled with leaves and placed it in the flames, and lastly secured the torch in a crack in the cave's wall. As the orange glow illuminated the rock, the team saw writing covering the surface. The apprentice then picked a bowl up from nearby. He dipped his finger in it and then smeared red ink along the rock. Naiku then spoke to the scientists and Solan wrote.

This was their regime every afternoon for the duration of their stay in the village. At nightfall, the team was separated and roomed between several huts. For three days and nights, M.H.I. congregated with the Kavalan people who shared their beliefs freely with them. The first bit of history revealed to M.H.I. was that Kavala was once called Kavulia, and this was the time of Primathor.

By the end of their trip, the researchers had a vivid description of their mystery specimen after having gathered the creature’s life story from the villagers. The legend had indubitably corroborated with the information contained within The Prevarian Scrolls [see page 20, The Prevarian Scrolls]. These are the stories of Primathor that Naiku shared and Solan wrote.


PRIMATHOR CHAPTER 1

THE LAST STRIKE from the oldest and most feared member of the Pithikos, said to have been named Reman1 [Rē-măn], rendered Primathor stunned. The adolescent creature fell into a prickly bush, anchoring his thick arms onto a tree branch while his body dangled like a puppet. His cloak opened and hung loosely from his shoulders. It exposed the smooth skin on the left side of his torso and chest. The gash perforating his right cheekbone trickled blood onto the dark musty hairs of his jaw.

Calusa [Călūsă] (as called by the Kavalan in their narration to the M.H.I. team) saw her son ease upward and stand.

He regained strength and focused on his surroundings. Other Pithikos jumped and screamed while holding Reman back. Crispy leaves rustled under the animals' pounces. Calusa's high-pitched shrieks were heartbreaking to Primathor. He stared at her and drowned in the sorrow of her glances. A longtime friend of the pack imprisoned her against a tree to keep her from getting involved. She stretched forth her arms and screamed her pleas to her son, begging him to come to her. His sympathy, however, for the old ghostly man in the tattered fur clothing prohibited his movement toward her. A battered body on hands and knees, the human crawled toward the depths of woods fixed against a sunset that radiated the color of flaring tempers.

Remembering as best he could in his natural language instead of human speech, Primathor replied, "The time is now! Long overdue and brewing this has been."

Reman’s jumping accelerated, his arms swung wildly up and down, and he pounded the ground with his fists. Primathor's eyes widened when a few others he had once regarded as friends joined in the dance of imminent battle. A scent of their musky pride and matted fur filled the area. At that moment, he knew he was outnumbered. Despite his height and strength, brute force couldn’t succumb them all. Nevertheless, he would try. 1 Reman - Despite inference of this character in many of Kavalan tales, M.H.I. has no further concurrent information other than what is presented in this book. Presently, there are plans of subsequent research into this entity's history scheduled for the end of 2005.


Primathor straightened his posture. His eyebrows lowered and his forehead crept downward into a facial expression native to his primal being. His muscular legs lunged in wide steps forward, each movement quickening with the next. Reman sprung into the air from a crouched position, baring all teeth and arms ready to grab his enemy. Primathor charged him and tackled him in mid-air. On the descent, Reman crashed against the others, bombarding them into a patch of bushes. Primathor seized the opportunity to make his move: a dash on all fours into the depth of the woods.

# # The path was known as Octavia's Track, a winding trail rumored to have been the very hunting and training grounds of Goddess Octavia2, leader of an all warrior-woman army. In the distance, Primathor saw the man struggling to run. His ring of white hair was dusted with sand and his garment was smudged everywhere with dirt. They hurried, each separate in his escape from the Pithikos, through a mass of whisper trees3, the tallest plants in existence with foliage that resembled clouds. Primathor carried on steadfast and drew closer to the slowing human.

The beats of Primathor's heart thumped as one with those of his mud-covered hands and feet against the ground. He heard the turmoil of angry Pithikos approaching from behind, so nothing would cause him to slow down, not even when it seemed as if he would collide with the man ahead, who was gradually losing speed. Nothing would make him stop. He rose and ran upright. With a single swoop, Primathor hooked his arm around the man’s waist and launched the frail body over his shoulders. He evaded further confrontation with his clan by following the man's directions, which navigated him through depths of the forest he'd never been. Here, the cottony treetops were darkened with mysterious royal blue streaks4 and strange breeds of vegetation and animals were collective.

He entered a dark cold opening at the base of a mountain. Thick, spongy green moss covered it, growing upward in a viral formation. From 2 Goddess Octavia - The reference to Goddess Octavia also appears in The Prevarian Scrolls. Apparently, besides her gift of battle, she was quite a talented songstress when it came to hypnotic arias traditionally sung by Sirens. (See pg. 50 of Viktos Kefellanis' thesis called Preservation in Prevaria – An Unabridged Analyzation of The Prevarian Scrolls.3 Whisper Trees - M.H.I.'s field reports show that these had become an integral part of the ancient Kavalan (Kavulian) diet due to the belief that Goddess Octavia's training actually took place atop of these trees. Her skills transformed into a liquid essence that soaked through the leaves and into the bark. Therefore, the principle was to eat of the tree and consume the fierceness, agility, and strength of the goddess and her army. 4 Blue Whisper Trees - Further to the above mentioned, the variation of the color blue in the treetops signaled how close Goddess Octavia's army was to commencing battle; the darker the blue the more at hand the fight.


above, streaming vines of petite white flowers flowed downward. Bundles of wipple branches dipped in Kroata5 venom (for sustainable burning) were secured on the sides and lit the soiled maze leading deeper into the cave. Drops of water seeped from the upper levels and echoed through the channels when they plopped to the ground. Soon, the beast lowered his rescued and trailed behind him into a large open alcove warmed by a hearth and glowing with Kavulian wasp6 wax candles.

Inside were tables and chairs, simply tree stumps, a clay pot bubbling over a fire, and more books than could be instantaneously counted. Primathor raised his head and circled slowly, eyeing the rows of dug out shelves along the cave walls.

He glimpsed downward when a gentle tug of his sleeve interrupted his awe of the place. He watched the man press his palms together and bow.

"Thank you," he said, stared into Primathor’s eyes, and articulated it once more.

Primathor’s baritone voice filled the room. "I understand you," he said and returned to admiring the books. "I know your speech."

The man’s eyes widened; he smiled then chuckled nervously until he clutched his side in pain. "I-I- now have so much to ask," he said with excitement. "But first, dear friend, what are you called?"

"The name given me by my father is no name in your tongue, but you may call me Primathor."

"And I, am Silamon . . . once highly regarded senior spiritualist of Kavulia." Gradually, the man crumbled to the ground and his movement caught Primathor's attention.

"Elder!" He squatted and placed his arms underneath him then rose. He carried him to a bed of hay, covered him with a blanket, and then knelt next to him until the man's face showed relief. "You've endured much, elder," Primathor stated.

"So have you, dear friend."Primathor traced Silamon's stares and raised his hand to his cheek.

He then glanced at the red stains plastered on his fingertips."What will become of you, welcomed no longer by your kind?"Primathor replied, "It is time now that I make my own home." Silamon smiled. "Such a time is many and dealt to every living

thing. If I, a seasoned man, can make a dwelling from rock, surely, you can make a kingdom out of this land." He continued to look at the

5 Kroata - Due to the over-consumption of this serpent and usage of its venom in several products, the Kroata faced an early extinction. 6 Kavulian wasp – This wasp is a rare find in nature. As opposed to the irritant-type of poison most wasps eject when stinging, the Kavulian wasp's poison actually coagulates into a wax-like substance, causing blockage to blood-flow in its victim. For any chance of the victim's survival, the clot must be surgically removed.


creature’s wounds and said, "You need something for that." He groaned while forcing himself out of bed.

"You should not move until your wounds have healed.""Sustenance is fuel for healing, my friend." He went to the hearth

and picked up a large stick. Stirring the contents of the pot, Silamon said, "Please, be seated there at the table." When he finished mixing, he poured the broth into a bowl. "Angel seed with manna juice and Kroata7 . . . healing as well as surprisingly filling." As he moved away from the fire and neared the table, he saw Primathor's gaze soften and turn watery. "Friend," Silamon said, "do you not eat what my kind eats?"

Sadly, the Pithikos replied, "I do. My human mother, Zaria, made it for me often," and he received the gray stone dish.

"Remarkable! A human mother," he said with a questioning tone on the way to the hearth. Once there, he filled another bowl. "I can’t figure that one out. How is it possible?"

Primathor looked up at the rows of books and again at Silamon. "At first, I thought you would not consider nor understand my words; however, you are a learned man. Per chance, you'll not mock my story but believe my tale of a monster born not of one world, or the other, but of both."

Silamon came from the fire with his own meal and sat across from him. "What's not to believe? I see you walk like people."

"Yes, Pithikos prefer it actually.""I've been where you come from," Silamon continued. "I've seen

what you are, and I hear you speak my tongue."After a long sigh that rumbled with a grinding purr, Primathor said

softly, "Very well," then raised his bowl and sipped. When he finished, he began, "Reman, the leader of my pack and the one with evil in his heart against you, showed me the wrong of my birth as a youngster."

7 M.H.I., loc.cit., see footnote 5, p. 14.


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