The Blighted Lands

The bags are all packed, now it’s time for me to set off on the one expedition that nobody else but me wants. My only two companions for the trip are a pack mule I’ve lovingly named Nostrils -the damn thing snorts on each breath like a Rowlem laudite being told that rights are universal- and a silverbird I’ve called Tuki. We left the little nameless town where I traded for what passes for a map of the region, noticing that essentially everything past the border of Nashriam was completely empty, and generally unhelpful. Inventory includes bedding, a firestarter, my clothes, about 2 months of rations for myself, the mule, and the bird, fungal lathers and cleansers (since congruence ones won’t work), a small copper cage for Tuki, and a congruence catcher.

The journey to the edge of the border was uneventful, with the exception of an abandoned hut a mere hour’s journey away from the edge. It sat on a small rise in the landscape, and had been abandoned for quite some time as the last of the resilient plant life had completely devoured the structure of the hut. Tucked away in the corner, buried behind some rubble and vines, I discovered an old exploratory stash. Perhaps from the last occupant of the house, or another delver of the wastes. I glanced through the faded papers, but most of the writing was complete gibberish, though I made sure to copy as many of the notes as I could. The back half of the journal was torn out, but I noticed that there was a theme with recurring patterns coinciding with geographical locations, and nonexistent architecture. Though I could not understand their meaning, I was relieved to know at least that somebody else out there came to the same conclusion about the Blighted Lands as I did.

Day 1: Inside the Blighted lands

Cold day, no clouds, no breeze. It’s the middle of summer but you could be convinced that fall was just around the corner and not months away. At least the view was nice for the first hour or so. Orange, browns, ochres, grays, blacks, and tans all melded with a slight purple tint gave the barren, rocky terrain quite the eye-catching color scheme.

You could tell the exact point where the border lay. Shrubs and trees were absent, but the wispy trails of grass held strong, until a sheer wall of invisible deterrent kept them at bay, turning over the yellow and green tipped fields to the characteristic browns of the Blighted Lands.

No sign of life. An exploratory glance through my congruence catcher at the surroundings and I could feel it be sapped away, though not before confirming that no living thing was in the vicinity for quite a ways.

We managed to make it several miles into the expansive wastes. No change in scenery. The rocky mountains rise tall ahead, and my self-made trail leads right through them to their heart.

Day 2

Night was cold, it felt like ice was biting into my skin despite the campfire, bundles, and my companions. No clouds, no breeze. Now at the foot of the mountains. My congruence catcher is still relatively full, though it is evidently being drained. I’ve made sure to not let myself indulge in it at all on this trip. It is crucial for the experiment of this expedition to work, and a mere headache is not enough cause to drain it. I’ve handled worse, and will again.

Speaking of headaches, Nostrils is starting to become one. The damned thing just refuses to walk with me sometimes, and I’ve caught him trailing behind me on multiple occasions staring off directly ahead towards the spires of the mountains with his stupid unfocused eyes. It would give me the creeps if I didn’t already think that he had some brain damage. Explains why I grabbed him so cheap at least.

Inspecting the local geology shows that the different multicolored rocks are… strange? Independently created perhaps. Unlike with slates that appear with mountains, there are rocks of all sorts of compositions, as evidenced by their weight, density, and-

Day 5

Middle of the mountains somewhere, peaks across all lines of the horizon, the sky is wrong. Haven’t touched the journal in a while. Tuki let me know that something was amiss while I was writing the last journal. Silverbirds are great for their ability to hear beyond what any human ear can detect, and it must have picked something up, because it began to hum in a very low tone as I was writing last.

Excited that someone was watching, or that I was closer to my lead, I pressed onward, following the bird’s song, though after an hour it abruptly stopped. No sign since then of it finding its muse. Nostrils isn’t doing too well, the dumb beast doesn’t seem to know how to get antsy, so it instead just has periods where it shuts down completely. Still better company than most of the folks up north I spent time with.

The sky is... I don’t know how to really describe it, but there is something wrong with it. The sky normally darkens near summits of mountains, but here it feels like a film has been placed on the entire tapestry, and somebody has smeared it the tiniest fraction of an angle out of alignment.

Continuing my thoughts from last time, it appears that perhaps there was some volcanic cataclysm that shook the earth here, as none of the colored rocks I’ve been wandering over for the past few days have shown any signs of consistency. Still haven't found the damn caves I’ve been looking for.

No clouds. Still cold.

Day 6

Think somebody is looking for me. Either that or Tuki really loves singing mangled garbage all of a sudden. I’ve spotten glimpses of my supposed tracker. Rocks that have shifted slightly while I double back after several minutes of walking. Not sure who would want to stalk someone like me, but I might offer them an autograph if they ever do show their face. Takes a lot of dedication to come out this far. Keeping an ear open constantly.

Something is off with the rocks. Found the first cave today, though not what I was looking for. A collapse several feet into the tunnel prevented further exploration, though I did see some of the patterns that the last delver’s journal showed. On the right track ag

Same day, Tuki started humming low again, first time in ages. There was a pause in the garbled mess it was spewing, before the first hum kicked back in. Definitely on the right track.

No clouds, still cold.

Day 8

Found something I think, the rocks are patterned but I can’t make it out. The Congruence catcher is draining quicker. Tuki hasn’t stopped. No tell of my potential pursuer. Nostrils sneezed, which echoed across the entire Blighted Lands it felt like. Nearly jumped out of my damn skin.

No clouds, still cold.

Day 9

Nostrils wandered off in the night. Good thing he’s unhitched from the supplies when it’s night, otherwise I’d be completely out of luck. It’ll be too much work to find him again, so this is where we part with our stalwart heavy-breathing companion. Fare thee well Nostrils, may you take comfort knowing that you were my 3rd favorite companion, and 6th favorite conversationalist.

Tuki seems unwell, and without my pool to draw from, I am unable to help. I CAN’T use the congruence catcher yet, but I fear that I must if I am to reach my goal. The sky is wrong, but the film is becoming more clear, like another sky is being plastered on top of our own.

Realization.

The rocks are patterned in subtle ways that correspond to the alternate sky. I can’t quite pin down how or why that is the case but simply knowing that there is a connection is a monumental enough realization to keep me going, though it will be heavier now that the burdens of pack animal falls to me.

Still clouds, no cold.

Day 15

Tuki passed, but not before the work was done. Poor thing just refused to eat anymore, but it kept dutifully singing until the last.

I reached the cave. The rocks led the way, patterns pointing this way and that, though their ultimate purpose is still anybody’s guess. The cave itself is clearly natural, but it appears that it was either chosen for some heightened purpose, or it naturally formed the strange patterns that I’ve now seen countless times. The sky continues into the cave, the film now ever-present in front of my eyes. My congruence catcher is stable, still just over half full. Perfect.

The caves seem deep, but my fire starting kit should work just fine for a torch or two.

Still cold, clouds no cold still no clouds no cold

Day 16

Halls lead inwards and outwards like a maze. Insectoid design? The marks are purposeful but their designs are alien. The sky haunts me. I feel the hum now that Tuki led me to. It is close I am sure. Just a little more.

Day 17

I am back outside, somehow. I was sure I was asleep yesterday in the bowels of the cavern, but somehow I am back. I think I slept, I’m not sure how long I’ve been awake now. The headache is a constant strain on my mind. Can’t use the congruence catcher yet. The designs are tumbling out of the journal into reality and I can see that the puzzle is still missing pieces. I just need to find them.

Still cold, still sky, still clouds, no sky, no cold, no clouds.

Day 18

I found it!

Day 21

No cold cold cold cold the sky opened today

Daaaaaayyyyyyyyy

A starry sky. Stars burning bright. Searing. Moon. The moon turns. Clear expanse. Rising peaks. Ten tall spires. Heaven piercing. The sky bleeds. A portal opens before me. A hand reaches through. A hand reaches back. Covered expanse. Film stretching through the horizon. Time bleeds. Divinity listens. Expanse of endless cold. Drowning in cold. Divinity speaks. Searing in expanse. Echoes of prayer. Divinity closes its eyes. A hand piercing heavens. Countless expanses closing eyes. Exploding sky. An eye closes the expanse of endless cold. A portal opens before the moon turns. Prayer closes its rising peaks as time bleeds. Divinity bleeds. Film bleeds stretching through the searing burning bright. The portal closes its eyes in a hand reaching through the back echoes in time drowning in stars. A prayer closing its eye. A divinity closing its eye. An expanse closes its eye. The moon closes its eye. The starry sky blinks.

Day

The experiment worked. It really worked! I’ve figured it all out, though my research will probably have to be destroyed lest I accidentally create a Doctrine. Horrifying thought that.

For that reason I have expunged all explicit details pertaining to the experiment from the journal in hopes that such a possibility will not occur.

The experiment was designed to test a theory I had, that the Blighted Lands were not simply a naturally occurring area of devastation. I had encountered such theories, that a devastating weapon, or some massive swelling of congruence left the lands in such a state, but none left any indication as to why congruence itself seemed to disappear within its borders, nor why the borders were unchanging. The next step to my riddle appeared to me as a strange man was being apprehended by some authorities while I was seeking sanctum in Nashriam from Rowlem. Apparently what I had mistaken as a man was a being called a Null Daemon. No idea about what led to their discovery, or if the allegations were even true, but this seemingly innocuous thread led to a great unraveling. Null Daemons were feared for their ability to absorb congruence. Connections sprang to mind, and further investigation showed me evidence that the Blighted Lands were purposefully created.

The experiment was such that I would attempt to find the location of what I believed to be the ‘core’ of whatever was absorbing congruence. I was able to find the location and more after some genuinely hair-raising days, but as my findings MUST remain inconclusive, I will simply state a hypothesis to ponder.

If one assumes that congruence is the practical use of understanding, and acts as a will to shape reality through itself as the medium, what would be its opposite? What would its opposite do? Why would somebody want or need to use this?

Congruence functions like a scale, with the more knowledge you have adding to your pool to draw from, but there is no opposite to it. You either know something, or you don’t, nor is there a way to remove knowledge once gained. I believe that I have uncovered what that opposite would be, though I have lost most of myself in the process.

The sky I see is not mine.