Foundations Ch. 00-01

When reality is not shared, trusting words is like building on sand. I will do my best to share my foundations.

Prologue

The houses looked deserted, as if no one had been there for weeks. Weeds had grown in the pathways. It smelled wet, almost musty like wood rot. I walked across the grass towards the first building. It stood tall, at two stories. A stone foundation lined the bottom of the wooden walls. The wood had greyed due to the exposure; the only colour was a disturbing marking above the door. A bright yellow image of a bird surrounded by two green leaves. The contrast seemed almost like a warning.

The door had fallen off the rusted hinges, it looked to be splintered into several pieces. The closer I moved to the image above the door the worse the smell of rot became. Before I peered into the building I took a deep breath.

An unnatural dark had enveloped the inside. It took minutes before my eyes adjusted to my new surroundings. I could hear wood creaking and groaning even though the house looked empty to my straining eyes. It felt as though the house was pulling me closer while it was consuming the light that tried to enter through the broken windows. Slowly guiding my mind into the darkness.

I pulled my arms up to my face, like I was trying to pull away a non-existent blindfold. My panic rose when my hands seemed to move on their own. Not waving or twitching but expanding. They seemed to be leaking physical form into a swirling miasma. My dark forms morphing into a mesmerising array of particles. Small pieces reflecting the singular beams of light that managed to breach the dark expanse, dotting the room in magnificent colours. Only now did I see the interior of the house.

Before me floated a mass of weaving shapes and shadows. Crashing from walls within walls. All orientation lost, time more of a suggestion than a law. Too complex to be chaos but impossible to make sense of.

In the middle of the mass a voice appeared. The words harsh against my ears, almost mocking. It was at this moment that the unconscious part of my brain forced me back. As if the mere suggestion of understanding was tantamount to madness. I fell backwards into the doorway.

I don't know how long I lay on the shattered door, partially shaded by the greying wood canopy. Puzzled and mute I opened my eyes not realising I had shut them. I expected a broken world but to my surprise everything I saw was normal. Laws were being obeyed and objects stayed permanent, except for the strange markings. They now seemed to flicker in and out before disappearing completely.

I pulled my legs out from the maw of the house and lifted myself up using the rotting door frame. Where first stood a whole village now only stood this one house. After steadying myself I took several steps back. The smell still overpowering I turned and ran.

Now I am here.

Why are you looking at me like this? I said to the men standing in front of me. I didn't understand their gazes. I could hear faint ringing in the distance, for some reason I could smell wax. They just stood. At last I had enough and moved my chair back. As I pushed to my feet the men collapsed. The faded colour of their clothes melding with the dark floor. After seconds all that was left were their faces. Warped grotesques still staring at me through holes that should have been eyes. The smell of burning hair filled my nose as I kept looking down. Afraid that anything above me might somehow be even more disturbing. The faces seemed to twitch and I started to hear that voice. No words, just sounds. As the voice faded all I could hear was the beating of my own heart. My consciousness left me and it felt like I fell through the floor.

After an unknowable span of time I was standing again in front of the house. My shoes are wet with morning dew. I felt breaking and churning within my own mind. I could feel the rot spreading to my thoughts. Connections fell apart and reknit into different completely novel structures. Memories warping and stretching, new realities appearing...

Memories make mankind. What will be left when they change? Perhaps a new me, someone altogether different. It is good to see again.

Chapter 1

A world of madness is never one that the uninitiated should stay in too long. A mind can only take so much. Unravelling is common amongst the delvers. Losing a mind seems a small price to pay compared to the rewards that await. As I glanced around I began to regain my senses.

Sunlight on a wet day, I can smell water evaporating from the stone windowsill of the cell. Black stone ceilings covered with markings and heat cracks. As I look to the side I see the markings continue down the walls. Deep grooves cut into the stone, filled with a silver mixture. From this vantage point I can't quite make out the patterns that the silver lines form. All I see are the swirls and twists that seem to continue down the wall onto the lower levels. The markings of exploration.

To my side I see other delvers. Time will tell if they have mapped lost worlds or if they are broken by the voice and lost. On my other side I find my clothes, a simple gown and my guide, a necklace in the shape of a trusted symbol.

As I make my way to the wooden door at the end of the chamber I notice one of the delvers is twitching awake. Scars appearing red across her skin. A symbol I do not recognise. Maybe from the patterned realm? I run my finger over her skin and bring it to my nose. Salty and metallic. I leave her to regain consciousness and continue through the door and down a flight of stone steps.

The stones beneath my feet are eroded in the middle due to thousands upon thousands of years worth of footsteps. The bronze doors at the end of the gallery are marked by numerous hands opening and closing them. Behind the doors lies the washroom. A place where delvers wash both mind and body before moving back to the world. The room contains half a dozen wooden baths that continually overflow from water pouring in from the ceiling above. The excess water falls to the floor where it follows grooves chiselled in the stone floor, disappearing into a gap at the bottom of the chamber walls. Each bath must be entered before moving on to the marked room. Each bath is filled by its own stream and washes away a different barrier.

I walk up to the fourth bath and submerge my hands. The scars on my skin burn on contact but slowly fade. Realms often leave marks of some kind, bodily scars are the simplest and easiest to mend. I can still feel the twisting inside my mind. A pulse that is not mine.

After going through all six baths I wind through the labyrinth of stone corridors to reach the cathedral room. This massive room could fit thousands. Rows and rows of wooden pews, many filled with broken minds. Here we place the bodies of delvers who did not find a way back. An unrotting wide eyed mass staring at the altar in the centre. They require no sustenance nor do they move, they just sit. Watching, waiting perhaps on the return of their mind. This never happens of course.

The altar itself is a masterpiece of confusion. A tangle of wood, metal and broken body parts. There is a certain symmetry to the construction but this only confuses a curious eye into seeing impossible shapes. At the foot of the altar stands a small silver bowl containing one of each guide, twelve in total.

Behind the altar stands an orchellar, responsible for overseeing the cathedral and transporting the soulless. His robes cover both his body and the ground behind him, room for dragging soulless on the extra length. Orchellars have not yet completely lost their sense of reality but the voice has taken its toll. They move slowly and deliberately while their faces contort into ever changing grimaces. The speed of the changes are a hint as to how old they are and often how long they will remain ensouled. Its reverse is used for their rank within the cathedral. The altar orchellar is the oldest, the muscles in his face only moving once or twice per year. Currently his lips are folded back showing his yellowed teeth. Both his eyes are forced shut while most the right side of his face hangs limp. The altar orchellar is delicately rearranging the flesh-like pieces of the altar, It is unknown what instructions they follow but they are dedicated servants to this calling.

As he hears me coming he uses his bony white fingers to push back the folds of skin around one of his bloodshot eyes. He looks at me while I kneel before the altar. I can feel the voice in my mind pushing outwards, moving my thoughts as I try desperately to control the sensation. The orchellar looks me in the eye, creating an unseen bridge between me and it. The smell of wax returning I try to look away. Finally, the orchellar presses a finger to my forehead closing an apparent link we share. I feel a mark sink into my skin, melding with my skull. I rise from my place at the foot of the altar suddenly feeling the eyes of the soulless in my back.

Panicked, I turn and see rows of eyes looking directly at me. "Enough!" I shout as I follow the crimson carpet that leads to the back of the cathedral. Unblinking orbs following me as far as their immobile skulls allow. I crash into the giant wooden door at the end leading to another labyrinth of corridors.

It takes me a while to reach the lower portion of the mausoleum, the Grids. This part is considered open to outsiders. Almost a village by itself the lower part is where two streams of thought merge. An ocean of the blind and unthinking, blending with us who have been approached by the voice.

The Grids consist of three main areas. The largest and most busy is the port. Here the outsiders enter our domain to trade and request services. More towards the higher and restricted area are the temple and the Ardjun Pit.

The temple is where I am headed. Here delvers tend to gather and recuperate from explorations. Once in a while a commoner is allowed through to ask a question to the unknown, sometimes we will find an answer for them. This is our main source of income as it costs a great deal to ask chaos a question.

The building itself is remarkable to some. Instead of walls the roof is held up by hundreds of marble statues of humans. Each one is entirely different from the last. Some delvers have spent their whole mind searching for the origin of this building or at least its meaning, to no avail. The temple ceiling is covered with huge and detailed paintings, most of them depictions of the very first realms that were charted by the first delvers. Some of them are schematics showing how realms relate to each other. Not many delvers can still read these.

I arrive at the temple to find a few delvers sitting at the large stone table that we use to listen to visitors. Although I recognise the faces of the delvers I cannot say I know any of them. Here you cannot know anything let alone something as malleable and fleeting as other people's minds. Who knows what has shaped and morphed them since I last saw them.

A man I recognise comes up to me and hands me an unsealed letter. I can see amusement in his eyes as he tries to speak to me. "The council has decided to allow you to read this. There is someone waiting for you at the statue of the Hunter with a Spear." I nod and take his burden. A letter is never good but it is always interesting. The council seldomly intervenes with affairs so a request is very unusual.

Before granting the audience I open the letter and read its content. It's a report from a land located far from here regarding border conflicts and farming rights. Not something that would normally even reach the council. Why did they pass it on? I fold the paper and place it in my robe pocket.

The Hunter with a Spear is a short walk away from the stone table, close to the main access arches. It sits directly under a painting of the first realm. Due to the nature of chaos the painting would seem abstract to an untrained eye but anyone who has experienced that first step knows exactly what the painting represents. The feeling of terror and exhilaration that one feels after touching something the mind was not equipped for. If you look closely you can see a tiny line of silver winding through the image. This represents the start of exploration and a guide for delvers to help find their way back.

Besides the Hunter with the Spear I find two outsiders waiting. They look nervous but glad to see me approach. One is a man of average height and with a strong build, a man who travels often and has wisdom hidden behind his eyes. His lips had been sewn shut long ago. Marks on his arms and hands lead me to believe he may be a mercenary of some kind. The other person is a woman with brown hair and fair features. She is wearing several golden bands around her neck and a belt that would normally carry a weapon.

"What brings you to seek an audience?" I ask, staring directly into the eyes of the woman. She holds my stare with steady brown eyes and answers:

"My name is Netu and this is my personal guard. I have come for answers and our elders seem to think this is the only place that could possibly harbour them. Why is beyond me"

"I assume payment has been arranged, seeing as you are already standing here?" I comment while turning around. "Follow me and we will find a seat to discuss".

I lead them to the stone table through the gallery of human statues. Usually outsiders are taken aback by the size of the temple and the strange ceiling images but I could not sense any reservations coming from my two visitors.

"Please take a seat"

I say, pointing to two large wooden chairs. The stone table is made of a dark polished rock lined with small cracks. It is not a uniform shape but rather more like a branching tree. Although unwieldy, this shape allows for many private conversations to be held at once and there is always a suitable branch large enough for however many outsiders.

My visitors and I take a seat and I place the letter I had received in front of me in the middle of the table.

"So let us start. Netu, why have I received a letter from the council about such mundane matters? It does not happen often that I am tasked with listening and my time is quite valuable, so speak now."

Netu looks hesitantly at the letter and shifts her weight forward. "I am from a kingdom in the Heartlands, which lies far to the north of here. I have spent the last 3 months trying to get to this shit stain of a place. Please do not mistakenly think I am here to ask about riches or to get the upper hand in some political struggle. I am here out of simple desperation."

She reaches into a pocket and pulls out another letter. "This... this is why I am here and not anywhere else."

She opens the folded letter to reveal a symbol. My head starts pounding as part of my mind recognizes the image. In the centre of the parchment is what looks like a grey ink stain covered with faint black lines. Almost imperceptibly the stain moves, growing and shrinking. A breathing symbol is a construction that should not exist on this level.

"How did you get this? "I demand.

Before answering Netu folds the letter to hide the image. Both Netu and her bodyguard expressly keep their eyes from directly looking at the pattern.

"It started just before the last leader cycle. Before our current elders were granted the rights to our sanctuary. Talk about strange problems and reports from other tribes and kingdoms started coming. The first were minor, mostly the ravings of mad men and women."

She looks at her bodyguard before continuing. "Later the reports became graver and more frequent. Two large kingdoms in the heartlands have already collapsed and war is ravaging the land. There are entire crops waiting to be harvested yet no one dares to go near them. Something is happening to our lands."

"And the image, how did you get it?" I asked.

"This was recovered from one of the villages on our lands. We burned all the other marks. We kept this one to bring to you." She says while sliding the folded letter across the table while holding it tight.

"The marks seem to appear on surfaces as if by some magic" Netu remarks.

I look down while placing my hands on the bridge of my nose and I close my eyes. After a short while I look up at the two expectant faces.

"This cannot be, I have never heard of anything from other realms lingering in our realm. I must convene with other delvers, possibly even the council. Go back to your lodgings immediately, I will find you soon, once I have answers. Leave the parchment to me, proof is important."

Netu releases her grip on the letter hesitantly but as soon as I pick it up she sighs in relief. Only the council would know how to deal with such a breach of reality. I stay seated as I watch Netu and her guard walk back to their quarters. They have no idea how close they came to unravelling.

The council is not located in any fixed space. Unlike most things in this sanctum it shifts and evolves, we delvers have learned to find it by asking an orchellar to guide us.The process of finding the council can often be arduous as orchellars regularly lead delvers to other orchellars, as if only their combined knowledge is the key to finding the council. I have heard of Delvers arriving at the council with a contingent of up to fifteen orchellars.

For me it only took three orchellars. The council was momentarily seated inside the upper mausoleum, not far from the cathedral, in a small chamber. The chamber itself is unremarkable, one of the hundreds that can be found within the mausoleum. As I push through the door I feel the resistance of reality pushing me back. This sensation is caused by natural law, the world always tries to preserve its own internal stability. Any forces that create direct instability are physically pushed out of existence. For this reason, meeting the council is not only difficult but dangerous. Apart from the letter I am holding, the council is the only known place where chaos intersects with reality.

As I push against the door it suddenly swings open, and I feel the room swallowing me. Behind me I hear the door slam shut. Only twice before have I felt the same sensations as I am feeling momentarily. Every surface in the room has turned to black and red polished stone. A deep pulsing is visibly moving from the far end of the room to the door. There, sitting at the other side of the room are five heads. The heads are held in place by arms growing from the walls. Fours heads protrude from side walls, each held by one arm. The fifth head is held in place by a full ring of arms, like spokes in a wheel.

The wrists of the arms crack as they move to allow the heads to look at me directly. The faces of each head are the faces of the earliest delvers. They have been stuck in this limbo between worlds since their first exploration and have subsequently served as masters for all delvers. As with orchellars, it is entirely unknown what guides the council. We only know that they are vital to our cause.

"Speak" vibrates through my bones as all five faces stare at me.

"I have come to seek wisdom. Following a letter that came from the heartlands, an emissary came to show us this"

I take the letter I had received from Netu from my pocket and slowly walk towards the centre of the room. The feeling of their combined attention is nauseating. Almost as if every second in that room, they are pulling more humanity from my body. I throw the letter into the circle of heads and kneel.

"Please. I have come to show the council a break in reality."

As soon as I finish the sentence, I hear the sound of teeth chattering. Both my own and of the five heads. My body starts vibrating again, this time more violently.

The paper on the ground starts levitating until it is directly in between all of our heads. The small pattern from before starts enveloping the paper. A strong smell suddenly fills the room, a mix of ground rock and fresh water. As the pattern enlarges, colours start appearing. A bright leafy green that contrasts magnificently with the black and red walls. After seconds it seems the walls are losing this battle of colour. Waves of green now reside in the rock, perhaps permanently.