In the summer of 1749, Philip LeMarchand was the talk among circles of the Paris elite.
He had made a name for himself years earlier as an architect and an alchemist, but his present claims to fame were his puzzle box designs.  His premier box, "The Lament Configuration", gained him access into the royal circles of France.  LeMarchand had been busy placing his boxes in all the right hands, making sure strife ensued wherever he focused his attention.  He was a man feared and hated for his accomplishments, and begrudgingly respected by those serving other masters.

    None of this escaped the attention of Charles de Bourbon, the Comte de Charolais.

    He was a sadistically cruel and ruthless man aspiring to the throne of France.  For years, he had used blood feuds to instigate unrest and war, as well as to place himself closer to royal power.  So when Charles de Bourbon heard of the famed architect turned toy maker, he immediately sent for Philip LeMarchand.

    It was on the Rue des Francs-Bourgeouis, in Paris' Marais district, where the two men first met.  Lemarchand was summoned to the residence of the Comte to become a co-conspirator in his latest bid for power.

    The Comte's intended plan was to assassinate the Prince of France, by means of one of Lemarchand's creations.

    LeMarchand counciled otherwise.

    "My Comte, it would seem that rather than dispose of the prince, which might be convenient now, would almost assuredly point to you in the end.  It may be better to best him and gain popularity and support instead of planning his demise.  In you there is a greatness the Comte de Clermont will never achieve.  What you need is guidance under a master's touch.  Why stop at France when you can aspire to so much more?  Truly these things are within your scope.  I have seen things that make France pale in comparison.  You can be master of a far greater realm than any you have imagined."

    The Comte had listened to this with half interest while he sipped at his wine, "Yes, yes, talk, talk!  I ask you for ideas, and you placate me with the dreams and lies of your religion!  I give you a fortnight to come up with something to help me in my plans. If you fail…"

    "I shall not fail, my Comte."  LeMarchand said with a bow.

 

In two weeks time LeMarchand had returned to the rue des Francs-Marais bearing a small package wrapped in cloth.  He was admitted into the salon where the Comte de Charolais was waiting for him. The Comte bade the servants leave as LeMarchand unwrapped the mysterious bundle.  He drew closer to inspect the gold & black cube.  It was similar to the Lament Configuration from a distance.

On closer  examination it was evident that there were two large squares, one on either side ringed in a circuit of filigree. In opposition, two of the faces had representations of the moon waxing and waning with the sigils engraved on large discs surrounding them, while double bars like the latches of doors embraced the moon.  The top and bottom panels bore the masonic eye resplendent.
 
 

    "This is beautiful…does it have a name?"
 
  

"I have given it the title:  the Jeremiad Enigma.  It is named after the weeping prophet of scripture... but I will not bore you with its symbolism.  You must make sure that the Prince is the only one to handle this rare gem.  It will only be worked by someone destined for his caliber of greatness."
 

    Charles de Bourbon was transfixed and never took his eyes off the box.

    The toymaker smiled, knowing what pleasures the box held for it's intended.

    The Comte snapped his fingers and a servant brought LeMarchand's payment on a silver tray.

    LeMarchand mentioned again that the box was only to be opened by the Prince, and none other.

    "Yes, yes, yes, I heard you! Now get out already, before you do bore me" snapped the Comte, never taking his eyes off the puzzle.

    He reached out and touched it, tracing the patterns delicately worked on its surfaces and marveling at its intricate beauty.  He did this for hours until he felt one of the dark circular areas that meet near its corner depress gently under his touch.  There was soft wooden click, and from somewhere inside the box, it began to play a melody. The Comte smiled and reached out, starting to search the box for any more secrets.  One by one he found them.

Opening Sequence 3A - 2002 Eric Gross

    When he had finally depressed all the corners at the same time, the bars holding the moon slid apart, freeing the disc and the moon turned on its axis.  The bars slid home again, and with a click, the top came free just a little.  The Comte tried to free it some more, and found by twisting and pulling it came loose from its housing, rotated half a cycle, and slid back into place.   

    

The Jeremiad Enigma then extended a section of its side outward, revealing a golden light from inside.  He fingered the opening and felt something inside among the gears and cogs, something that felt like charcoal.  When he touched it, the object crumbled away and its light faded.  A pale and bluish hand reached out, extending a finger, and touched the top of the box circling the masonic eye.  The Comte was startled, as the puzzle responded by resealing itself.

"...the puzzle responded by resealing itself."

    Before him stood a tall figure of a woman.  She was dressed in extravagant black leather, adorned with a fine mesh of silver chain, and what skin was exposed was a sickly bluish flesh.  Her full lips were bruised purple, and her deep set eyes were lidless and white.  She had no hair on her head but wore a circlet of iron that was attached to her skull.

    Her voice was a no more than a whisper.

"You are not the prince whose coming was foretold.  You are not the one meant for our gifts."

    "What gifts woman?  What do you speak of? Answer me, or I will have your tongue!"

    She smiled at him, "Oh, you do know the way to a woman's heart, Sir."

    "And you Madame, have not given me an answer.  What's more you are an uninvited guest in my house.  Who are you and what's you business here?"

    "My name is Shi-Krethd, and I am the guardian to the Jeremiad Enigma.  You have summoned me, and I have come.  Shall we be away?"

    "Away to where?  What is all this nonsense?"

    "Come, and I shall show you, Sir."

    "My name is Charles de Bourbon, the Comte de Charolais and you will address me as such!"

    Shi-Krethd gave a slow bow acknowledging him, and turned.

    "My pardon Comte de Charolais.  If you would be so kind as to follow me, I shall be your guide.  Come, there is much to show you."

    

Shi Krethd entry found in "The Toymaker's Magnum Opus: Act 1" 
discovered by Pyramid-Gallery research artist Eric Gross

    And as she approached the wall, it parted like it had been constructed to do so.

    The two traveled down the corridors of the Labyrinth, snaking their way to the center, when at last Shi-Krethd came to a stop.

    "And why have we stopped?"

    She answered respectfully,

   "We have arrived at journeys end, Comte de Charolais.  It is here that Leviathan will decide."

    "Decide?  Decide what?  I have no time for games!"

    A voice suddenly spoke out from behind him.

    "No time for games?  And what do you think this is to us?"

    He turned to face the voice.

 Judgment - 2002 Eric Gross

    Standing before him, tall and oddly thin, was what seemed to be a man bedecked in black leather stitched tightly to his skin.  A series of metal rings where inserted into his arms, torso, and legs at regular intervals.  Dangling at the end of each ring was a scalpel that sliced him whenever he moved.  Through the rings, the man's small intestine had been threaded, making an elaborate pulley tourniquet system.  His movements were carefully balanced and fluid, every time he moved the rings would pull his insides into further strangled configurations.

    His head was large and egg shaped, with a series of chains pulling the face apart broadly.  He had the same sickly hue to his skin as Shi- Krethd.  His eyes were almost solid cobalt blue, with an inner light emanating from where his pupils would have been.  A large ring was attached through his jaw so only the top of his head moved when he talked.  He reeked of decay and spent incense.

    The Comte could not find any way to cope with what he was witness to except to say at last...

    "Where the hell am I?"

    "Hell indeed!  And you stand before its lord, Leviathan!  Will you be judged as a weak pathetic lamb for the slaughter begging for mercy?  Or will you show us what you are made of…Comte!  Are you a servant…or a master?  You have it in you to be one of the greatest among us.  One of the strong, the favored.  You already possess many of the qualities we value.  There is much we could teach you.  Transcend beyond those petty ideas of the throne, what we offer is real power, through all time.  What say you?"

    The Comte smiled madly, his eyes glassy and wild, his mind raced at everything he was being offered.  "LeMarchand had been right all along." he thought, "Why waste time on just France, here I could be a god!"  He dropped to one knee and kissed the man's hand.

    "My lord, I am yours to command!"

    He could hear the man's breathing coming harsh through his nose, he looked up knowing something was amiss.  The man glared down with contempt.

    "I am not the lord of Hell!  I am merely his favored inquisitor.  HE is the lord of Hell!"

    The dark creature bellowed this while raising both arms to venerate his god. The vast rope of intestine straining around his body, constricting muscles and movements.  With his jaw fixed to his torso, the top of his head tilted back strangely, with his effort to look up making his mouth gape open wide.

    The Comte followed his gaze...up.  High above them watching all was the crystalline presence of Leviathan, his size so mind shattering that de Bourbon's jaw dropped at the overwhelming being that loomed above him.

Leviathan - 2003 Eric Gross

    "It appears we were wrong.  It appears you are nothing but a servant after all.  You are not welcome here.  Leave this place and never return!  Hell will not have you and heaven certainly will not miss the likes of you"

    Hence came the Judge's decree as the world around the Comte spiraled away into darkness...

    And so Charles de Bourbon, Comte de Charolais became the laughing stock of Paris as "the reject of Hell".  This tale spread quickly through the salons of the elite, finally reaching the royal court.

    Charles de Bourbon lived out the remainder of his life only a shell of the fiend he once was.  Sobbing into the unforgiving darkness and clutching his precious puzzle tightly, trying to rework the pathways and reclaim his glory.
 

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