#writing #fiction

The Descent of Pirithous

Table of contents

• I
• II
• III
• IV
• V
• VI
• VII

Introduction

Note 8/20/25. I am very proud of the concept of this story. It’s a story about Hubris, though not quite in the way you would expect. In this story, progress is not the enemy, nor is overriding the Gods. The tragic tale of Hubris, conveyed through characters like Icarus, Promethus, Oedipus (and Pirithous) usually follow a “cosmic correcting”, where the mortal weakling abuses their powers, knowledge, or abilities, and ends up being punished and put in their place for their wrongdoing. There is a cosmic order, and it is unfalliable.

In this case, the enemy is not a cosmic order but mans limitation on itself, which is conveyed through the vehicle of a totalitarian religion that might in some regards paralell actual historical events with the Catholic Church. This was done on purpose, but this is not a religious story (indeed, the story is told through the eyes of the faithful), but a story of ignorance and the tall order of stepping out of that “cosmic order”. Religion just happens to be one of those obstacles. By the end of the story (which is not finished), the idea was for the main character to be a sole survivor of a large diving bell, which has now been cut off from the regular world and thrust into the void. The protagonist, who believes himself to freeze or starve to death, achieves a rare visualization of the entire state of the world, when unexplainable (gravity) air currents pull him up through a current of air and debris up above the flat world and back onto it, thus completing a cycle around the entire world that very few humans would ever realize. It is at this moment that he becomes knowledgeable about the far extremes of the world. It is much more beautiful, complex, macroscopic, ethereal, than he or anyone could ever hope to percieve. And yet the people of the world, in their ignorant bickering, fight over tiny scraps when the world itself is so large, presenting a much larger problem of dissection, survival, exploration, and understanding. And this realization does not matter, since the character by this point has tumbled back into the atmosphere, likely meeting a swift and painless end as he hits the ground. (Note, its not the hitting the ground that kills you, but stopping really really fast!) The Hubris thus is a background character, a cthulu-esque flair, horrifying in the best of ways because its not explicit. It’s a paralell to the real world. The real problems we have. Because the universe is big, real big. So what are we doing arguing down here?

I love the concept of this story, but I never finished it, and it leans so heavy into exposition that truly I dislike the actual writing besides a few parts. I hope the spirit shines through nevertheless, and maybe one day I’ll come back to it. I love the concept of this story, but I never finished it, and it leans so heavy into exposition that truly I dislike the actual writing besides a few parts. I hope the spirit shines through nevertheless, and maybe one day I’ll come back to it.

I

It is the year one thousand thirty one of the second age of the Holy Runstein Empire. I’m not sure if that title has any meaning anymore, or if the Runstein Empire even still exists. I have been separated from all civilization, joined by only a few fated colleagues, for some time now. Most of them however have made their leave, and it is likely that their position is known only to the Divine, blessed is he. Even when I departed, the empire was in turmoil and the Church, the Holy Celestine Church which speaks the universal truth, was on the verge of collapse. It is hard to say what state the world is in now. Does it still stand? Either the dissidents of Jonasburg or the Sacred devotionalists? Have they coalesced once again and brought order to the land? Or has one triumphed over the other and brought an end to endless warfare? Do the towns and villages that dot the land, once fertile and full of happy denizens still bear life? Or have they collapsed into ruin, its inhabitants perished and spread out into the unkind wastes to starve or be brought into ruin by roving bandits. I do not know for I am separated from the common realm by a great void; Out here in the darkness where no sound emanates ‘cept from oneself, nor light or movement of any kind. My fate it would appear is grim, though I go into it openly and with hope of a final release. The air here grows thin and hardly works through the body. The heat, which we initially took for granted is now scarce, and a great cold conducts through everything, leeching the life from my bones. Our food and water is close to running out, though without the others what remains that is not rotten—and even what is—will last a little longer than it would have.

While I descend ever deeper into this realm without man, a place where God hath placed no light and no light is destined to shine, I will write to no one the events which have brought me here.

Seventeen years previously was the reign of the monarch Emperor Richard IV of the house of Jonas. He succeeded his father, Richard the third, who before succeeded his father and his father before that, all of whom had operated rather closely and diligently with the Holy Celestine Church and its disciples. The ruling king, who took the name of Emperor and the crown, had been decided among the great houses for hundreds of years by merit of strength and efficiency, and so long as they upheld their duties of order within the common realms and defense from the wild men from the North and protection of the sacred rivers to the East from the Eastern men who so heretically threatened the passage of goods between the veins of the Empire to the port cities, they were considered a just and accepted ruler.

There was of course the unspoken requirement of the ruler, for it was intrinsic to the abilities of the ruler, to be anointed by the church so that their ruling would be considered just in the eyes of the divine and divine messengers—for the church was the intermediate between the common realm and Heaven—and not only the vulgar populace. An Emperor’s legitimacy, being an extension of the authority of God, was unfaltering and absolute. He could do no wrong, that whose hand was guided by the holy spirit, and his reign would last forever through him and his kin so long as he upheld thy holy mission. One need only to look to the barbarous huts and their brutish occupants, cloaked in snow, shadow, and ice to the far East where all semblance of production, culture, and most of all faith is nowhere to be seen. It is just, therefore that such people could only find refuge far away from the splendors of God’s warmth, and are forced to live in suffering and punishment as they will whence they descend to the Tartarian realms.

One might also look to the far shores where few boats ever cross, to the other continents that carry strange plants, beast, and most of all settlements of man. From what little connection there is, we know for sure that they exhibit civilization. They build jewelry of magnificent gems that exist nowhere here in any quantity, and weave tapestries of the finest silks and with excellent designs. Trade and communication due to those terrible seas is scarce, though there was a time where it was more common due in part to the calming of the currents and tides by the Lord’s gentle grace. From there we know that in those other lands are not a singular race of people but a spectrum, who are often as divided in belief and custom as it is here. The great poet Lucis, from centuries prior, has argued that despite their talents and merit, those people of the far shores exist in a land fundamentally displaced from our true God. He proclaimed that it is our duty to save them from damnation, as is mirrored now through our conquests in the South among the men of the Jungle, but it is likely that they will succumb to schism and war until an eventual decay occurs as is common among lower peoples. Only by the solid foundation of the true God, whose strength is that of a stone pillar or the mightiest oak, might a civilization truly last against the forces of evil.

The Emperor Richard IV was unlike his father or fathers before him. He took the claim to the throne as a son of the house of Jonas, and indeed he was trained from birth to take on the responsibilities of his father when he would eventually be unable to do. The other houses saw no reason to oppose the continued rule of the Jonas dynasty, which had brought them prolonged stability and wealth, and remained insouciant as he was eventually crowned at seventeen years old in the year one thousand and four of the second age of the Holy Runstein Empire, ensuring the two century rule of the House of Jonas would continue for some time more.

Yet unlike his forebearers, he declined anointment by the Church. The Pope at the time, Saint Velles, was him and his retinue denied entry to the ceremony. Additionally his coronation did not take place in the holy cathedral of Runeshold as had been done for half a millennia since the dawn of the second age, but in the sovereign state of Jonasburg that Richard called his home.

Pope Saint Velles was at once angered, and demanded to speak to young Richard who clearly had lapsed in his judgement of the due process of the houses, as well as the hierarchical authority which he must respect as a servant of the Church; No man, not even the Emperor of the Realm, was above the Holy Spirit, and it was Velles who was his vicar.

The Pope who had travelled thus far to Jonasburg now stood in front of the very gates of its grand walls. The banners, which once flowed in the evening wind bearing white and gold emblems of the church were cast down and replaced with a purple emblem bearing the sign of the Jonas Dynasty. Pope Saint Velles sat for seven days and nights all the while unsupported by the inhabitants inside—many of which were members of the other Houses who had come for the ceremony. He prayed that they come to their senses, that divine justice set them straight and punish them for their wrongdoing. He pleaded to Richard why he had forsaken him, urging with enchanting prose to come forth and explain himself. The congregation suffered the effects of hunger, fatigue, and the elements which claimed no less than three lives. All the while they sat solemnly and prayed for the mercy of the Lord. Eventually, due to a matter of guilt or an urging of the other Houses which did not wish to be caught in the bad graces of the Church, the large doors were opened and the bridge lowered, and the Pope was allowed an audience with Richard.

He entered Richards palace, followed by his procession of bishops and guards and subjects who now were thin and meek, their clothes ragged and damp. They walked along a crimson red carpet ordained in gold embroidery telling the stories of heroes and feats ages past. Statues of similar meaning, of stone and marble ascended upwards into the arched ceilings of the building and echoed the procession’s saggared steps. And yet the Pope himself seemed to glow, his bright white garment radiant and unstained as if ordained by Gods light itself. The members of the other Houses sat alongside both parties, silent and in wait of what would come next. Many were anxious to take sides, fearing a great schism that would threaten their way of life, but all were prepared to defend what they believed was right, whether that be on the side of Richard the IV or The Church. All lied in wait to hear the reasonings of Richard which had initially brought them to such an impasse.

Velles stood on the marble steps before the Emperor, his gaze solemn and weary though stoic. “You there, my child and steward of his grace. Step down from your seat and meet me on proper ground. Then kneel before me”.

Richard sat elevated up the stairs, sitting defiantly in his golden throne. He sat back with his posture low, the imperial crown crooked upon his brow. He laughed, “You expect me to conform? Old man? What authority do you hold over me? I am the Emperor of the Realm. From the Mountains to the North to the Southern Seas beyond the chaparral growth. By my hand I rise the crop from the ground and feed the populace. By my hand do I send the gold flowing along the arteries of the East into the pockets of the numbered houses. By my hand do I line your coiffeurs, protect your Bishops, and build your temples.” His speech, which had begun in a low voice had grown to a standing shout, which had garnered the polar responses of silent disapproval and encouraging shouts; The true colors of the houses was being brought out by the emotional rhetoric of the young ruler.

Velles stood still, forever eyeing the young man. “You dare to assume credit for the work of men past, who never questioned their divine right but used it to raise the very throne you now sit upon. The crown upon your head, printed with the symbols of the Lord you now deride, and the throne you sit upon are but ornaments, hollow as the wind through an empty chapel. You forsake not only the church but your heritage: the work of your father and fathers before them. Your reign, untethered from the heavens, will bring about ruin”. There was then murmurs throughout the crowd. They grew silent, influenced greatly by the oration of Velles who many of them highly respected and revered.

“Blasphemy!” Richard shouted. “You speak of divine wrath, a smiting to balance the scales of man’s ambition, and yet here I stand! The walls of my Empire remain strong, the ports open, and the soil fertile! What covenant have I broken to my people? Besides that which shackles me to the shadows of the past?”

Velles stepped closer. “Caution. It is not the almighty who you have to fear, but your own disillusionment. You are no Empire without an anointment by God. Even still, you are but a man. Without faith your empire will crumble. With the erosion of your soil, disengaged, will come the erosion of your realm. Even now there is discontent. To the far reaches of the South a plague encroaches upon the hamlets. The Northern Tribes grow unified and confident. What you speak of is heresy. It is only through faith and atonement and the will of the divine can there be power and stability”.

“Let them whisper of me.” Said Richard “We are all doomed anyway if we remain as we have been. I will not be the puppet of gilded sermons. It is through the Church that men are bound to what is known. It is by decree that we remain in the muck forever at the mercy of what we do not know, that which we label divine. If we really seek the divine, then we must attain it.”

Velles appeared shocked. All who knew of what he spoke at once gasped as well. “You speak not of your father’s mistakes I hope? The land beyond the rivers and seas, beyond even the other lands over the edge?”

Richard smirked. “That I do”.

Velles lost his composure. He stepped towards Richards, whose guards did not for a second entice the idea of opposing the Pope and promptly knelt before him. “You are misguided my child! Blinded by a fools errand that was your father’s downfall and is to be yours as well if you do not heed my words! All that is before you is the common realm, endowed by the heavens to be ruled over by man. Man is imperfect, at the mercy of God and it is by his decision that we do not venture where we are not wanted. The place beyond the edge, a place of shadow and volume is no place for a servant of God. It is a place where God has put no light, so that man not venture there!”

Richard stood, eye to eye with the Pope. “If it is nothing, then let us prove it. And if it is something, then it is our duty to claim it, learn from it, and use it as it was given to us. Your fear will not cage me, Velles. I will be not your Penitent. The Church clutches to a past that has already gone, and I will not go with it. If you will not stand with me as I step over the edge then so be it. If it is the will of the church, the divine, and the Houses to come before me, then let them come.”

It is at this moment that the members of the Houses, which had slowly increased in energy, had broken out into shouting and fighting. Guards on all sides struggled to maintain order and to usher out the Nobles who flailed about pathetically. The banners fell and some burned, lit by the candles and braziers which were thrown about in the chaos. The Pope, guarded by his Templars, quickly exited the building in the ensuing chaos. Richard simply sat back down on his throne and laughed.

II

Immediately post the debate between Pope Saint Velles and the Young Emperor Richard IV, a shift occurred in the systems of governance. The houses close to the House of Jonas, which was one of the wealthiest and mightiest in the land, swore allegiance to Richard at once. They were as blinded as he was in the eyes of faith, preferring dangerously the riches of the mortal realm that prayed commonly on the emotions of vulgar men. By siding with Richard, they would cut themselves off from the splendors of heaven and ensure themselves and their people would suffer eternally in the next phases of life, and sealed the fate of their states to crumble into ruin.

The other houses, the ones more feeble or devoted, stayed loyal to the church. Some maintained their oath out of devotion to the true God, but it is quite likely that the smaller houses hoped that when the conflict was all over, they might assimilate the ruins of the once larger dissident houses and also find themselves elevated in the eyes of the Church. Nevertheless word of the great schism eventually reached the commonplace. In all states there was outcry and general turmoil, but after a time this stabilized itself as minorities were silenced or learned to keep quiet.

The House of Jonas had one notable advantage over the Church, that being its size. The House provided a large levy of troops to the Imperial Army, and indeed their peoples made up the bulk of the military and provided the majority of the finances that bought weapons, armor, and food. The Imperial Armies, despite a name that might invoke a sense of unification, were anything but. They were highly variable in terms of size, training, equipment, and most importantly faith. Some soldiers were no better than mercenaries, loyal only to the coin. These people, mostly peasants, sought wealth beyond what a feudal life might offer and joined the militaries. Other soldiers, still motivated by coin, were loyal to their commanders and to their homeland over the church. A rare few, were driven by faith itself, notably those heralding from the core citadels like Runeshold. Jonasburg had both coin and loyalty. Many officers, commanders, and generals were of Jonasburg descent and were trained in its military academies. The standing armies were financed by the banks and mints of the eastern ports, which had strong ties to Jonasburg and accompanying houses. So it was that the armies, upon the schism, devoted themselves to the dissidents, and the church was left scrambling to both populate and fund a new standing army. This put a large strain on the smaller houses. They were forced to levy large amounts of their population to arms and pay taxes on grain to feed the new army. The banks of the nobles was emptied, and hushed discussion heretical to the church became common in wellborn halls.

For a time the tension grew, but no action was made on either side. Travel became less common between settlements and a line was drawn between the two Empires: The Jonesburg Empire to the North and the Holy Runstein Empire to the South. Emperor Richard IV founded a surrogate church, which in his eyes redeemed himself in the eyes of the divine graces. Pope Saint Velles in counter labelled him an imposter, a man opposed to God, and and his followers were labelled as men of lawlessness who would bring about ruin to the realm. The new church did not have another Pope, which would’ve been regarded as a puppet of Richard nonetheless. No, Richard labelled himself God Emperor. He claimed a mandate from heaven; A right to rule and conquer all the lands before him. It was then that tensions grew to a point of bifurcation, and the opposing armies began to bring ruin to the land.

Armies of both sides met as they roamed the countryside, razing friendly and unfriendly settlements alike in search of food and loot. When they found themselves in enemy territory, they burned what crops and homes they could find. Clashes between them were bloody, and battlefields were so numerous that bodies lay rank and rotting in the fields for months, festering and bloated under God’s son.

Richard’s motive here should also be discussed. His action was perhaps catalyzed by the endeavors of his father, Richard III, who ruled as emperor before him. Richard III was a good and just emperor, respected by all the houses and the church alike. Such as it was with all the rulers of the Jonas dynasty there was great success under his rule, and exploration throughout the land was encouraged to expand the Empires domain. Richard III and the Pope, who before Saint Velles was Saint Moent, wished to expand to the other lands to both initiate trade and to establish settlements there, with the eventual goal being a conversion of the populace into the true religion of the Celestine Faith. A great many expeditions were sent out on huge ships. The ships were packed with trinkets of gold and silver, clothes of the finest silks and rarest dyes, and the best steeds, as gifts to display their eloquence and benevolence. These ships, which were dozens in number, with masts as thick as a redwood tree and nearly as tall, bearing huge sails for catching wind, set out over periods of years. As was the case for the past few centuries, many of these ships were lost. It is not known if they were lost to the torrent of the seas or arrived at their destination unable to return. One of these ships, the Elysius, would however survive its journey into the raging seas and return battered and half-crewed. They did not make it to the other lands, but the sailors proclaimed to have found something just as profound.

The first mate, for the captain had died in one of the many storms, had been navigating the waters with another ship, The Orpheus. Both ships had been driven widely off course by a storm and separated from the main fleet, and now found themselves navigating blindly calm waters enshrouded in a thick fog. Even from the tallest point of the mast one could not pierce the fog. It had not let up for several days, and they travelled without the aid of any instrument besides a compass. They travelled West, for that was the direction of home, and they figured that they were between the two great landmasses and were closer to home than the Other Lands, having been blown significantly off-course by the winds. They also figured that eventually the fog would have to disperse and the boats would know where they were.

The boats travelled in a line, the Elysius only a few feet behind the Orpheus. They were connected by rope and by lantern, which could only be seen from the very front of the Elysius or the back of the Orpheus. Occasionally, information and supplies was ferried across the rope when necessary. As they travelled it also grew colder, and small chunks of ice began appearing in the ocean.

Early one morning all sailors of both ships were asleep, save for the helmsman who kept them on course. He stood sleepily, keeping the tiller straight. It was unstimulating, and the fog that surrounded him would’ve sent him into a slumber had he not been awoken periodically by the cold chill of the air. Yet in that moment he heard yelling from the forward ship. He shrugged it off as typical foolery. The sailors on both ships were growing desperate. Many of them often drowned their fears in alcohol, which was severely punished. Being without a captain—on both ships—lent itself to some leniency nonetheless. And yet the yelling did not let up. The helmsman was joined by a sailor from below who was roused by the commotion.

“Aye, what’s that racket all about?” He said coming up the stairs shivering. His coat insufficient above deck.

The helmsman pointed, “Its from the Orpheus it seems. Another drunken spat I ‘spose.”

The sailor peered out, “‘Can hardly see past my nose in this fog. What’re they on about?”

They both stood for a moment, listening to the sway of the ropes and the groan of the ship. The screaming didn’t stop and seemed to originate from more than one voice.

The sailor continued. “By the God they’re chatty! I wish we had some of that stuff left. They must be drinking themselves into a stupor. ‘Wonder whose on the wheel.”

“They’ll settle down, just give them time.” Said the Helmsman. They waited for awhile longer, and then at an instant there was a loud thud and they were thrown to the ground. The helmsman struggled to stand up, slipping on the icy wood. The sailor hoisted himself up on the side of the ship with some rope. The sound of splinting could be heard and lanterns clinked together violently. The ship shook violently and seemed about to explode.

“By the Gods!” Said the Helmsman, still struggling to stand, “What was that?”

The sailor, who was now on his feet looked out to the horizon. “Look there man, the lanterns gone! Have they cut the rope?”

A great commotion occurred below deck and immediately more people began to surface. Some ran to the sides of the ship, some to the back. They scurried about like headless chickens, unsure of the situation. One of the sailors from the front of the ship screamed out in horror, “Its gone! The ship is gone!”

The helmsman ran up to him, along with all the other sailors and leaned over the edge of the ship. The ship in front of them, which could barely be seen at all even from the front through the thick mist, was not to be seen. The men looked out into the fog, hoping to see a hint of shape, and so nothing. They called out to the Orpheus, and there was no response.

The helmsman stood there for a moment, staring out into the fog. He noticed a new sound that was quite peculiar. It was a roaring sound like that of running water, or a waterfall of great size. The helmsman looked down, not forward, and was shocked.

“God in Heaven! They’ve gone over the edge! The Orpheus has fall over the edge of the world!”. He immediately fell to his knees and began praying in between sobs. The older sailors looked down as well and were horrified. The ocean they had been sailing on had come to an end. It appeared that the world was not connected around in the shape of a sphere as some of the church astrologers had predicted, but was flat and came to an abrupt land far beyond the main continents. The Orpheus, without realizing, had sailed off this edge and toppled into the abyss. The sailors peered into the darkness, their minds scarcely able to comprehend its scale. They could not see the Orpheus, it was swallowed up in the darkness. The water along the edge was mostly ice, but it seemed that the Orpheus had swept through a current and had bypassed the ice. The Elysius, by a stroke of luck or divine will, had been caught by a large block of ice. It was now teetering over the edge, though quite structurally stable. The rope that had once connected the two ships now hung limp, having snapped under the immense weight of the falling ship.

III

The sailors, after some time of chaos, gathered themselves and set about breaking up the ice. They took care to free the ship without sending it to the same fate of the Orpheus. They eventually freed it and began their somber journey in the opposite direction until they escaped the ever-pervading fog. The navigator found that they had actually floated past their native continent and to the far Western part of the world. How they had travelled such a distance in record time is unknown. Nevertheless they made their way home and relayed their story to the King.

Emperor Richard III was elated by the news. He paid the surviving men handsomely for their contributions. He promised that they had made a great discovery, and proclaimed that they would be celebrated and rewarded for their journey. He clothed each man in the finest garbs of the Empire, granted them a full plot of land, and provided servants to work the land. Each sailor, though seemingly content with their new lives, did not set foot in the ocean again.

Emperor Richard III saw great value in the edge. He saw its exploration and existence as a greater object of interest than any knowledge that could be found on the other continent. He also now knew a way to get to the edge along the Western coast, which would avoid the turbid waters of the Eastern Sea. He immediately began building new ships and hiring crews to visit the edge. The first surviving crew were hesitant to allow others to visit the edge. They warned the virgin crew of the perils, but they could not be stopped. They would be equipped with the knowledge of what to expect, and desired fame in the eyes of the Emperor. Over the years, the Emperor secretly sent out parties to the edge of the world along the Eastern Sea. The voyages revealed much about the nature of the edge and the world itself, far more than was available by word of God—indeed many of the predictions made by Church astrologers and great thinkers seemed incompatible with observation.

The world, as it seemed, was a disk of a circular or oval shape. It seemed to float in the air, or more specifically appeared to be floating upwards at a constant rate of acceleration. This, they hypothesized, accounted for gravity. The force of this acceleration, of course, is propelled by divine will. The cosmos, it seems, appear to rotate around the disk. They move relatively fast around the disk, for the disk itself cannot be rotating, and so the stars are either very large objects far away moving at very fast speeds, or are smaller more local objects like the Sun and the Moon, which appear to be local celestial spheres. Since the Moon only shows a single face to us, and the Sun is unobservable, it could be valid though unproveable to say that the Moon and Sun are disks as well. Their rotation and oppositely directed acceleration from their face however, would make them unable to stand upon unless you stood on the other side of them. This is, however, speculation.

The air and water seemed here to merge with the sky. Water flowed freely off the edge of the world like a large waterfall. Its sound in some places was deafening. By the sheer volume of water that fell off the world, it is any wonder that the oceans are not immediately drained. Due to the generally colder temperatures along the edge however, much of the water is ceased from flowing due to a frozen barrier of ice that is in some places a hundred meters tall, perhaps suggesting at one point a much larger and deeper ocean. In some places along the perimeter of the world the ice is supposed by some to be half a kilometer tall and just as wide. The observations uncovered here were stored away in special libraries, and studied only by the most trusted scholars of Richard III. The sailors, who had completed the journey and survived—accidents still succumbed men to the sea and to the edge—were paid handsomely both in appreciation and as a promise to stay silent. The information found here was deeply heretical to the church. It directly disagreed with canon doctrine, and posed certain questions about the nature of the world. What was the edge? What lay beyond it? Why did the expanse, which sat so forebodingly along the edge of the world, seem so vast in comparison to our meagre circle of life? And what did it mean for us?

After a time the expeditions to the edge became more precise in goal as the sailors excelled in navigation and the journey became easier. A ship was created that bore a large crane that housed a giant spool of chain. It was a special chain, made by the best craftsmen in the empire to uphold a great weight. It was made of a hollow steel that maximized tensile strength and minimized weight. This was then interwoven with hemp fibers and silk crafted from the strongest sources to aid in the ropes flexibility. The men who crewed the ship, similar to the sailors, were paid well and sworn to secrecy. There was no chance that the Church would know of Richard’s activity. The chain was spooled up onto the ship and on its end was fashioned an observatory of steel. It bore similarity to the primitive diving bell, and indeed its purpose of descending man safely into the unknown was an inspiration in design. The vessel could be occupied by three people and stored food, water, and equipment for documenting their journey. It could be lowered hundreds of feet into the void. This ship was dubbed the Odysseus and at once set sail for the edge.

The ship, upon reaching the shores and navigating the mist, came upon the edge; It was noted by its distinct roar of noise that grew louder as the ship came closer. The captain carefully beached the ship against a large set of ice and engineers went out to support the ship. Once in place the crane was positioned over the wide abyss and the men were lowered into darkness, lit only by a lantern flickering through a small circular window.

The progress was slow, as much a scientific mission as a mechanical stress test. The spool at this time was heavy, and had to be operated at all time by large groups of men who manually hoisted the chain up and down. Communication could be done by shouting, though beyond a certain depth this became impractical.

Earlier designs had been tested before this current one, and each approach had ended costly. It seemed as if an active force pushed against the voids exploration, where the forces of air, water, ground, and fire all came to mingle. The first simple vessel was lowered by simple hemp rope over the edge by hand. It stored one occupant, and did not descend even to the natural depth of the disk. These celestial sailors, euphemistically referred to as astralnauts, could see that the great waterfall eventually fell into nothing and the water dissolved naturally into a fine mist. It is this mist that is theorized to be carried by celestial currents back up to the edge, which creates that perpetual fog and rejuvenates the ocean. When the water has cleared and the side of the world can be viewed, it is seen to descend at least five hundred feet into the ground. Due to the descent the sun is eclipsed by the ground itself, and the light is vacant as it is if one descended into the ground itself—only darker. A light source must be brought with to view anything, unless the Sun appears to be rising and its rays strike the Eastern side of the world. It is theorized that if a vessel were lowered below the world, it would be as if the day occurred while night reigned above, and when it was day the stars would retreat to below the disk. Another thing, since the mines of the mainland appear to descend far into the Earth, much deeper than the edge of the disk seems to be, the disk perhaps curves much like a hill towards the center and thickens, which would explain the heightened mountains and lands of the disk which make up the main continents; It is no wonder that this behavior would be mirrored on the reverse side of the world, and it is quite possible (though infeasible) that a diligent miner might dig through the world itself!

This first vessel soon appeared to be impractical. On one descent the hemp rope was not properly accounted for. It was allowed to rot and so its structure was dampened significantly. When the vessel was lowered just over the edge, the tension in the rope caused it to snap, sending the poor denizen plunging into the depths far below. His harrowing screams seemed to carry up to the sailors above until he was drowned out by the sound of rushing water and then an ever pervading silence that rang like an ominous hum.

At another instance, a vessel of a similar design had descended so deeply that the men on top could not hold the rope any longer. The weight of the rope at this distance outweighed the vessel and its occupant itself, and the rope began to slip through the men’s fingers. It moved so fast that those who tried to grip it had their flesh ripped clean off and suffered burns, and one of the last men who so valiantly tried to save his fellow man was caught by the rope and pulled down with it into the void.

With each disaster came improvement. Special locking mechanisms were invented to hold the weight so it did not fall upon active men, and pulleys were devised to hoist the rope up and down efficiently. For communication at significant depth, a special rope of steel was devised that snaked through the weight bearing cord, and this was kept always under tension. A system of communication was established through the cord through a manner of tugs and waves, which technicians could be trained to understand and operate. Simple messages could be conveyed, such as when to stop, when to pull, and when to let down more rope. The vessels similarly got more complex. They became larger, lighter, and more accommodating. They had beds and washing bowls for trips of longer duration. Storage was made for samples of rock and for parchment upon which to make sketches and observations. The hull of the vessel was insulated, as the void below the world grew extremely cold with depth. The ropes as well were eventually replaced for stronger chains of steel, even though this increased the weight significantly. Still the Emperor paid no expense, and devoted a significant portion of revenue into the study of astral descent technologies. Discovery after discovery was made, each one getting closer and closer to explaining the true nature of the world. With each discovery came newfound enthusiasm and funding, which enabled more expeditions and bolstered industry. This had an effect on the economies of the land as well. Some of these inventions of mechanics found use elsewhere. There were aids from the advanced mechanisms built for farming and for building new ships. Fiber technologies were used in the manufacture of sails, clothing, and armor that was both light and durable. New types of steel were created that was stronger than traditional steel. The state of Jonasburg became one of the richest in the land. And as with any good thing, others soon came to wonder what was the source of this renaissance.

IV

The Celestine Church was a complex organization with many moving parts. It had existed for thousands of years in some form or another, but it was not until the rise of the houses and their relatively unified rule some seven hundred years ago that they truly began to gain prominence. The church was structured around Runeshold, the city in which the Divine was said to have first come down and proclaim his dominion over the Universe and created his first vicar. The city sat along the edge of the Eastern sea a little south of the great and wealthy port cities, a crucible at the center of the great arterial rivers from which all commerce, trade, and culture emerge. From here the Church spread out through a network of missionaries and monastic individuals. The different dominions at the time, then little more than warring city-states, were ruled by brutish warlords. Commerce was rare and relations were hostile or nonexistent. Travel between states was met with hostility not only on the roads where brigands roamed free but also in the towns, where people behaved much like enclaves who were opposed to other peoples. Through the spread of the early church, monasteries and parishes were established which educated the populace on religious doctrine. A sense of unity was created, and the teachings of the Celestine faith served to provide a moral order to the peoples of the common realm.

The process of this was widely contested of course, and progress was drawn out over centuries of efforts. In places where a strong incumbent religion already existed, conversion to the true and good faith was much harder as locals resisted conversion. In some places conversion was done only through the gradient mind of children, who grew up under the influences of multiple competing cultures. Their children and their children’s children however, would soon find their antiquated faith diluted enough that in their turbid mind they would accept the gospel.

With establishment came legitimization, and so the rulers of the meagre city-states soon turned to the Church for anointment. The Church accepted this arrangement, provided the states adopted the Church as its dominant religion and paid their share of tithes thrice yearly. It appointed its first divine Kings, each warlord purified of their transgressions and wreathed in holy armor of silver. These states once legitimized, seemed emboldened by the vigor of the holy spirit. They drove their holy fleets into the opposed lands, striking down all who stood in their way. The armies of these states rode from town to town, cutting down the hordes of non believers. They cleaned the roadways of villainy and crime, leaving the heads of sinners upon pikes in lines miles long as a warning to any who may repeat the sins of their predecessors. Whole towns of resistance were burned along with their populace, and in the ruins of the inferno, akin to a savanna after a wildfire, sprung up new settlements of devoted individuals. The fields were fertilized by the ashes of the secular, and the waters runeth red into the soil from the blood of the iconoclast. The opposed rulers, who by now were sure they had witnessed the manifestation of God himself soon fell to their knees at the rumble of approaching armies and smartly converted to their faith. It is here that the Runstein empire is truly founded and the vassal states of the Houses comes into existence. Each city-state with their remaining rulers became Kings and that first state which had harbored and birthed the early Church became the center of the Empire. This house would much later become the famous, or perhaps infamous, House of Jonas. The esteemed scholar Kesiod the Younger, who lived this period of triumph, describes it as, “A golden age foretold by the seers of old. It is a carefree time when the men guided by faith and virtue are led to wealth without succumbing to it; It is a time without sorrow or labor and an age of order”.

In the almost modern times, when Emperor Richard III ruled, we return. The Church allowed a great degree of autonomy over the House of Jonas and its operations, especially since it held its finger on the pulse of the Empire itself and there was no need to disrupt what worked so well that its framework may itself be considered divine. Since Richard’s operations, the economic machine seemed to work better than it had before, and the treasuries of the Church had not seen such capacity since the ‘Golden Age’ of the last crusade, as the period was referred to by the more archaist historians. The realm enjoyed a great many splendors and security, due in much part to Richard III’s rule; He was in fact regarded as a great and just ruler, even by the Pope at the time Saint Moent who had with him a close relationship. They often spent many afternoons with one another where they spoke of the old times and discussed the state of the world. They were intellectuals in a world where literacy was rare and a book more valuable than the rarest gem, and they devoured each other’s minds with voracity. Due to the size of Richard’s expeditions, it was only natural that at some point it should osmose into the purview of the Church. Perhaps by a disgruntled scholar who disagreed with the new findings, or by the mouth of a drunken sailor, a multitude of who had been employed in the many voyages to the edge. When information of Richard’s activity was brought to Saint Moent’s attention he tried his best to unhear it. He allowed a certain degree of autonomy to Richard’s activities and to his incompatible discoveries so long as the rivers continued to flow with gold. This leniency might also have been attributed to Moent’s personal views as well. Being a man of science and God, he was ordained to understand the world God had created for man. Was it any wonder he himself wished to understand unfettered the full state of the world?

This agreement was allowed to exist until Pope Saint Moent eventually came upon an untimely death. His departure seemed to be an accident, and indeed he was expected to rule for many more years in good health of mind and body. The admiration for him was reflected in his funereal processions, which were funded wholly by the banks of Emperor Richard III. It lasted for three weeks, taking place through the main streets of Runeshold which seemed to freeze in place all activity for the venerated Saint. He was placed in a great parade that circled the plazas of the whole city. It led a century of soldiers in gold and white embroidery, and cavalry of the finest steeds with fur of shining silver. Upon each wall and scarp of the towering cathedrals, forums, and arcades were onlookers, each silent regardless of creed or belief for the lost Pope. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching as the white chariot holding Moent went past, stifling cries and dropping pedals of rose and lilies down from the arched cloisters above. In the air was a frost that floated down and layered the buildings and crowds in a holy white. It smelled everywhere of incense, and the music of harps and horns and organs of a most wonderful variety echoed through the large stone buildings which made up the bulk of the city; The corridors and passageways were filled with the sigh of angels who had come to escort one of their own.

The procession made its way to the central Cathedral, where God himself was said to have come down that millennia ago and delivered man the gift of his mercy and guidance. Each seat was filled with the highest members of the Clergy and the Houses. The hall was silent, echoing only the footsteps of the Royal Guards who now carried in the white marble casket.

As the casket was lowered into the labyrinth below the church where all the Popes, Cardinals, Saints, and holy individuals were laid to rest, a singular organ began to play. A Cardinal began a prayer as well to send off the newly ascended soul. High above the seats of the Cathedral though a group of robed men observed the situation and whispered amongst themselves. One of these men, who looked on with the eyes of a wolf, was Velles. At the time he was younger, still wearing a a full head of charcoal black hair and without the aging wrinkles of stress that afflicted men of stature. He was then a popular individual among the bishops and unofficial parties of the church, and he had his eyes on the seat of the Vicar itself. He would eventually take the seat, some years later, to much celebration and encouragement of the major party within the Church.

Despite the widespread support of Moent and his office, there was a large silent—and powerful—group of individuals within the church who opposed him on theological grounds. They did not approve of his curious and progressive actions. These opponents aspired to the thinkers of antiquated ages, and saw movement through time as a degradation from the virtues of before. While Moent’s rule had been stable and prosperous, they did not approve of its direction.

There were those who thought that Moent’s demise had not been an accident but a deliberate expedited attempt at securing his position. To speak of such activity was highly heretical of course, since it meant publicly speaking against the most powerful authority in the land. Nonetheless, gossip spread under threat of sword as it often does, though no investigation even came to fruition.

Once in office, Velles immediately took to scrutiny of Emperor Richard’s activities. His book keeping was searched by the inquisitorious—a highly secretive arm of the Church that investigated heretical activity—and his libraries containing knowledge of his inventions and discoveries were eventually discovered through unseemly interrogation of certain officials within Richard’s government.

Immediate action was taken by Velles, through the ruthless hand of the Inquisitorious. His men, cloaked all in black opposite the colors of the church, went into Richard’s government. They abducted accountants, scholars, librarians, and engineers and subjected them to unseemly methods of interrogation. It started in the smaller towns and hamlets, before eventually descending into the capital of Jonasburg itself. The inquisitorious identified key bits of information and began a great purge. They assassinated sailors and burned their ships along with maps that told the location to the edge. They hung scholars and thinkers in town squares, accusing them of witchcraft, and burned their libraries to the ground. Individuals associated with Richard’s activity had great bounties put on their head, and in many cases angered mobs in rural villages set upon each other, accusing individuals of forbidden knowledge.

What is quite incredible was Emperor Richard III’s response to the manner. All around him his servants and workers were being abducted and murdered. His halls were filled with paranoia, and he wondered if he himself should fear for his and his families life. He knew nothing could be done against Velles and his inquisitors. They were a mysterious, widely feared faction, with connections throughout the realm. If Velles had decreed his operation be destroyed without trace, Richard could only sit and hope that he would not go with it.

Eventually, Velles did come for Richard, though they did not come for his head. A group of robed men, clad in onyx, invaded his house and spoke to him, unmolested by any guard. They had rounded up his family, which now sat upon the cold marble floor at the sword of a hooded individual. Richard pleaded before them, kissing their shoes and begging that they at least spare his wife and only child, young Richard IV. The head inquisitor, a tall sinister man stared at him and laughed.

“Look now at the Emperor, kneeling before the hem of my robe. Do you smell that? Emperor? The smell of smoke and ash from the heretical scrawlings within your state which we have so graciously burned? Do you see the blood, crimson in color, that sits caked into my clothes from the heathens that meddled within your halls?”

The Emperor looked up, shaking. The inquisitor stared down at him, surrounded by a pervading darkness. An inquisitor off to the side, holding a sword stained in old blood, stared longingly at the Emperor’s wife and child. “Your Grace, I have been nothing but loyal to the Church. I have served, as has my family, the Church valiantly as its servant for centuries. I have upheld its doctrines and expanded its borders. Please, I beg you in the lords name to spare me, or if not at least my young child and his mother. They know nothing of my actions.”

“You dare use the lords name! Your tongue mutilates the air as it speaks. Your actions and obsessions are altogether antithetical to the church, and to do so in secret from the Church! Your tongue should be cut out and fed to you, and your family should be struck down without heavenly restraint.”

“Please!” cried Richard, his face now streaming with tears. He couldn’t bear to look back on his wife and child, who at such a young age would see his father be killed so pathetically. “It was curiosity! Nothing more! I beg you understand, what I did was for the church, for the betterment of the Empire!”

The Inquisitor stared at him, with the playful eyes of a cat with a rabbit in its claws. “Curiosity. Of course, curiosity.” He mused, all silent except occasional whimper from Richards child. “That first sin that sent man into its descent, delivered by a serpents tongue. You are certainly curious, a vestige of early man. It is said that the curious man, in the holy texts, should have his eyes plucked out of his head so that he cannot fall to visual temptation. Should we do that? Would that be a fitting punishment for your actions?”

“I implore you, all I did was for the church! Nothing more!” said the Emperor.

“Or,” continued the Inquisitor, “Perhaps curiosity is not your sin. Perhaps it is greed. It is fitting that a man, sat upon a golden throne, with his finger upon the pulse of an entire empire, would decided that it was not enough for him. Was it greed that drove those men off the edge of the world? Greed that drove your libraries to be filled, in secret, with antithetical information to the Church?”. The Inquisitor knelt down and met the Emperor eye to eye. “Are you greedy? Son of Jonas?” he asked.

“Please, I am loyal as I have said. Everything I did was for the Church. Look at the progress I have made, the inventions which now stir the empire into a new golden age! All of it has been in service of my people.”

“That may be true.” said the Inquisitor. “But you knew what you did was wrong. It was hidden for a reason.”

“Moent knew”, said Richard, “I showed him the findings, we discussed it on many occasions! He did not object to my discoveries, for they were true!”.

“Of course, Saint Moent. He was a fickle man, just and curious like you perhaps. But his age has come and gone, as has yours. The knowledge offered by the heavens is sacred and absolute and much desired by man. And yet man was not made to handle such concentrated information alone. It was Mans first search for knowledge that made him mortal no? His curiosity was what led to the fall of innocence. You need only to look at our neighbors in any direction, at their decrepit state and disavowal of God to see the necessity of guidance. Without Heaven their place is in the mud, as will be your Empire. This activity ceases today.”

“What happens now?” Said Richard.

“The honourable Pope Saint Velles has decreed all reference to these heretical actions be purged. All your ships burned, all your actors silenced, all the texts destroyed. This as you know has been done” Said the Inquisitor. “If it were up to me, you would be slain here and now. But that is not the will of the Church. Velles offers you your life, being that your house bears a certain… reputation. You are to remain Emperor, with your family unharmed and your abilities unhindered though monitored non-invasively. There is a stipulation of course. Your previous actions are to remain silent, and any characters that have eluded our hunt are to be silenced by you, permanently if necessary. No word of these events is ever to surface. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Richard began to stand, and his child ran up to him, wrapping his tiny arms around his leg.

“You have been granted an unprecedented mercy, your highness.” said the Inquisitor turning to leave. For a moment, he stared at the boy and then back to the the father. “Pray you do not waste it, for I pray that you will”.

V

Richard III stayed in power after his meeting with the Inquisitor, though his rule was vacant and empty, carried out from the privacy of his castle and relayed through delegates and messengers. He was hardly seen by any except his most trusted servants, and visitors to the castle who wandered through the halls late at night who had seen the Emperor claimed they had glimpsed a ghost of a long dead ruler. He would spend hours meandering, staring down at the cold stones. His appearance had grown ragged as his health unexplainedly declined over the course of years. His face was long and unkept, his skin wraithlike and thinly molded over his skeletal figure. The Inquisitors were never again to be seen in the halls of Jonas, but this was little consolation. Everyone knew they were there, blended into plain shadow, watching from the eyes of the raven and gargoyles that dotted the roofs and towers of the castle. They were among the common folk, in the arms of the guards and within the church especially. Richard did not attempt any sort of cunning nor treachery. When surviving scholars and such from the purge came to him Richard had them wait in his halls, never to appear again until the shadows had taken them away as ordered.

And yet the spark did live on within him. Richard III hoped that his aspirations might live on through his son, who was destined to be Emperor as well and in short time as his own health was deteriorating rapidly. Late at night, The old king would meet with young Richard in his bedchambers. There he would release a loose stone which sat anonymously behind a wardrobe, and from a dusty container would reveal a single book, perhaps the last one of its kind, which had survived the purge. Here the boy would see his father light up and become envigored with a spirit that he figured had gone long ago. His father would read to him the discoveries of the edge which to him held the mysteries of the world. He would explain the marvelous contraptions of steel wood and rope which sent astral vessels into space itself. He would talk of the brave adventurers who first went out and sailed to the edge, he talked of the Elysius and the Orpheus and the Odysseus, how they braved the rogue storms and violent winds and then the ever encompassing mist which obscured even your hand along an outstretched arm.

Young Richard was captivated by his father’s words, and felt himself swelled into them as those few ships were once swelled over great waterfalls into the unknown void. He imagined himself an explorer himself, sat upon the biggest astral vessel ever built. It would be the size of a temple and built like an ark, holding an army of soldiers draped in gold and riding the finest stallions. It would be equipped with large stores of all varieties of food and goods, and hold within it a garden likened to paradise itself. From here young Richard would descend into the unknown and go on a great many adventures, fighting off giant space beasts like dragons, krakens, and drifting whales. Richard would find a new land, where he would settle his army and rejoice in a new world to enjoy and discover. With these thoughts he would trail off into sleep, and his father would look upon him and smile.

From here we are brought past Richard III’s death and to Richard IV, who disavowed the Church and Velles, and with his rebellion bringing forth a civil war that was to decimate the Kingdom and its subjects. From the perspective of the peasant who fled their destroyed homes and famine ridden lands or from the peasant who burned them, the battle had no motive—Nor was one required; They fought not for the virtues of the Church or the ambition of Richard, for these ideals were not known to them nor would they have mattered. They were displaced from the motives of their rulers as were the nobility from the blood which now spilled from their soldiers necks. The side they fought on did not matter to them, nor the banners with which they carried upon long poles at the head of each company. The peasant was recruited as a matter of location, drafted not by coercion or conscious decision but by necessity, perhaps equated to the drinking of water by the thirsty. War was visible only to the Nobles, and battle only to the subjects. War was a conscious affair, a matter of politics and planning. The peasants did not see war. They did not know they were in one. They merely subsisted in a transient state of experience that brought them marching from town to town, interrupted occasionally by the encounter of opposition—who were by all means like them—and then the bloody affair of conflict which was chaotic, quick, and unstrategic—quite antithetical to war.

And so the war was fought in contrast to the battle. The war was personal, long, and arduous. The battle was impersonal, quick, and required not a vessel of thought. It was no more unfamiliar to the peasant than the tilling of soil in a midday summer heat. It is only the poet, high in his ivory tower, who weeps for the dead, and who contemplates the emptiness of an existence they would never endure.

It is here when the war had been raging for some years and had tainted all but the far reaches of the Empire that the existence of a new character becomes relevant to the story. He was a simple scholar then, a scribe of the church, and found within the bowels of a small chapel much separated from the conflict, surrounded by parchment and lit only by the light of a small wax candle. He lived in a small town on the outer fringes of the Empire, a fishing settlement to the South by the name of Insmuth along a path hardly travelled; He was born in this very chapel some twenty five years ago, and was trained in the theological arts as his father was, and was very much destined to do the same for his children in the future. Of his earthly possessions—ignoring frankly his keen mind and diligence—was an inheritance of his late parent’s house, a small mud building with a thatch roof, which sat half a mile down the main road of the village. It was very likely that he was to die there having never ventured beyond the border of his small world, and he was rather content to subsist within the world of text and scripture.

Above the crypt could be heard the creak of a large wooden door opening and the entrance of several men by way of their footsteps. The Priest was absent, for he was seeing to the sick in part due to the resurgence of the plague that had reached even our small enclave. The scholar put down his quill and went up the stairs, coming to face several individuals who looked up and down the buildings interior.

“I’m sorry gentlemen but Father Corinth is tending to the sick at the moment. He should be back by sun down.” The men turned to him. They were soldiers clearly, bearing the cross of Celestine upon their chests and wreathed in chainmail. At their sides were swords and maces, and one of the men leaned on a long halberd which he could only wonder how it had gotten through the door.

The front man, who was senior to the others and bore on his face long healed scars of combat approached, eyeing him seriously and inspecting his robes. “Are you Marlow? Scribe of Insmuth?”

“That is I.”

“We come from Ryden, soldiers of the Church in the command of Sir Baldwin. Do you know of it?”

“I do, though I have never been. It is a mining town to the South. You have travelled a long way. And to come here, you must be either lost or in search of solitude.”

“Neither I am afraid. We have come for you. You are a scribe of the Church yes?”

Marlow stood there puzzled. “You have come for me? Surely you refer to the Priest?”

“Nay. Our lord requests a scribe, a scholar who is trained in the sciences and scripture a like. You can read yes? And you have talent with a quill?”

“I do”.

“Then it is you he requests. You must come at once; It is best not to keep our lord waiting.”

The scribe was not one to turn down a lord. Sir Baldwin was a name he was familiar with, Baron of the lesser state he occupied. When Marlow was very young it was said the Baron travelled through the hamlet on his way to war, though he did not remember the encounter. The Baron had his capital within Ryden, which had been made prosperous by its plentiful deposits of silver and iron. Why a Baron would be interested in a scribe from a forgotten hamlet, and Marlow no less, was a mystery. Yet the scribe did not have time to gather his belongings and was assured that food, clothing, and lodging would be provided; He was not informed about the purpose or length of his stay.

The soldiers watched the town warily and stood in front of a wagon which was pulled by two horses of medium breed. The party sat for a moment, listening to the quiet heartbeat of the small village before setting off South along the coast. They moved past the harbor, made unmistakable by the squawks of gulls overhead and an ever present smell of rotting fish, before heading inward and passing by the outer farms of the town. As they passed field after field, the stone brick wall that paralleled the trail eventually descended into the ground, and the homes became more and more scarce. Eventually they passed a crossroads with a sign of many directions, one of which pointed back to the town they had come from. Marlow did not recognize this sign, upon which he realized rather unceremoniously that this was the farthest he had ever been from home.

The trail was bumpy but quiet, and they encountered no other travelers for a time. Even the gulls that seemed to hug the coast had left, preferring to congregate around the settlements in the hopes of an easy meal. Marlow sat up front with the veteran soldier who directed the cart, while the others in the back cycled between talking, sleeping, and singing songs of chivalry and salacious intents.

“The ride will be long I am afraid,” Said the Soldier. “Are you accustomed to travel?”

“I have never had the experience of travel. All my life I have lived in this small town. Every second we ride is one step further than I have ever been”

The Soldier went quiet for a moment, staring absent mindedly at the reigns in his hands and the bobbing heads of the horses. Worried that he might’ve upset the man, Marlow tried to change the subject.

“You must be well travelled then I ‘spose? Being a soldier of our lord and all and in such times as these.”

He spoke again without turning his head, “Aye I am. I have been a soldier all my life. When you wish to fight for a living the fight will not often come to you, you must go out and search for it, meet it on amenable grounds. I fought originally here in the South, defending convoys into that great rotting jungle. There more men were lost to illness and accident than any sword or spear. Then I served to clean the roads of brigands and highwaymen when the land was in relative peace. Recently though they have made a reoccurrence, taking ample opportunity of the war. Now in my age, which in my profession is both rare and a detriment, I serve more closely under the baron. I pray that he is not called to war, for then I must accompany him and my time will be short.”

“I wouldn’t imagine you would. Ryden is a great source of wealth and the Pope likely aims to safeguard it as a source for the Empire’s mint. It would make little sense to stretch it so thin.”

The veteran laughed, an inconsistency with his behavior that made Marlow jump. “Are you sure you have never left your hamlet?” He said. “You are awfully well learned.”

“You would be surprised what a life surrounded by cold stones can teach you” the Scribe responded.

“Ah. That is until those stones move. That my friend is the other side of the coin” He grumbled. “Keep this between our tongues, but the Church itself is stretched thinner than it might appear. Even now there is movement, and talk of deployment to replenish the Northern territories which have been drained so far. And it is not only Richard’s Armies you have to fear but the plague that now spreads blind to all borders like the devil’s fog. Our battalions have been sent into these towns of unburied death to pile up the bodies in mounds and burn them—a truly improper death for any God-fearing folk but a necessary one.”

“Tell me properly.” Asked Marlow, “What need really does the Baron have for a scribe? And why me specifically? Am I to think there are no literate folk in Ryden?”

“You can ask him yourself when we arrive.” Said the veteran. “As I said before, I’m merely the carrier, and you’re simply the cargo. Whatever the reason though, I likely am not versed enough to understand it. You should be proud though! Perhaps it is an appointment to the court? That would strike me as plausible, what with your knowledge. Imagine that: you would never go hungry, cold, or lacking in any other human desire again. Every morning waking up in silk clothes, bathing in the finest bathhouses and attended to by maidens at any whim. What more could a man want?”.

“I suppose I will have to wait and see.” said Marlow.

The rest of their journey was rather mundane, save for a moment towards the end where they passed through the ruins of a village. The smoke column could be seen rising from a mile off, and the smell seemed to pervade much further, getting louder as the cart came within proximity of it. The party stopped for a moment and studied their maps, but found no road to pass the village that wouldn’t extend the trip by a disagreeable amount of time. In the end they decided to pass through the village. Upon arriving Marlow was surprised to see familiar flags of the celestine army, though what remained of the village was little: Here and there between muddy tracks of footprints lay the charred remains of houses and other structures. The Chapel, which was often the only stone building in villages such as these, had similarly crumbled, and on its crest was a pole which waved a tattered flag of white, gold, and blackened soot.

The veteran jumped down from the cart and knelt before the ground. “What rider visited this place I wonder? Plague or War?”.

One of the soldiers, who had walked off to the top of the chapel shouted back, “It seems clear. Whoever was here has long since departed.” He pointed. “There is a large amount of tracks, horses and men, off to the East away from our destination.”

Marlow was on edge. The ground below him felt alive, like it was still echoing the events that had occurred only hours or days before. “We should leave”.

The veteran turned. “In a moment, son. Let’s take a minute to look around.”

He threw up his hands. “What for? There is nothing to compel us to stick around a place like this”.

The veteran smiled, which distorted the scar along his face into an exaggerated smile. He made a rubbing motion with his fingers and spoke laconically: “Your books must have skipped a section on the muses of man”. He turned with the others to scavenge the remains of the houses.

The scribe walked off in the other direction, though hesitant to stray too far from the cart. ‘Depraved vandals’ he told himself. ‘How could they think to loot a place such as this? It is not only ungodly but reckless.’ He fumed silently to himself, staring absentmindedly at the floor. He stared down at the mud as he walked, oblivious to his surroundings. The ground was sludge like and filled with holes of water. Footsteps of horse and man alike trailed all over, much more than could be accounted for by normal traffic. They pointed off in all directions, like some sort of mad dance. Though to follow such a choreography would require the greatest of skill.

As he walked, he noticed that the footsteps began to coalesce and trailed off out of the village. Curious, he followed the steps. Out in the distance he heard the shouts of one of the men. ‘Probably found himself a nice necklace’ He muttered to himself and kept walking.

The steps followed one of the main arterial roads out of the town before veering off of the path over a hill. The steps were disjointed and nonuniform. They were not the markings of soldiers marching in unison but of a nonhomogeneous group, perhaps the missing villagers, young and old. The scribe climbed up the hill and looked down, where the river’s mouth opened to its end. There, obscured by the hill, was a mound two meters high composed of bodies. Smoke still lingered off of the blackened corpses, which were stilled into a snapshot of their once living and breathing embodiments. Hands with their fingers curled stuck out and groped towards the cold air. Bones lay smashed and broken under the weight of a hundred others. Legs, arms, and scraps of hair jutted out at odd angles from the amalgamated mass. Surrounding the perimeter of the mound was more flags of white and gold. Marlow fell to his knees, suppressing the urge to vomit. He stared down at the floor, his vision spinning rapidly. He began breathing heavily, unable to comprehend the site in front of him. ‘This cannot be, this cannot be’, he thought to himself repeatedly. Before long he looked up again, and let out a scream, which was heard by the others. After a few moments they came running, weapons in hand and ready for a fight. They reached the top of the hill and stared down at the mound, still breathing heavily though much more relaxed.

Marlow sat on the floor sobbing quietly. The veteran looked down at him sternly, perhaps with disappointment, though he wasn’t sure why.

“The army, they killed them.” Marlow said. “They herded them all up like sheep, and burned them alive in that pit.”

The veteran sighed and bent down to his level. “It was the plague, these people were sick. They were to die anyways.”

“You don’t know that.” Marlow responded.

“I do.” said the veteran. “I’ve seen it before, many times.” He stood up, “It always starts small. A cough or fever. Just a kid or babe at first. No one takes it seriously, because these things happen. In a matter of days it spreads to the whole village. A tickle in the throat becomes a hacking cough, and is accompanied by blood. The fever begins to bed lock people, and yellowish buboes develop on the neck, and body of the afflicted. The sacks go from yellow to red, then purple and black. Rot sets in on the living in the most painful manner, and yet the afflicted’s fate was sealed long before. Before long it takes the whole village, much swifter than any barbarian troop or army. And it spreads just as fast. It was better these folk now than ten more settlements later.”

Marlow did not respond. He merely sat looking down without a sound. Then the veteran, overcome by an anger, grabbed his hair and yanked him violently upwards, positioning his face towards the mound. “See? Do you see that? The cross of red and black? It is the plague! And yet it is more than that! This is the world you live in, raw and unfiltered. Look! Look at it! This is your Empire? Do you see it now? Huh?”

Marlow screamed, and shoved him down into the dirt. “Off me, heathen! I’ve had enough of you”. He knelt down over the veteran, overcome by a rage. Marlow flailed his arm at the man’s face, the fingers connecting clumsily with the man’s jaw. Pain shot through his hand, which had never once been used in such a physical manner. Marlow knelt over holding his arm, which now resonated a dull pain. The veteran got up, as if rising from a peaceful sleep. He smiled at Marlow.

“Are you done?” He asked.

“I think you broke my hand.” Said Marlow.

The veteran wiped some blood from his nose, which stopped running immediately. “Unlikely,” He said, “It’ll subside.”

The other soldiers watched the struggle absentmindedly. Others simply stared off into distance, unphased by both the mound and the conflict. Marlow, now more composed, even felt a little humiliation at his outburst. “I would like to go now.” Said Marlow.

And off they went to Ryden.

VI

The town of Ryden, much like the ruined village the party had passed through a day before, could be seen on the horizon for miles before one actually passed through its high stone entrance into city proper. Not just one, but several dozen columns of smoke rose up into the sky and combined into a huge black cloud making the city itself appear as if it was in the throes of a blazing inferno; In some ways, it actually was. The cloud tainted the virgin sky, at once bearing the appearance of ink spreading through water and when closer that of an active volcano. The cart rolled into the slums surrounding the city, and the dirt path transitioned to loose cobbles, the air became a dull grey choked by smog and the light of day diminished significantly. The city itself seemed separated into three sections: The palace, the city proper, and the outlying slums, each district extending radially outwards from the next around an epicentral mountain that had been ground down by years of industry, leaving only a neutered stump upon which sat a castle (that at one point was probably the color of natural stone, as opposed to its current deep charcoal black).

“Ah Ryden, it is good to be home.” said the veteran, who seemed considerably more at ease. “Let me give you some advice scribe, watch yourself here. Not everyone in this town has your interests in mind. A place like this eats its own people, it certainly doesn’t have time for country folk. And don’t try the brothels, the women are not as clean as they claim.” The men in the wagon laughed, and were now singing a tune about a trickster wife running off with her husband’s money.

“I can’t imagine I’ll be spending my time in such establishments.” said Marlow. He put up a straight face, but the environment was clearly a shock to the young scholar, who had never seen more than thirty people at any a given time, and half that for buildings. They still travelled through the slums, and everywhere was a flurry of activity. Huts made of wooden scrap and hastily constructed stones stood along the roadside. Some of them looked near uninhabitable, but through windows (if an open hole can be promoted to such) he could see whole families going about their business in spaces unfit for a single person. Ropes hung across the buildings, some of them clearly structural, and clothes hung out of the windows and along the threads. Lanterns flickered in doorways and on tables, and fires seemed like a big issue—among other things. Children covered in soot and dirt ran along side the cart, curious at the comparably well-dressed outsider, and adults looked on warily with hollow eyes. The air was hot and humid, smelling of human waste and sulfur. Every direction denied mercy to Marlow’s senses. Vendors sold spoiled foods and tarnished artefacts of dubious origins. Carts of ore and mining equipment rolled past the cart in unclear patterns. Brothels with names like ‘‘Velvet Inn” or “The King’s Nymph” were scattered about, which even in the hot midday heat were crowded with disheveled, desperate men and near-bare women scanning with practiced eyes. There were also taverns, from which emitted raucous laughter and a reeking smell of sweat and alcohol. To the side a drunk (one of many) lay face down in the mud. “Ye can’t handle it lad, stop drinkin’ them if ye can’t handle it” another man rasped, more wrinkle than face, all the while poking him with a stick.

Marlow looked at the veteran, who recognized his face without turning. “It gets better past the slums, though admittedly not by much”.

The cart trudged up the slope past the slums. Between the slums and the city proper was a large stone gate which ran around the whole city in an oval. As it ran away from the gate the wall became wooden, and Marlow could swear he saw a child squeezing through a gap in the mud. The guards along the wall were dressed well, similar to the men in the wagon, though they were clean and had the resolute look that often comes with training and discipline.

One of the soldiers in the wagon chimed in. “Those tower guards are the private enforcement of the Baron—elite soldiers the lot of them. Unlike the town watch of the slums or your regular rank and file soldier. Baldwin hires them from out of town, as far North as Selby, and trains them to high standards. It keeps the city well behaved. You’ll see more of them in the palace.”

Marlow looked back. “Why’s there no guards in the slums?”.

“There used to be, but not anymore. Haven’t been for years. The slum dwellers fend for themselves. Sometimes you’ll see groups of watchmen organize for protection, patrolling about with clubs and bats, but they’re little more than gangs. I wouldn’t walk around there during the night—or day for that matter. Baldwin keeps the main roads safe though, enough to get in and out of the city walls.”

The proper town was an improvement, though the air still stank and the buildings—made of proper wood and stone—were still covered in an ever-present soot. The establishments here looked strong enough to resist someone falling on them, and the people seemed of a moderate, though still poor, caliber.

“Most everyone in the town is a miner or caters to the miners.” Said the veteran. “Every day thousands of folk descend into the earth to work in those wretched holes. It’s dangerous work too, very dangerous. More dangerous than any soldiering I’d argue. If you aren’t caught in a flood, cave in, or other accident its the pollution that’ll get you. I would bet you there isn’t a single miner here over the age of thirty.”

A familiar feeling of revulsion rose in Marlow’s stomach. He became sickened by what he saw around him. He knew the history: a third of the country’s currency came from Ryden, double that in metal production. It supplied the entire Empire. Nails, swords, cuirasses, horseshoes, barrel hoops, and more all sourced from Ryden. Mining towns like this travelled their wares hundreds of miles, by horse and boat, down rivers and across oceans. But seeing was separate from reading. The town was compatible with Marlow’s knowledge yes, but incompatible in the flesh. All that Marlow had learned about the Empire, the Celestine Church, was incompatible with what he saw. Nevertheless it was absolutely essential; It fit in perfectly like a puzzle piece, far better than any book, chapel, or holy verse. This town, this infernal machine, had a better claim than the port cities for the heart of the empire, which sat glistening on a pristine shore. Despite its visage Ryden was empty, not only from its occupants who bore out the very earth it sat upon, but the people itself. Here there was little value to human life. Not even the slaves who toiled below the ground cared for themselves, they existed only to fuel its infinite industry until there was nothing left. Marlow realized that this was the empire. Its true colors were not white and gold, but black. A deep sooty black, speckled with drops of red.

The cart made it through the city with little hassle before arriving at the final gate. The palace wall was impressive, made of pristine stone quarried from somewhere far off and laden with the church’s flags. Unlike the prior entrances this one was closed and no traffic went in or out. The veteran was greeted by a well groomed soldier who eyed Marlow cautiously. A few words were spoken and the large iron gates opened, allowing the party into the palace.

The palace stood in stark contrast to the city outside. The inner walls of the palace were pristine, almost reflective. From the outside, the palace itself was obscured by the high stone walls, and once inside it was revealed for all its splendor. Marlow assumed for a moment that he must be hallucinating, as if he had accidentally walked into heaven itself. The architecture was foreign, as were the plants. that made up the dedicated landscape that traced the buildings exterior. All around were rows of flowers and ferns of all varieties and colours that he’d only seen in paintings. A servant in a white robe poured water over them from a brass jar, that ran clear as if he watered them with liquid crystal. His face and hands as well were clean of soot. Even the sky above, which had before been a dull grey, seemed clearer and brighter; the air indeed felt cool and smooth, almost fragrant, though Marlow knew this was impossible.

A guard, similar in uniform to the ones along the outer wall welcomed Marlow by name and told him that the Baron would see him now. The veteran and party, seemingly practiced in this choreography, wished him well. “Good luck Scribe” Said the veteran, with a wistful smile, “May your prospects be good.”

Marlow was escorted through the palace. It was wide and spacious, with hallways big enough to hold a carriage and with large open plazas open to the sky. Each wall was adorned with marble statues of sword-wielding men, women holding harps and baskets, and ferocious far away beasts seen only in compendiums and fairytales. The footsteps of Marlow and the guard echoed ahead of them against the tile floor, and looking down Marlow noticed he could see another person standing upside down. It was his reflection, which before he had only seen in a pale of water or in the glint of dirty silverware.

The palace seemed to go on and on, and as they went deeper into its interior more of its inner workings revealed themselves, though special care had clearly been made to hide the menial work of upkeep within the halls. Behind bannisters and apertures with sleek metal framing he could see the darting eyes of servants. Some scrubbed away at the pearlescent floors, avoiding eye contact completely. Others scurried past, quick to enter doorways to other areas of the building. They carried vases, boxes, and baskets of fruits, bread, and delicate meats. Marlow had never before seen such luxury, and his eyes were drawn to every corner of the building.

Eventually they come to a large room with domed ceilings. The domes defied gravity, and seemed as if they would collapse under their immense weight at the lightest touch and crush them all swiftly. The walls held large mosaics of coloured glass. Each one bore the likeness of Saints. There was Saint Herold, Saint Eyeine, Saint Luka, and even a large portrait of Saint Persephone, who wept eternally a small golden ball of sap which traced a saber upon the floor. A staircase at the far end led into another room. Marlow began to walk up the stairs but the guard stopped him.

“You’ll wait here. No one is permitted entry into the throne room without permission.”

“His majesty called me all the way here just to wait in front of his door?”

The guard looked at him irately and did not respond. Marlow once again felt a sinking feeling in his chest and knew he had spoken out of line.

After waiting for quite some time, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and a portly silhouette wearing a huge drape of furs stood in a basking ray of yellow light. Marlow looked up at the man with a hand over his eyes, the light was blinding.

“Greetings! Dear Boy! Oh how long I have waited for this moment!” The man beckoned. “My, let me look at your face. The journey must have been arduous.” He walked slowly down the stairs, as if he might at any moment trip on his robe and tumble down the stairs. His steps echoed in the huge room, filling the silence. His steps were so slow that the entrance began to loose its grandeur, and Marlow tried to suppress thoughts of the huge man rolling down the stairs as he slowly wheezed closer. Eventually Baldwin did reach the bottom of the stairs, and the sun had set below the window from the throne room, bathing the room in a warm glow. Marlow realized that he had been made to wait so the sun could cast Baldwin in a godlike ray, and indeed the whole palace had been oriented around that very entrance, which had now more than lost its effect.

“Are you okay dear boy? Has my beloved city treated you well?” He asked, with a hand on Marlow’s shoulder. His fingers were thick and stubby, like sausages. A gilded ring with the largest diamond Marlow had ever seen suffocated his pinky, and he wondered how the finger retained circulation at all.

“I am fine, my thanks go to your soldiers who escorted me along the entire journey.”

“Of course. They are my finest soldiers I have always said. Many of them have been with me since the beginning so many years ago.” Baldwin looked off into the distance, as if playing with a longer thought, but soon lost his focus.

“If I may be allowed to speak,” Marlow asked. “But why have I been summoned here?”

Baldwin looked at him curiously, and then smiled. “You are Marlow of Insmuth, no? The Marlow?”

“I know of no other.”

“The Scribe who wrote The Historeyes de Compendium of the Imperium? Why my boy, despite your simple existence you bear a certain, how should I say, talent that transcends your time. Your work, despite its limited accredition, has spread far throughout the Empire as one of the greatest analyses and sources of history on our great nation and church.”

Marlow was shocked at the sudden revelation. “I did write it yes, but it was largely a translational affair, taken from other sources. Surely this does not merit any fame?”

“Oh au contraire! Of course it is a translation and compilation. You think I would expect a single scribe to have lived so many lives before his time and spanning such distances? Only our Lord himself could do such acts, which makes your talent all the more interesting. Somehow, the little scribe Marlow, from an isolated hovel like Insmuth known for little besides sour fish and fish bones, was able to do what no other Scribe or scholarly appendage of the church could do. You went through ages of material, many of it conflicting, and pieced it together neatly so that our total story could be told. To do such an action, it must have taken years! Lifetimes! And yet somehow you managed. Why Sir, it is an honour to meet you!” The Baron shook his hand with frenzy; His hands were quite greasy, and he smelled of an odd mix of lavender and unwashed sweat.

“If my work has gone so far, how is it that I am only now hearing of this?”

“Why therein lies the pudding! When you completed your work, it was transported and distributed all across the Empire. The details of this are sparse of course, and perhaps you could enlighten me on how exactly it left your possession in the first place! Nevertheless it made its way out of Insmuth and into the world. It made its way to the local nobles, of the surrounding region—including into my hands as well!. It disseminated to the Churches, to the libraries of several states, even all the way to Celestine itself! It was not at once realized for what it was mind you, as I’m sure you yourself did not consider it either. It was simply a book, and in a land such as ours where a fellow, ah, intellectual, is such a rare commodity why even the writings of a mad man are worth their spot on a shelf somewhere! It wasn’t until scribes began reading your work that they realized how valuable it really was. A whole history of such nature, to go unheard of for so long. Some took it to be a message from the lord himself. As for your question yes, it would seem that your name was… how should I put this, ignored, vandalized, and most of all edited. Many scholars took it upon themselves to claim the work for themselves. You see, an unclaimed work such as this, even with a signature—though one that had no clear claimant—cannot remain that way. So several scholars claimed to have produced it. This went on for several years of course within the scholarly circles. Oh my! If only you had seen it! One person accusing one another in great missile assaults of slander, libel, legal accusations. It was a great war to claim your Historeyes, in fact I would say this is an honor to you! Nevertheless, it was eventually realized that no individual could have produced the book who also claimed to have created it. Indeed, no one alive—not for two hundred years—has written something of such marvel and depth. Your book truly is a thing of beauty! And so I took it upon myself to find the real Marlow. And what a surprise it was! To find you alive, and so young, within my very governance! The true author! That story is interesting as well, but for another day I suppose.”

Marlow began to speak, but was at once cut off. “Now I’m afraid I have no use for you as a regular scribe. It a job unbecoming of your skill. And I did not bring you here simply to gawk neither. No, my orders for you come from the Pope himself.”

“Are you serious?” Marlow asked. “And what task would he have for me?”

“Allow me to show you.” And so Baldwin lead the scholar out of the palace.

VII

The Scholar, the Baron, and a collection of soldiers and servants made their way out of the palace in a great congregation through the streets of Ryden. Baldwin and Marlow sat tucked away within a carriage in the center of the royal procession, gathering the eyes of the entire district.

“What I am about to show you is not something to be taken lightly” Said Baldwin, peering through the curtains of the carriage into the crowd outside. He turned towards Marlow, who sunk into his cushioned feather seat. It was like laying on a cloud. “Are you familiar with the Odysseus?” Interrupted the Baron.

“I am not sure what you mean” Said the Scribe.

The Baron sighed. “You clearly do not understand nobility. One of the faults of living nose-deep in a book.” He continued, “A noble does not show weakness. It is incompatible with the world in which he occupies. Similarly, a noble does not admit defeat, or wrongdoing, or a lack of knowledge. Which is apt in my case, for I am never wrong.” He pointed at Marlow. “So if I ask you a question, I am not really asking. I already know the answer, for a noble is never wrong. I am going to ask you again. Do you know of the Odysseus?”

“I-“ He looked down at his robe.

The Baron smiled. “Listen boy, I am not your enemy. I too am aware of things I am not supposed to. You would be surprised the things that are whispered in the halls of the elite. Devilish things that would have others burned at the stake. But this is not your fate. Your privileges are special, and I know by virtue of your ability that you know of things that others should not. You know of the true nature of the world. Of the Emperor and his father, of his tragedy and cursed knowledge, and most of all you know of the edge.”

“What you speak of is heresy, this is a trick, a test. I know not of what you speak.” Marlow said.

“Please.” Said the Baron. “You do not have to hold your tongue here. We sit in a golden chariot parading through the streets like Gods! Enjoy these privileges! Besides, I do not care what you believe or don’t. In truth, I care not for your holy book. Truth be told, I care not for what you know. This knowledge is sanctioned by the Pope himself; I need to know if you are truly as learned as your reputation would imply.”

Marlow was stricken by such candid speech. He felt it must be a test of his character, a test of his faith. He looked out the windows, fearing those who might be watching, waiting for a slip of his tongue, a few simply words that might permit a dagger to be thrust deep into his chest.

The Baron leaned back, defeated. “Fine. Stay silent. We are arriving anyways, and I will show you with your own eyes.” The carriage came to a stop and a servant opened the door.

Marlow stepped outside. They were still in the city, somewhere in the slums, though in a location he was unfamiliar with off the main road. A servant helped the Baron out of the carriage, holding his hand as his surprisingly small boots touched the muddy ground. Before Marlow was a gaping hole, a wound that lead deep into the earth. All around them were miners with dusty faces cordoned by soldiers, their work interrupted by the visit. “Come, what I intend to show you is deep within the mine. We have a ways to go” Said the Baron.

They walked through the mineshaft, passing the occasional worker who stared at their passing. A small army of soldiers walked around the scribe and Baron as protection. The soldiers walked with swords and glaives in hand. The Baron clearly did not have much trust in his subjects. They walked deeper and deeper into the mine. Each step represented days if not weeks of slow chipping into hardened soil. The mine was held up by flimsy wooden supports and was lit by torches and oil lamps. The Baron assured Marlow that this was actually one of the more secure sections of the tunnels. Eventually they came across a large wooden box supported by metal girders suspended over a huge hole. It was held up by rope which was strung through a contraption of pulleys and breaks. They entered with only two other soldiers, the others forming a line by the door, and at once the elevator began descending into the ground.

The elevator descended slowly, shaking from side to side. Marlow felt as if the rope would snap at any moment and plummet them to their deaths. The Baron stared forward absentmindedly. The oil lamps placed throughout the tunnel cast beams of dust through the light on his face, lighting it only half at a time, as they slowly descended.

“This mine is the pride of Ryden as you know. Over the years it has bore me riches and wealth beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I saw your castle.” Marlow responded.

The Baron laughed. “You saw one of my castles. I have many estates, too many to count and far too many to visit. This one is one of the more humble ones.”

“Why do we descend into the Earth?” Asked Marlow.

“Now you suddenly show interest? eh? Never mind that. It is not what is within the ground that I want to show you, but what is below it.”

“I will not flirt with heresy.” Responded Marlow.

“Believe me, you’re gonna drown in it”. The elevator came to a stop with a thud. The air, which before was hot and stale, suddenly felt cool and crisp. Marlow could swear he even felt a draft pulling deeper into the cavern. The air entering his lungs didn’t sting but was cool and smooth.

They continued deeper into the mine, heading down at a gradual decline deeper into the Earth. The echoing sound of mining became ever more distant, until the only sounds were the scraping of feet from the soldiers and the Baron’s ever present panting. Finally, they came to a huge metal door that was reinforced with stone brick—quite unusual to find so deep within the ground. Whatever this place was was clearly intended to be both secret and protected. One of the soldiers moved to a small slit in the side of the door and murmured a phrase, and the door opened with a creak.

The gate, though large in size, was disingenuous to the true size of what it held within. Before Marlow was a huge cavern, natural in formation, perhaps due to the movement of the Gods or groundwater carving through the Earth. But there was no water to be seen or huge cracks. Instead, much of the natural rock had been eroded away by manmade expansions. The ceiling had been risen significantly, and massive contraptions of steel, stone, and wood snaked through the open space. Cranes moved back and forth under the direction of soldiers and workers, carrying pallets of supplies and raw materials with an efficiency unseen anywhere on the surface. The site was well built and organized, for whatever purpose that may be. He could not see over the edge from the entrance, but Marlow could tell he stood on a platform above many layers. Marlow stepped forward to the railing and at once nearly collapsed, beginning to fall over the railing. The Baron yelped a girlish cry, and one of the guards quickly stepped forward and grabbed Marlow by the tip of his robe.

Marlow opened his eyes, once again met with the faintly site, though now he dangled precariously over it. It was a hole, as black as any black, descending deep into the Earth. The hole must be unimaginably deep to be so dark, for Marlow could see no bottom. The ground, which would run along side the hole, stopped at the border of the darkness, completely engaged in shadow as well. The division between ground and nothing was distinct, and Marlow could make no logical sense of it. It was as if his brain had broken down, had viewed something beyond comprehension; Indeed it had, so much so that no sense could be made of it in the slightest. What lay before him was no hole. It was not the entrance to a deeper cavern but an ending, a maw of incomprehensible proportions that enveloped the whole Earth and swelled it up inside it. Marlow stared into the very void itself, the deep dark at the bottom of the Earth.

“It is said that Hell rejects those who are not its own, but it seems to me I could fall right in.” Said Marlow shakily as the Guard hoisted him up and threw him back onto the floor. The Baron stared down at him, arms on his hip, and laughed.

“You wouldn’t be the first, believe me”.

They began to walk around the cavern, the guards forever staying watch.