Category: Other Page 142 of 182

To understand the past, one must understand the future. In all and in each, the echoes of the other. Destination, origin, and route; as flower, leaf, branch, trunk, and root. So on through fungus, soil, insect and all those who dwell and toil in the dark below.

On one such branch, of one such future, the Hypogeum lies submerged and all but forgotten. What was once a ring of guarding mountains is now an atoll, whose opening amongst the salt sea into fresh waters within faces two Houses whose names or purposes few now remember. A deadly current winds out around from the former Breakwater, a cloak and shield against the foolish, apart from a tiny narrow safe passage where once the bridge of the city of Abbadon stood, cracked, and eventually crumbled.

Any lucky or unfortunate enough to pass through the eye of this needle find themselves in waters where lost and broken are the pilots’ instruments, and a song not heard for many ages can be once heard again as new. And in the center of whose inner sea might be called forth by one skilled enough in that Music, an island and small mount, atop jutting forth a humble temple, a gleaming wet jewel to be reclaimed. And in this temple, a well which knows no bottom, and whose deep dark memory reaches back before even the ages of Quatria, to which we presently return…

Upon arriving in Elum proper, the Pentarch sailors found themselves greeted by those people as long lost cousins. The missing thumb of their outstretched hand. The children lead the way, followed by the Silent Figure, in turn followed by the three sailors themselves, Benda the Brave, Tendar the Tall, and Ofend the Round. The villagers took them by the hands, gripped their shoulders, and touched their faces in ritual greeting. They offered them sweetdrink and dried cakes made from mashed salted fish, berries, and fermented grains, and the empty bellies and aches suffered by the sailors on their long voyage at sea were soon forgotten, replaced with rejoicing and the powerful unshakeable feelings of homecoming.

They slept that night in the loft of the family home of Garth Daub Al Elum, father to two of the children who had found them on the beaches by the docks, store-keeper of Elum, and member of the Elder Council which governed with great wisdom and prudence that village, and the surrounding region of the foothills below the Temple Mount.

Meanwhile, on that blessed mount, though the sailors themselves were fast asleep and did not hear, a high fierce note of one lone singer cried out in the night, signalling the close of the first day of the Dark Dance Cycle. Dressed in the flowing black robes pinned full of flowers associated with the part, the young virtuous woman playing Delrin the Beautiful, sad mate of Elum, fell silent upon the parapets of the Great Arch. And after a held count of emptiness, the waits blew their lesser horns in response, and all torch fires burning still in that city and in Elum far below were extinguished.

The first people of Quatria to welcome the three stranded Pentarch sailors were children playing on the beaches near the docks of Elum. The small Pentarch fishing vessel sat in a few feet of turquoise water when they arrived, and the children swam out to it. The sailors greeted them, bewildered still from the storm-at-sea they suffered and from the shock of their arrival on these strange shores. Heeding the insistent beckoning of the children of Elum, the sailors pulled their boat ashore, and followed the children back to the docks. Upon arriving there, the children quickly vanished, leaving the sailors alone again for a time.

At length, a lone figure appeared, clad in the dark cloak of his Order. He approached the sailors who had been waiting there since the children disappeared. He stopped a few feet from them, and held up his left hand, palm open before them in ritual greeting. The sailors did likewise, and one cleared his throat to speak in his own language.

“Good sir, we have landed on these shores, of which we have no knowledge. What land is this?”

The cloaked figure touched a small ornate disk of metalwork below his throat, which acted as brooch and clasp for his garment, and insignia of his rank. An arch between two columns, surmounted by solar disk, and the two crossed paths signifying Clarity and Confusion, all under the wings of Silence.

The sailors looked one to the other, none recognizing these symbols, nor the authority of this costume, though they sensed the gravity of the presence of their bearer.

The cloaked figure held up again his left hand, palm out, purposefully tucked in the thumb, and splayed the remaining four fingers wide. His right hand came up, palm over the top of the other in confirmation, right elbow thrust out in front of his body. He crouched, right arm coming to rest on his knees, and the left dropping heavy to touch the earth. Then he stood back up, letting both arms come to rest naturally at their sides.

The Pentarch sailors looked again at each other for a long silent moment, until Benda, the self-elected leader faced the figure, lifting up his left hand in imitation. Instead of folding the thumb in, however, he folded down the four fingers, and left his thumb jutting out. With the index finger of his ring hand, he touched his thumb, and then pointed off in the distance over the horizon.

“We are the fifth, and come from over the sea,” he said aloud. “Our legends speak of these lands, though none living now have voyaged here. Our people were once great friends and allies.”

The cloaked figure pressed his palms together as in prayer, nodded once, and then crossed his arms in an X in front of his body, hands balled into fists.

“Until the bond was broken,” Benda said, recalling to mind tales heard in his youth of ancient far away Quastria.

He paused a moment, adding, “Let, then, the bond be forged anew between our peoples. We pledge ourselves, within our capacities, in service of this mutual good.” He looked then at the other two sailors, Tendar the tall, and Ofend the round. Each nodded once in agreement.

The cloaked figure held up both hands, palm out, then pressed them together again and bowed low from the waist.

Thus the bond which had been sundered began anew, though the true test of its strength was yet to come. And as the Listeners of Temple Mount received the news from the bell-ringers of Elum below, the High Augur gave the signal for the Dark Dance Cycle to begin.

Throughout the course of this re-telling of the Pentarch Cycle of Classical Quastrian pre-history, readers may notice something of a semantic, linguistic, and lexical drift through the progression of the tales. This is intentionally done, an effort to align more perfectly with the fluid nature of what is known about the early history of Quastria, a nearly exclusively oral tradition, and later millenia of Pantarctican priestly and scholarly interpretation — and misinterpretation — across the diversity of proto-pantarctic sources.

For example, Redgraves in his Quatrian Codex renders the city we here transliterate as Abbadon (“gift of the father” — i.e., Anthuor) as “Abaddon,” from the Hebrew for “bottomless pit,” of which Bucks used the Latin equivalent instead, “Exterminans,” (for destroyer) on account of the vicious destruction unleashed upon the landscape by the fall of that eponymous city. (See also: Wild Waste, Dead River, Death of Eldrin, Wormwood/Assenzju)

Similarly, various scholarly traditions have each transliterated the ideo-tonal cluster associated with the name of the land itself into a multitude of different stylings including, among others:

Quatria
Cuatria
Kwatria
Quastria
Quâstria
Quaztría
Quastrie
Quastry
Quatrilla
Quaestrea (supposedly for their equestrian prowess)
Questry (origin of the modern word ‘quest’)
Quaïz
Kestry
Kestria
Kellstria
Kaestrie
Kastria
Kuaýstria
Kuaťtrea
Kwetuor
Kwetwor

And so on. To list all the variations for the nomenclature of this rich and storied land would fill volumes in itself (and has: see Fuller’s incomparable Complete Names of Quastria). The author here chooses generally Quatria, as it is the most widely known to modern Pantarctican audiences, as well as Quastria, or occasionally Quâstria — where appropriate — for literary or poetic reasons, fully comprehending, accepting, and encouraging the many other valid alternate variations of names — just as we see evidenced by the countless variations in characters, locales, and events in the tales themselves as later sources preserved them for us.

One Quatrian year before a storm-at-sea caused the three amnesiac Pentarch sailors to breach the Bay of Erasure, Wormwood had spoken.

Wormwood the Wordless. Wormwood the Changer. Speaker in mist and dust had issued forth from the Hypogeum in daylight plain and full in a turbulent columnar mass. A thick swirling fog, bounded as if by a single concentrated will, a will to change the world.

Since the High Augur was aware of the signs of His emergence pending for three weeks, the Hymn of Elimination (composed during the Shape Wars) was duly being performed at or about the time of emergence, as anticipated by the signals. They played and sang in the amphitheatre facing the Hypogeum Walls across the Chasm.

This was not a subtle emanation, as sometimes the minstrel priests claimed they alone could sense. This was an embodiment even a commoner could see, and it shot up into the sky, which pooled and filled as though cloudy water poured upward into a retaining basin. And after what seemed like an eternity of held-breath waiting, spooled off toward the cusp of the Houses of Song and Silence.

All of Quatria observed the trail in the sky that day as that spool, having reached the sea, sent down a finger to gently caress the water’s surface. A low rumbling, almost the sound of waits blowing their deep horns, but subtler. A calm below a reflected stormy sky. And then a bubbling, a mist rising up from the deepths and joining the finger extending from the sky. A darkening. And then, an island. Rising up, slowly, majestically, like a sea dweller coming up from the depths for air.

The place was named Ovarion after a meeting of the Bardic Council. Though the High Augur protested formally the use of what was, technically, a Singulone name, the Council over-ruled, finding Ovarion was a fitting and right name, after its bearer who fought honorably for the Mysterium during the Shape Wars.

Since this time, however, Ovarion had sat empty, as following the taboo after additive modifications are made to the landscape by the Changer. As the songs taught: On grounds newly laid, one must wait for the Dweller to enter the Palace. This dictum served a both potentiating mystical reflection on intent and purpose and an utterly practical use: in case the Changer should reappear and happen to change his mind, and reclaim what had been called forth. The songs told it had happened before, but not in recent living memory.

This knot made from two inter-twined ropes dates back to the ancient times when the Celtic sailors who spent long months at sea would remember their sweethearts and weave rope mementos for them. The sailor’s knot is actually two entwined knots and so, symbolizes harmony, friendship, affection and deep love. Denoting the union of two into one, the knot stands for the blending of individual lives into one with a common purpose. Though quite simple to tie, it is one of the strongest knots there can be and is representative of a bond that grows stronger with time and under pressure.

Source: Celtic Knots – History and Symbolism

An itinerarium (plural: itineraria) was an Ancient Roman road map in the form of a listing of cities, villages (vici) and other stops, with the intervening distances. One surviving example is the Peutinger Table (Tabula Peutingeriana); another is the Antonine Itinerary.

The Romans and ancient travelers in general did not use maps. They may have existed as specialty items in some of the libraries, but they were hard to copy and were not in general use. On the Roman road system, however, the traveller needed some idea of where he or she was going, how to get there, and how long it would take. The itinerarium filled this need. In origin it was simply a list of cities along a road: “at their most basic, itineraria involve the transposition of information given on milestones, which were an integral feature of the major Roman roads, to a written script.”[1] It was only a short step from lists to a master list. To sort out the lists, the Romans drew diagrams of parallel lines showing the branches of the roads. Parts of these were copied and sold on the streets.

Source: Itinerarium – Wikipedia

The Four Symbols (Chinese: 四象; pinyin: Sì Xiàng, literally meaning “four images”), are four mythological creatures appearing among the Chinese constellations along the ecliptic, and viewed as the guardians of the four cardinal directions. These four creatures are also referred to by a variety of other names, including “Four Guardians”, “Four Gods”, and “Four Auspicious Beasts”. They are the Azure Dragon of the East, the Vermilion Bird of the South, the White Tiger of the West, and the Black Tortoise (also called “Black Warrior”) of the North. Each of the creatures is most closely associated with a cardinal direction and a color, but also additionally represents other aspects, including a season of the year, a virtue, and one of the Chinese “five elements” (wood, fire, earth, metal, and water).

Source: Four Symbols – Wikipedia

It is uncertain when or why the human sense of geographic orientation and direction became associated with winds.[1] It is probable that for ancient settled populations, local physical landmarks (e.g. mountains, deserts, settlements) were the initial and most immediate markers of general direction (“towards the coast”, “towards the hills”, “towards the lands of Xanadu”, etc.). Astral phenomena, in particular the position of the sun at dawn and dusk, were also used to denote direction.[2]

The association of geographic direction with wind was another source.[3] It was probably farming populations, attentive to rain and temperature for their crops, that noticed the qualitative differences in winds – some were humid, others dry, some hot, others cold – and that these qualities depended on where the wind was blowing from. Local directional names were used to refer to the winds, eventually giving the wind itself a proper name, irrespective of the observer’s position. This was likely furthered by sailors who, far from landmarks at sea, nonetheless recognized a particular wind by its qualities and referred to it by a familiar name.[4] The final step, completing the circle, was to use the proper names of the winds to denote general cardinal directions of the compass rose. This would take a little longer to work itself through.

Source: Classical compass winds – Wikipedia

As Pentarch sailors drifted without idea or rudder, natural currents drew their craft in towards the Bay of Erasure. The two arms of Raggath and Jyagar loomed, atop which they could spy off in the distance each a tower adorning its bald head.

And crowning each tower’s top, a forking branch and bowl. The forks were tuned by their maker, master instrument builders serving the temple. Such was the power which fed them in that place, that they shared, as it were, one spirit in resonance each the other. Like one line of string held taut between Duogons, a living tone which was held dancing in the air.

From this tone, by listeners in the villages and way-stations below, could be derived sub-tones, to which duly appointed novice minstrels served their tour of apprenticeship, tending in part to the peeling, and keening, and banging and bonging of various tones with bells in matching rhythms to mark out the passing of the days through the Houses. The singing sound of their bells ringing echoed up and down the arms of the villages dotting the Bay of Erasure, from Raggath through the Wild Wastes, and Jyagar on to strong and humble Elum, and thence up high to the Temple Mount, and the Pillar of Song, where the High Augur held court, hearing gathered together all the overtones of the land, the people, the sky, the water, the animals, and angels. The ominous glorious symphony of Quatria.

While on any given day, the High Augur heard and tolerated such disturbances as the drunken mistakes of too religious devotees to the wine and beer gods (all too common these days) — missing cues, flattening and sharpening their notes, lousy counts — the day the Pentarchs broke line of sight between Raggath and Jyagar, the forked instruments at tower-top fell out of tune, and their bowls re-transmitted from one the other, a gap, a questioning difference. A dissonance in the House of Song — one such as hadn’t been heard in few among the bards were sure how long (a rowdy beer-filled argument amongst whom thereafter ensued as various camps decanted remembered rhymes from older times).

The three sailors, though as babes to this New World, heard too the pure, awesome tonal shift, without reference to what the now split tones must signify to their makers or listeners. And they heard too as the String of Bells activated, up and down the coastline, singing out this difference, echoing as far as the city of Geus.

And upon hearing these two tones reaching the Pillar of Song, the High Augur observed a crack in the empty teacup on the small personal table set up next to the Altar of Song, and frowned.

As the morning’s canticle drew to a close, the High Augur drew two cards, and laid the first, the ass, down in the House of Sorrow on the songboard, and the second, the spade, into the House of Song.

The ass of the trader. The traitor who hauled his ass out of the Vast Desert, crossed the Ereddian mountains, and betrayed Lord Abbadon. Ruin and destruction, betrayal by the beast of the flesh.

The spade of the miner. The temper of Minus the Minor, jealous younger sibling of proud Geus, to whom connected via the Temple Road, all the way up to the foot of the Pillar of Song. Under-miner. Betrayal by family. Digging one’s own grave.

In silent cues, the High Augur used hand signals to mime to the Watcher, who hummed to the Conductor the key tone sequence to initiate the Dark Dance Cycle, set against the saga of the Fall of Abbadon, the opening of the Wild Waste, and the death of Delrin, mate of Elum at the hands of the Betrayer.

It was rare but not un-heard of this time of year to perform the invocations of the Dark Dance Cycle, but rare enough that it would take some time to round up the dancers and costumes to perform the Trilogy. And thus of course, the genius of the venerated Composers of the piece was such that a lengthy prelude commenced then among the gathered principals and accompanists, which would give time enough for the songs and signals to be passed from mouth to ear, harp and tambour, and for appropriate performers to manifest assembled in the Grand Plaza, awaiting the signal of the Maestro.

Meanwhile, the Pentarch sailors drifted up the coast toward Elum in wonder. And though no one saw it in the midst of preparations, a tiny crack appeared in the foundation of the Pillar of Song, and a shudder went through the spine of the High Augur, out of sight far above.

Listen then, cartographer. This is the first mystery of the casting.

Quatria, the land, her people, is plural. Quatrium. A four-cornered thing. Thus the singularity of the Hypogeum was first bounded, in the time of the Singulones. Point in the center. Point on the edge. Tie a string between. Duogons have their reign. Fixing on the center, keeping the string taught, rotate slowly around the axis, until returned to starting point. Center, edge. Node, anti-node. End, beginning. At once the same but different. That difference is the history of change. Delta. Center, edge, change. By the the bounding ring, the Reign of the Triangulons has commenced.

From center, connect any two non-opposite edges, directly via the straight roads between them. The Triangulon empire was beautiful, brutal, and thankfully brief.

Connect opposite points in pairs, such that four equal sections result. The original Quadrants preceding Quatria. Connect those who are not yet connected. Circle gets a square. Four Quadriums become one Quatria, and the world begins. Again.This world is centered upon the Mysteries at the heart of those Prior, called in this age the Hypogeum. It is the source of emptiness and longing to which Triangulon poets and their minstrel descendants sung their languorous dirges and dark soliloquies. The Fourth Point, Termination.

Of the quadrants, number prime, second, tertiary and null, so named on the Songboard: the House of Sorrow, House of Wealth, House of Song, and House of Emptiness.

The Capital of the House of Sorrow is lost Ederron, pushed into the sea during the First Age, her children dispersed in the First Diaspora.

The Capital of the House of Wealth is happy, fat Abbadon, Lord of trade with the underworld, whose destruction marks the passing of the Second Age.

The Capital of the House of Song is troubled Temple Mount, where having reached its apogee, Quatrian culture stagnates and tumbles into degradation, and the crumbling of whose foundation as certain Pentarch sailors broach the Bay of Erasure serves the backdrop of our present narrative, and marks the passing of the Third Age.

The Capital of the House of Silence will be the city to come of Ovarion, where the Pentarcs will take up residence a little off the mainland on an island recently ejected from the mists, and build their palace. The Fourth Age.

This is the mystery of the Precession of the Anti-Nodes, and the key to all ages.