Notes on Manor Island & the Constant Makers

[Archivists note: A brief transcript of a type-written document discussing Manor Island and several related topics. Author unknown, but their relative lack of skepticism likely rules out D.N.] 

[Archivists: To the members of r/oldhousearchive, please note this document has been significantly edited and expanded upon from its original form which you all worked tirelessly to decode. These edits and expansions were added after new information was made available to us. We are in contact with the owner of the original document, and hope to procure a direct scan soon.]

Let us begin with an excerpt from The Constant Makers by Gertrude Belfrage. An original copy was generously lent to me by the Fifty-Seventh Library.

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You've likely heard the stories. Ships lost at sea, engulfed by crimson fog, all connection to the outside world cut off. Murmurs of confused panic ripple through the main deck, rising to a terrible crescendo as the white cliffs of a godforsaken isle emerge from the surrounding redness. Stony cliffs dashed with ramshackle stilts and rickety scaffolding, zig zag structures clinging to the rock, leading widened eyes up and up until they land upon a miserable crown: 

Perched atop the looming cliffs, the asymmetrical bulk of an impossibly large and chaotically sprawling mansion. A monstrous patchwork of bizarre gothic architecture. Tiny moving dots are spattered about the mansion's surface, seabirds emphasizing its enormous scale.

But the closer your ship is drawn, the more imposing the structure becomes; and those tiny dots you assumed to be perched birds are, in fact, people. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. All are draped in yellow hooded cloaks, and all are tirelessly building away. Moving with the hivemind purpose of an ant colony. They dredge building materials up from the churning waves: driftwood and–you narrow your disbelieving eyes–the ruined remains of scuttled ships, dashed mercilessly upon the jagged stone.

The captain tries to turn your ship around, but it's no use. Approach is imminent. An irreversible inevitability that settles into the entire crew at once, all five stages of grief condensing to immediate acceptance. Everyone stands in dumbstruck awe, watching as the isle draws ever near.

The mindless workers are indifferent to you. They continue to heave scraps of timber and rusted metal up from the frothing sea. Your fate is unavoidable, but your fear has long been replaced by a soothing calm. You are soon to become a part of something eternal. You are soon to meet a favored Child of the Gods. You are soon to join the Constant Makers. 

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Many have accredited, or blamed, the above passage for inventing "Manor Island", but even Gertrude Belfrage herself denied this. After all, stories of “Manor Island” date back to the earliest Viking explorers.

Unlike most Houses of God, the island's coordinates are not enduring, but generally speaking, it is said to be located somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean (or the southern Arctic Ocean depending on where Jupiter is in relation to the Sun). Manor Island has been described as anywhere between 50km² (roughly the size of Manhattan) all the way up to 280,000km² (three times the size of Iceland). Many believe there is more than one "Manor Island", but this generally stems from a lack of knowledge in regards to ephemeral and enduring places.

The first known description of the Island actually comes from the roughly translated texts of famed Viking explorer Magnus Thorvaldsson:

"The cliffs rose from the sea, blotting out the entire sky. Resting atop them sat the shadow of a fortress so large, it could only have been built by the gods themselves."

[Archivists: Transcript ends here. More pages to come.]