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Day 131
My visions last night were again vivid. It’s His face that still beckons me to the Divide. My heart is firm in its commitment — tomorrow my small band begins our march toward the breach in the Divide — perhaps the only available passage — forged by a mage I know as Tekel the Visionary.
I find myself thinking of my time on the prairie out west. The quiet surroundings of purple and yellow flowers, as well as the brutal struggle taken up against bushwacking hordes of chain wraiths and slavers.
My band is small in number and marches in hopes we will meet a much larger force, inspired by our example, when we reach the Divide. I, too, have little other than hope, having only seen Tekel in my visions.
Day 134
I saw Tekel again in my dreams, delivering the incantation that will allow me to see the passage he has created in the Divide.
In preparation for the final leg of our journey, we made our way through a village along the river, a settlement of former slaves who had already made their way to safety.
Their ragged tents and wilted, scarred bodies suggested much hardship. I spoke to a man whose face was pocked by fire. He said he had been chased by the chain wraiths and their bloodthirsty hound creatures through swamps, thick green forests and dry brown farmland, guided by a bright light across the river. He seemed hopeful despite his trials.
I took the opportunity to collect the last of the materials I would need for the ritual of seeing — the bark of an old growth oak, water from the head of a spring, the jawbone of a fawn and a few different types of mushrooms — before we made our way to a cave on the river, where we hid some of our spare weaponry should we need it upon our return.
Day 136
This morning we broke camp just before daylight, seeking to make up for some lost time. It was gray and raining hard, and the men were tired. As we approached a hill, my right-hand Shields spotted smoke drifting above the horizon. We peered over and spotted a small camp of slavers, some still sleeping.
We quietly approached. Upon my signal, we set against them. Because of the surprise, the resulting skirmish was brief, but violent.
After the gunsmoke settled, I surveyed the faces of these men. Some were younger than my own sons, one no older than 12, clutching a letter home he was writing. I read, in his unpracticed handwriting: “I write you as we make our way to the armory. I miss home terribly and feel guilt not being with you and pa during his illness. My feet are blistered and my stomach aches. I do not know where we are going and do not know how long it will take to get there. Please tell everyone at home I love and miss them. Jeremiah”.
I wish that I could deliver this message.
Day 137
This morning we arrived at the rendezvous point, where I expected to meet up with the army who had been inspired to storm the armory. Alas, only a dozen men were assembled, carrying humble weaponry.
In contrast, the Divide loomed large in the distance, but gave little impression of its limitless size, offering only a slight shimmer from certain angles, as the sun reflecting in a looking glass.
I paused before beginning the ritual of seeing. My next memory is waking up on my back, looking up at the sky, Shields and my other men staring down at me. My vision came into focus, and I could suddenly see the Divide for what it was — an impenetrable wall of the purest black as far as the eye could see in every direction. The breach before us was large enough for two men to enter standing shoulder to shoulder.
The men are prepared to cross into the Southern Territory toward the armory. We were all at peace with death, but I found even my own constitution flagging at the magnitude of the task before us, given our small numbers. Still, we steel ourselves for the final task. I put aside doubts. I know that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood, even my own. I will shortly call for our advance.
DIY label focused on ambient punk, minimal-synth, dungeon-drone, wartime music and post-nuclear wave. Managed by a creative punx collective from Milano city.
supported by 73 fans who also own “APPARITION OF THE PLAINS - The march on the breach”
A dreamy, beguiling, nostalgic dungeon synth quest through the shires. But, it's so much more than that. The LP incorporates some unique key changes, field recordings and a lot of Mort Garson style synth work. It sometimes reminds me of old 70's PG horror soundtracks. The record is addictive melancholy inspiration. The ideal music for accompanying the dawning morning of an epic adventure. brantly
supported by 58 fans who also own “APPARITION OF THE PLAINS - The march on the breach”
Dinosaurs and Dungeon Synth? PERFECT. This is the album that really got me into dungeon synth again and made me continue my dinosaur obsession. winstonrandom
