The ever presence of the Mountain is now felt everywhere in the hills and forests of Transylvania and Szeklerland. People of different letters are quarreling, succumbing to Nerichinan pressure. Hate and violence are inserted into the Monster Graph. We are in desperate need of a Transylvanian Circumvolution.
The sins and evils of Peer Nerich are indeed eternal…
Written by Herman Ploppel jr. , March 1990
The ethnic clashes of 1990 is one of many sad chapters in Târgu Mureş’ proud history. Situated in Transylvania, at the borders of Szeklerland, the Mures Folk speaks many languages and belongs to many cultures. To honor this, our patron Jacob Tepec founded the Cultural Palace, where he amongst other praised Hungarians and their qualities (reactionary and Nerichian scholars of modern Romania argue that this was simply a display of black humor), and held several exhibits showing important Romanian and Slavic folklore. However, the open-mindedness and multiculturalism of Tepec became less normal, peoples of different letters felt that their pride and lands where stolen. And the long dormant Evil of the Nerich Clan was woken once again.
Without the involvement of the Nerich clan, the disputes and quarrels would have been peacefully solved by discussion and debates at the very Cultural Palace. But the wisdom of old Tepec did not penetrate the anger of the Nerich-infected minds. Many people died.
The Unallocated suffered severely under the iron hand of Jerna Nerich. While she swelled from fatty almond feasts, the poor thralls at the bottom of the feudal ladder had no sustenance but moss and moldy crumbs.
The matriarch took her biannual baths in the many ponds and lakes in our Mures Valley. In azure gown she would wallow like the Hippopotamus Amphibius of sub-Saharan Africii. Woe be to him of The Unallocated that was set on toweling duties.
Oh, what will thy next project be, Unallocated One? Releas’d from agony perhaps only in death.
Wise we would be never to forget The Unallocated, the unprofitable. From their caste would rise, in time, that great Red Rebel!
During the dark years of the Nerich reign, few men were feared more than the vicious Peer “Mountain” Nerich. As the commander of the castle dungeons he became the most experienced and gruesome torturer the Mures Valley has ever seen. As the nephew of Lord Gregorius, he obeyed his uncle and master in every task. He happily did his work with great joy and fantasy. His methods ripped many soul apart, making them scream of agony, suffering in both body and mind.
His methods of torture were many, some aimed at the mind and soul and many at the flesh and gut of his subjects. But at his worst he ripped it all apart, sucking and squeezing every trace of life out of his victim. The agony of the victims lasted for days, or maybe weeks, before the relief of death. One could tell Peer both true and false, good or evil, but his work would not stop, and ones body and mind were mistreated until the very end. The very fear of Peer made the Mures town folk silent and submissive.
The Mures town folk still dread Peer Nerich and his wicked ways, although he is believed dead. But his body was never found after the Krim uprising, and there is whispers that his evil soul still lurk in the darkest forests, waiting for a new opportunity to serve his master and rule the Mures Valley.
It is still said that his blood was not red, but black as the darkest moonless night.
Adrŷan Nerich – Historian – Targu Mures Historical Society
There were joints, but there was no displacement. Yanchal Krimeli saw dust and traces of legends past, but there were no legends on the map; for whom or for what? An abomination!
Before him stood a most disfigured being, one of coal and the deepest minerals of our Earth, a creature of the night gone into hiding, hopefully for time eternal; but not so: folded as a blanket, there were some and some others, some as layers, som as people, some as lawyers, who were they and for whom did they work? They were not for Krim; he was not for them. It is not a straight value – as much is certain. Recent events, did however bring to question and consideration the very essence of truth and the falsability of truthness: if nothing is, then what is not?
The taste of the tamed and awful. The crimson oxen! At what shalt one look at? Twisted creatures of nature – behold thyself – look no further! And thus did Yanchal look himself in the mirror, and indeed he did gaze into eternity; for nothing would mirror such a face (or fate) as his; the very damnation: an ungodly being in an ungodly world – no sanctuary would be granted, even beyond the pearly gates yonder.
And then the great wall descended upon Yanchal himself, and Yanchal ran into the darkness along the long and forsaken road along the mountain in which he had looked and forgotten, but the mountain had not forgotten Yanchal. “Stare into me! Face me, face me you becursed being, you blessed born of the light! I am the darkness of the mountain, the chains of the earth!” And Yanchal did not stare, merely smile, and he walked further and did awake many a demon of Satan.
So he ventures on; gazing into orogenies of the forgotten past; the chain building events that never will be remembered nor witnessed in evidence nor quasitruth or real thruth or the given circumstances. There is no truth, only the truth which one can gaze upon but not grip, and behold – the Beast as if frozen and freed; forth sprung a most hideous dweller of nighttime: the idea of our salvation and the basis of God – ungodly as Messiah and doomed as Metusaleh to weakened age. It is no thing on which we lightly speak in circles of Mystics, but in times demanding, we kneel and yield: I shall tell you of the ancient roamer; the wanderer (and harbinger) of our sorrow:
The void granted him no sanctuary – “there shall be no rest for the wicked on earth”, and wicked he was, that raven of old revenge. That which has no beginning will have an end, but Krim is not of beginning, nor of end; Krim is forsaken; Krim is the ingredient – “the forisiack and mohemiack – call your curtain upon me, gruesome beast!” Cain! Cain! I call you! Empires may wax and wane; yet did the struggle of Krim and the Ungod remain unresolved – no man would interveen without total destruction of his own and only soul – and hither and tither did they roam in battle; ravaging the villageside and many a field of harvest. Fold thy barins! Crack and fault! There is no direction in which you can thrust, only the web which the spider does not crawl nor reside in; for as long as the cobweb remains virtual, remains Krim – that which has been for a very long time.
Thus we conclude; grab thine sword and man the ramparts! See now that the Ungod is upon you, and fight with the Deep Krim of the Mountain!
– Jakko Krimälainen, early scriptures
Nerich proposed the death of my father
Firefighters and prayer against the enemy;
My spirit is pleased,
My arm is strong
I like the first of many storms
This is a charming valley, you fence me in
Exciting places to see
Spring Valley, shine in my mind
Ground and the celebratory mood
Beautiful nature of culture and 13
I saw the wagonwheel could barely walk
Now, I flew from the water.
He then congratulated his country
His sword is the vagina.
Blow! Therefore, they sing, I sing,
A coward, who has the sword.
Fire and sword, never come into contact;
It seems that everything must grow fierce!
Who really believe in birth?
When the bees are seven; permanent gene
Crimean poem translated on behalf of the Targu Mures Historical Society by Douglas Rogers
The man went to eat Vea.
Then he sat in a grove of crow, and he speaks:
“He thought to himself:
Will think of crow kill you?”
A man who turned his horse,
so is the economy at home.
Listen to what my husband ask:
When the tree it is?
I drove it not to blood.
On crow he swore to kill him.
Oh, I heard the greatest shame!
Did you hear that Raven can kill a person?
But the crows came in into the house and cried.
And the man who crawled the hole.
A man who drew his bow to knee,
so straight a shot he fell.
It’s so interesting, it leads Folané.
But the Raven, he cursed them all.
It’s so interesting, it leads Folané.
Crows who flew into the barn floor.
The skin thus produced twelve pairs of shoes;
best couple he gave his mother.
As Salty told “as drums and barrels,
and transmission is ones Christmas”.
Intestine, has twelve twisted pairs of wires.
My hand and head to fork is stuck.
Account used in the temple vessels.
So people can fly in the sea.
Im Mu’n use; “may Maya gain
and his ears are right” will probably tutor.
In his eyes, life is like glass.
His neck and saw, “depends on whether the church with dignity”.
Children are used as the crow.
It is not a straight value!
Poem from Matrice de Granit, interpretation by mystic Jacob Becher; literal translation by Stanislav Peev.
The lore of Krim’s travels in the new world is mysterious. His vague footprints are scattered in both time and space, but persons of pure letters agree that his arrival can be traced back to the Spanish colonization of Mexico. During this time it is said that he founded the town of Jocotepec and therein graph theoretical knowledge flourished and prospered. But the Spaniards did not agree on this Krimean graph doctrine and hurled upon this town a fierce inquisition. To this day most history books deny the true origin of Mexico’s most bewitching and pulchritudinous township. Despite his all knowing dogma Krim and his followers had to flee the newborn settlement. Krim wandered in to the unknown…
Ian Whitehouse – Pennsylvania-Transylvania Friendship Organization
Who were they, that in the most dust covered books of the Petru Maior University Library, are spoken of so fearfully? Yankel Krümmel’s magnum opus, “The Granite Matrix” draws parallels between Gregorius Kyan Nerich and Luficer himself, yet Gregorius was but one member of the Nerich Family. This name remains soaked in the blood of rumors.
1572 is the year, and in the Mures valley there exists a long yearned after, yet fragile sense of peace. How quickly such quiet prosperity can fall to ruin at the hands of a tyrant. Voted harbinger of the Valley in November that year, Gregorius Nerich, under the banner of “To specify the algorithm and responsibilities regarding the authorization and evaluation”, ravaged the countryside with legendary cruelty. Terror reigned for over 200 dark, long years.
Targu Mures Historical Society 