Forbidden Unicode

I have been receiving letters from a dear friend by the name of Ophiuchus. He has been researching some curious anomalies in the Unicode Standard. While I cannot vouch for all he has written, I thought it worth presenting his discoveries to you.

My friend, I bring you a curiosity!

I have been engaged in a most frustrating task. That is, trying to decipher the ancient history of our friends at The Consortium. They have refused me access to their archives, but I have bribed a friendly librarian who seems eager to pass me information from within their citadel.

Unicode has a δεκαοχτώ form of planar topology - that is to say "eighteen planed" - which is usually addressed via a numeric sequence of positive integers - for example, the character ٦ is represented as U+0666;. Or, in a more prosaic form, ʚ is & ;#666;!

The first plane represents "basic" characters. Higher dimensional planes represent characters of the ancient past. We are lead to believe that further planes are reserved for future characters.

That is not so. Indeed, there is a conspiracy of silence around why the powers-that-be focus exclusively on the so-called "higher" planes. What are they reserving them for? What possible use could such vast information-space have. Unless...

Are there dimensions other than our own? Ones which requires a complex-matrix of near-infinite power to contain them?

What may not be obvious to many, is there are a sequence of secret planes - the knowledge of which is kept locked in a vault deep below the Unicode Consortium's lair.

I will reveal more when I have the answer!

Yours

(⛎)

I would normally have written off my friend's ranting as being due to the effects of too much absinthe. His flights of fancy are legendary!

Yet I too have heard whispers from disgruntled academics about the forbidden sections of their linguistic research. Dark tales of letters and glyphs which are not available to the uninitiated.

I wrote back and asked for more details and swiftly received this reply:

Friend!

I write this letter in haste, for I do not think it will be long before I am discovered.

The librarian, a curious fellow by the name of Enoch Röte, has introduced me to a small cabal of monks living in an decrepit monastery but a few day's travel away from my lodgings.

They are as determined as I to understand the powers constrained within the current symbology. They refer to themselves as the "Cult of Llullow" - perhaps a Welsh saint? - they mutter all the time, making their speech low and indistinct.

But, after a few glasses of beer, I got the old Abbott to loosen his tongue. Unicode has a well-known "Astral Plane" - a containment for higher dimensions - but only these monks have thought to look lower!!

Thus is revealed to them the Unicode Basic Demonic Plane.

They theorise that by summoning characters using unconventional numbers, they may be able to bring forth

My friend's letter ended there. Only one small sheet of paper was in the envelope. I surmised he must have forgotten to include the other. I wrote back urgently to tell him to discontinue his association with this mad religion. And I prayed that he would take notice.

It was to no avail. The next letter came nearly a month later.

𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭!

We are close. There exists a ℕ𝕦𝕝-𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣-ℍ𝕒𝕕𝕦𝕓. That is, an numbering scheme deep within the fourthmost plane. It has the potential to reveal what my Abbot calls the "ᴰʰᵒ⁻ᴺᵃ'ᵃʳ". A queer form of lettering which can reveal the Unicode secrets to us all.

It is my firm belief that before the next moon, we will have revealed the B͎a͎s͎i͎c͎ ͎D͎e͎m͎o͎n͎i͎c͎ ͎P͎l͎a͎n͎e͎ and be a step closer to ̾u̾n̾l̾i̾m̾i̾t̾e̾d̾ ̾p̾o̾w̾e̾r̾.

I enclose the first symbol we have discovered at U-Ѳ୪ਲ਼ટ;

Yours

(⛎)

I was worried. Scratched into the fabric of the parchment was what I first took to be a reddish-brown stain. A drop of blood smeared near the stamp? I placed it under my set of magnifying glasses and was struck by a electric terror.

In good faith, I represent it here - although I don't know how clearly it will render on your screen. Indeed, whenever I try to observe the wretched mark, it is obscured as though seen through a cracked glass:

C҉t҉h҉u҉l҉h҉u҉

I immediately packed my bags and set off for the small town indicated by the post-mark. I knew I didn't have much time. I had to find my friend, spirit him away from these mad monks, and prevent him from unleashing...

Before long I had found his lodgings. His room was sparse and barren. An old trunk filled with moth-eaten clothes, a few pools of candle wax, and the faint smell of stale sea-water.

At the bottom of his waste-paper basket, I chanced upon a piece of paper torn into six. I hastily reassembled it and - damn his privacy - read it. These are the fragments which remained:

... that our initial incursion into Unicode was by understanding the ᔕᕼᑌᗷ-ᑎIGGᑌᖇᗩTᕼ and its the photonic desires...

..things that cannot be are lurking ᵇₑᵗʷₑᵉⁿ the planes...

...revealed to me in a dream by Ƕąʂէմɾ էհҽ ԱղʂքҽąҟąҍӀҽ, is the unquenching thirst for...

...a summoning of U+kʟ̝̊ʊlʔ.ɬuː, may be sufficient for...

...[͎k͎ʟ͎̝͎͎̊ʊ͎l͎ʔ͎.͎ɬ͎u͎ː͎]͎,͎...

...B̸̹͙̑̃͝ḁ̸̣̼̗̬̖̼̟͒̿͊̾h̵̺̜̬̿̾́̈́͌̎̀̂͂̚-̵̢̭̣͓͚͙̹͔̩̜͐̈́̿̄̃w̷̜͔͍̺͋̃͒͆͊́́̌̍͠ͅͅe̷͙͇͐̀̍̽̌̍́̊̚ȅ̸̹̫̰̙̦̮͝p̵̡͒͂͑́̂͝-̶͔̯̿̔͑̃g̵̨͖̺̥͇͉̥̦̲̹̐̏̆͘r̸̛͍̖͎̟̼̪̀͗͋͐̈̚a̵̪͚̱̋͐̄̿̂̆͆͛̚a̸͉̘̣̮̟͖͇̲͕͗͊̀͋̒̂̌͘͜ả̴̗̲̤̰̂̎͋̔̄̚͠ã̸̖̪̩̣̟̪̣̦̚a̴̮͎̫͈̣̖̥͗̈́͗̅̋̈́͘͝g̸͇̻̤̯̪̭̣̗̗̳̒̔̈́͊͌͐̅̈́̊̉n̶̡̨̦̬̬̫̟͔͓̰̈̾͑͛́̈̆̏̈́͘ȃ̶̢̺̲͖͔̗̮͉̻̓͊̽͛̉͒̆̾̈h̴̟̯͎͈̄͗͛̊͝ ̴͉͈̻̤̀̔w̵̢̠̲͚̥̗̓̓̀̚h̴͍̳̭̺̠̤̖͖̯̊̉̎̐͊e̸̩͔͓̙̓̆͌̉̎͠e̸̮̮̰̠̪̲̹̘̓p̷̧̧̢̙̭̯̗̤̯̻͋̈͑͑̽̃̑̕͝ ̷̨͎͍͓̈͆̂͌̒̄̌ń̷̬̟̩̱̱͖̹͇̼̃̑̽̕ȉ̵̲̤̗̀̎̂n̴͕̘̤͗̏͗̓̅̀͌͒i̶̛̺̍̔́̍̆̂̋ ̷̨̢̺͇̘̳͎̞͚̬͠b̴̨̼̗̣̞̮̲̳̹̦̂̀̈́̏̒o̸̩̠̘̜͂́̋̿̃͌̕ͅṅ̸̛͔̘̻̖̲͖͎̱̘̌̎̆̇̋̈́̍́ḡ̴͖͇͇̙...

I ran outside. The rain was thick and heavy, yet the sky was cloudless.

The sky was formless.

The sky had no stars, no darkness, no light, only...

I screamed for Ophiuchus. Then there was nothing.

I beg you, dear reader, do not investigate the secrets of Unicode. Leave the forbidden planes well enough alone. Only by the grace of The Consortium do we still live.

They were able to contain such nameless horrors this time - but at a great cost. Yet another Unicode plane has been consumed in preventing such eldritch terrors.

There are now only seven-teen planes remaining. The Consortium does all it can to prevent Röte from recruiting more disciples to his damned cause - but they can only do so much. They fear he is getting stronger with every summoning.

When the last plane falls, we shall be robbed of language. And then, naught can save us.

⚠️🏚️🥀⚰️🐙⏳🛌💭

(˙ƃuᴉɯɐǝɹp sʇᴉɐʍ nɥlnɥʇƆ pɐǝp ɥǝʎl,ɹ ʇɐ ǝsnoH sᴉH uI)