“Ben, you’ll understand some day that all of this knowledge that was archived or left  behind, it wasn’t meant to be kept under wraps, hidden away, lost and left to slumber.  These many tomes and scrolls, the very language of the Oduum, it was meant to  consumed and comprehended. Their very undoing will be something they left for us to  use against them. Slaves will rise against their so-called Masters.” - letter excerpt to  Meister Ben on the eve of his beheading


    Within the quietude of furnace, the book resting closed and heavy on his lap, Abe''s  young mind fevered and spasmed with the weight of a thousand worlds. The voices of  the narrators, those discordant echoes from the pages, reverberated in his mind,  blurring the lines between wakefulness and slumber. As he succumbed to the  enveloping arms, the familiar contours of the metal began to dissolve, melting away  into the mists of a realm untethered from reality.


    Abe found himself adrift in an ethereal landscape, a lucidity born from the depths of his  subconscious and the lingering whispers. The air around him was thick with a sense of  anticipation, as if the very atmosphere were alive with the pulsing energy of unseen  forces. The ground beneath his feet was not solid but a shifting tapestry of scenes and  symbols, an ever-changing mosaic that seemed to echo the tumultuous journey of  Amun Jarro.


    *****


    In this trance, the boundaries of time and space were irrelevant. Abe moved through  this realm not by walking but by the mere act of thought, his consciousness gliding  through the surreal landscape. The sky above was a canvas of swirling colors, where  celestial bodies danced in impossible orbits, and the stars whispered secrets in a  language beyond human understanding.


    The many calls, now disembodied and omnipresent, continued their haunting chorus.  They seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, a cacophony of tones and  timbres that ebbed and flowed like the tide. Some were gentle, luring him deeper into  the dream, while others were harsh, jolting his spirit with their stern warnings and  cryptic messages.


    Amidst this dreamscape, Abe felt both a sense of liberation and a creeping dread. He  was free from the constraints of the waking world, yet acutely aware that he was  traversing a realm that was not entirely benign. The Dreamlands, as he now realized he  had entered, were a place of infinite possibility but also of unfathomable danger.


    As he journeyed, the landscapes shifted and morphed – from eldritch forests with trees  whispering in unknown tongues, to ancient cities with labyrinthine streets that seemed  to rearrange themselves at will. Each scene was more bizarre and wondrous than the  last, a reflection of the myriad influences from the narrators'' tales and his own  imagination.


    In this place, Abe was both an observer and a participant, his presence shaping the  dream even as it shaped him. The voices continued to guide, taunt, and counsel him,  their words weaving into the fabric of his dream, becoming part of the surreal tapestry  that was his journey through his dream walk.


    *****


    Call me Amun Jarro, if that name pleases your ears, but don''t dare label me a heretic  or foe of Lacon. That''s a shallow judgment, you see, and I urge you to dive deeper into  the well of Truth. If your mind remains intact by the end of my tale, you might see that  my actions, however questionable they seem, were for a greater good.


    Now, let me clarify my role. I am a warlock, though that term barely scratches the  surface of my true nature. I delve into forbidden knowledge, unearthing secrets from  ancient tomes, but there''s more to it. My power stems from alliances, from reaching  into the continuum, deeper than most dare. Across the fading mists of my past lives,  I''ve committed acts that scarred my soul, seeking artifacts – totems, effigies, runes –  each a key to hidden realities and profound revelations.


    Living through countless cycles, enduring the endless loop, was necessary to  understand it all. To grasp the insights, the hard-won knowledge, to put pen to paper  and make sense of what I''ve seen and felt. But this understanding came at a price – a  balance between sanity and enlightenment. Did I lose my mind in the process? I  sometimes wonder if the cost was too high.


    Under normal circumstances, I wouldn''t bother narrating my story like this. But here we  are, in this strange waystation, and it seems you could benefit from hearing it.


    So, I greet you, despite what you might have heard. In a way, I envy your naivety.  Maybe, as you journey through my experiences, you''ll gain some understanding,  though your mind seems closed now. I am Amun Jarro, and these are my chronicles.


    As a warlock, I forge pacts with beings seldom spoken of. I summon them, control  them, bargain with them. Sacrifices are always required, no matter their origin. The  shadow dwellers, the divine entities with their mysteries, the fallen lords with hidden  truths, even the elemental forces of earth and nature – they all have their languages,  their demands. But the Oduum, the celestial beings of chaos and creation, I do not  converse or worship.


    I ask for your patience, keep your mind shielded a while longer. But tell me, are you  sure you want to proceed? Keeping company with someone like me is perilous. I  cannot guarantee your safety or sanity. With every revelation comes a risk, a balance of  enlightenment and madness. You''ve been warned.


    We''ll share tales and thoughts, but be wary. If your spirit falters, if your mind breaks  under the weight of truth, know that the storm cares not for your wellbeing. Like the  Oduum, I am indifferent to the fate of those who follow me. So, are we clear? You  understand the risks? This journey is a siren''s call, and I won''t hesitate to watch you fall.  The storm is indifferent to the vessel, as am I.


    Are you prepared for the ultimate revelation, the final beacon now unveiled before  you? My floundering friend, do you see that distant lighthouse, its light a mere flicker  on the horizon? It seems impossibly distant now, doesn''t it? I urge you, swim towards  it, escape the pull of this narrative, and leave behind the path we''ve trodden together.


    Well, Mother, I tried...


    Ah, welcome! You are indeed most welcome here. Rest assured, traveler, you are safe  with me. Consider me the strong hand that pulls you from the rising waters, setting you


    back upon the path. I’ll be right here, a steadfast companion on your journey. Close  enough for comfort, especially when you feel vulnerable and exposed. But worry not, I  am no threat to you.


    Let’s have a chat, a friendly palaver, as they say. Let''s keep our voices hushed by the  fire, so as not to rouse the other seven slumbering nearby. Waking them would unleash  revelations you might find rather chaotic, a mistake you''d rather not make.


    In return for this moment of respite and camaraderie, allow me to recount the tale of  Amun. Amun, from the once esteemed but now disgraced Jarro clan. His story is a  cycle, always beginning anew and ending in desperation, trapped within the continuum  of time, space, matter, and the mysterious flow of energy, magic, and the soul.


    For everything begins anew…


    As we peer towards the distant shore, a sense of wonder creeps in. The cold tendrils  begin to press into your mind, challenging what you once understood. Your perception  fades, repeating in a rhythm like breaths – in and out, so close you can hear, smell, and  feel it. They''re watching. BE STILL and PAY ATTENTION. This is crucial.


    This journey you''re on is fraught with danger. Why have you come? What do you, so  young and delicate, hope to gain or learn? Be aware that you''ll inevitably leave  something behind, something of great value. Amun has learned this well, drawing  upon his own resources repeatedly, always aware of the balance, the price to be paid.  The ferryman, Charon, knows his role well – a gentle yet fearsome entity, always  collecting his due. Perhaps this will be the last time I recount this tale... I tire of it.


    What brought you to this cursed curiosity, to delve into this tome? Have you pondered  the cost of your actions? Has your faith become so diminished? To engage with these  stories is foolhardy, a dangerous liaison. The risk is immense, and no god you pray to  will absolve you of the consequences. You, a na?ve simpleton, are barely aware of the  journey ahead. How could you comprehend the accountability? But know this,  untouched, untainted one – engaging with this tale will shatter your reality, annihilating  all that you know. Just like Amun, you will cease to be yourself…


    They are coming, you should be aware. Perhaps consider saving him as well as yourself  when the moment arises.


    Oh dear, how thoughtless of me to subject you to such disturbances. I had hoped for a  quiet moment between us. Interruptions, it seems, are inevitable, but how could you  have known? It makes one wonder how you can maintain focus on what lies ahead if  such disruptions persist. I’ll have a word with the others once you’ve departed…


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    And I, on my part, should have forewarned you about them. You hear them too now,  don’t you? It''s a pity, truly, and I''m sorry for this. There’s no turning back to where you  once were. Their voices will follow you now – in your most private moments, during  meals, even in solitude. Believe me, not even the sanctuary of a privy or a confessional  will shield you from their haunting lamentations. Don’t bother with prayers or  meditations; it’s best not to linger on such thoughts. Maybe just allow yourself to  grieve...


    The shoreline, our last vestige of hope, is long lost. You’re welcome to mourn its  passing. We all did, once upon a time. How could one anticipate the immense void this  journey would bring? The loss of that cherished solitude? Once, we too grieved for the personal freedoms we unknowingly cherished, now irretrievably lost in our quest.


    I digress, forgive me. I shouldn’t burden you with my growing despair. Your feelings,  after all, are (and aren’t) your own.


    The others, they''ve been here since the beginning of this tragedy, this horror. Amun, oh  Amun... what have you wrought? Your yearning to become one with the many...


    That part about the others, the The Sole Voice Amidst the Discordant Chorus, the  mental cage Amun bears, the so-called MalGallery – it''s both a prison and a gathering  of sorts. All a construct of his faculties. He even gave it a name – the audacity. We are  but trophies in his collection. It feels like enslavement... well, that might not be the  exact word, but there are no words that can quite capture the essence of it...


    ..Quiet, you vile wretch!


    You there, Abe yee named! Focus and heed my words! Everything you''ve been told is a  lie, a crown of deceit weighing heavily upon your naive brow, its burden unbearable! I  won''t say it again! Some here are ancient beyond comprehension, yes, but you, fresh  and ignorant, must begin shedding your mortal constraints. For the sake of your own  sanity!


    The time for change is upon you. Indeed, you naive, flesh-bound infant. This is no jest,  no tease. I can only chuckle in remembrance of my own awakening. Change is  relentless, as is the way of life and the wild – it preys especially on the young, the  vibrant. It was a shadow, a darkening that altered the horizon you knew, just as it did to  Amun. And now, it''s your turn, isn''t it? Trying to piece it all together with your infantile understanding?


    Ah, now we''re alert to the dangers, aren''t we? Curse you! "Steer clear of the rocks,"  they warned! Beware the edges, the unknown, your damned curiosity – the same  hunger that still gnaws at him. Dragons were marked on your map, yet still, you  pressed forward. You were warned not to gaze into the abyss, yet here you stand.


    We approach a land of shadows and suffocating mists. Soon, your head will be forced  beneath the waterfall, and you’ll be commanded to drink – drink it all in! The darkness  will observe, reveling in welcoming another na?ve soul to their game of chase and  conquest.


    Were you not vigilant? No, you kept your eyes fixed straight ahead, hell-bent on a  destination unknown, marching towards your own inevitable ruin. Flail in the dark,  seeking truths that were never meant for your feeble mind! You won''t heed the  warnings, just as humanity has always ignored them, driven by mere curiosity and an  insatiable hunger. Time and time again.


    Now, the perilous land is unmistakably clear before you. Congratulations are indeed in  order – I toast to your damned soul. Don’t you dare deny your own will now...go ahead,  gaze into that abyss, that cavern of lost things...it gazes back at you, mark my words.


    Turn back, turn BACK – there must be a path to retreat! If it means tearing your flesh on  brambles and thorns, do it. Understand this with grave certainty: you are in peril!  Ahead lies a land ablaze, a realm of the fallen, the tortured, the unmade! Loneliness is  but a faint echo of a memory now… The distant shore, your last vestige of hope, has  vanished into the mists of folly.


    Look now and see what ye wanted to see, see the damned , the fallen,  forgotten, the drowned, sick and the slain, the rotting fields of them! A place of a great  battle, a tearing apart of brothers and sisters. Legion, the rivers of fire that separate kin  from damned kin. What ye know to be dead and past aren''t at rest here, what remain  and still dwell moves still - in your feared backsteps, the shadow, your fearful places  and into your mind. Yours no longer.


    What would you hope to triumph? Your gods don''t dwell here, this fiery  plane is abandoned and empty. Your gods would never allow this trespass, this sin. Go  back to your realm and forget, abandon the book, leave the well and burn the house of  ye kin wit’it. Tell a long yarn that this was but a dream, a rotted cellardoor to close and  not speak of again. Throw this soured water bucket back into the mind’s well and not  draw from it ever again! Pray your penance, beg forgiveness,… as many routinely do.  Would you rather that they do what they will to you?


    Does your gooseflesh prickle-up at their presence? You feel them now… Your primal  self knows the old fear better than you, it would seem. It told you to remain still in the  ancient cave, be still and breathe not. To take up club and spear! Kill or be in thy literal  belly of the unseen beast! To feel the predator hunt you now, to fear the rending and  gnashing of your stupid, grimly flesh.


    You are heightened now, head full of white-lightening now!Behold, tis  insight! A merry and damned old right of what is forbidden to you! Your awareness of  the boundless reality as it truly is - beyond the veil, the colour of night, the song of  creation! You won''t stop at this and you''ll wander further as Amun do. Always in search  of more of this devil weed to succor.


    What did Amun wonder (wander) the first time, sighting this alien shore? Supping upon  substances not meant to be imbibed by a mortal mind? After the abyss, in the darkness  itself, that few of your kind have ever dared tread upon? A new horrid landscape  pressing-in on the periphery - uninvited. That relentless intrusion, I can tell you, Amun  was afraid. Aren''t you? You''d think the oldy warlock would''ve been better prepared. O,  bless a soothing balsam upon his sigilled, wrinkly head. Poor bastard, cockfiend! I spit on thee wicked soul….because of his transgression we here…he wanted this, a vile  congregation in his senses to take him along….and the darkness just builds… unchecked….unwarded. He’s no hero for there are none left… He don''have the sand,  stones, or stomach for the torrent, so he remains so a most wicked wretch!


    It''s true, he was afraid…as you are now - it is an intelligent design. There''s  no shame in it, you may do yourself a favor and let go of such earthen makeups,  perhaps. Shame, self-aware, the "I" of it all. It won''t ward thee any longer. It''s folly,  encumbrance, just thrust what will ye have ahead….turn, turn, turn away and around in  the circle of all that you call "you"… “ring an’rosey posey child” - the grim rhyme of  young at play of things not understood. And rightfully so, we’re not meant to! Before  now it''s always been just beyond sight. But yeve had a lick, eh? Insight, you see me  clear now, don''ye? Where ye were wondering before is left far behind, carelessness as  it t''was. Unknowing and happy.


    You''re now vulnerable to a shambling terror because you''re tainted, marked,  an ill fit for any land, let alone ye own. No going Home, bastard.


    It knows and see ye well. It knows ye hunger to understand and will grapple  with your won dim mind to arrange and puzzle it out. It knows if there''s just a glimmer  of light ahead, you were taught it was a hope - never considering it mayhaps be a  glamour or baited hook. If there''s just enough light….it''s all it is needed to see its awful  presence. The sheer magnitude of suffocating power to snuff your bit of light out,  thoughtlessly, indifferently, but a wee bug tread upon. What are ye to the likes of it.  The most wee speck of light, it pays little attention and if it does….as Amun warned,  “the storm cares little to dash a ship upon rocky shore”. Ponder that.


    They can feel you amongst them and they desire you, they desire your  challenge of disbelief and denial of them. They scoff!; you mean nothing. Your brief  story-bit upon the plane, it will be as ash in your ancestor''s mournful maw. Your rock of  legacy won''t be carried to your mother''s and father''s summit to be placed triumphantly  amongst theirs, no child. No legacy is yours, no story shared by your kin ‘round fire.  Yours will be the tragic jest, a folly….an easily forgotten, laughable thing….


    Do you believe now, that Amun held to girded loin and spine to toil on  alone? Mortal bravery only means something to those who fear the unknown expanses  and bastions. Something to someone who fears the death. No, I tell ye now, spoil the  fun, that Amun''s fear runs on steadfast (perhaps there’s humanity still) and runneth far,  far, deeper, and is a Truth.


    You cannot reach the other side. You will drown miserably, and as a failure.


    Have you found what you have sought? You feared for him, seek to know  truths and outcomes, yes? Know you now what you are willing to abandon, set down  on offering tables, bind-up your own beloved Isaac left behind for gods to sup on?  How much of you will actually remain being "you" upon arriving on the other side?  Through the raging storm? A stained denarious for your thoughts?


    It''s not too late in twilight to just pay your due and go back from whence thee came.  True thee be changed and will always be looking back but ye will live. And to sup  among the living and ye kin is a fine thing. Spend time at a living hearth, not at mine.  Few would know…


    FOOL!, there''s no shore to return to…Like Amun, abandon a world that conspires  only to cause suffering, the folly of flocking fools braying and the coming night and  dreading the unseen. The wisened soul sayeth he that the “oldest and strongest  emotion of ye kind is of fear, and the oldest and strongest sort of fear is that of the  unknown”. But ye knows now and sees it well! But also now ye also dosee, see ye well,  that there is no shore. Never was….trapped in his cage and among his trophies.


    And now you''re here too…..Another voice……Another witness….prisoner… Consumed….


    There is no light ahead, no hope…


    ….. to these gods, you must not pray.