The Arch

painting these is helping. I need to think about what Julian said. arch.jpg

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So much for that idea

I thought I would use this blog to write a poetic and lyrical account of my experiences. However, my experiences have been anything but lyrical.

I found my relto book tucked into a shelf at the library. I was catnapping in a cozy chair, decided to glance at it, and brushed dust off the picture. The rest most everyone else reading this knows… you link to Relto, and from there to the Cleft, or the D’ni caverns.

I was, like most everyone filled with wonder at the sights I was seeing, and I started to explore Teledahn, with the help of an explorer named San_San. Nice lady 🙂

But it was the main part of the city that ‘called’ to me, and it was there the trouble started. First it was the place they call the Pub. Fallen rubble everywhere…and walking in there, for me, feels like walking into a morgue. It’s cold, and creepy and it feels like death.

Then there was the rope bridge. Crossing that is like swimming through icewater.

And then the balcony. Daily, I find myself walking to the balcony overlooking the canyon. I link into D’ni, meaning to find markers, and I end up there, at the railing, staring out over the drop. Sometimes, I’m gripped by deep sadness. Sometimes I can hear people crying.

Yesterday, something changed.

I linked to the city, and wandered around… at some point I found my way to the balcony again. In my mind, I could feel fear, hear crying, feel the world around me shift and move… and when I finally moved myself, someone told me I’d been standing there for several HOURS.

And now the cavern is full of whispers for me. I can hear voices… another explorer, Blade Lakem, translated some of what I’m hearing.

Yahvo, rehzuh kehnehn fahsh. Yahvo, the end is near.

I fled. Fled the cavern, fled to one of the hoods, and from there to Eder Tsoghal. Time to rest, time to clear my head. Time to reassure myself that I’m not going insane.

The beginning of amazement

My name is Echo Caoimhe* McKenzie. I am starting this blog to document the Journey I am about to go on. My great grandfather crossed from Scotland to Nova Scotia, and eventually my family moved to the Pacific Northwest. I suspect his spirit walks with me on this long trek of mine.

I slept soundly last night, and in my dreams I heard a womans voice, speaking to me of storms, and of the least, and of destruction. And yet, in my dream I knew no fear.

When I woke, or, at least, when it seemed that I woke, I was standing on a patch of land. Dusty, scrub brush, like the high desert of Central Oregon. And this patch of land was an island, not surrounded by water, but by swirling pink and cream clouds. Like I’d been lifted above a sunset.

Convinced that I was still dreaming, I took stock of the space. A well, but one that was not dug down in the middle. A tall spire behind a rough hut. A carved pillar in a bare spot on the island. I chose to enter the hut, hoping to find…something.

The hut itself is small, a large wardrobe dominates the space, two windows, and two shelves. On the left hand shelf was a blue bound book, so I pulled it off the shelf, and opened it. No words, only a strangely vibrant picture. As I turned the page, my hand brushed the picture.

How do describe that first moment of dissolution, of feeling yourself pulled, thinning, but only for a split second until you feel yourself fill out again. Only now, you are someplace new.

I was truly convinced I was dreaming, until I saw other people running by. A young man welcomed me to “Bevin”, showed me a paper stuck to a wall, and said it would bring a gift to my island in the clouds, which he said was called “Relto” He also directed me to another book, saying I needed to get my “KI”.

Again I touched a picture, and again that split second sensation of being deflated, and I was in yet another place. Signs directed me, and A large glowing machine stood in a side room. At a loss for what to so, I set my hand on it to look around.

Still, I am convinced I am dreaming, for no sooner than my hand lays on a ledge on the machine, than a band with a strange device is fastened around my hand. How did it DO that? Fidgiting with it reveals it to be a very complex PDA of some sort. Nearby sits another book, so I grit my teeth, and touch the page.

Another space. This time a small room with a large gear and a central device, with a symbol that looks like the one on the KI Machine. Here goes nothing…

*I’ll be nice to you, it’s pronounced KEE-va