My name is Aramis, and this is my story.

The universe is vast. The planet is vast. The human intestine is vast – if you are a tiny bacteria lounging around in there. While I have not witnessed any miracles and I do not have tangible proof that there is a deity out there looking over us, I do believe there is something bigger than us out there. Something beyond our comprehension. I believe the various gods humanity has come up with are representations of this and, for practical reasons, we gave them names, faces, and rituals. Because I found it hard to choose one, but felt the belief within me, I choose to worship the sun itself. Each year, I join the sun pilgrimage to the top of Mount Tarasco, the tallest in my country. A symbolic gesture to be closer to the deity, to feel its warmth a little closer and to meditate.

While the vast expanse of a mountaintop fills me with joy, I can say the opposite about dark, crowded places. I have an irrational fear of crowds that manifests at a physical level. The lizard brain goes into fight or flight, and always chooses flight. Put me in the middle of a crowded music festival and I'll quickly seek the edge of the crowd. Trap me on a packed wagon, and I'll get out at the next stop, even if it means I'll be late for work. I often think what may have caused this fear to exist in me, but I cannot come up with a logical answer. Perhaps in early childhood I experienced something that stayed in my subconscious. If that's the case, I do not recall it. And so, I simply do my best to avoid large crowds, especially in enclosed spaces.

I grew up in a family that valued academic prowess above all else. They cared little for athletics, and art was but a hobby to be pursued outside school, never a priority within its own right. Since I could do little about my situation but obey my parents, I ended up spending many hours in classrooms, libraries, and in my room reading books. The sciences did not stick in spite of my father's best efforts, but I did find joy in literature, philosophy and history. Each discipline related to the others, each one revealing to me different facets of the human condition. Novels showed me creativity and the abundance of human emotions and perspectives. Philosophy taught me to be open minded and never accept an idea just because one person says so. Much is debatable and questionable, even the ideas we generally think of as basic truths. History showed me how humans chose to use power, ideas, and creativity in practical ways that shaped future generations. By the end of my schooling, I was an expert in these fields and able to get a good read on people and their intentions even with only basic information in hand. Little did I know reality would soon test those skills, and reality’s harsher than any academic setting.

Given all that I learned about humans, past, present and future, it should come as no surprise that I rejected traditional gender roles for my society. I've faced challenges for this. My own father mocked me if I engaged in hobbies seen as feminine. Peers bullied me for I was not as strong and brave as other boys. Even teachers made jokes on occasion, about boys who did more with their minds than with their muscles. As I got older I learned how to tread carefully when needed, and how to express myself freely when in a supportive environment. It remains a challenge, but not an unsurmountable one. Life is too short to live in fear!

My bookish pursuits, cerebral inclinations, and open minded nature clearly make me a lover more than a fighter. I will fight if I have to, but I will always try to win without violence if possible. As the saying goes, “you catch more flies with honey”. In a pure contest of strength, I'd lose fairly quickly, unless I can outwit my opponent and leverage some form of combat ingenuity or trickery. Spending my younger years in the library did not build me for hand-to-hand combat. I avoid direct conflict, but I can use my skills, charisma, and intellect to achieve bigger goals. If the goal is to win a bar fight, you better find another ally. If the goal is to open diplomatic relations with a neighbouring city-state, I'm your man!

I don't have many friends, but I have a few close ones. My best friend is Portos. We went to school together and remained friends long after. Where other kids seemed distant, Portos welcomed me to his group of friends with open arms right away. That gesture meant a lot to me, and I will never forget his kindness. Even as life took us on different paths, we make time to check on one another, and even reunite the old group once a year. Portos is a cheerful man, who loves food and drink, and doesn't have any concerns with how others see him. While a healthy balanced diet may not be his number one priority, a happy life is. He emanates joy wherever he goes. He is kind to all, even to those who don't really deserve it. He inspires those around him to be better, kinder, and more loving. He's also a great teacher, sharing his knowledge eagerly with any who show curiosity in his areas of expertise.

My family’s focus on academic results did offer me a slight privileged position in life, one that does not attract the attention of the very rich. I didn’t stray much from my family’s history of gainful employment and managed to continue as part of this privileged class after my studies concluded. The good grades paid off and the humanistic nature of my studies allowed me to be persuasive in arguing my case for deserving certain jobs or material opportunities. I currently work at the largest bookstore in the city, and one day I hope to own my own and spread the love of books to others in my community. Since the local school system uses the store for most of their bulk orders, this job pays unusually well for what it is.

~*~

The Gendarmerie… a pain in my scrawny ass. These strict, tough guys in their proper uniforms have not been on my side for as far as I can remember. Officer Bidot especially. I am not trying to piss him off, but I also seem to have a certain bad luck running into him at the worst of times. I’ll be in the park with seemingly nobody around, enjoying the sunset, the accordion player in the distance, and I think to myself “why not add to the relaxing experience a few puffs from my special herb pipe?” Within seconds of lighting the match, Officer Bidot somehow materializes ten meters from me. No young kids in sight, no Moon Monks either (they are much stricter than us sun worshipers), but somehow he feels the need to give me a warning. Lucky for me he can’t arrest me for personal use of herb pipes, but I am sure he is salivating at the chance that he catches me with a larger quantity. He won’t. Sometimes I wonder if he gives me a hard time with the herb pipe in expectation of some sort of bribe. Maybe all he needs is a little extra coin for his Friday night peach schnapps. If I had the certainty this would get him off my back, I’d gladly pay him off.

Well, I shouldn’t worry too much about Bidot. The Ruler Cycle just ended and I am happy to say Lord Urzeus is next in line. A blessing for all intellectuals and lovers of justice and kindness. Urzeus has done wonders in his home city state, and most citizens are excited to see what he will do at the helm on the nation state itself! I think anyone who has corruption in mind better clean up their act. I better not try to bribe Bidot, after all, and he better stop harassing me. I hope him and his buddies get reprimanded for beating up the homeless population!

Above all, I think the Sunny Side Up Society will benefit from a ruler like Urzeus. We’re a group of sun worshipers who also enjoy the health benefits of fancy herbs. But our real calling is helping the less fortunate in any way we can. We won’t go as far as fighting Bidot’s gang, but we’ll be patching up wounds, donating food, spreading education and books to those who cannot afford it, and any other activities we come up with. Once a month, we have a weekend march through the city: the Sunny Steps. Each of us brings a small cart or a large backpack filled with whatever goods we were able to acquire, and we distribute them to the needy. I usually get my hands on books that are not in perfect condition and can’t be sold in the shop, library books at the end of their life or with too many annotations, writing utensils, and of course – and please do not tell Officer Bidot – ample quantities of herb to put some sunny feelings in everyone’s soul.

~*~

It was last month’s Sunny Steps when something bizarre happened. I was handing out used books near an orphanage when a strange girl came up to me to receive a book. At first I did not get a good look at her, busy looking for a book appropriate for a child. But when I handed it to her and looked her in the eye, I was greeted by eyes as yellow as dandelions. Never have I seen such eye colour. I froze, but she simply smiled, thanked me for the book, and walked away. I must have stood there bewildered for several minutes because when I woke up from my trance the kids were all gone, along with half the books. No harm done.

While the yellow eyes are reason enough for my bewilderment, what truly shocked me is a forgotten memory from seven years ago. I was still in school, in a later academic year. Walking home from an evening seminar, I stopped at the night market to grab a bite. The market was unusually busy for a Tuesday, so I ended up in one of the deeper dark alleys in search of a food stall with no lineup. A delicious smell grabbed me by the nostrils at the corner of Rue Fezan and Rue Noir. The stall was run by an old woman who seemed neither particularly happy nor sad to see me there. There was much wisdom in her eyes, and the food looked good. I was starving. I picked one of the sandwiches and got a few coins out to pay. She then offered me a bottle of refreshing juice on the house. As I was very hungry, I sat down on the nearest bench and gulped down the food and the juice. This somehow went to my head, and I had a feeling this juice may have been spiked with something. I fell into a trance, and I remember the old woman laughing at me, a sorrowful laugh, neither mocking nor cruel.

The trance did not last long, the crone was still there, and occasional customers still wandered by. She did not give them juice. She suddenly asked me:

“What did you see?”

I was taken aback, but tried to focus and think about the vivid dream I just had on that bench. I saw a mountain, and gleaming metal rods coming out of deep mines. I saw golden books in the hands of powerful bishops and large numbers of desolate people in long lines. I saw great beasts of metal laying waste to villages.

“Ah yes!” said the crone. “It’s not far off now! The yellow-eyed child shall mark the beginning of the end.”

This memory rested deep in my unconscious mind as I assumed it was all part of the same dream, all a part of that nasty juice she gave me. Until now.

I rushed to the orphanage gate and asked about this child, but nobody has seen the yellow eyes. They also looked at me like I was a little crazy. Disturbed by my encounter, I went home. If this yellow-eyed child is real, how much more of that dream may also come to pass? People will think I am crazy, but I must seek out this child, the mines, this mysterious gleaming metal that seems to bring nothing but danger, death, and destruction.

~*~

The month following my encounter with the crone and the yellow eyed child was spent making preparations for my quest. I started with my immediate sources of knowledge: the book store, the library, the local academic institutions, even churches and other places of worship and knowledge. From high priests to fortune tellers, I roamed the streets in search of clues. My friends wanted to believe me, but I am not sure how many did. Even Portos glanced at me with concern.

I had but given up when help arrived from the unlikeliest of places. I was in the central square attending the inauguration of Lord Urzeus's ascendency to the seat of power, the head of the Long Table in The Cube, a fortified bastion where the most critical branches of power were housed. During his speech, he ensured The Cube will be a lot more open and less secretive than his predecessor kept it, and all are welcome to seek a hearing with those in power. To my surprise, they accepted my application almost immediately and a week later I was in the queue to for my five minutes with Lord Urzeus.

“Lord Urzeus! Thank you for the chance to speak with you directly. It may seem crazy, but I am convinced something dangerous is brewing somewhere in the realm. Do any of the following mean anything to you or the members of the Long Table: luminous metal mined from deep in the mountains, people with unnaturally yellow eyes, books of gold wielded as sources of power by powerful leaders, and great mechanical beasts capable of great destruction?”

The lord's face lost some of its benevolence with each additional item on my list, looking downright grim by the end of it. With a weave of the hand he ordered the guards to usher out the other commoners and shut the doors.

“Aramis! How you came by such knowledge is less concerning to me than the immediate danger of this prophecy. I know nothing of great beasts, but I have heard rumours of a new element discovered in the mountains of Tal-Gareen. As you know, that's not exactly far from here. The ones who discovered it are a powerful cult with chapters in most city states. They call themselves The Pillars of Rebirth. I would not be surprised if they even started spreading their corruption in smaller hamlets too. The properties of this new metal are rumoured to be powerful and even magical, if harnessed correctly. If The Pillars found a way to use this to their advantage, I am not surprised of anything you spoke of just now.”

My heart was relieved to hear Lord Urzeus speak this way, confirming my vision rather than mocking me and throwing me out on my ass. The Pillars are not unknown to me, of course. I came across many references to them, but never in such a tangible and dangerous context. As far as I gathered, they were merely another small religious sect, not all that different from the Sun Worshippers or the Moon Monks or any other such group. The lord continued:

“The yellow eyes are proof enough something is already in motion. We have already spotted occasional manifestations of this trait. Now we have a vague explanation. Aramis! You must travel to the mountains of Tal-Gareen and gather more information. I will send my own men too, but you will be a great asset since you'll attract less attention. For your protection, I'll have one of my officers accompany you. He's a bit rugged around the edges, but he's strong and seems loyal, so he will do just fine as a bodyguard. He will meet you in a week's time outside your dwelling. Be ready for travel! Send what knowledge you gather and my men will do the same. If we are lucky, we will end this before it starts. A few Pillars propagating their beliefs is one thing. Them rising armies and mechanical weapons is a danger to us all. Their new leader, Great Pillar Baraka is a dangerous woman who lost everything three decades ago in the War of Seven. That she has been plotting her revenge upon the realm is of no surprise. Don't be fooled by her charisma! Your empathy will only be rewarded with torture if you fail to embrace the cult's beliefs. Now go! Your 5 minutes are up.”

~*~

To his credit Lord Urzeus did invest time and people into the task at hand. By the time I had to explain my need to take time away from the book store, Sir Wallace, the owner, had already been briefed and compensated for my temporary absence. I informed my Sunny Steps group that I needed to take a journey and will return in a few weeks’ time, so they do not worry. Same goes for family members and close neighbours. I almost thought about informing Officer Bidot from the Gendermerie, just so he can stop trying to find me enjoying my herb pipe in the park, but decided to let him wonder in his thick head what may have happened to me.

The week was up, by bag was packed, and my cover was set: I was a book store representative looking to expand the business in rural areas, on a quest to see what already exists and what the appetite was for a book shop in smaller mountain hamlets. I heard the horse and carriage pull outside my dwelling, so I knew my bodyguard was here to start our journey to the mountains of Tal-Gareen.

“You!”

“You?”

Cruel fate! Any excitement faded from my bones as I opened the door to see none other than Officer Bidot at the helm of the small carriage. He was wearing civilian clothing, but it was obvious he concealed a large dagger under his cloak. He was prepared for the dangers ahead and I quickly realized I was far from prepared for that kind of danger myself.

“I had to leave my wife and 3 young girls behind for you and your so called prophetic visions. Aramis, you herb-loving so-called scholar and intellectual! Ha! How you got Lord Urzeus to support this ridiculous venture is beyond me. Alas, I am a gendarme. I will obey my orders and will set any differences aside... for now. Just don't be an idiot and let me handle any miscreants on the way. Let's find whatever it is you need to find for the lord, get my hefty reward, and get back to my family and regular life.”

“Fine with me, Bidot. Don't worry, you can get back to busting my ass and getting drunk on peach schnapps soon enough.”

“Watch it!” said Bidot with an angry frown.

“See? Doesn't feel good when you're at the receiving end of mockery, does it?”

With a grunt he cracked the whip and the horse started pulling on the main road west, towards the mountains of Tal-Gareen.

Bidot calmed down a bit as the hours and days passed. His tough exterior appeared more and more fake to me, and I started seeing a simple man who missed his wife and children more than anything. Three daughters is a lot of work for just his wife, Nala, to take care of in his absence. He also turned a blind eye to my occasional pipe smoking. We reached a sort of silent mutual understanding for the journey. As the plains turned into hills and the hills turned into mountains, the air got colder. Snow was present on the mountain peaks. The road got harder. Villages and hamlets were harder to come by. We were at the mercy of occasional inns, hermits in mountain cabins, caves, and anything else that could keep us a little warmer at night. Food became a problem too, and we had to ration what we had. Bidot set some traps for wildlife at night, but other than the occasional rabbit or squirrel, he didn't catch much. Exhaustion was quickly settling in.

The scarcity of food was rivalled by the scarcity of information. Three weeks on the road and into the mountains, and not a single sign of mines, luminous metal, cultists, or people with yellow eyes. Only cold, narrow roads, and hunger came in plenty. We had nothing but willpower to push through.

In our third week we came to Bear's Pass. This gave me hope as I knew The Blue Tower, the mountain monastery of the Moon Monks, must be near. Surely, they would grant us refuge, and if we are lucky, help us re-supply. Indeed, in a few hours we happened upon the monastery. The Blue Tower was a lot larger and more crowded than I would have expected. In talking to other travellers and to some of the monks there, I finally made progress. They did know of The Pillars of Rebirth and have seen more cultists than usual in these parts. Compared to a few years ago, they seemed well equipped, and yes, some had unusually yellow eyes, especially among the ones leaving the mountains. A concerning pattern! As for the mines, we were told only cultists or perhaps hunters may know their whereabouts. We decided to stay at the monastery for a few days to rest and gather more information.

On the third day there, I had a hard time sleeping due to loud snoring in the large shared guest sleeping quarter, so I went outside to enjoy my herb pipe in solitude and silence. The air was cold, but refreshing compared to the stuffy quarters and Bidot's smelly socks. After a puff or two, I noticed I was not alone. Another herb enthusiast seemed to have had the same idea as I did. I walked over to the stranger.

“Cold night, isn't it?” I said.

The cloaked figure turned to face me. A woman with yellow eyes! She said:

“Indeed, but it does not bother me.”

I hit the jackpot! This could prove very fruitful for my investigation. I stayed calm and remembered my cover.

“I am a book salesman looking to expand the business across the realm. The mountains are new to me. Any larger hamlets, castles, or monasteries other than this one?” I asked with honest ignorance.

“The deeper you go, the less you will find. Best turn around, city dweller! Nobody needs your books here other than a few monks, perhaps.”

Not ready to accept a dead end so soon, I pushed.

“I'm afraid I cannot go back. I must reach the coast beyond the mountains. The city of Serrenfal is my destination.” I lied.

“Hmm,” she grunted, “I doubt you'll find a warm welcome beyond this point, but if the bandits and wildlife don't kill you, you might catch a break at The Rook – if you're lucky. Many hunters use the dilapidated fortress as shelter. But I doubt they want any books.”

Still no mention of the mines, and a promise of continued hardship on the road.

“Can't say I met anyone with yellow eyes before,” I lied hoping for additional information from this obvious cultist.

“You'll meet more soon. Many, many more,” she said with lightness and joy.

And with that, she left.

My head swimming with all the new information, I sent a messenger crow out to Lord Urzeus. Unable to go to bed, I wandered the halls of the monastery. Many wondrous artefacts lined the main prayer hall. I gazed at them in the pale moonlight and candle light. In a corner, I came upon an old book that looked familiar. Upon closer inspection, I realised it's the original Tome of Eternal Wisdom, a foundational text of the Moon Monks' creed but also a cornerstone of many subsequent works of literature that aimed to unlock the mysteries of life and knowledge. I imagined displaying this in the book store. The crowds it would draw from many realms! The glory bestowed upon myself for bringing such unique artefact to the city's largest book store! Alas, I am no thief. I walked away with a heavy sigh and a mental note to one day ask the head monk to let me study the text in person.

~*~

To my surprise, I encountered the yellow-eyed woman again the next evening. This time she seemed in a chattier mood, but avoided revealing any meaningful information form my quest. Having enjoyed only the company of a grumpy Bidot, I almost forgot the stranger was a cultist. After a few puffs of the herb pipe the evening atmosphere around the hearth felt very relaxed and friendly. As I was walking back from the latrine, the stranger was waiting for me in a concealed alleyway. Stupid of me, I know, but I felt optimistic about my chances and the company of a pretty lady seemed quite good in these cold mountains.

In a split second her friendly smile turns into a feral grimace as she pulls out a dagger!

“It ends here, bookworm! Nobody messes with the Pillars and lives!”

I freeze. I have no combat experience.

Bidot, on the other hand, does. He appears from the shadows and swiftly knocks out the cultist.

“So much for that deep intellect, o wise Aramis!,” he says in a mocking tone, “ha ha ha!”

Embarrassed, I thanked him for saving my life. We tied up the cultist and called the monastery guards to follow their due process with her.

Little did I know this was only the first time on the journey that Officer Bidot would save my life. Our trials were just beginning. The Blue Tower sent us on our way with good supplies to last us a while. Unfortunately, we had to part ways with our small carriage as the terrain became too treacherous for horses. We proceeded on foot, with heavy backpacks.

The next few days were a gruelling trek through the unwelcoming mountains of Tal-Gareen. Deep woods, narrow passes, freezing streams, all sorts of wild life and occasional humans, some just travellers, others hunters. Bandits and cultists were less common, but Bidot's stature kept most of them at bay. He no longer concealed his large dagger, and armed himself with an axe and a short sword too. The monks were kind enough to give me some basic training in using a dagger as well as some milk of the poppy darts which caused enemies to sink into a stupor. I wish I could say we didn't need all these weapons, but we did.

The terrain tested our mental and physical limits. The cold almost killed us at night. The wolves and bears were licking their lips in expectation of fresh meat. Every day I questioned whether this was worth it at all. I longed to be back in the city, working in the book shop, out on Sunny Steps with Portos and the sun worshippers, and enjoying the herb pipe in the park. That life seems almost like a dream, especially when a bandit is trying to choke you while you pray that your bodyguard is still alive to save you. Bidot and I must have aged five years in less than six weeks on the mountain paths. But in spite of it all, we somehow crossed The Six Spires, which means we were past the hardest part of the mountain range. Within a day, we already felt a warmer wind, from the ocean, and reached the tree line shortly after.

~*~

A glimmer of hope: from the base of The Six Spires we could see the rock face of all nearby mountains, and two things caught out eyes. On a smooth cliff in the distance some man-made structures seemed to snake up to a large cavernous opening. The mine!

Not too far from the mine, smoke rose from the forest and we could see ruins of an old fortress near the smoke.

“The Rook!” said I.

“I think we found our cultists,” said Bidot.

From here on, we decided to tread carefully. We avoided the main path and made our way to the mine, planning to get closer at night and see if there were signs of the luminous metal and the cultists.

~*~

Evening fell upon us as we waited hidden near the mine. Both Bidot and I felt somewhat optimistic. It was so close now. All we have to do is confirm the cultists are mining this magical metal, send message to Lord Urzeus, and descend into the valley and towards the coast. From the large city of Serrenfal we'd use the lord's seal to gain access to comfortable travel back home to Kalas, and return as heroes.

Once it was dark enough, we started moving in the direction of the mine. As we approached, we saw a couple of cultists heading towards The Rook. Behind them, in a small cart, gleaming metal rods! As I turn to Bidot, I feel a small jab in my leg. Confused, I look down to see a small dart. Before passing out, I see Bidot's smiling face above me.

When I wake up, I am tied to a chair in some ruins. A makeshift hall. Around me, cultists going about their evening jobs. Gleaming metal rods stored for transport in large wooden crates. A cloaked figure approaches me. Yellow eyes. It is the stranger form the monastery!

“Hello again, mr. bookworm! Sold any books on the way here?” the stranger asks mockingly.

My eyes search for Bidot, even though I think optimism is misplaced, and his betrayal is clear.

“Bidot works for us, even if his eyes are not yellow. You know, I have not seen a dumber intellectual my whole life. I am not sure what Urzeus sees in you, but you're lucky he wants you alive. Urzeus... always the optimist. 'The bookworm had visions of our future glory' yada yada yada... How annoying! I confess, that herb you enjoy so much sure gave you some interesting dreams. But dreams are not reality, and the reality is that you're being enlisted into The Pillars of Rebirth. Care to guess who I am?” she asks.

“Great Pillar Baraka,” I respond in a defeated tone.

Slow applause from the cult leader.

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” she says sarcastically. “Enough chit chat. Bring the book and an amulet!”

In the novels I read and the plays I saw on stage, the hero has a chance to discuss at length with his foe. A deus ex machina intervenes at the last moment. The tables turn. Not for me! Before I have a chance to protest, two cultists hold me still. A third places a coin-sized luminous metal amulet around my neck. Baraka opens a golden book with glowing runes on the pages and starts reciting an incantation.

“Domine metalli, domine lucis, recipe hanc novam animam in aeternum servitium tuum, da ei renascentiam, potentiam aeternam!”

One doesn't often think of being at the receiving end of a cultist ritual. If one does think of it, one may think there is time to fight, to find a loophole, to cut the ropes in time. Reality is much quicker and efficient. It takes but seconds for her to recite the incantation, and once she closes the book with a loud thud, the amulet blazes with light, burns like hell as I cry in pain, and embeds itself into my sternum. A guard splashes water on me to wake me up as I pass out from the pain. As I regain consciousness, something feels off. I see everything in a yellow tint and I know instinctively that my eyes are now yellow.

They cut the ropes and give me water to drink. Baraka puts an arm around my shoulder like an old reassuring friend.

“Welcome to the club, bookworm! Care to guess what your purpose is?”

I can only think of my vision of the bishops holding the golden books. What is strange is that something in me thirsts for the book, craves its secrets, and demands that I bring more souls to the Pillars of Rebirth. I'm too shocked to answer, to shocked to think clearly. I quickly reach for a dagger in Baraka's belt, and she just smiles amused.

“I'll kill myself before I become your slave!” I threaten.

“Try!” says she.

Once again these bursts of bravery only seem to work in the novels and plays. I am unable to even kill a rabbit, let alone take my own life.

“If it makes you feel any better, Urzeus saw some real potential in you. That is why he sent you here. How do you think he accomplished such miracles prior to becoming ruler? Pure genius and perseverance? Don't make me laugh. We've worked together for a long time. Him and I even contributed to the cult's numbers with our flesh and blood. I think you met one of my daughters in Kalas. She's a good little spy!”

“The child with the yellow eyes... You do this ritual on children?”

“Of course not. We're not barbarians! Children born of Pillars have yellow eyes from birth. I guess the books in your shop didn't teach you that.”

She continues to talk to me as I sit there defeated.

“Every day you will feel the calling. We all do. We have all been summoned to usher the new age, a rebirth of civilization. With the power of the gleaming metal, we can shape the world as we see fit. I lost everything in the War of Seven. I was but a child. Evil men destroyed my family, my village, and threw everyone still alive in cages to be used as slaves. I escaped only because I was so malnourished that I was able to squeeze through the bars. So, don't you dare judge me, bookworm! Count your blessings and embrace your new reality as a Pillar of the Word. Study the golden book, copy the golden book, learn the incantations and help us recruit more souls to our ranks. Each soul increases our resonance field, and with more resonance comes more power, and with more power comes the new age!”

Exhausted and overwhelmed, I start sobbing like a helpless child.

“I'll leave you with this: you may feel powerless now, having lost all control of your own life. But ask yourself: what did you really have in life? A cozy spot in a cozy city? A few friends? A few good deeds with your Sunny Steps and Sunny Side Up Society? Are you even that person anymore, after the journey that brought you here? Perhaps it is time to embrace your new role and embrace real power, power to change millions of lives, not just those of a few homeless people. Good night.”

She walks away as one cultist helps me get to my makeshift bed for the night, where I fall into a deep slumber immediately.

~*~

In the morning I joined a group of cultists heading back to Kalas. Still reeling from the experience last night, I was unable to focus on much and mostly let myself be shepherded off to wherever they took me. There was no more immediate danger. I knew the road back was long, so I decided to focus on recovering my strength and mental energy before tackling the complexities of my new reality.

So I focused on the road and its practicalities for a while. We took a roundabout way back. No more treacherous mountain passes. We followed the smoother road through the hills and plains. I have not traveled this regions before, so it was refreshing to see something new and not freeze to death or starve. I saw villages with mixed populations: some with yellow eyes, some without. In many villages there were glowing shrines. On a street corner, a little stone arch no taller than a child, with a small glowing metal artifact bolted in the middle. Simple, easy to replicate. I underestimated the presence of the Pillars as well as their reach. Strange that Kalas was so different. Perhaps they avoided the large centres of power. Perhaps that is where people like me come in, a final stage of the plan. While I was shocked to see the wide spread of the Pillars, something raw in me felt soothed. This feeling was very much at odds with my individualistic perspective on life.

“Great, I’m becoming a mindless grunt like Bidot, finding comfort in the bosom of a cult…” I muttered to myself.

I must confess, seeing the peace and apparent order and cooperation in these villages did make me second guess myself. The long trip back will give me plenty of time to consider my new purpose and the real scope of the Pillars.

Although the journey back seemed to be going well initially, I did realize about three days in that something seemed to follow the group. Sometimes a shadow just outside my field of view. Sometimes footsteps in the dark where there should be none. If it wanted to hurt me, it never succeeded. Too many cultists around me at all times. Nobody with bad intentions – or good ones! – could get close without at least several people taking note. Whatever it was, it stopped pursuing us once we left the hills and the forests. To this day I wonder what it may have been. A guardian? A foe? The grim reaper itself? I will never know.

The road did also take us through another Moon Monk monastery, this one in the last heavily forested stretch of road before reaching the Planes of Mana. Nothing surprises me anymore on this journey, so seeing the monks all had yellow eyes now merely got a half-hearted “huh” out of me. Clearly the Pillars had been hard at work converting not only regular folk, but other groups too. As we stayed the night, I decided to make conversation with a monk, Vadim.

“I only recently… ‘joined’ the Pillars,” said I. “Do the Moon Monk beliefs clash with the Pillars?”

To which I received a typical Moon Monk reply:

“Warm water and cold water is still water. The flow is what is important.”

He smiled and walked away.

I hated how at ease everyone was. How was everyone just accepting this? I was exhausted from fighting this notion in my own head, and from fighting the raw energy emanating form the metal amulet embedded in my sternum. Unfortunately, with this magical metal, reason was insufficient. It worked in powerful ways that resonated on a different level. The brain was powerless against it, and giving in felt like blissful release, like giving up swimming upstream and letting a warm river take you. If what Baraka said about that so-called ‘resonance filed’ was true, and if the number of cultists was any indication of their spread, the field is already incredibly strong and everyone sporting yellow eyes might be feeling the warm current. My will to fight kept dwindling over the few weeks of the journey back. It’s not gone, but it is weak and even if I found a way to fight it, I started wondering why bother? The Pillars of Rebirth had so many numbers, not to mention Lord Urzeus on their side. The war was lost before it even begun.

~*~

Arriving back in Kalas presented its own challenges. Ashamed that I failed my journey and afraid of what my family and friends would say about my yellow eyes, I avoided them for a number of days. When they finally met me, there was fear and sadness in their eyes. They were confused, worried, angry. I omitted some of the more violent detail of the trip, but they still feared what was to come. I was blunt:

“The Pillars are here. It is a matter of time before Kalas follows the faith of the surrounding towns and villages. The only comfort I can offer is that I saw much cooperation between cultists and non-cultists, and I did not think conversion was mandatory, but that there is some appeal that makes any forced push unneeded.”

I told them I was to be a Pillar of the Word, so I myself will be chanting lines from the golden book. While it may sound unreal, the chants and incantations somehow give everyone present a glimpse of what the resonance field feels like. It is beyond rational thought. It is raw emotion that won’t make you ask ‘Why?’ but rather ‘Why not?’”

~*~

And so it all came to pass as I have seen it in the visions. Well… almost! While this glowing metal had immense power, I had yet to see any mechanical monsters destroying villages. The bishops and the books? That was always going to be me. I let the warm flow of the resonance filed emanate through me, and my incantations brought together thousands. At first it felt awkward and clunky, like I was repeating someone else’s work as an impostor. People even threw rotten tomatoes at me. But the more I studied the book, the more I deciphered the runes. I think even Baraka failed to unlock some of the deeper connections. In fact, trying to store the knowledge in a book was only a crude first attempt to harness this new power. A book itself was too primitive and linear for the arcane knowledge within. The true form of this codex is a multi-layered sphere with a core made of the luminous metal that powers an expansion of thin layers, and that allows the Pillar of the Word to overlay the former ‘pages’ in infinite new ways. A magical onion with peels full of runes.

“See, my dear? I told you he was special!” said Urzeus to Baraka when I first demonstrated the new format.

~*~

With the sphere in hand, there really was no stopping the Pillars. I saw entire detachments of soldiers drop their weapons, laugh and hug each other after hearing but one or two verses and feeling the resonance field in their hearts. This was far more powerful than any mechanical monster.

After all I have seen and done, returning to the book store and my old life was no longer something I desired. I craved exploration, I wanted to continue upgrading the sphere and try using it to pacify far away lands ravaged by ongoing hundred-year wars. So I left Kalas two years after my return.

As I finish writing these pages, I am on a ship to the great isle of Eversorrow, a land of long-time grief, conflict, and ruin. It will be my greatest challenge yet! I spent two years in realms neighbouring Kalas, bringing many into the fold of the Pillars of Rebirth. Opponents of the Pillars did eventually find ways to resist, but none creative enough to fully stop the power of the spheres in the hands of talented Pillars of the Word.

If the light we show others is real and they choose it whole-heartedly, are we still the bad guys? Many realms were in shambles. In only a few months of them embracing the Pillars, these regions opened their borders, trading, working with each other like brothers.

There is still a small flicker of my old self within me, but as the wind pushes this ship to Eversorrow, this flicker is fading much like the shadowy figure who stopped pursuing me in the hills.

The end.

Author's note: I wrote this story using the Creation Myths solo journaling RPG by Emma Grier. The prompts provided the framework and inspiration for the story; the characters, narrative, dialogue, and prose are my own.

#story

My name is Aramis, and this is my story.

The universe is vast. The planet is vast. The human intestine is vast – if you are a tiny bacteria lounging around in there. While I have not witnessed any miracles and I do not have tangible proof that there is a deity out there looking over us, I do believe there is something bigger than us out there. Something beyond our comprehension. I believe the various gods humanity has come up with are representations of this and, for practical reasons, we gave them names, faces, and rituals. Because I found it hard to choose one, but felt the belief within me, I choose to worship the sun itself. Each year, I join the sun pilgrimage to the top of Mount Tarasco, the tallest in my country. A symbolic gesture to be closer to the deity, to feel its warmth a little closer and to meditate.

While the vast expanse of a mountaintop fills me with joy, I can say the opposite about dark, crowded places. I have an irrational fear of crowds that manifests at a physical level. The lizard brain goes into fight or flight, and always chooses flight. Put me in the middle of a crowded music festival and I'll quickly seek the edge of the crowd. Trap me on a packed wagon, and I'll get out at the next stop, even if it means I'll be late for work. I often think what may have caused this fear to exist in me, but I cannot come up with a logical answer. Perhaps in early childhood I experienced something that stayed in my subconscious. If that's the case, I do not recall it. And so, I simply do my best to avoid large crowds, especially in enclosed spaces.

I grew up in a family that valued academic prowess above all else. They cared little for athletics, and art was but a hobby to be pursued outside school, never a priority within its own right. Since I could do little about my situation but obey my parents, I ended up spending many hours in classrooms, libraries, and in my room reading books. The sciences did not stick in spite of my father's best efforts, but I did find joy in literature, philosophy and history. Each discipline related to the others, each one revealing to me different facets of the human condition. Novels showed me creativity and the abundance of human emotions and perspectives. Philosophy taught me to be open minded and never accept an idea just because one person says so. Much is debatable and questionable, even the ideas we generally think of as basic truths. History showed me how humans chose to use power, ideas, and creativity in practical ways that shaped future generations. By the end of my schooling, I was an expert in these fields and able to get a good read on people and their intentions even with only basic information in hand. Little did I know reality would soon test those skills, and reality’s harsher than any academic setting.

Given all that I learned about humans, past, present and future, it should come as no surprise that I rejected traditional gender roles for my society. I've faced challenges for this. My own father mocked me if I engaged in hobbies seen as feminine. Peers bullied me for I was not as strong and brave as other boys. Even teachers made jokes on occasion, about boys who did more with their minds than with their muscles. As I got older I learned how to tread carefully when needed, and how to express myself freely when in a supportive environment. It remains a challenge, but not an unsurmountable one. Life is too short to live in fear!

My bookish pursuits, cerebral inclinations, and open minded nature clearly make me a lover more than a fighter. I will fight if I have to, but I will always try to win without violence if possible. As the saying goes, “you catch more flies with honey”. In a pure contest of strength, I'd lose fairly quickly, unless I can outwit my opponent and leverage some form of combat ingenuity or trickery. Spending my younger years in the library did not build me for hand-to-hand combat. I avoid direct conflict, but I can use my skills, charisma, and intellect to achieve bigger goals. If the goal is to win a bar fight, you better find another ally. If the goal is to open diplomatic relations with a neighbouring city-state, I'm your man!

I don't have many friends, but I have a few close ones. My best friend is Portos. We went to school together and remained friends long after. Where other kids seemed distant, Portos welcomed me to his group of friends with open arms right away. That gesture meant a lot to me, and I will never forget his kindness. Even as life took us on different paths, we make time to check on one another, and even reunite the old group once a year. Portos is a cheerful man, who loves food and drink, and doesn't have any concerns with how others see him. While a healthy balanced diet may not be his number one priority, a happy life is. He emanates joy wherever he goes. He is kind to all, even to those who don't really deserve it. He inspires those around him to be better, kinder, and more loving. He's also a great teacher, sharing his knowledge eagerly with any who show curiosity in his areas of expertise.

My family’s focus on academic results did offer me a slight privileged position in life, one that does not attract the attention of the very rich. I didn’t stray much from my family’s history of gainful employment and managed to continue as part of this privileged class after my studies concluded. The good grades paid off and the humanistic nature of my studies allowed me to be persuasive in arguing my case for deserving certain jobs or material opportunities. I currently work at the largest bookstore in the city, and one day I hope to own my own and spread the love of books to others in my community. Since the local school system uses the store for most of their bulk orders, this job pays unusually well for what it is.

~*~

The Gendarmerie… a pain in my scrawny ass. These strict, tough guys in their proper uniforms have not been on my side for as far as I can remember. Officer Bidot especially. I am not trying to piss him off, but I also seem to have a certain bad luck running into him at the worst of times. I’ll be in the park with seemingly nobody around, enjoying the sunset, the accordion player in the distance, and I think to myself “why not add to the relaxing experience a few puffs from my special herb pipe?” Within seconds of lighting the match, Officer Bidot somehow materializes ten meters from me. No young kids in sight, no Moon Monks either (they are much stricter than us sun worshipers), but somehow he feels the need to give me a warning. Lucky for me he can’t arrest me for personal use of herb pipes, but I am sure he is salivating at the chance that he catches me with a larger quantity. He won’t. Sometimes I wonder if he gives me a hard time with the herb pipe in expectation of some sort of bribe. Maybe all he needs is a little extra coin for his Friday night peach schnapps. If I had the certainty this would get him off my back, I’d gladly pay him off.

Well, I shouldn’t worry too much about Bidot. The Ruler Cycle just ended and I am happy to say Lord Urzeus is next in line. A blessing for all intellectuals and lovers of justice and kindness. Urzeus has done wonders in his home city state, and most citizens are excited to see what he will do at the helm on the nation state itself! I think anyone who has corruption in mind better clean up their act. I better not try to bribe Bidot, after all, and he better stop harassing me. I hope him and his buddies get reprimanded for beating up the homeless population!

Above all, I think the Sunny Side Up Society will benefit from a ruler like Urzeus. We’re a group of sun worshipers who also enjoy the health benefits of fancy herbs. But our real calling is helping the less fortunate in any way we can. We won’t go as far as fighting Bidot’s gang, but we’ll be patching up wounds, donating food, spreading education and books to those who cannot afford it, and any other activities we come up with. Once a month, we have a weekend march through the city: the Sunny Steps. Each of us brings a small cart or a large backpack filled with whatever goods we were able to acquire, and we distribute them to the needy. I usually get my hands on books that are not in perfect condition and can’t be sold in the shop, library books at the end of their life or with too many annotations, writing utensils, and of course – and please do not tell Officer Bidot – ample quantities of herb to put some sunny feelings in everyone’s soul.

~*~

It was last month’s Sunny Steps when something bizarre happened. I was handing out used books near an orphanage when a strange girl came up to me to receive a book. At first I did not get a good look at her, busy looking for a book appropriate for a child. But when I handed it to her and looked her in the eye, I was greeted by eyes as yellow as dandelions. Never have I seen such eye colour. I froze, but she simply smiled, thanked me for the book, and walked away. I must have stood there bewildered for several minutes because when I woke up from my trance the kids were all gone, along with half the books. No harm done.

While the yellow eyes are reason enough for my bewilderment, what truly shocked me is a forgotten memory from seven years ago. I was still in school, in a later academic year. Walking home from an evening seminar, I stopped at the night market to grab a bite. The market was unusually busy for a Tuesday, so I ended up in one of the deeper dark alleys in search of a food stall with no lineup. A delicious smell grabbed me by the nostrils at the corner of Rue Fezan and Rue Noir. The stall was run by an old woman who seemed neither particularly happy nor sad to see me there. There was much wisdom in her eyes, and the food looked good. I was starving. I picked one of the sandwiches and got a few coins out to pay. She then offered me a bottle of refreshing juice on the house. As I was very hungry, I sat down on the nearest bench and gulped down the food and the juice. This somehow went to my head, and I had a feeling this juice may have been spiked with something. I fell into a trance, and I remember the old woman laughing at me, a sorrowful laugh, neither mocking nor cruel.

The trance did not last long, the crone was still there, and occasional customers still wandered by. She did not give them juice. She suddenly asked me:

“What did you see?”

I was taken aback, but tried to focus and think about the vivid dream I just had on that bench. I saw a mountain, and gleaming metal rods coming out of deep mines. I saw golden books in the hands of powerful bishops and large numbers of desolate people in long lines. I saw great beasts of metal laying waste to villages.

“Ah yes!” said the crone. “It’s not far off now! The yellow-eyed child shall mark the beginning of the end.”

This memory rested deep in my unconscious mind as I assumed it was all part of the same dream, all a part of that nasty juice she gave me. Until now.

I rushed to the orphanage gate and asked about this child, but nobody has seen the yellow eyes. They also looked at me like I was a little crazy. Disturbed by my encounter, I went home. If this yellow-eyed child is real, how much more of that dream may also come to pass? People will think I am crazy, but I must seek out this child, the mines, this mysterious gleaming metal that seems to bring nothing but danger, death, and destruction.

~*~

The month following my encounter with the crone and the yellow eyed child was spent making preparations for my quest. I started with my immediate sources of knowledge: the book store, the library, the local academic institutions, even churches and other places of worship and knowledge. From high priests to fortune tellers, I roamed the streets in search of clues. My friends wanted to believe me, but I am not sure how many did. Even Portos glanced at me with concern.

I had but given up when help arrived from the unlikeliest of places. I was in the central square attending the inauguration of Lord Urzeus's ascendency to the seat of power, the head of the Long Table in The Cube, a fortified bastion where the most critical branches of power were housed. During his speech, he ensured The Cube will be a lot more open and less secretive than his predecessor kept it, and all are welcome to seek a hearing with those in power. To my surprise, they accepted my application almost immediately and a week later I was in the queue to for my five minutes with Lord Urzeus.

“Lord Urzeus! Thank you for the chance to speak with you directly. It may seem crazy, but I am convinced something dangerous is brewing somewhere in the realm. Do any of the following mean anything to you or the members of the Long Table: luminous metal mined from deep in the mountains, people with unnaturally yellow eyes, books of gold wielded as sources of power by powerful leaders, and great mechanical beasts capable of great destruction?”

The lord's face lost some of its benevolence with each additional item on my list, looking downright grim by the end of it. With a weave of the hand he ordered the guards to usher out the other commoners and shut the doors.

“Aramis! How you came by such knowledge is less concerning to me than the immediate danger of this prophecy. I know nothing of great beasts, but I have heard rumours of a new element discovered in the mountains of Tal-Gareen. As you know, that's not exactly far from here. The ones who discovered it are a powerful cult with chapters in most city states. They call themselves The Pillars of Rebirth. I would not be surprised if they even started spreading their corruption in smaller hamlets too. The properties of this new metal are rumoured to be powerful and even magical, if harnessed correctly. If The Pillars found a way to use this to their advantage, I am not surprised of anything you spoke of just now.”

My heart was relieved to hear Lord Urzeus speak this way, confirming my vision rather than mocking me and throwing me out on my ass. The Pillars are not unknown to me, of course. I came across many references to them, but never in such a tangible and dangerous context. As far as I gathered, they were merely another small religious sect, not all that different from the Sun Worshippers or the Moon Monks or any other such group. The lord continued:

“The yellow eyes are proof enough something is already in motion. We have already spotted occasional manifestations of this trait. Now we have a vague explanation. Aramis! You must travel to the mountains of Tal-Gareen and gather more information. I will send my own men too, but you will be a great asset since you'll attract less attention. For your protection, I'll have one of my officers accompany you. He's a bit rugged around the edges, but he's strong and seems loyal, so he will do just fine as a bodyguard. He will meet you in a week's time outside your dwelling. Be ready for travel! Send what knowledge you gather and my men will do the same. If we are lucky, we will end this before it starts. A few Pillars propagating their beliefs is one thing. Them rising armies and mechanical weapons is a danger to us all. Their new leader, Great Pillar Baraka is a dangerous woman who lost everything three decades ago in the War of Seven. That she has been plotting her revenge upon the realm is of no surprise. Don't be fooled by her charisma! Your empathy will only be rewarded with torture if you fail to embrace the cult's beliefs. Now go! Your 5 minutes are up.”

~*~

To his credit Lord Urzeus did invest time and people into the task at hand. By the time I had to explain my need to take time away from the book store, Sir Wallace, the owner, had already been briefed and compensated for my temporary absence. I informed my Sunny Steps group that I needed to take a journey and will return in a few weeks’ time, so they do not worry. Same goes for family members and close neighbours. I almost thought about informing Officer Bidot from the Gendermerie, just so he can stop trying to find me enjoying my herb pipe in the park, but decided to let him wonder in his thick head what may have happened to me.

The week was up, by bag was packed, and my cover was set: I was a book store representative looking to expand the business in rural areas, on a quest to see what already exists and what the appetite was for a book shop in smaller mountain hamlets. I heard the horse and carriage pull outside my dwelling, so I knew my bodyguard was here to start our journey to the mountains of Tal-Gareen.

“You!”

“You?”

Cruel fate! Any excitement faded from my bones as I opened the door to see none other than Officer Bidot at the helm of the small carriage. He was wearing civilian clothing, but it was obvious he concealed a large dagger under his cloak. He was prepared for the dangers ahead and I quickly realized I was far from prepared for that kind of danger myself.

“I had to leave my wife and 3 young girls behind for you and your so called prophetic visions. Aramis, you herb-loving so-called scholar and intellectual! Ha! How you got Lord Urzeus to support this ridiculous venture is beyond me. Alas, I am a gendarme. I will obey my orders and will set any differences aside... for now. Just don't be an idiot and let me handle any miscreants on the way. Let's find whatever it is you need to find for the lord, get my hefty reward, and get back to my family and regular life.”

“Fine with me, Bidot. Don't worry, you can get back to busting my ass and getting drunk on peach schnapps soon enough.”

“Watch it!” said Bidot with an angry frown.

“See? Doesn't feel good when you're at the receiving end of mockery, does it?”

With a grunt he cracked the whip and the horse started pulling on the main road west, towards the mountains of Tal-Gareen.

Bidot calmed down a bit as the hours and days passed. His tough exterior appeared more and more fake to me, and I started seeing a simple man who missed his wife and children more than anything. Three daughters is a lot of work for just his wife, Nala, to take care of in his absence. He also turned a blind eye to my occasional pipe smoking. We reached a sort of silent mutual understanding for the journey. As the plains turned into hills and the hills turned into mountains, the air got colder. Snow was present on the mountain peaks. The road got harder. Villages and hamlets were harder to come by. We were at the mercy of occasional inns, hermits in mountain cabins, caves, and anything else that could keep us a little warmer at night. Food became a problem too, and we had to ration what we had. Bidot set some traps for wildlife at night, but other than the occasional rabbit or squirrel, he didn't catch much. Exhaustion was quickly settling in.

The scarcity of food was rivalled by the scarcity of information. Three weeks on the road and into the mountains, and not a single sign of mines, luminous metal, cultists, or people with yellow eyes. Only cold, narrow roads, and hunger came in plenty. We had nothing but willpower to push through.

In our third week we came to Bear's Pass. This gave me hope as I knew The Blue Tower, the mountain monastery of the Moon Monks, must be near. Surely, they would grant us refuge, and if we are lucky, help us re-supply. Indeed, in a few hours we happened upon the monastery. The Blue Tower was a lot larger and more crowded than I would have expected. In talking to other travellers and to some of the monks there, I finally made progress. They did know of The Pillars of Rebirth and have seen more cultists than usual in these parts. Compared to a few years ago, they seemed well equipped, and yes, some had unusually yellow eyes, especially among the ones leaving the mountains. A concerning pattern! As for the mines, we were told only cultists or perhaps hunters may know their whereabouts. We decided to stay at the monastery for a few days to rest and gather more information.

On the third day there, I had a hard time sleeping due to loud snoring in the large shared guest sleeping quarter, so I went outside to enjoy my herb pipe in solitude and silence. The air was cold, but refreshing compared to the stuffy quarters and Bidot's smelly socks. After a puff or two, I noticed I was not alone. Another herb enthusiast seemed to have had the same idea as I did. I walked over to the stranger.

“Cold night, isn't it?” I said.

The cloaked figure turned to face me. A woman with yellow eyes! She said:

“Indeed, but it does not bother me.”

I hit the jackpot! This could prove very fruitful for my investigation. I stayed calm and remembered my cover.

“I am a book salesman looking to expand the business across the realm. The mountains are new to me. Any larger hamlets, castles, or monasteries other than this one?” I asked with honest ignorance.

“The deeper you go, the less you will find. Best turn around, city dweller! Nobody needs your books here other than a few monks, perhaps.”

Not ready to accept a dead end so soon, I pushed.

“I'm afraid I cannot go back. I must reach the coast beyond the mountains. The city of Serrenfal is my destination.” I lied.

“Hmm,” she grunted, “I doubt you'll find a warm welcome beyond this point, but if the bandits and wildlife don't kill you, you might catch a break at The Rook – if you're lucky. Many hunters use the dilapidated fortress as shelter. But I doubt they want any books.”

Still no mention of the mines, and a promise of continued hardship on the road.

“Can't say I met anyone with yellow eyes before,” I lied hoping for additional information from this obvious cultist.

“You'll meet more soon. Many, many more,” she said with lightness and joy.

And with that, she left.

My head swimming with all the new information, I sent a messenger crow out to Lord Urzeus. Unable to go to bed, I wandered the halls of the monastery. Many wondrous artefacts lined the main prayer hall. I gazed at them in the pale moonlight and candle light. In a corner, I came upon an old book that looked familiar. Upon closer inspection, I realised it's the original Tome of Eternal Wisdom, a foundational text of the Moon Monks' creed but also a cornerstone of many subsequent works of literature that aimed to unlock the mysteries of life and knowledge. I imagined displaying this in the book store. The crowds it would draw from many realms! The glory bestowed upon myself for bringing such unique artefact to the city's largest book store! Alas, I am no thief. I walked away with a heavy sigh and a mental note to one day ask the head monk to let me study the text in person.

~*~

To my surprise, I encountered the yellow-eyed woman again the next evening. This time she seemed in a chattier mood, but avoided revealing any meaningful information form my quest. Having enjoyed only the company of a grumpy Bidot, I almost forgot the stranger was a cultist. After a few puffs of the herb pipe the evening atmosphere around the hearth felt very relaxed and friendly. As I was walking back from the latrine, the stranger was waiting for me in a concealed alleyway. Stupid of me, I know, but I felt optimistic about my chances and the company of a pretty lady seemed quite good in these cold mountains.

In a split second her friendly smile turns into a feral grimace as she pulls out a dagger!

“It ends here, bookworm! Nobody messes with the Pillars and lives!”

I freeze. I have no combat experience.

Bidot, on the other hand, does. He appears from the shadows and swiftly knocks out the cultist.

“So much for that deep intellect, o wise Aramis!,” he says in a mocking tone, “ha ha ha!”

Embarrassed, I thanked him for saving my life. We tied up the cultist and called the monastery guards to follow their due process with her.

Little did I know this was only the first time on the journey that Officer Bidot would save my life. Our trials were just beginning. The Blue Tower sent us on our way with good supplies to last us a while. Unfortunately, we had to part ways with our small carriage as the terrain became too treacherous for horses. We proceeded on foot, with heavy backpacks.

The next few days were a gruelling trek through the unwelcoming mountains of Tal-Gareen. Deep woods, narrow passes, freezing streams, all sorts of wild life and occasional humans, some just travellers, others hunters. Bandits and cultists were less common, but Bidot's stature kept most of them at bay. He no longer concealed his large dagger, and armed himself with an axe and a short sword too. The monks were kind enough to give me some basic training in using a dagger as well as some milk of the poppy darts which caused enemies to sink into a stupor. I wish I could say we didn't need all these weapons, but we did.

The terrain tested our mental and physical limits. The cold almost killed us at night. The wolves and bears were licking their lips in expectation of fresh meat. Every day I questioned whether this was worth it at all. I longed to be back in the city, working in the book shop, out on Sunny Steps with Portos and the sun worshippers, and enjoying the herb pipe in the park. That life seems almost like a dream, especially when a bandit is trying to choke you while you pray that your bodyguard is still alive to save you. Bidot and I must have aged five years in less than six weeks on the mountain paths. But in spite of it all, we somehow crossed The Six Spires, which means we were past the hardest part of the mountain range. Within a day, we already felt a warmer wind, from the ocean, and reached the tree line shortly after.

~*~

A glimmer of hope: from the base of The Six Spires we could see the rock face of all nearby mountains, and two things caught out eyes. On a smooth cliff in the distance some man-made structures seemed to snake up to a large cavernous opening. The mine!

Not too far from the mine, smoke rose from the forest and we could see ruins of an old fortress near the smoke.

“The Rook!” said I.

“I think we found our cultists,” said Bidot.

From here on, we decided to tread carefully. We avoided the main path and made our way to the mine, planning to get closer at night and see if there were signs of the luminous metal and the cultists.

~*~

Evening fell upon us as we waited hidden near the mine. Both Bidot and I felt somewhat optimistic. It was so close now. All we have to do is confirm the cultists are mining this magical metal, send message to Lord Urzeus, and descend into the valley and towards the coast. From the large city of Serrenfal we'd use the lord's seal to gain access to comfortable travel back home to Kalas, and return as heroes.

Once it was dark enough, we started moving in the direction of the mine. As we approached, we saw a couple of cultists heading towards The Rook. Behind them, in a small cart, gleaming metal rods! As I turn to Bidot, I feel a small jab in my leg. Confused, I look down to see a small dart. Before passing out, I see Bidot's smiling face above me.

When I wake up, I am tied to a chair in some ruins. A makeshift hall. Around me, cultists going about their evening jobs. Gleaming metal rods stored for transport in large wooden crates. A cloaked figure approaches me. Yellow eyes. It is the stranger form the monastery!

“Hello again, mr. bookworm! Sold any books on the way here?” the stranger asks mockingly.

My eyes search for Bidot, even though I think optimism is misplaced, and his betrayal is clear.

“Bidot works for us, even if his eyes are not yellow. You know, I have not seen a dumber intellectual my whole life. I am not sure what Urzeus sees in you, but you're lucky he wants you alive. Urzeus... always the optimist. 'The bookworm had visions of our future glory' yada yada yada... How annoying! I confess, that herb you enjoy so much sure gave you some interesting dreams. But dreams are not reality, and the reality is that you're being enlisted into The Pillars of Rebirth. Care to guess who I am?” she asks.

“Great Pillar Baraka,” I respond in a defeated tone.

Slow applause from the cult leader.

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” she says sarcastically. “Enough chit chat. Bring the book and an amulet!”

In the novels I read and the plays I saw on stage, the hero has a chance to discuss at length with his foe. A deus ex machina intervenes at the last moment. The tables turn. Not for me! Before I have a chance to protest, two cultists hold me still. A third places a coin-sized luminous metal amulet around my neck. Baraka opens a golden book with glowing runes on the pages and starts reciting an incantation.

“Domine metalli, domine lucis, recipe hanc novam animam in aeternum servitium tuum, da ei renascentiam, potentiam aeternam!”

One doesn't often think of being at the receiving end of a cultist ritual. If one does think of it, one may think there is time to fight, to find a loophole, to cut the ropes in time. Reality is much quicker and efficient. It takes but seconds for her to recite the incantation, and once she closes the book with a loud thud, the amulet blazes with light, burns like hell as I cry in pain, and embeds itself into my sternum. A guard splashes water on me to wake me up as I pass out from the pain. As I regain consciousness, something feels off. I see everything in a yellow tint and I know instinctively that my eyes are now yellow.

They cut the ropes and give me water to drink. Baraka puts an arm around my shoulder like an old reassuring friend.

“Welcome to the club, bookworm! Care to guess what your purpose is?”

I can only think of my vision of the bishops holding the golden books. What is strange is that something in me thirsts for the book, craves its secrets, and demands that I bring more souls to the Pillars of Rebirth. I'm too shocked to answer, to shocked to think clearly. I quickly reach for a dagger in Baraka's belt, and she just smiles amused.

“I'll kill myself before I become your slave!” I threaten.

“Try!” says she.

Once again these bursts of bravery only seem to work in the novels and plays. I am unable to even kill a rabbit, let alone take my own life.

“If it makes you feel any better, Urzeus saw some real potential in you. That is why he sent you here. How do you think he accomplished such miracles prior to becoming ruler? Pure genius and perseverance? Don't make me laugh. We've worked together for a long time. Him and I even contributed to the cult's numbers with our flesh and blood. I think you met one of my daughters in Kalas. She's a good little spy!”

“The child with the yellow eyes... You do this ritual on children?”

“Of course not. We're not barbarians! Children born of Pillars have yellow eyes from birth. I guess the books in your shop didn't teach you that.”

She continues to talk to me as I sit there defeated.

“Every day you will feel the calling. We all do. We have all been summoned to usher the new age, a rebirth of civilization. With the power of the gleaming metal, we can shape the world as we see fit. I lost everything in the War of Seven. I was but a child. Evil men destroyed my family, my village, and threw everyone still alive in cages to be used as slaves. I escaped only because I was so malnourished that I was able to squeeze through the bars. So, don't you dare judge me, bookworm! Count your blessings and embrace your new reality as a Pillar of the Word. Study the golden book, copy the golden book, learn the incantations and help us recruit more souls to our ranks. Each soul increases our resonance field, and with more resonance comes more power, and with more power comes the new age!”

Exhausted and overwhelmed, I start sobbing like a helpless child.

“I'll leave you with this: you may feel powerless now, having lost all control of your own life. But ask yourself: what did you really have in life? A cozy spot in a cozy city? A few friends? A few good deeds with your Sunny Steps and Sunny Side Up Society? Are you even that person anymore, after the journey that brought you here? Perhaps it is time to embrace your new role and embrace real power, power to change millions of lives, not just those of a few homeless people. Good night.”

She walks away as one cultist helps me get to my makeshift bed for the night, where I fall into a deep slumber immediately.

~*~

In the morning I joined a group of cultists heading back to Kalas. Still reeling from the experience last night, I was unable to focus on much and mostly let myself be shepherded off to wherever they took me. There was no more immediate danger. I knew the road back was long, so I decided to focus on recovering my strength and mental energy before tackling the complexities of my new reality.

So I focused on the road and its practicalities for a while. We took a roundabout way back. No more treacherous mountain passes. We followed the smoother road through the hills and plains. I have not traveled this regions before, so it was refreshing to see something new and not freeze to death or starve. I saw villages with mixed populations: some with yellow eyes, some without. In many villages there were glowing shrines. On a street corner, a little stone arch no taller than a child, with a small glowing metal artifact bolted in the middle. Simple, easy to replicate. I underestimated the presence of the Pillars as well as their reach. Strange that Kalas was so different. Perhaps they avoided the large centres of power. Perhaps that is where people like me come in, a final stage of the plan. While I was shocked to see the wide spread of the Pillars, something raw in me felt soothed. This feeling was very much at odds with my individualistic perspective on life.

“Great, I’m becoming a mindless grunt like Bidot, finding comfort in the bosom of a cult…” I muttered to myself.

I must confess, seeing the peace and apparent order and cooperation in these villages did make me second guess myself. The long trip back will give me plenty of time to consider my new purpose and the real scope of the Pillars.

Although the journey back seemed to be going well initially, I did realize about three days in that something seemed to follow the group. Sometimes a shadow just outside my field of view. Sometimes footsteps in the dark where there should be none. If it wanted to hurt me, it never succeeded. Too many cultists around me at all times. Nobody with bad intentions – or good ones! – could get close without at least several people taking note. Whatever it was, it stopped pursuing us once we left the hills and the forests. To this day I wonder what it may have been. A guardian? A foe? The grim reaper itself? I will never know.

The road did also take us through another Moon Monk monastery, this one in the last heavily forested stretch of road before reaching the Planes of Mana. Nothing surprises me anymore on this journey, so seeing the monks all had yellow eyes now merely got a half-hearted “huh” out of me. Clearly the Pillars had been hard at work converting not only regular folk, but other groups too. As we stayed the night, I decided to make conversation with a monk, Vadim.

“I only recently… ‘joined’ the Pillars,” said I. “Do the Moon Monk beliefs clash with the Pillars?”

To which I received a typical Moon Monk reply:

“Warm water and cold water is still water. The flow is what is important.”

He smiled and walked away.

I hated how at ease everyone was. How was everyone just accepting this? I was exhausted from fighting this notion in my own head, and from fighting the raw energy emanating form the metal amulet embedded in my sternum. Unfortunately, with this magical metal, reason was insufficient. It worked in powerful ways that resonated on a different level. The brain was powerless against it, and giving in felt like blissful release, like giving up swimming upstream and letting a warm river take you. If what Baraka said about that so-called ‘resonance filed’ was true, and if the number of cultists was any indication of their spread, the field is already incredibly strong and everyone sporting yellow eyes might be feeling the warm current. My will to fight kept dwindling over the few weeks of the journey back. It’s not gone, but it is weak and even if I found a way to fight it, I started wondering why bother? The Pillars of Rebirth had so many numbers, not to mention Lord Urzeus on their side. The war was lost before it even begun.

~*~

Arriving back in Kalas presented its own challenges. Ashamed that I failed my journey and afraid of what my family and friends would say about my yellow eyes, I avoided them for a number of days. When they finally met me, there was fear and sadness in their eyes. They were confused, worried, angry. I omitted some of the more violent detail of the trip, but they still feared what was to come. I was blunt:

“The Pillars are here. It is a matter of time before Kalas follows the faith of the surrounding towns and villages. The only comfort I can offer is that I saw much cooperation between cultists and non-cultists, and I did not think conversion was mandatory, but that there is some appeal that makes any forced push unneeded.”

I told them I was to be a Pillar of the Word, so I myself will be chanting lines from the golden book. While it may sound unreal, the chants and incantations somehow give everyone present a glimpse of what the resonance field feels like. It is beyond rational thought. It is raw emotion that won’t make you ask ‘Why?’ but rather ‘Why not?’”

~*~

And so it all came to pass as I have seen it in the visions. Well… almost! While this glowing metal had immense power, I had yet to see any mechanical monsters destroying villages. The bishops and the books? That was always going to be me. I let the warm flow of the resonance filed emanate through me, and my incantations brought together thousands. At first it felt awkward and clunky, like I was repeating someone else’s work as an impostor. People even threw rotten tomatoes at me. But the more I studied the book, the more I deciphered the runes. I think even Baraka failed to unlock some of the deeper connections. In fact, trying to store the knowledge in a book was only a crude first attempt to harness this new power. A book itself was too primitive and linear for the arcane knowledge within. The true form of this codex is a multi-layered sphere with a core made of the luminous metal that powers an expansion of thin layers, and that allows the Pillar of the Word to overlay the former ‘pages’ in infinite new ways. A magical onion with peels full of runes.

“See, my dear? I told you he was special!” said Urzeus to Baraka when I first demonstrated the new format.

~*~

With the sphere in hand, there really was no stopping the Pillars. I saw entire detachments of soldiers drop their weapons, laugh and hug each other after hearing but one or two verses and feeling the resonance field in their hearts. This was far more powerful than any mechanical monster.

After all I have seen and done, returning to the book store and my old life was no longer something I desired. I craved exploration, I wanted to continue upgrading the sphere and try using it to pacify far away lands ravaged by ongoing hundred-year wars. So I left Kalas two years after my return.

As I finish writing these pages, I am on a ship to the great isle of Eversorrow, a land of long-time grief, conflict, and ruin. It will be my greatest challenge yet! I spent two years in realms neighbouring Kalas, bringing many into the fold of the Pillars of Rebirth. Opponents of the Pillars did eventually find ways to resist, but none creative enough to fully stop the power of the spheres in the hands of talented Pillars of the Word.

If the light we show others is real and they choose it whole-heartedly, are we still the bad guys? Many realms were in shambles. In only a few months of them embracing the Pillars, these regions opened their borders, trading, working with each other like brothers.

There is still a small flicker of my old self within me, but as the wind pushes this ship to Eversorrow, this flicker is fading much like the shadowy figure who stopped pursuing me in the hills.

The end.

Author's note: I wrote this story using the Creation Myths solo journaling RPG by Emma Grier. The prompts provided the framework and inspiration for the story; the characters, narrative, dialogue, and prose are my own.

1 October 2026

Spending a lot of time alone with Yenah's grandmother's house while working. Getting up early, having my morning coffee, and sitting down to work each day at the kitchen table. As the sun rises, the tall white satin curtain spanning the length of the living room window starts to glow; one half of the curtain is reinforced by another pink one, so the diffused light that floods into the living room is half pink and half white. It bounces off of the red-orange wood floor, which creates a warm, saturated, matte environment in which highlights and edges are dulled. Magpies like to visit in the morning, and a handful of times I've pulled back the living room curtain to see them jockey for position on a persimmon tree. They're pretty aggressive, hip-checking each other off branches. Only two small horizontally-sliding screened windows in the house open to outside air, and tree branches sprouting vibrant green cross in front of the view out of both, so the feeling is one of life in abundance outside. Plants seem to grow well on the windowsills too.

My days here have been spent mostly in silence, but it's a busy silence. Just down the street is an elementary school, and I hear the rhythmic phases of its days—pale yellow buses snorting to a stop to deliver sleepy children in the morning, high-pitched screams as lunch hour arrives mid-day, and the frenzy of happy squeals and teachers repeatedly saying goodbye (“안녕히 가세요”) as school is let out for the day in the later afternoon. Some intermittent bells and layered chimes of groups of children singing throughout the day as well. On days where I do laundry, the laundry machine sounds like alternating white noise waterfalls and MRI-machine-like hollow knocks. Mosquitos are frequent visitors at this time of year, so a few times a day I'll also hear their sharp whines buzz by my ear (I've killed about thirty of them in the last month). The water here is so, so soft, especially compared to London, and the sinks (one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen) rush when turned on with a dutiful urgency that sounds like a mother shushing a baby. Similar to the Segokcheon Stream down the road from the house that runs all the way to the Han River.

29 September 2026

Spatial-emotional logic(s)

27 September 2026

Have been floating around New York City with my luggage in tow as a I figure out what to do next. My bags are heavy and the subway is small. After a recent ride, I was exiting the station and hoisted one of my big duffels high as I went through the turnstile gate. A man rushed over as if to help me, but he kind of just got in the way and then backpedaled as I passed through. Then he yelled: “I helped you out and you're not going to swipe me in?” In that moment I realized a fundamental difference in the American psyche compared to more collectivist countries like Korea (where I just spent two months). Which is that Americans grow up in a society that teaches them to expect to be thanked or rewarded for helping someone else.

On the Imaginary Rise of “Hot” Performance (or, “Imaginary What Now”?)

There may in the future have been some little interest in learning more precisely what may be imagined(!) as “an imaginary performance collective.” This desire of course will also have been requited by several succinct replies probably more satisfactory in their precision than in their accuracy and scope. But “lol just a shtick” may not be well understood in whatever epoch of our human history that the turkey in question was to have landed (imaginarily!), and its own motto “Join us, or discover yourself” is perhaps not the exquisitely-crafted absurdity its formulators had hoped... but something else entirely.

Tria: It just came out of me. It is comic gold.

Indeed. “Hot” performance is simply interaction with a medium, requiring relatively little agency, and which in point of fact continually reinforces a sort of Pavlovian “freeze” reaction when new or novel stimuli appear (in contrast to “cool” media, which demands considerably more meta-cognitive participation to be experienced). A relevant example of imaginary performance is conceptually easy to describe but quite difficult in its execution, at least in the beginning. It is simply deferring any involvement other than the minimum necessary to see the next thing: no comments, no likes, and (in the best case) forgetting the last image as soon as it is no longer actually visible.

Naturally, this description is misleading (or, “Just fiddle with it; it will come to you”)

Our main concern should be the extent of authentic gas-lighting being done — unknowingly, in all innocence — and how such a course, uninformed by principles and guided by rules of thumb learned across the unmeasurable time units of Time! Itself! could conceivably be more ejoyable than whatever tf is happening here. Therefore, this is not a “imaginary performance how-to”. (And btw, attempting the simplistic procedure limned above may just as well result in the possibility of learning... that that is boring af. And that would be the first lesson, and possibly the easiest one.)

In Summary: * Listening to relaxing music while patiently waiting for the pregame programming for my college football game, and moving into the night meds and prayers part of my evening. Pretty much like last night, heh.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 213.41 lbs. * bp= 148/76 (59)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:50 – one banana * 06:45 – ½ roast beef sandwich * 09:00 – snacking on m&m chocolate candies * 11:10 – garden salad * 14:45 – home made meat and vegetable soup, cheesecake for dessert

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:50 – bank accounts activity monitored * 05:10 -read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, take daily meds, unpack, organize, and nap' * 13:00 – watching an old episode of The Rifleman * 14:15 – watching old episodes of Doctor Who * 14:45 – eating dinner at home with Sylvia * 17:15 – listening to relaxing music

Chess: * 07:55 – moved in all pending CC games

Inbetweeners 40- Xalatra Questline Part 2- The Gutworks

Once the players located Tock-Tock, it led them to a non descript grey wall in an industrial section of Sigil with minimal activity/residents. The wall was once an entrance to the inner workings of Sigil, but was since closed off by the Dabus, as they have the ability to remake the city at will. Tock-Tock is able to undo this with glyphs of reversal, revealing an entrance to the Gutworks.

The Gutworks are a series of bio-mechanical-magical-industrial processes that keep the city running. The first room the Inbetweeners encountered was the Spiracle Engine. This was essentially the recycling/waste processing hub for the city, where anything that goes down the gutters or is thrown out in waste disposal or plumbing is separated. Biological material is sent to be incinerated, water is reclaimed, and metal/other more valuable materials is scrapped and reused. From here the Inbetweeners had three main paths they could follow. Ventilation tunnels, the refuse conveyors or wade through a stream of what is essentially sewage and waste water. They opted to avoid the waste water and explore the refuse conveyors.

The Refuse Conveyor, as it was titled, was actually fairly dangerous. If a player without flight doesn't balance on it properly, they can fall through and get caught in the gears, taking 8d6 damage every turn until they can either free themselves or have someone free them. There are also black puddings present under the conveyor, feeding on whatever comes through that serve as an everpresent threat. One the Inbetweeners passed through this section they reached the Sorting/Processing center. Here they encountered Giant Scrap-Eater Termites. Creatures of my own invention, these large beasts sort through the materials on the conveyer belt, consuming any metal that comes through with a special type of acid that breaks it down so that they can consume it. Once the Giant Scrap-Eater Termites consume their fill of metal, they move over to another chamber where they regurgitate it so that it may be reused in other structures within Sigil. Any organic material like wood, paper, excrement, etc is left on the conveyer as it is sent to the Organics Digester.

The Inbetweeners managed to capture a Giant Scrap-Eater Termite. Using a combination of Thogg's animal handling abilities and Rotlog, the half-orc druids magical abilities, the party was able to tame and take control of one which Rotlog could then summon. He would actually use this as a sort of animal servant for the remainder of the campaign. It's high HP (85) and acid abilities made it quite useful. Letting him pull of this shenanigan was little outside of the rules, but I allowed it because rule of cool. Later on, as the group became more established in Sigil, we assumed he could summon more of these creatures from the Gutworks as needed.

From the sorting room the characters made it to the Organics Digester, which was the first boss fight in the Gutworks. This massive creature does not move, but instead can pull creatures towards it with its peristaltic pull. Once creatures are in range, it can swallow them and dissolve them in its potent digestive acids. For particularly nimble or strong creatures that it can't pull in, it had a potent acid spray which deals 10d8 damage to those it hits. The Organics Digester is a semi-sentient biological machine whose purpose is to break down any of the organic materials that come from the Refuse Conveyer. I envisioned hundreds of such creatures throughout the bowels of Sigil, this was just one of them. I gave it an antimagic field to prevent spells from neutralizing it. I figured this worked diagetically because the digester would need to be protected from dangerous magical items or creatures that somehow ended up on the conveyor.

The Inbetweeners were almost killed by the Organics Digester, but the players who passed their checks to avoid getting pulled in were able to rescue the others and escape into the Ventilation Tunnels. These massive tunnels cycle air throughout Sigil. They are patrolled by Pipebound Hounds, large mechanical constructs, between the size of a very large dog and a small horse. They navigate the tunnels via echolocation and travel in groups of three to five, hunting down anything else living in the tunnels and removing any obstructions. Basically, if the tunnels aren't clear, the Pipebound Hounds will discover the obstruction and rectify it, regardless of what it is. They are pretty sturdy in fights, each one sporting 105 hitpoints and have vibrating claws that deal 17 damage per claw and can deafen an opponent. The Inbetweeners fought off a few of these and made it to their den, where the next boss fight of the Gutworks was located: The Pipebound Alpha Hound, which is much larger, and has roughly twice the hit points and damage output, with several special abilities and legendary actions that make it much more dangerous. The players were able to destroy the hounds and their alpha. The chamber where the Pipebound Hounds made their nest had many of the items that previously obstructed the tunnels. The hounds seemed to bring it back here to store, almost by instinct. Most of it was refuse, like broken barrels, carriages, nets, etc. However, some of it was valuable.

After searching, the players found a sack of silverware (from a thief who must have gotten swept up into the Gutworks), Gloves of Greasewalk, a wand of counterspell, and most importantly, the deed to a defunct zoo in Sigil. This abandon Zoo would later become the nesting grounds for the Beeple Queen when the group relocates her hive and the fledgling Harmonium to Sigil. From here, the players were able to cut across to the lift to reach the lower levels of Sigil. In this moment I realized my failure as a DM, I once again designed a dungeon where the players were able to bypass the majority of the content I prepared. So, technically this is the end of this leg of the quest, but let's review some of the treats I had in store that they summarily ignored:

The Cistern Flow/Sewage Rapids/Reclamation Vortex- Basically an escalating series of environmental hazards involving rapids of sewage from Sigil. In retrospect, I should've realized the players wouldn't wade through poo if they could avoid it.

Amicus the Vuplin- They discover the ghost of a courier who drowned after Dabus knocked him down a storm drain while street sweeping. I planned on playing him as a very friendly, marginally helpful ghost. He would have led the players to the Gristle Rest if they hadn't been there already.

Gristle Rest- This was supposed to be a lynchpin of this part of the dungeon. There were three different ways to end up there, and the players somehow found the one path that avoided it entirely. An absolutely putrid tavern/flop house run by a Night Hag. This investigated the idea... who would willingly live in the Gutworks? An environment that probably smells horrific, and everything in it is designed to break you down into raw materials. The answer— those who have nowhere else to go. There were mercenaries who escaped the Faction War and would foreshadow Vecna's cult deeper underground. People dying of a plague that would eventually be made into stew and served to the rest of the patrons. The entire establishment was covered in mold, and some of this mold itself was sentient. The mold colonies actually had the most information on Xalatra and if the players discovered they could communicate with it telepathically and either rizzed up the mold or offered something, could get a direction she headed in.

The food available was particularly fun. The common patrons could order sewage stew... sewage that has been heated up enough to kill... most of the bacteria while leaving the protein intact. Warp rat skewers, whiskey that is just engine coolant, and fermented fungus wine. All things that are available locally. If the players showed wealth and wanted a real meal, the Night Hag has a halfling tied up in the pantry that she would cook up. There were endless fun roleplaying options I could improv on as a DM, but unfortunately the players skipped it entirely. The campaign is almost over, but I think I may recycle this for another one.

In addition to the aforementioned, there was also a biomechanical nervous system that is part of Sigil's power grid. It would have been an environmental hazard puzzle for the players to rigure out. An abandon war machine construct would have also attacked the players. However they skipped all that.

Once they reached the lift to the lower levels, they discover a glyph left by Xalatra that will cast prismatic spray on them if activated. I forget if the players tripped it or found a way to avoid it. The lift itself is used by Dabus to head to the lower levels, which is where we will go with the players in the next post!

I'm charging my larger clippers. It's been almost two years since I completely shaved my head. I've gotten into a habit of doing it every two or three. I'd probably keep it shaved did my vanity not stop me from doing so. I also tug on my hair as a stem, so being able to tangle my fingers in it helps.

I don't know. I'm tired. Not caving to social expectation is positive for self-improvement, but I do hesitate. From a sensory standpoint, I can't stand having hair. From a feminine standpoint, I'd say it's pretty impossible for me to hide my femininity. From an accepted standpoint, I know that in spite of what's been told to me by multiple persons over time, the result is always similar.

Being aware of that means I must ask myself if I'm subconsciously demonstrating a test. I don't think that I am. However, a straight woman who does not have cancer, but is walking around with a shaved head is a societal test whether intended or not. I should probably just do it and then tend with whatever outcomes come with it. Including my own.

I think that I'm aware that I tend to make this choice when I'm in the process of accepting something I see before it's actually happened. That does not bring me comfort. At the same time, I am not sure that the kind of comfort I need or seek actually is available in the world. Perhaps I am just tired of asking for it.

I cried the first time I cut my very long hair off at eighteen. It was a shock and I had always been complimented on the wealth of fine blond tendrils. I cried again many years later when I took my ex's clippers to my hair because a beautician had badly burnt my scalp. Again and again, I've shaved my head. I cried happy tears a few years ago because it was a choice. My choice.

I don't know if I will cry if I do it this time. What am I shedding with this exhaustion? Is my why an action or an excuse? Will I regret or celebrate it? I do not know the answers. I think that is the only reason I really hesitate. I also am unsure if I still care. That bothers me.

The thing is, from an outsider perspective I can acknowledge that I am what is considered physically attractive. Especially if I choose to play it up. I never saw myself that way growing up, so I don't really think of myself in that manner now, but I'd also be blind to deny it. Full lips, large almond blue green eyes, high cheekbones, prominent cupid's bow, hourglass figure. I'm aware that I check the boxes. I'm also aware that while I want the person I'm with to find me physically attractive, it's probably the last thing I want them to notice.

I know. I know.

I wonder if part of what I'm currently going through is subconsciously pushing me towards wanting to visually detract from my femininity. I don't think so, but I also can't deny it a possibility. The irony, of course, is that it absolutely doesn't work. I think I'm just exhausted of needing to be someone I'm not. Perhaps I've fooled myself into ever knowing who I am to begin with.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Chisom is a Nigerian fiction writer and poet. His short stories have been featured on Omenana, Apex, Clarkesworld, Year’s Best African Speculative Fiction 2023, African Ghosts anthology, Isele, Mythaxis, ZamaShorts, and elsewhere. His short story, “Ancestors’s Gift” won the 2024 Tractor Beam short story contest. He was a finalist for the Seattle Worldcon Short Story Contest, longlisted for the British Science Fiction Association Awards, and is the winner of the 2025 Nommo Award for Best African Speculative Fiction Short Story.

1) Which Nigerian city do you live in, and what is it like?

I live in Lagos and it’s quite an interesting city. It wants to be everything at the same time, so it has its hands in many places. Some parts of the city are quite urban and there are houses in estates that run into millions of dollars, but there are also shantytowns with houses built from corrugated sheets. Also, there are churches in almost every street corner, but someone can pick your pocket right in front of one if you’re not careful. Lol. It’s a jack of all trades and master of many.

2) I know relatively little about African science fiction, but I get the impression that Nigeria has a particularly lively and growing SF scene. Would you agree? If so, what do you think accounts for this growth, and how does the Nigerian scene compare with those in other African countries?

I agree with you that it has a growing speculative fiction scene, “growing” being the key word. Most people who come to literature and writing in these parts usually do so through the literary fiction and (more recently) romance route. Nigerian writers have broken a lot of ground in those areas so they’re the most popular. Genre fiction over here is still picking up steam and trying to catch up. Longtime torch bearers like Nnedi Okorafor, Wole Talabi, Tade Thompson, and others, have helped spread the word through their extensive works, but a new crop of writers are finding their voices too and doing magic. Look out for the works of folks like Pemi Aguda, Uchechukwu Nwaka, Plangdi Neple, Somto Ihezue, Osahon Ize-Iyamu, Gabrielle Emem Harry, amongst many others, and you’ll see exactly why the genre is on the rise here. I think some other things that are also driving this growth are social media, genre literary magazines, and the prospect of writers getting paid for their works. Social media has helped us find outlets willing to platform our writings, and the knowledge that we can earn something from that is enough to keep some of us writing. I think something similar too is happening across other African countries. These little fires are spreading everywhere.

---

From Across Time (2024)

A woman discovers a hidden message from a time-traveling lover who erased their love story to save it. No one remembers it, no proof remains except a video, and she decides to build a time machine to find her.

3) In your story From Across Time, the heroine Adaeze experiences the emotional consequences of a relationship she cannot remember. What interested you in exploring the emotional impact of a relationship that only one person bears memory of?

The thing that got me thinking about this story, like I usually say, was a short story by Vajra Chandrasekera titled Peristalsis. In the story, he used a concept that involved the two main characters watching a movie of themselves on TV. They hadn’t seen this movie before and thus didn’t know how it was going to play out, so they were keen on following it. The story moved between the characters in the real world and the version of themselves in the screen, and this interesting technique got me thinking: What if one character was on the other side and was trying desperately to communicate with the other who didn’t remember them again? Then, because I love exploring themes around time travel, I asked, again, what if they were distances from each other in time?

4) Is the woman in the video being selfless by preserving the memory of their love, or selfish by forcing Adaeze to live with a loss she would otherwise never have known?

I think it’s a bit of both. She feels terrible for taking away the memories of their beautiful relationship from Adaeze, so she wants to make up for that by telling her about it. In this way, we can say that she’s selfish. She’s inflicting memories on someone who would have otherwise lived her life perfectly without them, just to assuage her guilt. But she’s also giving Adaeze a gift, one Adaeze herself isn’t sure she’d have given back if the option presented itself, because that information is precious to her.

5)The ending suggests that the heroine values knowing the truth over the comfort of blissful ignorance. Was that an important theme you wanted to explore?

Not really. That ending just came to me as I was drawing close to completing the story and it just felt like the most natural place to leave things off.

---

Prerequisites for the creation of a possible world (2025)

When a futuristic simulated World's Fair unexpectedly begins to malfunction, an undercover employee must navigate the collapsing digital past while a major technological crisis threatens the entire enterprise.

6) What interests you about the futures people imagined in the past, especially those that never came true?

The present we are living now is largely as a result of the imaginings and postulations of people who lived in the past. Someone imagined humans flying like birds through the air and got to work on the idea, and today the skies are filled with airplanes. Someone once imagined communicating with someone else far away from them wirelessly, and so they began to manipulate radio waves. Today, we have cell phones. Things we have now began from past predictions, and so will things in the future. But there are also tons of things people thought about that never came to fruition; technologies (flying cars come to mind, at least for now), societies, and all. I like to think about them too, and that’s how I came to the idea of the story.

7) Why is belief in a prediction one of the four prerequisites for recreating a possible world? What role does belief play in this process?

Because I believe that the level of conviction a creator has in their idea, amongst other things, contributes greatly to whether the idea would eventually be brought to fruition. In the story, a giant AI simulator builds photorealistic worlds that people from different planets can come and take tours in. These worlds are the imaginations of earth people from the distant past. They’re predictions of how things would look like, but were ultimately wrong about. So these future people in the story then use this AI to create that world just to connect with the people of old. But the AI can only proceed to create such a world if there was sufficient evidence that the people who predicted them believed in them completely, even though it never came to pass. It’s one of the prerequisites that the AI demands, because without that, it doesn’t think that world would be believable after building it.

To the Death (2023)

A man's feud with his sister's abusive police boyfriend moves into their dreams, where the officer tries to kill him every night.

8) Your story To the Death suggests that understanding someone's deepest fears can be a powerful way to defeat them. Do you think this kind of psychological insight is a form of power?

I think so. Think of the ways big tech companies go to lengths to obtain private data of their customers. The way they use that information to eventually force their users to stay glued to their platform like zombies, eventually divulging more data. This isn’t exactly what happens in the story, but it’s a version of it. The protagonist used information gathering to access his adversary’s weaknesses, and used that in a spiritual warfare against him.

9) When the protagonist and the policeman fight in their dreams, are they experiencing lucid dreams? I've had a few myself, and I find the experience fascinating.

Would have been interesting too if they were lucid, but I just wanted to set these dreams in the actual dream realm to add to the spookiness of the story. I don’t know how well I achieved that eerie feel though. I just hope readers find the story interesting enough.

---

10) To conclude, what are you currently working on?

At this moment, I’m writing a story for the volume 2 of the Applied African Speculative Fiction anthology. It’s a collaborative project between speculative fiction writers and experts in different fields. So I’ll be working with a renowned expert to deliver a scientifically accurate and grounded story. On the longer term, I’m still hoping to put together my short story collection. Hopefully I manage to achieve that in the nearest future.

#shortinterviews #umeh #nigeria

Earlier this year the commenting system I had been using died without notice. Alas, all the comments were lost to the void. Since then I hadn't really had the time to look into finding a suitable replacement.

Two days ago, by good luck and fortune, I had noticed a nicely integrated commenting system on the Vorpal Mace blog. Imagine my joy as I learned that yes, it is compatible with my platform! Two days later, and it is fully integrated.

You have in essence two options for commenting:

• Without an account. You simply put in your name and email. That's it.
• With an account. You register your name, email, and homepage (optional). This allows you to always comment with the same profile, plus you can upload an avatar as well. Use postimages to upload your avatar and then use direct link in your profile
• In both cases you will receive notifications from comments@attronarch.com so make sure to check your spam folder and to whitelist the address.

Markdown is supported so you can use bold, italics, and lists in the comments. Moderation is on, and I have to manually approve each comment. You can give it a try, right below the post.

With gratitude to Edeldhur, Charlie Brawn, and kublaibenzine for testing the system before going live.

#Blogging

Je n’aime pas l’idée de partager des banalités ici.

Tout l’intérêt est dans le partage d’une expérience et d’une vision propre à moi-même.

Parfois, j’ai du mal à « ranger » certaines émotions. Une image qui me passe par la tête et il y a ensuite un enchaînement de fragilités qui me sautent à la figure.

Mais ça, en une fraction de seconde.

On a tellement pris l’habitude de faire les choses pour remplir « notre mission » qu’on en oublie de s’arrêter, de se regarder, de s’évaluer de façon bienveillante.

Alors quand les choses vacillent, tout chavire. Le navire est inondé et coule.

Je suis toujours sur le fil.

Il faut peut être que je fasse le choix de retirer à nouveau des choses de ma vie. Mais c’est difficile, je ne suis pas sur les réseaux, et constamment, j’avance vers la personne que je veux être.

En tout cas, c’est la sensation que j’ai aujourd’hui.

Tout a été dit.

Mais à mon tour maintenant d’essayer de partager mes valeurs. Ce sont les choses qui comptent, peut-être les seules choses ?

arbre obstiné vers la lumière de toute la force de ses branches son tronc soulève les ténèbres

nichées d'écorce et d'oiseaux dispersées dans les rameaux

espoir d'un chant de brindilles qui vibreront doucement dans le vent le plus violent

---

photo by @arcturus@pixelfed.social

I return to Conference USA College Football for today's game of choice. We find the (1-6) Kennesaw St. Owls traveling to Murfreesboro, Tn., to play the (4-3) Middle Tennessee Blue Raiders. This game is scheduled to start at 6:00 PM CT, and I hope to listen to the whole game before retiring.

And the adventure continues.

Las personas que no somos músicas pero no podemos vivir sin música, las que no sabemos escuchar música sin bailar, oímos las canciones de una forma muy distinta a las personas que son músicas. No siempre soy consciente concretamente de lo que las canciones me hacen. Me quedo con una impresión aparentemente general y, a veces, luego, me paro a escuchar la letra (cuando la tiene) o alguien cuenta la historia de la canción (la de verdad, no las cosas que se inventan para las entrevistas publicitarias) y todo cuadra y me gusta que cuadre. Saber que lo estoy entendiendo. A veces no tengo ningún contexto personal de quién compone ni canta y con el tiempo descubro que lo esencial se había filtrado. Quién es y dónde está, qué mira (o qué dice mirar mientras mira otra cosa) y desde dónde. Digamos.

Hoy alguien me ha preguntado si podría explicar mejor por qué Gravity me parece buenísima y Tom and Jerry un absoluto horror.

He decidido poner las dos una detrás de otra mientras transcribía la historia que me sugiere cada una obviando los instrumentos (quizir, sé que cierta sensación se debe a que entra un teclado, cierta otra a lo que decide hacer (o no) John Mayer con la guitarra. Pero no quería contar eso ni contarlo así.

Quería contar lo que las decisiones técnicas, musicales, instrumentales, de producción etc hacen a quien escucha.

Ahí va:

Gravity:

Aparece alguien caminando lento mientras piensa en cosas que le preocupan y todavía no sabe dar forma. Cruza de acera como si de pronto supiese dónde quiere ir. Está el saltito en la música. Empieza a contarnos la historia, gira, acelera el paso. Sube el tono de voz. Se calma. Vuelve a recuperar su cadencia lenta de paseo. Suspira. Respira hondo. Para. Todo vuelve a empezar. Rumiar lo que te agobia.

Apoyarse contra una pared. Estar cansado y preocupado. Desesperarte. Respirar otra vez. Que de pronto salga el sol. Creer que todo va a acabar saliendo bien de alguna forma extraña. Sonreír. Volver a casa.

Tom and Jerry

Alguien tararea una especie de jingle infantil. Mucho rato. Nanananananananananananananananananananananananananananananananananananananananananan

Na

Termina el tarareo. Empieza una voz a hablar. Mecánica. Con un metrónomo debajo. A veces también suena el nananana del tarareo del principio de fondo. Y entra alguien con la voz más grave a tararear. No sé por qué. Como si llegase tarde a una fiesta y quisese fingir que llevaba allí desde el principio. Que no se ha perdido nada. Como si hubiese algo que perderse. La voz que habla sigue invariable. No sé qué dice. Tampoco me interesa.

De pronto deja de hablar. Tararea otra cosa. uuuuuuuu mientras sigue el tarareo del jingle debajo. Incansable.

Redoble. El metrónomo se acelera. El que cuenta sigue sin hacer ni una sola inflexión en su voz. Debajo, el tarareo cambia y tú no entiendes por qué si todo lo está contando igual. A qué responde ese cambio. Tampoco sabes qué pasa. Te duele la cabeza.

El puñetero metrónomo.

Coño, un cambio en la voz. Ahora repite todo con este nuevo tono. Muchas veces. Sigue el metrónomo. Sigue repitiendo. Unas 15 veces la misma frase irrelevante. Ojalá alguien diciendo “pues ya estaría”. Nadie se atreve. Todo el mundo se marcha. Él sigue repitiendo pero le perdemos en la distancia. La canción parece infinita. Dura 15 segundos menos que Gravity.

Tags: #random #music