Koilotheism: Walkers of the World Beyond

 When a world ends, there are often survivors.

Despite the scale and severity of the destruction that the death of a god can cause, a few generally escape unscathed thanks to sheer, callous luck.

Most die shortly thereafter, either in mourning or on the hellish march into the wastes.

A few live on past that point, thanks to the cruel hand of fate. It becomes their lot then to throw themselves upon the cold mercy of another hollow god-beast's passengers, in the hopes that they be welcomed into the fold.

Some people, for whatever reason, do not elect to prostrate themselves in the path of thousands of tons of rampaging stone.

Instead, they set off on their own path. They become the Walkers of the World Beyond.

Who?

Any castoff can become a Walker, though some are more likely than others.

The most likely candidate for the unlucky life of a Walker is a Watcher.

Watchers are the people most exposed to the outside world, spending the majority of their lives in the crags and tunnels of their god's rocky skin. In some communities they are treated like professional soldiers deserving of regular cycles between leave and active service. In others, they are considered a separate caste of people who should rarely, if ever, enter their god's Hollow.

Regardless of context, Watchers are always in possession of the best knowledge of the wastes around their god-beast. They know the paths, the limited resources, and the dangers- the many, many dangers. If a god falls and the Watchers avoid being crushed, or if some other upheaval leaves them without a home, they become the most able and perhaps even willing to brave the World Beyond.

Far less likely are the common folk: Hollow dwellers. The passengers who rarely if ever leave the placid confines of their god's empty mind are, overall, ill-equipped to handle the physical or psychological challenges of existence outside of what is both figuratively and literally their whole world.

This does not completely preclude them from survival in the wastes, of course. The incalculable widths and depths of a god's unconsciousness hosts many diverse dreamscapes and societies. If the powers that be in a particular koilos has deemed it fit, the Murmurers have helped sculp desolate landscapes which are not a terribly far cry from those of the World Beyond. And if the nation is a sharply stratified one, rest assured the least affluent and most persecuted groups will wind up in those parts. In this unlikely way, survivors are forged in the furnaces built by those who hold them in such contempt.

Rarest of all Walkers are individuals with some talent for the Murmur and the Hum.

Normally, this high sensitivity to the Hum directly leads to a Murmurer's death from the psychic backlash of of a god-beast's demise. Their deaths are often very loud, and very explosive, and can easily lead to chain reactions which cause even greater destruction. This can explain--though far from justify--a fraction of the bondage and scrutiny Murmurers are often held in.

Some survive the death of their god and vessel, and though most are killed either as consequence or out of fear of Dissonance, it is at least possible for a Murmurer to set out into the Wastes. To what end is unknown.

The only group who has essentially no chance of survival outside of one's koilos is one who was literally born of it. The practice is rare, and requires a highly skilled and controlled tradition of Murmuring, but mortal life can be harmonized into shape from the Hum of a god. These beings act like mundane humans in every way, and are often treated as equal persons- not that that is saying much, depending on the koilos. Some may be slaves, others kings. They can even reproduce after a fashion resembling that of humans, though their children are also concocted from the psychic energy of their originator.

The major difference is that when these Godborn die or leave home, they leave behind no bodies. They dissipate into their base elements on the spot and rejoin the koilos, accompanied by a vague and forlorn-sounding susurration.

When a god dies, every one of its godborn is simultaneously extinguished. Large populations of them can often lead to god deaths of truly explosive proportions, their shockwaves able to be felt across the wastes.

Where?

Anywhere but here.

Resources are excruciatingly scarce in the World Beyond. Where vegetation and potable do water exist, they are not likely to remain for very long. Life is like a fickle rodent, poking its head out of one of dozens of holes leading to its burrow. This can be an especially jarring discovery to anyone whose god-mind provided all sustenance, or even suspended its passengers' need for it.

Living outside of a koilos therefore calls either for ceaseless itinerancy, or impeccable conservation- oftentimes both. Fortunately, the world is utterly massive. There is always new and unknown land to venture into. Unfortunately, all of it is almost uniformly desolate with the same few pockets of solace amid deserts, crags, brackish seas, and stranger landscapes. Whatever ruined the World Beyond was truly massive--almost incomprehensible--in scope and intensity.

Perhaps the best path to follow, or at least one that is as good as any other, is one left by others. There are hints and suggestions across the world of former habitation, of the migration of foot-people. Sometimes a strange landmass sighted in the distance by Watchers is actually a shelter built by Walkers. More explicitly (and tragically), unfamiliar human corpses sometimes turn up in the wake of a koilos after it has rampaged over a hill or crag.

If the lucky ones are learned from, perhaps they might guide you somewhere. They might even lead you to a crossroads of wanderers, where words and goods are exchanged far more freely than between passengers. The hardest lesson for many new Walkers to learn is that the stranger from over the horizon might not be your enemy.

Why?

People tend to have purpose thrust upon them in this world. They may be psychic nourishers of the koilos, protectors of a god-beast, rulers or administrators, or Murmurers. Everyone fits- everyone is forced to fit. Those who don't, simply cease to be.

When a person who has spent so long as a vessel for their station in life finds themselves suddenly emptied of it, they tend not to react positively. Many of them crack, and few who do ever uncrack. But those who either keep themselves together, or cobble a semblance of themselves back together, often attack this new crisis with a vigor they never knew themselves to possess. They have to acquaint themselves with novel new forms of purpose, such as staying free of old bonds, or living for oneself for once. Freedom--true, awful freedom--often leads to profound changes in a person.

It can be as intoxicating as the certainty and security of a slowly grinding hierarchy.

Other, more grounding motivators also exist. One is highly unlikely to survive the World Beyond alone. Whether they are cemented by blood, suffering, or coincidence, families are a rare and precious resource that few are willing to part with once they get a taste.

More rarely, this familial bond extends further outward. It dulls a bit, intensity sacrificed in the interest of broad reach. But the communities it creates are unlike any that exist anywhere in any koilosphere. They grow to fulfill needs and strike a delicate balance between forces in a very direct and approachable fashion, unlike the distant hierarchies of home. Here, you won't be executicated--that is, excommunicated from the governing religious body in an overwhelmingly lethal manner--just for hashing out a disagreement with the spouse of one's neighbor, or similar banal acts.

Communities out on the wastes are never large- just a few dozen individuals pushing the envelop on how large a population can be sustainably scavenged for. But they offer the rarest and most vexing sensation in the world to those who struggle alongside them: hope. Hope for normalcy, hope for the land, hope for the future, or even just a vague and ill-defined infection of it.

Dissonance

Not all who wander are lost, but all those who stay behind absolutely are.

As brutal as the march into the wastes is, staying behind when a god dies is often far worse.

When a god dies, its mindscape quickly tears asunder and shunts the vast majority of its contents out onto the dead earth. That does not mean that they cease to be, however. Fragments of a god's psyche can and do persist long after it has died. They are no longer contained within a placid mind, and they tend to bleed out of the cracks in the dead beast's titanic corpse over the ensuing centuries. Godborn unlucky enough to die in the explosion can languish this way, starving and dwindling as they haunt the area like specters.

These fragments are often highly erratic in nature, able to influence nearby phenomena and people to devastating effect. They are like palpable waves of fever dream washing over the sand and rock. This unrestrained deific energy will pool wherever it can, and mortals have always been excellent vessels. The person does not need to have previously attuned to the god, nor do they need to demonstrate any sensitivity to the Hum at all. The dying echoes will fill in whatever it can until that is all that is left.

So it is that Resonance becomes Dissonance.

The most obvious evidence of a dissonant area is the way the land warps and changes. Sand twists around itself and rises up into glassy horns. Rock crumbles and grows spongy. The air dances around and loses all uniformity, with complete vacuums accompanying highly localized fog banks or storms.

Just as the land is altered, so too is the mind of anyone who dwells overlong in those places. Of course Dissonance doesn't turn anyone it pools within into a raving, violent lunatic. As evidenced by the wars between and within dogmatic passenger cultures, startling violence is and has always been the expertise of the terribly sane.

What it does, is greatly warp one's mindset into something that is not conventionally human. There is a reason most Murmurers are kept under such excruciatingly tight control by their communities- prolonged exposure creates quirks. Context, both for the self and the rest of the world, gets greatly shaken up by immersion in Dissonance. This alien worldview makes interfacing with more hidebound societies impossible, leading the latter to shun the former at large.

Not all see it as heresy or madness, however. Some, mostly the mobile Walkers, regard it merely as a byproduct of trying to stay put- a minor issue not of their concern, to be given little more than distant pity. Others, such as residents of the precious few permanent settlements that survive and even thrive in the wastes, see it as a form of enlightenment. Some go to great lengths, going on pilgrimage to seek out the graveyards of fallen gods where Dissonance is still strong.

What would happen if a talented Murmurer communed with such a location is not known.

Hidden Grave by Kevin Hou

Lamplighters: Pallite

"Finish whatever thought you are writing and then proceed this way, class.

This area is the morgue, which the administrators of the mine have been kind enough to allow us access to for this trip. Be grateful, pay close attention, and do not touch anything.

As I am sure you all know, the extraction of pallite is not without its dangers to the human body. What you are about to witness are the remains of a miner who has regrettably died from pallite poisoning in the past week. I am told that his name was Navin. While this is unfortunate for him, his family was selfless and considerate enough to donate his body to science. Take that to heart and show your respect, please- these are the men and women who keep your homes illuminated.

... Now, now. Keep it together, everyone. I warned you about eating lunch before coming here.

I am sure that some of you noticed the smell as soon as you entered. You've been looking particularly green around the gills since you walked in, Alisher. These body bags are made of very heavy-duty material, but even they have trouble suppressing an advanced case like this. Mind you, class, that this is not the scent of decay that you are smelling. This is the smell of raw, unrefined pallite. The smell clings to you long after everything has been scrubbed down with chemical wipes.

If you will step in closer--I said, if you will step in closer, thank you very much--you will see how advanced the tumors grew before Mr. Navin expired. Four of them metastasized, and the fifth here on his abdomen was well on its way.

See also how early signs of squamous-cell skin cancer began to appear on his face, as well as around his hands and lower legs- all of which are normally completely covered in protective clothing.

Yes, Rani, question?

I'm sorry?

Rani, Mr. Navin was not the victim of any "containment breach". There haven't been any breaches at any facility owned and operated by Morning Star Limited in half a decade, or so I am told.

This is the result of constant, low-level exposure to pallite radiation over the course of an average twenty-year career. As far as other Depth-3 miners are concerned, he died of natural causes.

Now please stand back while I attempt to excise one of his corneas.The damage caused by years of direct pallite illumination is quite distinct, and can even manifest as physical scratches on occasion..."

- Dr. Baruch Yohannes, Professor of Pathology at Canopus' Landing Polytechnic

A Brief History

The miracle fuel known as Pallite was discovered sixty-eight years ago.

It wasn't "discovered" so much as "stumbled onto by a half-dozen independent actors simultaneously", of course. Had it been the product of only a single team's experimentation, the human race would have come even closer to extinction at the end of the sun's final hours.

The first pallite deposits to be found were gas jets and liquid reservoirs close to the planet's surface. They were found by the lucky few who managed to bore deep enough into the earth to escape the immensity of the dark above ground. They were horrific sights, like sulfur lakes crossed with volcanic eruptions. But the lurid light each outcropping shed was different from the mundane sources of illumination that the survivors brought with them. It was enough to keep the deeper darkness at bay.

It was enough to draw humanity to it like moths to a flame.

As those filthy, fear-ridden refugee camps grew in size, their occupants dug deeper in order to compensate. It wasn't long before their picks and shovels struck pallite in its solid state. Being somewhat more stable in its crumbly mineral form, this was the first type of pallite which was deliberately harnessed as a light source.

Through painful trial and error, it was eventually adapted as a fuel just as it was needed most. Solar energy died with the sun, rendering the majority of non-emergency power sources useless. Centuries of abuse prior to that ensured that fossil fuel reserves were either depleted, or buried so far beneath the earth that the amount of labor available to humanity made extraction impossible. Not even burning wood was an option before long, thanks to the darkness caking up over the dead forests of the world. Anything that still grew out there was tainted. Geothermal and hydro power are still theoretically possible, and small attempts would be made to take advantage of them in the future.

But in that desperate time, humanity gave itself to pallite.

It embraced them, and in doing so exacted its price.

Properties of Pallite

There is no general consensus on what exactly pallite is. Theories posit that it is a newly discovered element, a group of isotopes of one or several elements, or more complex chemical compounds whose catalysts for creation are completely mysterious to experts at this time. Attempts to observe the atomic qualities of pallite have proven unsuccessful, primarily because of a lack of necessary equipment and professionals trained in its use.

In all states, its density and vapor pressure are slightly higher than that of sulfur. This, coupled with pallite's coloration and distinctive odor, has led some to draw the conclusion that pallite is some form of sulfur. While exposed to open air, pallite naturally evaporates or sublimates into a gaseous state and then dissipates over time according to its MTP-adjusted half-life.

(MTP Adjustment refers to the manner in which pallite "breaks" the normal laws of radioactive decay, if indeed that is even what you can call the change which pallite undergoes. Under normal conditions, any radioactive substance decays at a certain rate which is proportionate to its nuclear mass and unaffected by temperature or pressure. In pallite decay however, decay is theorized to be slowed down exponentially by the presence of other pallite nuclei, but sped up by applied temperature and pressure. To quote a cliche from a bygone era, "further research is needed".)

This release of energy results in pallite's "pallid light" and radioactivity. Applied heat or agitation of pallite in any state causes a higher release of energy. Sufficient disruption results in combustion. Efforts to observe or force the transition of gaseous and liquid pallite back into a solid state have ended... poorly.

It is unknown by what mechanism concentrations of pallite appear on or near the earth's surface. The leading theory is that the topographical phenomena caused by unobserved areas of steeped darkness penetrates deeper into the planet's mantle than first guessed. This deep and sometimes violent disruption allows outcroppings of pallite to rise up to the surface from whatever point of origin they have.

Carcinogenic Qualities

Pallite illumination offers few of the benefits that the sun once did.

It offers no Vitamin D, but very high levels of Vitamin C(ancer), and its strange properties vex many common-sense precautions. For example, an electrical generator should generate the same kind of electricity no matter what fuel it's designed to use. Pallite-generated electrical power, however, carries with it just a hint of its unique radiation, even through miles of wire. It simply shouldn't, but it does. This is doubly troubling due to the fact that over 90% of food is grown or raised under pallite-powered grow-lights. As heavily shielded as those lights may be, they can't block 100% of harmful radiation.

The average uninvolved citizen of a larger town has relatively little to worry about in terms of death by direct pallite poisoning, barring freak accidents such as explosions which could irradiate a building or area. But they do still live with moderately higher risks of illness or congenital conditions than people did before the Long Night began.

This moderate background fear is not the case for people who live in smaller settlements, or who have careers directly involved in the handling of pallite, such as Lamplighters and many trade workers. They face the much more serious risk of complications from handling, maintaining, or fueling pallite machinery, and it is much more common for sickness to manifest in several ways. Pallite miners or extractors rarely grow old enough to retire, and the average life expectancy of human beings in general has been pulled down by anywhere from five to fifteen years compared to a century ago.

Random Pallite Effects

While its effects are not as severe as those of deep darkness, exposure to raw, unrefined pallite can lead to a host of physical and mental health complications over time.

The average manual worker directly involved in the extraction of refinement of raw pallite, whatever its form, will eventually accumulate as many as four or five of the below conditions.

The average Lamplighter worth their salt suffers from at least one symptom of pallite poisoning, either rolled for, picked, or invented and agreed upon between the player and referee.

1d20	Pallite Poisoning Symptom, Mutation, or Condition
1	Adermatoglyphia – Years of handling raw pallite rock, or years of scrubbing away its greasy residue, have left you without fingerprints. You also lack sensation in your palms.
2	Alopecia Areata – Say goodbye to eyebrows, eyelashes, and other types of hair. It happens at random, and very unevenly.
3	Anosmia – A lifetime of steeping in the reek of unrefined pallite has deadened your sense of smell, and some of your taste.
4	Blindness – The lurid yellow has taken most of your sight from you, leaving you with visibly warped and damaged corneas. You can still detect pallite lights, somehow.
5	Cutaneous Horns – A little splash here and there has left you with several conical projections from the epidermis resembling horn, wood, or even coral. They make clothes and hats ill-fitting.
6	D-Deficiency – Your vitamin deficiency is even worse than most. You enjoy weaker bones as well as increased risk of cardiovascular disease, cognitive impairment, and all the cancers caused by pallite.
7	Flash Fever – A sudden, high dose of radiation from a mishap has left you vulnerable to episodes of elevated body temperature and delirium.
8	Haemolumia – Your red blood cells have become luridly bioluminescent. Some areas of your body even glow in the dark. That can’t be good.
9	Intestinal Distress – At one end or the other, your digestive tract has decided to take a long-term purgative approach to some radiation sickness.
10	Irradiated Gametes – Pallite has guaranteed the survival of future generations of humans, but it has also left its indelible mark upon them. Expect higher rates of mutation in your progeny.
11	Miner’s Perfume – The smell of pallite never leaves you. It’s in your skin, hair, and breath. It’s pretty bad. Don’t expect to make many friends.
12	Nyctophobia – You take greater comfort from the lurid glow than most. Without a light source close at hand, you are stressed and on edge. In a world where everyone fears the dark, you have an extreme fear of it. This may not improve your chances of survival in the long-run.
13	Pallite Allergy – How did you even survive to adulthood with this?
14	Pallite Tan – Your skin has been discolored by pallite radiation. Probably does not look like any natural skin tone. Not that you had a natural pallor to begin with.
15	Polydactyly – Beginnings of extra fingers and toes are appearing on your extremities. Invest in specialty gloves or shoes.
16	Pulmonary Sequestration – An extra lobe is growing off of one or both of your lungs, courtesy of pallite gas inhalation. The lobes are nonfunctional and take up space.
17	Siphoner’s Shakes – Your nervous system has started to reject pallite exposure- as well as most of the rest of your body. Constant or episodic tremors are common.
18	Sunsong – An auditory hallucination which leads you to believe that you can hear pallite resonating or “singing”. Occasionally drowns out all other noises.
19	Tumors – Handing them out like consolation prizes at an old game show. Whatever that is.
20	Weakness – Fatigue comes to you quickly, and it doesn’t take much to leave you looking anemic.

Arbor Day Deforestation Special.

Everyone knows that druids and forests go together like peanut butter and jelly, trial and tribulation, death and taxes, or college and regret. Forget their deep and murky history as elite members of Insular and Continental Celtic societies at odds with the imperialistic writers of early history- trees are where it's at! That's been their thing for well over forty years of tabletop-related fantasy, and for almost four centuries of suspect Romantic scholarship.

But what about when they're not?

What about when we delve into the realm of 3rd edition splatbooks or Pathfinder class archetypes, and search for an overarching logic behind the diverse yet isolated and independent groups of druids operating in different climes and biomes? You'd probably get a wealth of different arguments and answers from actual research, but for the purposes of this post we're going to pretend there's only one answer.

Nature and its method of selection tend to promote competition between organisms and species who occupy similar or adjacent niches. No living thing is exempt from this. Environments, able to shrink or grow, possessing good or poor health, and adapting by way of the sum of all of their evolving parts, are also living things in this grand competition.  Just as "classic" druids are advocates for and protectors of the forest and all its denizens, other ecosystems can (or even must) have their own sapient defenders to ensure that they grow in strength and size and are not encroached upon by other upstart habitats.

Which brings us to peat bogs.

Swamps and other wetlands tend to get a bad rap in fiction. They are nasty and unpleasant, if not depicted as actively evil and dangerous to all outside life. Monsters, witches, and worse things abode in them, and they are the ideal place to find an ancient, sunken temple which would have been pretty difficult to build on that site to begin with. There is some logic to this, since stories tend to be told by humans who in pre-modern times were fearful of or struggled to deal with the weather, diseases, and pests found in many wetlands.

More recently we've been able to realize that they are all tremendously important to the health and diversity of our planet. Peat bogs in particular are havens for unique species of plant and animal life, and the properties of all that ancient layered dead plant matter allow a bog to eat up massive amounts of harmful free carbon in the atmosphere. They are valued to the point that, in some circumstances, it is good for the environment to cut down a forest and then flood it.

Of course the magical wardens of the bogs wouldn't be thinking about the big picture when they cut down the eves of forests or wet the edges of prairies. Just like the forest druids planting saplings or murdering farmers and loggers, and the desert druids promoting rapid aridification of grasslands, they are another force of nature given thought and reason with which to be even more wholly committed to their cause- a moving part in a great big natural machine, kept in check by the other forces opposed to it. Out of this chaotic equilibrium, we get Bog Druids.

Bog druids are believed to be the most isolationist, misanthropic druids in the world because they live so far away from other humanoids in such inhospitable places. Bog druids would counter that they are isolated because other folk are too afraid or can't be bothered to adapt to life in a more neighborly area.The misanthropic part is a little harder to argue against, given their generally sullen demeanor. You'd have one too, if you woke up before dawn every day to chant over a stagnant pool and then spent the next sixteen hours wrangling serpents, chopping up felled wood, and walking around on stilts.

Their style of dress often sets them apart from other denizens or wanderers of bogs because of how specialized it is. Besides a fondness for bronze accessories given heavily to patina, bog druids are noted for their unorthodox skill in waterproofing. Generally, the more waterproofed their clothing is, the more outlandish it looks. Overcoats of near-transparent intestine glued together with rendered bone, rigid cloth painted in tree rubber, grass or leaves woven together and thickly oiled, or plain old animal furs tend to dominate their choices in fashion, with little uniformity between groups of bog druids, or even individual members.

The potent smell of all of that aforementioned clothing tends to be the second distinction to smack outsiders in the face.

Bog druids don't generally have a strict hierarchy. More experienced members have some measure of seniority, but because each commune tends to be so small, every member is expected to be able to make and carry out decisions on their own. Group decisions tend to regard large threats to the bog, interactions with outsiders, or grand discoveries and portents gleaned from the peat. Outsiders can come to them for a variety of reasons. Most often they come to lodge a complaint about some blight or plague of insects that they think was unleashed from the bog, but other times they come to trade, pay for flood information or access to water reservoirs, or to drop off one of their own who has gotten the peculiarly wild hair up their person to study and join the commune. Most don't last very long, but those who stick around long enough are eventually considered to be new peatkeepers.

Most of the druids don't know magic, and those few who keep animal companions or perform divination generally rely upon more mundane means for both. They do have access to such a tremendous wealth of rare reagents and ingredients that their chemistry often looks like magic, however. More than a few potion-makers have risked everything in order to gain access to such reserves, even going so far as to gamble away their precious apothecary alligators.

Every bog druid is handy with a hatchet, saw, and shovel. They use them to shore up or expand the edges of their homeland, as well as to defend themselves from anyone who might have a problem with that. Bloody skirmishes between rival ecosystems are commonplace, with the dead often left feeding new growth or moldering beneath the turf for ages.

The druids of the peat are above all enigmatic, keeping much lore to themselves in their sodden lands. Why would we name them something as geopolitically inappropriate as "druid", if we knew what they prefer to be called?

Some rumors about them may be true, or nonsense, or a bit of both.

20 Things That Might Be True About Bog Druids
1	They are lobbying to either outlaw or control the construction of turf houses in the entire region.
2	Most of them are actually symbiotic hosts to a sentient fungus.
3	The latest logging campaign is the escalation of a disagreement with the nearby forest druid grove over leaving written accounts and doctrines.
4	The group is a front for a highly erotic and comically phallic snake cult.
5	Peat can be necromantically raised to create miles-wide Turf Golems.
6	The druids occasionally hire their members out to oversee sacrifices or judicial procedure.
7	A high-ranking member of the order is actually just a very lost botanist.
8	The druids have a very strong tradition of poetry and music. Just don't mistake one for a bard or filí.
9	They have no idea where that myth about scimitars and wooden armor came from.
10	Will-o'-the-wisps are a bog druid conspiracy.
11	They hate being confused with the Pyromancers of the Great Swamp.
12	The order was formed by a mystic with severe wood allergies.
13	Each bog druid cuts off a finger upon initiation and wears it with a necklace of woven hair.
14	... There is no official rule that the finger and hair have to belong to the druid.
15	The self-styled environmentalists are actually just trying to corner the market on bog butter production.
16	... They've already done so with the extraction and forging of bog iron.
17	They are the original Soggy Bottom Boys.
18	Topographic peat hags formed by soil erosion regularly come to life as literal hags and witches.
19	Layers of peat are meticulously cut out and studied by peat archivists to offer a rich history of the area's vegetation, pollen, spores, and animals.
20	The druids are guided by a reanimated peat mummy, strangled and sacrificed to the bog in the name of a long-forgotten god centuries ago.

Looking Southward and Backward, Part 12.

Out here, we are utterly exposed. The wind is dying down by itself, but it can be legendarily powerful across these flatlands. Once upon a time, this whole area was the heartland of pastoralists of varying sorts. First the Ersuunians, then the Haraalians and their kin, grazed vast herds of cattle as well as horses in between the patches of intense hill-country which dominate the imagination of many people confined to the walls of their towns and cities. Indeed, the homelands of the hillfolk are grand and extensive, but the plains which surround them are what allowed for the formation of those first nomad confederations which would eventually give rise to the urban existence which so many of us enjoy.

Even after their fences and tents were traded in for walls and buildings with stone foundations, the hooves of beasts trod over these regions in uncountable numbers along the borders of vast farming estates built to feed burgeoning polities. It was only when the Rupture occurred, and vast areas of grassland were subject to killing frosts the likes of which had not been seen before, did their numbers dwindle. And when they did fall, they plummeted, for the herds and their owners had multiplied and gorged for uninterrupted centuries. Even now, a few hundred years after that winter of winters, local belief holds that one cannot drive into the topsoil with a plowshare anywhere in the south-central plains without striking the skull of a bull.

Not that there is much driving of plowshares around here these days. Many areas are still given to dirt so loose that it blows away on windy days such as this, and deeper soil still possesses that imperceptible taint of overuse. The land that may still be good for hardier crop-raising would have to be reclaimed from the wild first, for the old towns--such as the one purportedly erected alongside Janskurf's Place--crumbled away into nothingness long ago. Deneroth, rather than investing in the risky venture, has opted to feed itself primarily through trade- even as it rulers bemoan the loss of territory and loudly champion returning to the territorial integrity of the old days. Still, the dirt road is wide enough for wagons going both ways at once, attesting to the stubborn regularity of trade from the south.

A peculiar aisle of raised ground divides the two horse paths, dotted with the same tall, tough grasses which surround us. I am remound of the details of one of the accounts of the palace of Haraal, as penned by one of the personal scribe-assistants of Laizij himself. Supposedly for a whole mile leading up to the entrance to the ill-fated stronghold, two roads positioned closely together like this were divided by a pair of tapestries of immense length and height. Woven upon each face was all of the accomplishments of the godlike emperor, oriented so that they could be read while approaching from one road and while leaving along the other. Every day they were being dragged forward or back as new chapters of his greatness were added, lengthening the tapestries while ensuring that they remained perfect, if flipped mirrors of one another.¹

Up ahead, at the highest point on a gentle slope, we can now see the dark timbers of Janskurf's Place. It rises up out of the least inviting-looking patch of heath in the entire land, perhaps a result of one clever bit of business acumen- the worse the environment looks around it, the more inviting and safe the old tavern seems by comparison. The two halves of the road merge together before it and pinch inward as they lead toward it and the structures nearby. The roadside sign we are nearing now is even larger than I had pictured, standing easily twice as high as I do. Elrusyo lightly elbows me and grins as we come close enough for Hraela to recognize that the sensationalist Denerothi Ersuut engravings upon the sign are not even accompanied by anything in a known Gertish dialect.

She is not amused.



¹ I am also remound of one infamous passage described in The Attestations of Itraszes, in which one of the tapestries miraculously transformed to reveal the future of the empire on the night of Haraal's disappearance, describing in grizzly detail all of the plagues, catastrophes, and evils to be visited upon its peoples. The Attestations only surfaced about a century after the ruler departed from his realm, but it was accepted as true enough to be used as an argument for the deification and veneration of Haraal. While I am no expert on topography, I can somewhat confidently state that these plains have not yet been swallowed up by an ever-expanding lake of black fire, causing me to cast some of my own humble skepticism upon the prophesies.