The Flame Deluge Canticle

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The Flame Deluge Canticle
T Inv Icon AirlockCodes.png
typeBook
value5
weight0.2
item idDiary_AZ5_Canticle
 
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Titleicon-WL2.png

The Flame Deluge Canticle is a book in Wasteland 2.

Background[edit | edit source]

A sheaf of yellowing papers lined with musical staffs and handwritten notation. Can be traded to Isaac Leibowitz at Leve L'upe mine for 1967 Chevy Impala Repair Manual (+1 Mechanical Repair). Be sure to read it first if going for the Wasteland Historian achievement.

Location[edit | edit source]

  • Temple of Titan: Found in a toaster that appears after resolving the ICBM quest arc. Its location varies slightly depending on what the fate of the Titan was.
    • If the player sends the nuke to the Monks, it appears near the exit.
    • If the player disarms the nuke or sends it to the DBM, it appears tucked behind some cacti near the original entrance to the Temple of Titan map (the western exit).

Transcript[edit | edit source]

Transcript.png

A sheaf of yellowing papers lined with musical staffs and handwritten notation with lyrics.

We are the centuries... We have your eoliths and your mesoliths and your neoliths. We have your Babylons and your Pompeiis, your Caesars and your chromium-plated (vital-ingredient impregnated) artifacts. We have your bloody hatchets and your Hiroshimas. We march in spite of Hell, we do – Atrophy, Entropy, and Proteus vulgaris, telling bawdy jokes about a farm girl name of Eve and a traveling salesman called Lucifer. We bury your dead and their reputations. We bury you. We are the centuries. Be born then, gasp wind, screech at the surgeon’s slap, seek manhood, taste a little godhood, feel pain, give birth, struggle a little while, succumb: (Dying, leave quietly by the rear exit, please.) Generation, regeneration, again, again, as in a ritual, with blood-stained vestments and nail-torn hands, children of Merlin, chasing a gleam. Children, too, of Eve, forever building Edens – and kicking them apart in berserk fury because somehow it isn’t the same. (AGH! AGH! AGH! – an idiot screams his mindless anguish amid the rubble. But quickly! let it be inundated by the choir, chanting Alleluias at ninety decibels.)