#nirhaq (species)

[yutzen]

Until the Rains Come

The following tale has been compiled as best as I could manage from every fragment I could identify within the various libraries of Ishiss (city and nation). I will readily admit the experience was both thrilling and immensely frustrating: Individual fragments have been well-known for quite some time already, but a number of minor yet notable contradictions prevented the rise of a true compendium, as leading figures I shall not be naming made mutually incompatible versions and declared theirs the most truthful, actively attacking others over assumed lack of veracity. I have done all I could to smooth over the contradictions and provide something closer to a definitive version, fully expecting to draw critique from the aforementioned figures for making such a claim. To them I would like to say: Go ahead. I have so much to tell you. The various fragments were delightfully well preserved despite dating to pre-Refuge times, thanks to the Ifchi’s sturdy paper-making techniques, but different interpretations of their contents only multiplied with time, obfuscating matters that should’ve been far simpler. If any further fragments show up beyond their Exit, I will be retrieving them personally this time.

Many a thread can be drawn between water and life. Both have been so tightly linked as to be synonymous throughout our existence; even those that thrive far from water will always need to carry some with them, and even the most sun-baked peoples must eventually return to it. But more importantly, more relevantly, many a thread can be drawn between water and Being[1] as a whole, not just for that which breathes and moves. As we and all others are shaped from water, Being is not just a state, but a fundamental part of all we know, the bottom-most building block. For all that lives, for the stone beneath our feet, for the air that surrounds us all, and even water itself. Even the emptiness beyond, the void that holds seemingly nothing, is in itself held up by Being; if it wasn’t, nothing could occupy it, for it would not be there at all[2].

The threads hardly end there. Much like water, Being is a limited thing. Just as water bodies of all kinds are surrounded by dry land and by empty air, made scarce in every direction, all Being is strung out in one body after another, hardly ever connected, held up by nothing, pressed down on by nothing, surrounded by nothing at all. True nothingness, that cannot be pushed aside so easily by anything that Is – not without intent, motivation, actual force that such masses of Being cannot usually muster by themselves. And just like water, Being can slowly fade into its surroundings, seemingly dissipating into nothing – except in this case, the nothing is very much literal. Being can slowly seep into the rest, too thin to hold or even be anything, too disperse to do anything more than exist. And just like murky pools in the mud, drying in the sun and steaming away into thin air, the thinner it’s strung, the quicker it can all fade away. Leaving nothing but vapors and cracking earth – or nothing at all, as the case may be.

But what of those that dwell in these pools? Are they to go quietly, dry out and die under the scour of these merciless surroundings? One of the big differences, the proper differences, is in the scale. With puddles strung across the mud, you hardly have much in them. At most, a few striders, a few dozen bogmites, anything beyond the hundred would be too small for the eye to see. Being, however? Even the tiniest drop, barely worth remarking on, could hold millions and millions like us, only vaguely aware the very foundation of their existence is vanishing with every passing year. You and I[3] are not even bogmites at such grand scales, and we are even more helpless in the face of such drying-up than they would be.

There are, however, those that aren’t us. And of them, there is one out there that we know is not helpless.

A curious entity, one that lives in nothingness yet needs Being to thrive. A wandering sort, never staying long in one spot, whether it Is or not. A creature of opposites, one that could only come to exist in the quagmire that occurs where existence and nonexistence meet. In this, and acknowledging its shape would be unclear to us all, I would compare it to a toad[4]. Skipping from pool to pool, diving and digging alike, sifting through the mud made by Being. And just big enough to change the very landscape around it, little by little, one shovel of its webbed limbs at a time.

And change the landscape it does. Just as a creature that is neither of earth alone, nor pure earth, would know best how to shape the places were both meet, this entity can shape its own quagmire with greater results than anything of singular nature. Neither[5] a creature of nothingness alone, Nor[5] one of Being like us, it alone can carve the grand, yet precise shapes it desires into the murky puddles that shape everything. And so it does, with every passing eon, seemingly dedicating all of its endless time to molding this swamp of existence to its own desires.

But what would such a creature desire? What manner of wants could a being so far beyond our comprehension even have, that we could understand? The answer is uncertain, but if I were to take the simplest guess, it would be: Preservation.

Preservation of what, you ask? Hard to answer. It could be its own life, keeping an environment it prefers, or perhaps there is something else to it. Perhaps it is aware of smaller beings like us. We only know what it does: When one of the pools of Being is running thin, when it seeps away into the nothingness, spreading into thin vapors unable to hold even the tiniest smidge of existence, this creature, this keeper of the quagmire, starts carving away the edges that keep it trapped in place, and lets all the Being held within flow freely, away in directions we could not perceive. What forces actually move these flows, we don’t know either, but we know exactly where it leads: To a greater pool.

For the comparison holds, as I said before: Greater masses of Being, much like greater bodies of water, do not dissipate nearly as quickly, and the deeper they go, the longer they can last. And the toad in charge will merge the unfortunate pools of existence into greater ones, forming ever greater bodies of Being dotting the nothingness beyond. Less of them, for sure, pooling their minuscule inhabitants together, forcing them to adapt, but perhaps it’s the price to pay in the face of oblivion – that is, if it even knows they’re there.

How long has it been doing so, one wonders? How many pools of Being have been merged, and come close to drying out again before having to be merged, again and again? Whole worlds blended into one, with their individual strings of history knotted into a singular rope, one by one? Is it perhaps doing this without aim, simply forming ever greater bodies, intervening only when they threaten to dry? Or is there a greater lake of Being somewhere deep, towards which it channels every last trace of existence so that it may last? Perhaps it’s the first of these answers that’s the most important of all. For it would determine the rest, wouldn’t it? If it’s been going long enough… all that’d be there would be scattered puddles, channeled through ever-greater distances into a grand, yet shallow lake, all that’s left of so many different masses of Being. Then again, it may not be so shallow, but the toad is never truly sated with its size. We simply do not know. All we can do is speculate…

And speculate we will. For however long this has been going on, the only thing we know is that it’ll continue. Perhaps until the end of time, when all dries up, even the biggest of all pools, and it’s forced to concede, roll over and die… But I wouldn’t think so. As I said, all Being that dissipates into the nothingness around it? It’s never truly gone. It’ll grow thick with existence, perhaps thick enough to start holding entities again, even if just the smallest of all. Perhaps Being shall coalesce, as the apparent end draws near, and the keeper of this quagmire has but the smallest puddle, the very last inches of a well, to itself…

Perhaps, just like the toads we know, all it needs to do is hold on until the rains come. And perhaps then, as the great string of puddles and pools is reformed, as the cracked earth of nothingness returns to a quagmire of its liking under the storm, it shall finally rest… While the rains last, at least.

[1]Direct translation from the word shurrif, which can double as noun (existence) and verb (to exist, to be), while acting as antonym to the word frush (nonexistent, not real). Every fragment insisted in using it as a noun, with context aiding the translation, and I have capitalized each proper use of the translated word for clarity’s sake. [2]If these passages seem more reiterative than they should, I apologize; part of the problem in compiling the tale from its fragments was that different sources often neglected passages and comparisons that others did use, and completeness’ sake demanded I weave them all together. [3]Unusually, between the fragments I collected, this was the most common, most possible translation. More curiously, not once did I find anything resembling an address to the reader, or the author referring to themselves as a writer; the closest I could find was something that would translate to “my dear interlocutor”, which both hints that these were once meant as transcripts, and baffles me as something anyone would deliberately speak, let alone write down. [4]An astounding number of fragments attempted to specify species-wise, rather than leave it at a more recognizable level. I have opted for the latter, rather than fall into the “scholarly” squabbles of trying to pinpoint individual manners of batracian. Again, all objections on this particular matter can be presented publicly, and I will welcome each and every one. [5]Unusually, the word I translated to “Neither” here often refers to a manner of temporary Exit-like gate to either a distant spot within the same realm, or more rarely, another realm, requiring an individual to “embody” it to function. Said individuals cause an overlap between areas, being “neither here nor there”, hence the colloquial name. While further elaboration is beyond the scope of this volume, the term does not seem to apply 100% here. But the parallels should be clear, and I chose to capitalize “Nor” as well to reflect this. -Excerpt from "Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic", authored by 'the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh' (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified and under active investigation)

[yutzen]

Perfect Echoes

This particular tale will upset some of my most avid, yet quietest readers, of this I am sure. For its origins are less than certain, contested between the Burnt and Bellbound hives, and the resulting struggles of ownership have whittled it down to uselessness with revisions and accusations within their respective territories. I find this contrary to the pursuit of knowledge as a whole, to the point I will throw caution to the wind and state the Bellbound should be ashamed for letting it reach such low points. Any who object to my statement may come to me, as they surely know my dwelling by now, and I wish to tell them my grievances in person for once. Nevertheless, the following tale’s origin is as obfuscated as the Hives’ own, and I could find nothing I could satisfactorily call an original. Instead, I was forced to piece it together from different translations in different languages, acquired all across the caverns and compiled together into a single version. I suspect Bellbounds (that's the Nirhaq, for those not yet aware) that objected to the aforementioned squabble much like I did spread these out by themselves, but that is beyond the scope of this volume.

While it remains obvious to any denizen of the Subterraneum with any sense of where they stand, even before taking refuge many of its now-dwellers had found that there are many realms beyond their own. Philosophers and scholars of reality itself often found ways to peer past the assorted veils, and find the existences beyond. Of course, in trying to reach such sights, most of them became familiar with what separated them. They saw where all they knew came to an end, giving way to a thick nothingness, separating them from all others… And they found the thin, thin layer keeping it all out. For everything we know is but another bubble, adrift in a sea few could ever cross. A million, million bubbles, all floating freely in an ocean[1] with neither surface nor bottom… All except one. There is a singular bubble of existence, greater than any other, with the thickest walls of all keeping its being within, and the weight of nothingness outside. A perfect bubble, a flawless sphere, which – whether as coincidence or as an anchor to the rising archipelago[2] of bubbles in every direction – lies in the perfect center of it all, its own center matching that of everything. It is the First and Greatest[3], the most Perfect of all, perpetual and unassailable. And utterly, unquestionably empty, once. Nothing spawned within it, no life to grow and thrive, no land to be carved by age and water, nothing within but the walls and the darkness. It was not until bridges could be tended from other bubbles that anyone at all saw such perfect emptiness for what it was… And it was perfect. Utterly different from the nothingness outside, which crushed the chance of anything at all coming to pass. This was a void full of potential, a place that could hold anything, and had so little within it that even just a word or a thought could make a lasting mark upon it… And with its perfect shape, and the perfect walls surrounding it that could not be pierced by anything, such words and ideas could remain for a long time, bouncing off the walls in a similarly perfect echo if spoken in the right tone, reigniting their idea with every pass. With nothing to dampen them as they echoed across the interior, and nothing to lose with each bounce upon walls that seemingly received nothing, and pushed back everything. With the right words and dedication, one could bring anything to pass, feeding the echo as it passed each time, hitting the right cadence and tone each time[4]…

But as always, it only took one fool to set off its ruin.

Whoever pushed the first pebble in this avalanche that haunts us to this day, we don’t know. It was lost to time, if not rightfully wiped from it. We just know this emptiness had gathered a crowd, an actual settlement, by the time said individual raised their voice and called out the presence of a monster that wasn’t there. Cried out in fear, most likely feigned, that some indescribable destroyer was out for their life, and that of others. Yelled that it was a powerful beast, an outright abomination that could tear down anything and anyone…

And so it began. Just one voice to contaminate it all, its echoes bouncing back upon themselves, resonating with themselves, and with the ideas they brought in this utter emptiness that wouldn’t let them dissipate. Slowly, something began to take form, the faintest outline of a being that embodied this long-forgotten person’s claims… And yet, with such lofty claims, even this outline could kill, well before it could have a proper shape. Weaved together from the shouts that made it be, this unseen, phantasmal nightmare reached out and tore down their settlement, one stone-rending screech at a time. No one saw if it was clawing at them or striking with any limbs at all, all anyone knew was that where it screamed, homes crumbled, and their dwellers were rent apart.

Then, panic reigned. Monster, those attacked called out. Destroyer, they screamed out as they ran. Abomination, they cried as they witnessed their fellows slaughtered without warning[5]. What was just one voice quickly became an unwitting choir, feeding and strengthening the thing that’d come to pass. The thing would grow with their panic, drawn in by their cries, and so grew its reach and bloodshed, which spurred the horrified masses further into disarray…

Those who knew what was happening tried to intervene, but they had no contingencies. They never thought something like this could happen, that anyone would even think raise a false alarm just to create its own disaster. They knew to deaden the panic, but did exactly the wrong thing to achieve it. “There is no monster”, they tried to say, but the word “monster” was still heard. “This destroyer is but a hoax, a lie”, they repeated, but “destroyer” lingered on. “This abomination was made up, it doesn’t exist”, they shouted out, but only the word “abomination” survived, all the rest drowned and washed away in the echoes. They realized moments too late that to refute an idea, it had to be brought up, and that was enough in this perfectly malleable existence to make it real, irrefutable. And so, the thing’s existence was only stoked further by their mistakes and they, too, were rent apart.

In moments, it had become clear that wherever it saw chaos and horror, it and its bone-shattering screeches would follow… And soon, it hardly even needed to sow them by itself to know where to reach out and strike. The ideas and words that had brought it to life within moments would resonate with its existence, even if their origins had nothing to do with it, and they would call it forth. This formless thing was soon reaching well across the bubble’s confines, one side to another, to wreak its havoc in places where even one person had expressed a hint of fear, spoken about a monster – any monster – or fretted that a given barrier wouldn’t hold. And once it had reached there, it remained, its own rending shrieks joining the echoes that made it and fueled its wrath…

Soon enough, nearly everything that wasn’t it was gone. Even the very emptiness that once filled this perfect bubble was now just more of it, and the ever-rebounding echoes. Every corner was just another part of it, as its sound filled the void. The very walls became filled with its existence, as the screams soaked into once-impermeable barriers; they simply let it in, muffled yet undeniable, long before they could be cracked by its intensity, even if they never truly let it through. And in being filled with its presence, it’s essence, the walls that formed this bubble became yet another part of the formless monstrosity that but one voice had spawned. This Perfect Bubble had been swallowed whole by its existence… And it found it couldn’t tear the Bubble down. The thing couldn’t breach its own immaterial form with its own screams, couldn’t reach walls that were now inside it, and so, the echoes that formed it would never stop ringing, and would never be truly released…

But now that just enough of it had crept into the walls, it could still resonate with the outside, and listen. Terrified, familiar cries in languages it never knew, from peoples it had never met, in contexts no one it killed would’ve imagined. Monster. Destroyer. Abomination. Fear of things that come to tear down one’s abode without warning, unseen and unstoppable. All of this and more… In other bubbles, across the true nothingness.

And so, its reign of mindless terror would continue. What was once the Perfect Bubble was now but a destroyer of realms. And when, in some unfortunate bubble, the fearful murmurs of end-bringing beasts become loud enough to be overheard? The thing will reach out, stretching the walls that have become its body, and rend the source apart. Those within the realm are either swallowed by the crushing nothingness, or are scattered across its remnants, naught but thin suds spread in every direction… And sometimes, subsumed into the once-perfect bubble that both holds and is their hunter, as the suds merge with it like any bubble would.

Irony of ironies that those within are perhaps the safest of all, in spite of being buffeted to and fro by the maddening echoes of the one who tried to slaughter them…

[1]At least three translations referred to it as a lake, but I have gone with ocean, as those languages with a distinction between lake and ocean inevitably used the latter. [2]Direct translation from an Ishissi text, as other languages inevitably resorted to more general terms like “collection” (with one baffling Urul translation referring to them as “hill range”, which I decided against). Unusually (and for those who don’t grasp it), the Ishissi language does have a word for a collection of bubbles, but no texts ever resorted to it pre-Nixian Age. [3] Not every translation related to this part referred to it as either, let alone both, but I found none that outright contradicted it. [4]All texts coincided in these terms, usually reserved for music and sound as a whole, no matter the translation. If there was any error in translation or transcription, it happened far before the story was spread far and wide, and even those mutilated versions in Bellbound/Burnt spaces contain such terms. [5]The three words presented here found their own repetition in each translation, yet still differed between different languages, with very clear marks of imperfect translation from an original language. I use these terms as the closest I could find in the common tongue. Ironically, the most precise versions of the word I could find were from Bellbound texts that had otherwise been massacred.

-Excerpt from "Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic", authored by 'the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh' (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified)

[yutzen]

A Quick Biological Primer on Subterraneum Citizens

(From the archives again, this time more a lorefile than a story. But I would prefer to rescue this one quickly for the sake of clarity in the future. I will be linking back here often.)

So, if you've been following me for any length of time, been keeping up with certain writing prompt accounts, or generally just stumbled onto the things I've been writing that have the Subterraneum_(Yutzen), you may have a variety of questions. Mostly ones like "the fuck's an Ifchi".

In the interest of giving folks and also myself a reference for the more appearance-based or species-related questions, and keeping track of general biology and capacities, here's a quick (by my standards) primer on each of the Subterraneum's major sentient species. Arranged in no particular order, with names (formal and very informal), basic measures and some elaboration on their looks, anatomy and more esoteric capacities, if any are involved. I will get to elaboration on their nations' actual setups on some other primer in the future, hopefully.

Included is also a quick, but probably necessary introduction on the "magic system" (for lack of better terms) in the Subterraneum, intentionally vague as it may be. The stuff goes deep enough to be biologically important after all.

Anyhow, here goes, hope it helps! And I apologize if any numbers seem ridiculous, which they'll probably be. Feel free to correct me but also physics are a little weird down there.

A NOTE ON AFFINITIES AND AMBIENT ENERGIES: It’s not just creatures that enter the Subterraneum through its various Exits. Ambient energies, background fields and other phenomena have been leaking through the rock for centuries on end, and the ever-present Radiance has blended them together over time into an uneven backdrop of strange, unrelated and even contradictory essences. The residents of the caverns have been affected by these background fields, and have changed to attune to and manipulate them in turn, with varying amounts of success.

The so-called “elemental” energies tend to manifest strongly and directly, by infused terrains and by the various species alike; whether this is part of how the elements work or an interaction (if not direct “preference”) from the Radiance it’s mixed with is unknown. Nevertheless, each of the usual species can often manifest such energies in their own unique ways, and individuals often show shockingly different affinities, even within the same species. Affinities with the Radiance itself vary similarly, though not one species can be said to be untouched by it.

It bears mentioning that the Radiance often interferes with other energies even in the midst of manipulation, adding a dose of unpredictability to the results. Those that can harness this, and tap into the Radiance’s unique metaphysical properties, can reach what is known as one of the ill-understood Sparks: Manipulation of a given element or property that actively, though selectively, breaches specific rules that usually govern it, reaching into metaphysical and sometimes even semantic territory.

Ifchi/Olms

(Singular and Plural are both Ifchi)

Average height: ~1.65 m, with length (including tail) closer to 2.2 m

Average weight: ~75 Kg (including tail)

Description: In truth they’re hardly olms, as most of their traits are closer to axolotls, down to the color variations; it varies on a spectrum, as stories tell of them being two species once that merged together post-arrival with Radiance-granted ease, leaving axolotl traits as dominant - though olm traits have been known to assert themselves in old age. Bipedal, slimy and damp at all times when healthy. They have four-fingered, nail-less hands with little strength, wiry limbs made more for quick movements than strength, and large, paddle-like tails that drag across the ground and let them swim faster than they can run. They have the expected branching frills, growing with age until they sag and droop during older ages; in especially ancient individuals they can even touch the floor. These frills can be a whole spectrum of colors themselves, too, solid but highly variable. The color tends to indicate affinity to ambient fields and energie, for these frills can sense, connect to and work as a focus when manipulating the ambient energies in a given area, Radiant or otherwise. As a result, “spellcasters” are widespread among the species, and their their manipulation of ambient fields oft takes highly recognizable, obvious forms, usually one-off high energy movements that do plenty, but don’t last long.

Ferigozi/Shard Moles

(Singular and plural are both Ferigozi)

Average Height: ~1.4 m

Average Weight: ~70 Kg, mostly (but not entirely) muscle

Description: Stout and bulky creatures on short hindlegs, with powerful forearms and hands bearing oversized claws that can crack solid stone. They have beady eyes and elongated, sensitive snouts that in some strains have extra-sensitive “whiskers” like star-nosed moles do, while others have more proper whiskers running along their snouts. Their eye-sight is lacking even by Subterraneum standards, but they have excellent senses for vibrations in the area, even minor shifts in the breeze. Early in their lifetimes they are almost entirely mole-like, with short, dense and very smooth fur in shades of brown and black; as they age, however, they start developing interlocking chitinous plates like pangolins do, reaching full tesselating coverage around middle-age. Their underbellies always remain furred, however, sometimes necessitating protection. Affinities with ambient energies are limited, and concentrated almost entirely in hands and claws, moving limited amounts of energy with very high precision. Given time and skill, however, Ferigozi can learn to infuse any and all materials with higher concentrations of a chosen ambient energy, with great control over the way they manifest into the material in question; such concentrations can take decades to dilute with a reasonably skilled practitioner.

Bannerbound/Hobgremlins

(Bannerbound works for both singular and plural)

Average height: ~1.7 m, though Bannerbound fluctuations are an exercise on why averages are more useless than you'd think

Average weight: ~70 Kg, with the same warning as above

Description: It’s theorized they started as an abundance of species rather than just one, and that the Subterraneum’s effects merged them into one; with the sheer variance in their forms, this is both likely and near-impossible to actually prove. They are the single most Radiance-susceptible species in the Subterraneum, displaying the changes of excess exposure even during early stages in their lives and going from there even when hardly exposed further. The basic and initial framework would be called humanoid, if the Subterraneum knew humans, ones with glowing eyes all over the spectrum and whose “skin” tends towards single, solid hues; beyond that everything from skin colors and hair to internal anatomy can vary depending on the individual and their affinities. Even things as basic as number and nature of limbs can vary in especially attuned Bannerbound. Their cultural imperative to hide their bodies under multiple layers of garments and secretiveness about their bodies does not help either. This extends into their interaction with ambient energies as well: They are attuned enough to the Radiance that they can infuse specific actions and even creations with the capacity to stretch, and even breach, specific principles and laws. They also have easier access to the Sparks than most other species in the Subterraneum, though their affinities with non-Radiance energies tend to be lower than usual.

Korves/Deep-Crows

(Singular Korve)

Average height: ~2.2 m

Average wingspan: ~4.7 m

Average weight: ~55 Kg

Description: Unquestionable corvids, barely straightened from a theropod stance. Tall, black-feathered and with tough beaks (and necks) that can crack flarewood with a peck. Their eyes are solid in color, often red or yellow, but highly variable in number; anywhere from one to six have been observed, often arranged asymmetrically. By themselves, Korves lack fingers on their wings, with the closest being the dexterous talons they stand on; unusually for the Subterraneum, such growths never came to pass, leaving the limbs only useful for flight and stunning blows. In theory, and in times past, they’ve made do with their legs for tasks requiring fine motor skills, but the species-wide symbiosis with otherwise infectious fungal species in the Valley have given them options: Korves are especially compatible with mycotic infiltration and growths, resisting most harmful effects and taking particular control of the species’ unique structures to the point of commanding its growth and movement. Often inoculated as hatchlings, even the most average Korve can grow finger-like protrusions at the end of their wings that can manipulate objects with a slow, but certain and powerful grip. Other such manipulations have been observed, from carved and immobile growths to whipping tendrils and all in-between, and in rare cases even modification of the symbiote with ambient energies. All this is available to a skilled and willful Korve – so long as their ravenous combined appetite remains sated at all times.

Chelies/Swallows

(Singular Cheli)

Average height: ~1.2 m

Average wingspan: ~2.5 m

Average weight: ~30 Kg

Description: While clearly avians, Chelies are more anthropomorphic (and smaller in all aspects) than the Korves, standing more directly upright. Their wings are thin and thickly-feathered, with flat, claw-like growths on the inside of the wingtip that can grasp like hands would and still fold back into the wing to keep its shape aerodynamic. In addition, they have a similarly bony, though much thicker spur closer to the base of each wing, naturally sharp and often given further edge by the Chelies themselves. Between that, their raptor-like talons and beaks that have lengthened and sharpened with generations, their resemblance to actual swallows nowadays is dubious – though they still retain their red and blue plumage, even thicker and more intensely colorful than ever before. Their need for flight has given them strong, though wiry musculature that grants them speed and agility alike, showing less maneuverability but greater speed than Vezarym in the air. Unlike the Vez – and most Subterraneum species at that – Chelies have excellent eyesight, both close up and at a distance, able to pick out details and movement even in the most spore-choked of caverns. When it comes to ambient energies, they seem entirely unable to affect inorganic materials, or themselves for that matter: Every effect they can induce through their claws and spurs is a “slow burn” applied to other living beings. This is most often applied in their well-known fungal gardens, manipulating otherwise mundane species into something else entirely.

Troxi/Quillskinks

(Singular and plural are both Troxi)

Average height: 1.3 m, with length including tail closer to 2.1 m

Average weight: ~45 kg (including tail)

Description: Skinks is not necessarily the right term, they have too many hints of theropod (and maybe even kobold) in them to truly call them such, but they are reptiles nonetheless. Troxi always have long, whip-like tails that can be shed and regrown, almost always longer than the rest of their bodies, their eyes have invariably slit pupils, and their scales are always in patterns of three different colors. As a norm, their bodies and limbs are toned and slender, with small, yet rough scales. However, this is but a guideline: Variations and mutations – scarce at first, yet reliably transmissible unlike Bannerbound alterations – have made themselves present startlingly quickly, putting the species in biological flux since the establishment of the Republics proper. It’s speculated this is the same process of accelerated “evolution” that affected all previous dwellers, though all projections hint that it’s happening far faster than expected, for unknown and oft-speculated reasons. Whatever the truth may be, Troxi can be seen with different scale patterns and types, spikes along their sides, variable tongues, among many other possibilities. The newest generations even exhibit one uniform change in comparison to their forebears: The emergence of a pattern of colorful feathers along the ridge of their backs, never equal between Troxi yet always present. It’s this newest alteration to the species that’s given them their informal (and sometimes unwanted) nickname.

Shumhaq/Sandhusks

(Singular and plural remain the same)

Average height: ~0.9 m (length including tail is closer to 2.1 m)

Average weight: ~85 kg

Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Shumhaq are closer to arachnids than insects, and closer to scorpions than spiders in that regard; they are the tallest of the Hive members, with the hardest exoskeletons as well. Their framework varies relatively little compared to other Subterraneum species: Six strong, chitinous legs their bulbous, armored abdomens stand on, a scorpion tail that stretches back complete with a sharp stinger, and an upright, armored half with an eighteen-eyed head with grinding chelicerae. Their grasping limbs are “concentric” pincers, with a large, crushing pair surrounding a smaller, more dexterous set of pincers that fit neatly within sockets at the base. Their stingers secrete toxins, with variable but powerful effects that can be affected by the infusion of ambient energies – the only manipulation of such Shumhaq appear capable of – which change how they affect biology and even inanimate materials. Much like other Hive members, they have different castes, but they vary very little in comparison, simply altering their anatomical proportions; mostly, their stingers and their claws tend to be inversely correlated in size. Shumhaq as a whole are, in fact, particularly hardened against any altering and mutating effects, whether Radiance-related or not – it is suspected their genetic sequences and general anatomy have “hardened” in response to such exposure to the point of “burning out” any capacity for further change.

Syhaq/Candlebees

(Singular and plural remain the same)

Average height: ~0.7 m (length is closer to 1.8 m)

Average wingspan: ~2 m

Average weight: ~60 Kg, though often heavier thanks to wax production

Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Syhaq are undoubtedly bee-like in look and physiognomy; they are the shortest of the Hive members, and often the portliest. They all have iridescent wings, fuzzy, stout abdomens striped in black and white, four furred legs to bear their weight, and four-fingered hands at the end of two chitinous limbs, as well as oversized compound eyes with unusual white bioluminiscence. Their antennae are often thick and a foot long at minimum, and the main source of the beeswax Syhaq are known for: They’re used to both secrete the substance in significant amounts, sculpt it as it goes, and even infuse it with varied elemental energies that create different “recipes” with very different properties. This is far from the only place this wax comes from, however; their entire bodies are almost always covered in the stuff, clumping together if not groomed, and in certain overproductive castes they often form stiff “tendrils” (much like planthopper nymphs) that the Syhaq can sculpt to their leisure for different purposes. Another anatomical matter that depends on the caste is the presence of a stinger; not all of them have one, and in those that do its effects can vary from a simple, empty stabbing weapon to an injector of powerful paralytic toxins.

Zivhaq/Flayer Bugs

(Singular and plural remain the same)

Average height: ~1 m (length is closer to 2.7 m)

Average weight: ~45 Kg

Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Zivhaq are the longest, slimmest and most anatomically complicated of the Hive members, most resembling a blend of centipede and praying mantis. Their elongated, wingless abdomens stand upon dozens of long, sharp legs that stop abruptly once the thorax begins – from there, four more limbs sprout, two of which end in four-fingered hands while the uppermost pair ends in sharp, scythe-like extremities that can be tucked almost completely into their bodies. Their faces have flat compound eyes, elongated, flexible chelicerae and long antennae that split apart into multiple shifting protrusions. The entirety of their frame is highly flexible, and Zivhaq have a highly developed kinesthetic sense that gives them excellent control of it. They can squirm through gaps mere inches in diameter, curl themselves up tightly and stretch their own limbs to almost twice their size. This combination is the result of unique adaptations for the sake of disguising themselves as other species: Zivhaq gain their nickname by the capacity to use discarded exoskeletons, pelts and actual skin of other creatures to impersonate them, by crawling and puppeteering such exteriors with their abundant extremities and highly flexible vocal apparatus. Such capacities have naturally pushed them to the fringes from the expected paranoia, making their societies highly secretive. This has made the deeper details of their anatomy, including any ambient energy manipulation, very difficult to publicly discern.

Nirhaq/Longbrook’s Moths

(Singular and plural remain the same)

Average height: ~0.8 m (length is closer to 1.8)

Average wingspan: ~3.5 m

Average weight: ~25 Kg

Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Nirhaq are entirely lepidopteran, closest to moths but still bearing elements of butterflies when it comes to their wings; their anatomies are the most enigmatic of the Hive members, with little study in comparison to the others. Standing upon four fluffy legs, with elongated and thickly-furred abdomens, and six-fingered hands at the end of two fuzzy limbs at their thorax, they tend towards darker colors in both fur and chitin. They have large, compound eyes that shine in the dark with elaborate patterns, curled antennae that twitch and twist, and dexterous proboscii with tiny chelicerae at the end that can slowly snip off solid food. The most intriguing part of their anatomies is their wings: Moth-like or butterfly-like, with the occasional merge of transparencies and opacities between them, they always bear elaborate patterns that shift at the Nirhaq’s will, and have a variety of instinctual displays seemingly kept in their “genetic” memory, which can be expanded further through learning. It is here that their intrigue lies: These Hive members have instinctive access to a variety of supernatural symbology and “languages” that bypass mental filters on perception and directly “tell” the brain to perceive certain things, imposing audiovisual illusions over their forms that are partially at the Nirhaq’s control. This makes them the most secretive of the Hive members, often passing themselves as citizens of other species throughout their lives.

Vezarym/Thrumhorn Bats

(Vezarym works for both singular and plural)

Average height: ~2.4 m

Average wingspan: ~5.5 m

Average weight: ~45 Kg

Description: Tall, slender chiropterans with enormous wingspan and powerful footclaws, graceful in flight and upside-down yet always hunched by the weight of their wings when standing upright. They have arms beneath their wings, an additional pair of limbs with vestigial membranes of their own to aid in steering, and actual (if delicate) hands. Their snouts are closer to fruit bats, though unusual protrusions from their noses are very common, and their needled fangs work on meat and mushroom alike. Their eyesight is decent, but very short, aided by their bioluminescent eyes (usually but not always yellow) when it comes to perceiving what’s right in front of them, but falling off mere meters away. Vezarym have appropriately huge ears with “concentric” growths within that seemingly aid in focusing sound, aiding their pin-point echolocation alongside their powerful lungs and bony throat ridges that serve as both amplifiers and protection. Sitting between their ears are short horns shaped like a lyre, that thrum with sound both emitted and received – this is believed to aid in both echolocation and regular listening, but it’s theorized they are also fundamental in ambient energy perception and manipulation. Said manipulation is always subtle, never forceful, seemingly resonating and either amplifying or dampening a given element (or several) in the area, with stronger effects when working together: Multiple harmonizing Vezarym can completely shift a place’s elemental alignment for however long their ‘song’ lasts.

Toskars/Shard Badgers

(singular Toskar)

Average height: ~1.9 m

Average weight: ~120 Kg

Description: Heavyset creatures, taller than the Ferigozi while keeping similar (initial) musculature. Their tough and unruly fur is always vertically striped, often black and white, though there are some who can have very light cyan and/or deep, dark blue instead. They have somewhat oversized hands and feet on relatively short, though muscular limbs, with tough (though blunt) claws upon all digits. Toskars are not wholly badgers, and even in their early lives they show some seal-like traits like webbing between their fingers and a layer of insulating fat under their hides. With age, their fur grows thicker and tougher still – with time, the fur on their backs starts to harden into chitinous, sharpened quills that bristle when the Toskar feels tense or threatened. More pinniped traits start manifesting more intensely as well, with males and females alike growing further, bulking up and often growing thick, quilly mustaches; some select castes even develop small tusks where their fangs once were as they reach middle age. Their affinities with ambient energies rarely manifest more than a few inches outside of their bodies, with no clear focus organ or limb. Much like the Ferigozi, they can learn to infuse material with such energies, but such infusions rarely last beyond a few hours. However, they find the manipulation and infusion of energies within their own organic material much easier, letting skilled practitioners empower their bodies in unpredictable ways.

[yutzen]

Tak-Fizun, the Chained City

The Vezarym Consortium. One of the oldest nations of these caverns, and I only say “one of” because I’ve found no record that can properly straighten out whether they, the Clans or the old Nakravia[1] were truly the first in our current maps. Notably, however, their current capital is not the oldest of the capitals, not by far. No, Tak-Fizun is but a replacement, the city that took the lead and ran far ahead with it once the city we now call Old Zik-Fizun was razed by a pyroclastic flow. Ah, the New Zik-Fizun project was amusingly naive, in how these things work; cities can be rebuilt exactly how they were, and both Old and New Zik-Fizun are fine cities in their own way, but capitals are a more fickle thing than that. More than masonry and the populace inhabiting it, they’re symbols, the structural and political face the region shows everyone else. And as it turns out, a railway hub turned into a luminous, bustling, ever-busy market of markets, all suspended above the darkness below, was a perfect face for the Consortium.

And it’s this suspension that brought me to visit it, not so long ago, looking for a few clearer answers on why a railway hub comes to be suspended on chains above the Stygian Maw, of all places. Surely stringing up an entire city above a miles-high abyss isn’t the wisest of moves. At the very least, eccentricities aside, it seems horrendously expensive, which is not something the Consortium is known for liking. And sure enough, it is: The eighteen chains are as titanic as they say – they look quite a bit more imposing in person than any second-hand imagery would tell you, stretching so far into the dark you can hardly see their anchors – and the price paid for them was immense. The deals needed to be forged with the Kingdom of Ferigoz to have them cast and installed, railway hub and all, are the stuff of legend. And if you’ve read my work before, you’d know I am one for digging past the mystique to reach the truth of a legend.

The first thing you notice once you stride onto the Iron Rim of the city, where the chains are hooked, is a faint smell of smoke. Nothing like the Red Plateau or the Spires, or Lords forbid, Asniblias[2], but definitely off-putting for those used to cleaner winds. But when you know the chasm it’s suspended over, you’re almost thankful for the smoke – the bottom of the Stygian Maw is outright sordid, and not a hint of that putrefaction makes it up to the city. Just the smoke of home and industry: Firewood, coal, and a few hints of oil.

Deeper in, and you find yourself surrounded by the many towers of the city. You may feel a pang of bafflement at the idea of a suspended city being so vertical, until you see the winged shapes flitting back and forth across them, and you realize the streets you walk on are but a formality. And if you have the eyes for that, you’ll spot the abundant catwalks between towers right after that, as if each floor were universal rather than a matter for each individual tower. A seemingly universal agreement among structures meant for very different inhabitants and purposes – as you will then see by the rather eclectic architecture, oft combining the dark angular spires you’d expect with imitations of other nations’ styles. You’ll notice one common thread, with every tower lined with jutting barbs that make them seem entirely unwelcoming… And then you’ll narrow your eyes, and realize they’re actually perches, so that conversations and transactions may be done comfortably inverted. Of course, you will only take these sights in if you’re good enough at blocking certain distractions out. If you ever visit, I warn you: The very moment you’re past the Iron Rim you will be assailed by enthusiastic peddlers, and generally enthusiastic Vezarym that wish you a good stay. And of course, I don’t mean to be rude and place them both in the same category. In fact, even the peddlers would hardly be a bother; so long as you understand what you’re in for, and understand all the prices involved, everyone can walk away happier. The simple hangup I personally have with this part of the path is that all Vezarym understand our hearing isn’t as sharp as theirs, and that they have to up their usual whispery speech to match. And far too many of them overcompensate. The words “Nizika kan chirza-ni[3]” will be chiseled into your eardrums the first time, I assure you.

Nevertheless, past the Iron Rim and the outer towers, heading towards the center of this suspended metropolis, you will see actual industry at work. Great smokestacks hiding among the assorted towers, spewing steam and heavy smokes into the air, become a common sight; you will not see the factories themselves unless you head down towards the actual innards of the city, but the rattling underneath your steps and the distant rumble of steam engines are unmistakeable. The towers around you give way from shops and abodes to offices where you order rather than buy, sign deals rather than exchange. Now you’ve entered the true and proper heart of the Consortium, its rail iron arteries snaking towards its every corner, and the borders of every nation it can reach, and its locomotive lifeblood coming and going without pause. Overstretched metaphors aside (and I do apologize), this is where my last trip to the Consortium found me, as I readied to look deeper into the deals that forged the chains that hold this city aloft. I didn’t just want the classroom version, told to their pups when it’s time to learn the version of history where half the truth’s been polished away to leave a shiny, appealing lie. I wanted the scraps, to look into the missing pages to piece together what was written on them, to dive into the very ledgers of the transaction that made sure Tak-Fizun could exist. And fortunately enough, a scholar in my position has the right pointers, from the right contacts, to know where to look… And in this case, I knew what I needed to pursue, most of all, was a contract. For in any deal of this magnitude there must be something written down, even if only to tuck it away in an old vault until the paper rots away. Vezarym may oft pride themselves in the art of the informal deal, with nothing but spoken words, but these are nations speaking to one another, and their every word is an individual document. I just needed to find at least one, and track the rest from there; just one crumb is enough to find the whole loaf, as I’ve heard some say. Fortunately for me, they attempted an old trick that weeds out most adventurous sorts, and all those who are merely duty-bound in what they’re trying to investigate. Rather than file it away under lock and key, stowing the paper trail away in a grand, impenetrable vault, they hid it away as if it were entirely mundane, scattering it to the winds of bureaucracy across multiple civilian archives. Hidden amidst the endless piles of old litigation, business contracts and real estate purchases, among other such things. Indeed, the monotony alone would turn away almost everyone, and the fruitless search that follows would stop even the most determined, as they’d have to deal with the inherent troubles of such a search in such a mundane, unglamorous and entirely open environment. The delays between working hours, requests, and the fact no smash-and-grab will ever be possible when so much time is needed to find one’s prize, forcing them to cooperate with a process that could well outlive them… Subterfuge, however, breaks through just fine, as the mundanity involved is a perfect disguise to those who know how to wear it.

All it took was knowing just one of these archives, a simple (if oversized) notary office, and going from there. Documents seeking a signature from someone who never existed, observation of the patterns when faced with a less-than-routine procedure, keeping track of the new and the old – and the outright geriatric, for that matter – and pouncing on distractions to know where matters were indexed… After that, taking a different name and making it seem like I’d been a part of the archive for months, if not years, was almost easy. Why, I was just another worker, of the sort that come and go, moving on to newer things, newer places, their place among the files just a stepping stone in their lives, just a source of sustenance. And looking back, that wasn’t too far from the truth, wasn’t it? Much as I wasn’t there for a salary. No, prowling the files, browsing the indexes, digging through the dustiest of paper piles, any servitude and actual work done throughout was to thin the possibilities, close in on the true target. Even if it meant being the last to leave just to have more time. For an office is an office, and a job is a job; only ones with a passion for their work would question the things that make their shift easier and smoother, and over there, none ever did. Well, one did, quicker than I both expected and hoped, but not quick enough to make it count. The one that would’ve been my supervisor, had I been working there… Perhaps I gave myself away just a little, with our occasional clashes when I offered to be more helpful than most were. But more likely she just didn’t believe what the documents and her own eyes were telling her, that I’d been there for some time already. To her, the past in this archive wasn’t quite so blurry and temporary, as it’d be for the ones at my “level”, and thus she was likely catching on despite my little tricks. Right when I was finally closing in on what I needed… But unfortunately for her, and perhaps shamefully for me, there were other ways. As she approached and chimed in, I spoke misleadingly, a little bit cluelessly, just a stray, baiting little explanation related to some entirely unrelated security contract, as I thought of what to do. And when she let annoyance creep into her voice with her answer, I got an idea… and I took it as a chiding, the one that finally snapped the wagon’s wheels. I whirled around and went off on her, about how she’d kept chiding me throughout my “employment” from beginning to end. That I had been doing everything right and yet she continued to judge and berate, even now. Especially now, that I had been more proactive. That I’d been trying to make it all right. I was positively furious! Enough that I ended up “cracking” and telling her she’d breached our every contract, and that she owed me. And let me tell you, especially those of you that don’t know Vezarym: That is one loaded word indeed.

Ah, the wrath of a bureaucrat. It can be frightening if you aren’t fully sure of what you’re doing, the moment you don’t know where you stand is the moment you are swept away in a flood of rules and verbosity, and brought low by laws you hardly knew existed… Another recommendation to all: You have to know where you stand, your rights and wrongs. What doesn’t concern you can be left as a second priority, but you cannot forget what does. This is the metaphorical defense… as for the offense? You must poke where there may be doubt. Even if it’s a stab in the dark at the edges of the matter, you have to hit on a point where they aren’t entirely sure, and show utter confidence in doing so. Even if you know so little you aren’t sure whether you’re lying or not. And when that doubt shows itself, you pounce upon it.

And it worked, of course, though I had far more advantages than she thought, and of course just enough forgery to make sure she’d have to start sifting if she wanted to prove me wrong. And that bought me the last few moments I needed to find what I needed. Unassuming little contracts in a pile, right between some old caravan contracts and a few permits for digging wells at the bottom of the Stygian Maw[4]. So I feigned one last snap, declaring I didn’t have to take this, that I would only see her with an arbiter by my side, and simply stormed off… never to be seen again. In case you are reading this, dear notary, I won’t give away your name, it would be a discourtesy at this point. But, one last salute to the one that caught on, and I do apologize for the grief I put you through during that moment, as well as those that followed. If it’s any consolation, you can rest assured this will hurt them far more than it ever did you. Now, to the actual affairs, as I could examine them once I had switched the metaphorical mask for (very real) reading glasses.

Even in this there were encovering layers and details, of course. The materials, their transport, their forging and even their installation upon their current places, they all had a very different contract regarding their purchase, one that at first glance would seem heavily weighted in favor of the Consortium if taken at face value. Especially in all dealings involving the laborers themselves; it seems so obvious to send your own experts on the matter to assist in the actual process that it almost feels crass to point them out directly in the contracts, with numbers and titles and even names as part of the body rather than the signing parties. As if they were but another payment in themselves. But then I looked into the very edges of these chains of deals, those so mundane I could have simply asked for them without bothering with my little ruse. Where properties were bought and sold, simple warehouses and lavish, yet unremarkable homes. Where services were promised and rendered, by names missing their titles and importance. Where transportation was ordered and paid for, while being as oblique as possible about what was actually moved. Layers of mundanity whose lies are all by omission, easily missed if you didn’t know the context. If you weren’t aware of the backbreaking effort those “all present furnishings included” clauses were truly doing. The far more famous titles hidden behind those ordinary names. The thoroughly-avoided contents of every cart and wagon made to cross between Ferigoz and the Consortium during those key months. Refined flux. Sallow-Silver. Sunderstone. Eyes of Al-Zari, ten carats minimum. Alchemical reagents, very particular ones, including some infamous ones like gillsbane and cryptcrawler sap. If you know even one of these, you may be alarmed – and should be, mind you – but I would be neither surprised nor up to judge if you didn’t recognize even one. Allow me to summarize for you: These are all ingredients, of the metallurgical kind. The sort of metals and additives you’d need to smelt silver and gold and even platinum into something properly weapons-grade, treat them until they’re harder and sharper than steel, without losing an ounce of weight, and as untarnishable as ever. All with a side of the sort of gems you’d need to imbue said metals with ambient energies, which such rich materials conduct frighteningly well. Weapons-grade precious metals, all in all, and the jewelry to further empower them. Enough of it all to arm and armor whole regiments… All of it yet to be smelted and forged, delivered to those who knew how to work them, and knew the needs involved. Needs that were, perhaps, eclectic, far from uniform even. The sort of uneven needs that you’d have if you were to equip, say, mercenaries, rather than any state-formed army. After all, it had happened before: The Brotherhood of Silver Shields, the Resplendent Regiment, and Nilzag’s Diamonds had blazed these gold-paved trails in the past.

Indeed. I am almost entirely convinced that, in return for these chains, in exchange for their design, their manufacture and their installation, the Consortium and the Kingdom pacted the beginning of the fourth Gilded Raid. Rather than the result of the Vezarym gaining the upper hand, wielding their accumulated wealth and power to carve through the land with a horde of elite sellswords they equipped and trained themselves, this was a compound effort. And while I can only speculate on the extent of their cooperation, on who called each given shot, the fact this was the only Raid since the first that ever targeted the Voska Empire has some intriguing implications all by itself. The usually-cordial relations between Kingdom and Empire were at a low point by then, after all, and the whispers of the King wanting retribution for Voska’s affronts were well known[5]…

It would match up very well with the damage the Raid itself caused. Far less damage to the Kingdom than usual, even when ransacking the crops near the border to keep their supplies. The Ifchi enclaves in the Hollow-Lands had their share of suffering, but still remarkably less than the Second or Third. Tower territories were struck as hard as ever, not quite as damaging as the Third, yet far more than the First… But Voska? It took decades to recover any ground that wasn’t frozen after all was said and done. It was a blow to their power and their reputation alike – especially the latter, finding themselves forced to fend off fancy, gold-covered sellswords at the very gates of their own capital. Their old territorial ambitions were put on hold for nearly a century after that…

Yet with the idea in mind that this was the work of two nations rather than one, suddenly the Empire seems a little more respectable in managing to fend off such a thing. We all knew the Fourth was a dangerous one, but the details of just how much are, as always, mired in more historical muck than one would wish… But this? It leads one to believe it was far worse than either the Consortium or the Kingdom would publicly portray. Especially as the former distances itself from the idea of such raids, and the latter offered quite a few trades and dealings to aid the Empire in standing back up, though what they got in return was far clearer than this: Understandably or not, the deals were lopsided, the prices hiked in the Kingdom’s favor, with interests stretched far into the decades to come, and lightened with time as a favor, to cleanse all the bad blood that had built up between them…

And all of this, they got for forging and grounding the chains that suspend Tak-Fizun above its chasm, bridge and city in one. All of that, in exchange for doing what the Ferigozi do best in a far grander scale than before, yet still very much their expertise… Why, it almost feels like a bargain, of the sort the Consortium rarely offers, does it not?

I suppose we will all find out how close I was to the truth by the level and nature of the pursuits that’ll follow once this is published and read. But then again, the Consortium and Kingdom alike appear far more reasonable to my eye than the Tower would ever be, especially about events that went down centuries ago, with every offender involved long dead[6]. But that may perhaps be too optimistic, isn’t it? Perhaps it’ll become a situation where the mildest thing one might have to do is call me an utter liar, to dismiss all I have laid out as a flight of fantasy – which is reasonable enough, so much of the proof I have is rather more perilous to deliver than I’d like. But I’m sure there will be great deliberation on the idea that you have to act, because otherwise, there will be signs of weakness, chips in an armor that should not exist, and hardly does. Perhaps in bringing this up and making it public, where it was already known in hushed whispers, I have created a whole affair that imperils me, because it tampers with reputations as a whole. All the more reason to go ahead and publish, I say. Ironically and hypocritically enough, these little masquerades aren’t something I’m a fan of.

To my faithful readers, I thank you for your time in finding and reading another one of my tales, and hope it’s at least painted you an image of what to expect from this chained city, and the Consortium as a whole… good and ill alike. To those new to my scattered writings, those who picked this up on a whim or a whisper, I hope you learned something as well, and that I’ve painted a proper picture of the Vezarym nation for you, distant as you are[7]. And to those that are ever so alarmed to see my name again, and the little secrets it brings upon all I’ve signed, well… do what you must. I wish you good luck finding me. Yours truthfully, the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh. [1]Korve territories that now form the Northern sector of the Pact of Krawgry, for those not aware. Which is likely, there are quite a few reasons this particular proto-nation is oft forgotten. [2]Northeastern side of the Kingdom of Ferigoz, for those lacking a map. Quite an industrious place with metalworks of the sort that carve their place into history itself, but the fumes are the stuff of legend themselves. [3]The rough literal meaning is “may you harmonize well [with the choir]”, but in this case it’s meant as “enjoy your stay”. [4]I am as confused and perturbed as some of you likely are. Barring using the leachate as a pseudo-ore for the more toxic metals, or perhaps as a form of slow-poisoning a despised spouse, I can hardly think of a use for the percolated sludge you’d get out of such a well. Worse still, at least one of them was approved. [5]By historical standards, of course. But to provide context: King Alvigaz IV took the throne earlier than most, barely old enough not to need a regent. The Kingdom already had a hard time respecting this, but the Voska Empire, riding the highs of successful conquests in the North and eyeing Kingdom territories close to the Hollow-Lands, were eager to taunt and provoke, with both insults and border skirmishes aplenty. Alvigaz was young and unstable, but shrewder than he seemed, to the point my current theory hinges on the idea this looks very much like something he would do. [6]And here goes the obligatory “as far as I know”. Life and death can be so inconsistent down here, and the thought that some distant participant, or perhaps even Alvigaz IV himself, would still be alive to bring retribution on my head… it’s far fetched, utterly unlikely, but unfortunately for me it is not impossible. [7]I am obviously not discounting the possibility that these writings somehow made it to the Consortium, and perhaps Tak-Fizun itself, in which case this would all feel a little absurd. And in which case, seeing that you have a fairly sensitive datum in your grasp, I would also recommend that you start running if you haven’t already.

[yutzen]

Castles in a Black Sky

Seven clans, seven banners, seven versions to make one. Indeed, the story that follows has been compiled from Bannerbound sources, much to the presumable chagrin of some of my readers in the Great Dust Gyre. To them I say: I apologize, but I know a common narrative when I see one.

If it helps, I must commend the effort each of the seven clans put into the preservation of their particular version. All the usual work of collecting the scattered scraps, combing through the dust and dirt of pre-Refuge history and scouring the embellishments of overenthusiastic or agenda-driven writers and tellers? All practically done for me before I got started. It’s preservation done right, in a way a jaded soul like me can appreciate and even celebrate. I will say: If retaining all you can of who you used to be is truly what the Seven are looking for, you are doing it right.

It’s thus almost a shame that the work I had to do was to find the parallels and common themes, and step forwards with the apparent sacrilege of weaving them into one. All I’ll say is this: Someone had to.

They say death is one of the only things we all have in common, but they barely know how right they are! It hardly matters where you were born, where you moved, where you died, and where you’ll go, everyone gets plucked off the world. And more importantly, one thing we can all agree on? We all get reaped by the same Harvester[1]. Pits, Skies and whatever else the others have, wherever you’re going, you’ll be sent on your way by the exact same fellow as everyone else. And she’ll[2] find ya anywhere and everywhere.

But is that all she is? One who lives for the job and nothing else? You would think so, and dare I say even she might have, once. But in those rare lulls between each passing? In those quiet times between wars where all flourish, or in those places where there’s nothing left to drop? In those time well before us, even? Turns out there’s a lot of time to fill. And even those diligent, stone-minded sorts who live to work have to find something to do in those bits of meantime.

Of course, someone like her took a long while to realize this. Still well before our time, but plenty had stood up and fallen by the time she started to wonder, maybe there was more to these interims than waiting. One can guess the thought caught her right as she was looking at the bones of someone she’d sent off a little later than usual, on a busy day. Maybe a catch-up sort of day. It was one of those fellas that never got sent off right, though, that one’s clear[3]. One of those fellas that scatter their bones all over her foyer, so to speak, because they came right along with the part of ‘em that mattered most. She just shooed ‘em along before that, made the lot take those bones with ‘em to whatever came next. But that one time, something must’ve happened for her to start wondering, maybe she could do something with those, with the wait ahead of her.

Quick as she is – don’t need to waste time moving when you’re already there – she’d have them tucked away before the next one came in, saving them up in some forgotten corner, some place so dead, so bereft of anything that she had to pluck it from the rest of the realm like a common soul. But the pile seemed disorderly, chaotic, didn’t seem like it was making the most of its space, so she tidied it up. Then did it again, after the thought there’d be more bones crossed her mind, they’d need to fit somewhere, may as well make them support each other! Halfway through making the base of a decent pillar before duty called again. Or at least, that’s what she saw it as when she got back to it later… How much later? Doesn’t matter. What matters is she had another handful of bones with her once she did, from another poor fool who dropped dead where no one but her would find ‘em.

Something about this caught her, practically entranced her. Maybe she finally realized there was something else other than her job and the wait. Or maybe she saw a future in these shapes she was putting together, or the potential ones in her head now that she had something to think about. But before she’d realized, she had built herself a room. A proper, actual foyer, where the metaphorical one had been. That’s the one you see in paintings[4], though she’d done work on it since then. And she thought what any of us would’ve, by then: “Maybe I could build a big house to go with this”. And so, she got started on that, and what was once a house became a manor, and then a proper Castle. Oh, she had to wait for wars to sweep across the olden lands for it, for drought and ice and plague to sweep by a few times, but sooner than she or anyone would realize, she had a Castle to herself, that would put anything we’ve built to shame. All of it from the bones of the forgotten.

As she who reaps us all took a moment of peace once the living had found accords, and the passings slowed down, she started to notice a few things amiss. For even the cleanest, most bleached of bones still have their scraps – bits of carrion, the little pests that feast on it, whispers of mourning, all wisps of clingy life. Very little of it manages to hold on when passing into her realm, but something always does when you move enough bones to dwarf even the tallest of Ironbound Keeps[5]. These scraps of rot and life had piled on enough that she could see figments of actual life in her realm, skittering and wandering the halls, taking shape little by little as it found more to shape itself. And the more scraps they found, the closer each little wisp could get to becoming something…

And it fascinated her. As someone who’d seen life come and go, but never stay, the keeper of a threshold where no one lingered more than a few moments, the idea of having something in her realm even remotely close to alive was thrillingly new. She had something to look forward to beyond her job now! Even if every realm fell, and her work came to an end, there would be something still!

So she committed to these collections, these architectures, more than ever before. She looked forwards to those neglected souls that weren’t sent off right, because there would be more for another Castle, one greater than the last. More scraps for the entities that slowly came to be within these structures. Now even a simple delay could mean she’d get there before the mortals could do their part, and rake as much of life’s detritus as she could into her ever-greater foyer.

Well, it paid off. Castle after Castle arose by her hands, each far greater and more luxurious than the one before it – luxurious as bone can be, at least. But when the time came to assemble her next masterpiece, with a bundle of ivory where her shears usually were, she turned around and found there was no room. She’d gotten deeply invested in these Castles when there was no harvest to pursue, that she had utterly filled her own liminal realm. It seemed so utterly empty once, she never thought it would happen!

Then she looked back towards mortal lands. Not towards those places where all the dying had been done – those were hers already – but those that were almost there. Those that just needed a few more lives to go, a little push, and they would be right in her realm, too dead to contest. She turned her gaze towards one island in particular, surrounded by so many, greater than the rest and yet so much emptier, with but a few souls still standing upon it.

She reached for her shears once more.

And just like that, the island was gone[6].

The Castle she built after that was magnificent, and perhaps the liveliest of all. After all, it had come pre-inhabited, hadn’t it? And there was still plenty of room left for more. She had the ideas, too, the grand architecture for the next one whirling together in her immortal mind. All she needed was material.

You wonder why we take all the time and measures with the dead, no matter who? Strangers on the roads, enemies slain by our hand? You ever asked yourself why we bothered? This is why.

[1]An aggregated sort of translation from various different terms, with most referring to one whose job is to cut down and gather crops once grown and ready. Zau and Issouf are exceptions, both going with something closer to Gardener, with emphasis on trimming rather than reaping. In this, I am afraid I had to resort to the majority “vote”.

[2]Most of the seven Clans (Zau, Heese, Norrish, Vesnor) refer to this Harvester by female pronouns and terminology, while the remaining ones either use gender-neutral terms (Vesh, Issouf) or go far out of their way linguistically to not bring the matter up at all (Sofize).

[3]A branching point, with every clan referring to a different funerary method as the proper, loss-less way to send off the dead; all of them either permanently confine or destroy the body entirely. Levels of acceptance for other methodologies varied, but non-Clan methods were generally seen as passable, just not ideal.

[4]There are no less than 15 known artworks by the title of Atrium of the Harvest in the history of the Urul Peaks Clans and their predecessors, and it receives repeated mention and description in their fiction. Descriptions and details vary wildly beyond the ample use of bone, and even individual clans don’t have a unified vision of how it would look.

[5]Similar terminology is used in Bannerbound language to refer to the Ironbound Keep that gives their capital its name. The way it’s used seems to imply Ironbound Keeps were a class of fortification outright, and while the one the Seven currently occupy is the greatest of all, it’s by no means the only one (assuming, of course, that the ones in their realm still stand).

[6]This coincides with certain tales from Sofize, Norrish and Vesnor about “Azure Barrens”, a patch of water at the center of an archipelago where no wind stirred the waves, and where by all metrics there should be land, but they couldn’t find any. Given the current glacial state of the Urul Peaks realm, I imagine it’s become something of a moot point since then.

-Excerpt from “Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic”, authored by ‘the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh’ (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified and under active investigation)