Shel Graves' Sensorium

"How beautiful!” visitors exclaim when they see the architecture of Social Ease. They gather at the stone amphitheaters to hear the stories of friendly animals. Wild creatures approach who like to be stroked. They companionably enjoy the serenity of sunsets sitting in vineyards. "We send casks of Social Ease home with guests as souvenirs," says the Guide. "We insist!" Travelers tell delightful stories of Social Ease. "The days are long and there’s plenty of time and energy for dancing," says Miss Emeline Traveler. "Everyone remembers everyone’s name. Together they practice their gifts and talents. They offer great company and encouragement beneath the sun, moon, and stars." In the Community Capitol, an enormous palace with a huge courtyard, denizens gather to hear the stories of the day and to sing each others praises. The palace has many windows and many gardens. "Such delights are served at the enormous banquet hall,...

Vultures pick the bones of Terror. They cram their hooked beaks into the calcium. They claw at bones and scrape off strips of meat. Winds howl through the moonless night where nothing moves except to shiver. Mountains ring Terror and a deep moat filled with echoes. Marauders ravaged Terror in war after war. Raiders fight over unburied bones. The wind carries ragged last breaths. “I beg you not to visit,” says the Guide. “I can take you there, but I cannot guarantee we would find our way out.” The wild maze Panic winds uphill. Those lost in Terror end up in the midst of Panic's jagged edges. The many street signs point in all directions with a myriad of unintelligible symbols. Terrified herds of squealing pigs and escaping gazelles and packs of feral dogs run through the streets looking for Castle Panic at the end of an unmarked street. "From the tower there you can catch a breath and see an overview of the city and imagine you could find your way out," says Mis...

All the trash from other lands arrives at Failure, the wasteland dump. Papers blow in the winds — lines of unedited poetry. Beneath the heaps, the fertile soil lies fallow. Bony creatures pick through the shards of glass and scraps of cloth looking for meals of mold. Puddles of filth sit after the rains. Scum settles over the water and mosquitos swarm. The air muddles with the stench of unwashed bodies. In winter, it never snows enough to cover everything. Snow melts upon the muck and wet filth rises. The endless land welcomes all castoff objects and every outcast person. It composts biologics and piles on waste. Occasionally, earthquakes shake all the piles down. The earth cracks and swallows stacks of debris. No one will miss it. The junk nourishes the creature below. In the ring of rubble, uninhabitable Despair low brown grass grows in a vacant lot. "Stay outside the circle of Despair," the Guide warns. It's a famous attraction, but the Failure monster hun...

Taste:  chocolate almond Sound: birdsong; a passing jet Smell:  creeping sorrel, lemon grass Sight:  bookshelves, book covers Touch: a light breeze on bare arms; 13 pounds; grass underfoot, bare feet, toes wiggle Extra:  the world at peace, the world in turmoil Grateful for: tears

Love used to be a sprawling land of power with rolling hills and flowing rivers. Now visitors come to swim in the deep pools of Love. The denizen farmers begin every morning with a barefoot walking meditation upon the soil. Their worn hands plant seeds in soft soil and fields of edible flowers bloom. Love blooms and blooms: pansies, peonies, and poppies. Flocks of peafowl walk through the flowers. Doves coo. Birds dip and soar. Rabbits burrow. Deer step lightly over the land. A crane waits. An ibis lifts her head. The land recedes at the edges. Flowers wilt. A passing airship sees dark edges curl on the border where Love dries out because it never rains enough. “Its not as green as it once was,” says the Guide. “Love too needs love.” The floating cloud of Kindness rains warm rainbow-colored water which feeds the flower fields of Love. Birds nest in Kindness and fly around it. The great white cranes and the red ibises sleep here. Visitors to Love carry gifts of flowers and ...

The denizens of Anxiety splish-splash through the shining shallow waters. Muck coats the tops of their socks.  “Be careful. Watch out. It gets deeper here, and there!” the Guide warns. "No one in Anxiety can swim," says Miss Emeline Traveler. "They fear deep water and also there isn’t any.” As they plunge through the water, silt stirs and covers their feet. “It’s impossible to see one’s feet or find one’s way,” says the Guide. “What lies below?” asks Miss Doe Friend. “Water worms,” says the Guide. "I still have mud stains on my socks and petticoats from Anxiety," says Doe. The denizens wash their clothes in the cleaner water at the edge of Anxiety. "The shining waters of Anxiety are beautiful. It felt like walking on water,” Miss Emeline Traveler says. "I did not have that same experience as Miss Emeline," writes Miss Doe Friend. "It was rather dreadful. I did bring home a bottle of the lotus perfume and a picture of the ...

A dogged lot: The denizens of Persistence founded their city inside of a desert mountain. The land does not yield to their hands and they must climb mesa stairs to reach their beds at night and in the morning descend to the fields and traverse narrow hillside roads to tend to their fields and carry baskets of grains up to their nests. The young Persistians accomplish great things in other realms and return to hide their wealth (which any are welcome to) under the rock dragon Resist. "No leaders. No royalty," says the Guide. “We each pursue our own path of righteousness,” says a Guide. “They sound independent but in truth each follows the same rituals,” says Miss Emeline Traveler. Few stay in Persistence. They seek adventures. Yet, enough remain to maintain its roads and fields.  “We believe in a Legendary Being who created our world and comes to us in our dreams. The words of Allomver are etched into the mesa wall and grow deeper with each passing year,” says the G...

Everything flutters and shrinks in Shy. Fantastic birds dart without destination or purpose. The grey doves peck in marsh grasses and brown thrush perch on cattails. The denizens live in huts and walk on dirt paths to towns. They clear the way of rocks with their heads down. They pull grasses and weave them into ropes. The inhabitants are pocket-sized and make nice pets. "Timid City's a surprisingly impressive place," says Miss Emeline Traveler. It’s in the spiral center of shy, a castle with sharp-pointed spires, where all the Timid live. They rule here inside the safe walls of the castle, too afraid to venture out to shy, to make ropes or walk the village paths. The Timid workers polish the castle walls with Worry Juice it so that it gleams like an oyster shell. "Few outsiders know or bother to know about our most beautiful castle," says the Guide. "And yet it's beauty is equal to or greater than any other." "But they were not the...

"Gut-wrenching Humiliation will eat you from the inside out and diminish all that you are," says the Guide. Peasants walk bare foot through Humiliation their chest bowed from kwashiorkor. Servants walk around the high-walled castles stumbling upon rocks, banging their toes and cutting them open. They bleed swollen and purple. The dry, barren land stretches for flat miles. The peasants walk and walk and walk and fall from the edge of Humiliation in despair. Or they stumble and fall down upon the infected land and die of wasting disease. “ "I wish we had a dragon not a plague. A dragon could be fought,” a peasant says. “A dragon requires heroes and heroism," another says. "We have nothing like that here.” "Welcome to our fait accompli,” says the Guide. “There is no escape from here unless one makes their way to the Capitol Shame where giant raptors sometimes agree to carry humble beings upon their backs.” A horrible sinking sensation congeal...

It's harvest time in the farmland Thankful. Trees hang thick with swollen stone fruits. Berries hang from bushes and vines. The rain falls softly and then the skies turn blue. The sun blossoms and shines. Thankful nestles in a valley. The sunsets inspire love and awe. Cherry petals float through the skies. Cottonwood puffs. They coat the ground in pink and white fluff. “I love to dig in the loamy earth,” says Miss Emeline Traveler, who looks delightful with dirty hands. The people wear bonnets, kilts and boots. They tramp across the fields and bite into peaches. They work hard at the harvest and then bake pies. They ferment hops and grapes in huge casks and hoist mugs of beer and toast with glasses of wine at their celebrations. “Welcome, visitors, to our harvest celebration!" says the Guide. Heavy baskets of fruits and vegetables rest on the enormous table of Abundance. There are sweet and savory pies with thick crusts. The hundred inhabitants and visitors gathered ...

Gassy mists form the thick fog over Doubt blocking the sun from view. A path of shale switchbacks up the grey mountain. Sometimes the way looks clear and travelers venture up, until the fog rushes in. Then all that can be seen are rocks underfoot. It’s a well-traveled path. Yet no one seems certain of the way. They ascend asking, “This way? That?” An eagle cries in response. A marmot whistles. A voice echoes. Rocky clatter. They keep climbing unless they have a Guide.  “Stop. Wait, for the fog to lift,” she says. The rickety ranger station Disbelief on the side of the mountain has maps but no attendant. It looks hastily built, but still stands after centuries. The maps within are poorly made with small font, bad design, and confusing symbols without a key. "Which is the path of Doubt?" asks Miss Doe Friend.  “Is this all there is?”says Miss Emeline Traveler unfolding the small paper. "Where is the mapmaker? Is there any water?" she calls. “Perhaps, som...

"The meadow Compersion bloomed the moment we stepped on the Vicarious Path through it," said Miss Doe Friend. "As the sun rose and more visitors joined us the more it blossomed." The smooth hiking trail Compersion climbs to wonderful vistas. Flower-covered mountains shine. Compersion radiates at sunrise and sunset and shimmers at night when phosphorescent flowers bloom. The trail, which accommodates a solitary traveler or a parade, may be enjoyed at all hours. "The land responds to its denizens with marvels," says the Guide. "Their hearts and minds are so full their thoughts feel like hunger or thirst and the land hears the needs of their souls." In the midst of Compersion flowers surround the open air theater Heartened. Here denizens end their hikes and sing heartily. "We learned to sing their Flower Joy song," said Miss Doe Friend. "I sat on the black moss-covered steps of Heartened and watched the night flowers blossom ...

Taste: elderflower and rose lemonade Sound: the rumbling in her stomach Smell: tar, in dream, overpowering and wakeful Sight: the movements in her belly Touch: the weight of her head, the warmth of her body   Extra: the trembling, chest tightening emotions of fulfillment, wanting, fear Grateful for: Lily and Tish and our team

Vivid magic grows in the rainforest Pissed. Bright wide flowers open alongside glistening waterfalls cascading into sparkling aquamarine pools. “It’s intense, vibrant, and poisonous,” the Guide warns. They show pictures of mushrooms, snakes, insects and beetles. Shadow-folk live in Pissed. They cannot be bit, stung, nor drown in the waterfalls. The shadow monkeys scream as they slip from place to place. Visitors may arrive on a whim. “But without planning you are likely to be bitten or poisoned,” the Guide warns. “Slowly acclimate and you may survive, but you risk joining the wraiths if you overstay your welcome." “Still, I found magic and wonder in Pissed," says Miss Emeline Traveler serenely. "Bright. Intense. Honeyed. Licking.” In the middle of this vibrant tropical rainforest rises the opaque tower Nope!, a perfect smooth cylinder. Speechless enigmatic wraiths live here. They operate their city and slink through the rainforest passing harmlessly throug...

Mirages blind in the sweltering desert Dazed. In the distance, a heated pool. The denizens saunter in flowing robes with nakedness underneath. They live under wraps in parachute cities. They carry the light fabric of home on their backs. Elephants and camels live here. They find cool water, carry it, and turn it into fountains. They eat mangoes, prickly pears, and other soft fruits with delicate bites. No one here is ever very hungry. It’s too hot. Three burning suns watch over Dazed: red, orange, and yellow. Visitors come for the fascinating sunsets which play across the horizon and reflect in distant pools. “It’s best at dusk when it is neither too hot nor too cold and in the early morning when the night stars shimmer high and clear,” Miss Emeline Traveler says. The oasis-side city Insecurity fades in and out. Sometimes there and other times not. The sturdy sandcastles on Insecurity withstand the rains, which almost never fall, except for the occasional deluge which refills th...

The pink village Pleased rises on a white cliff before a sparkling blue ocean. People peer out the circular windows and crack open the rounded doors painted violet, emerald, sapphire, topaz, and ruby. The sun shines on Pleased. “Welcome Traveler!” its people cry. Contented elders live their ends here. Children grow and begin their own families. Painters capture the landscape and still lifes. Peonies blossom under every windowsill. Grapevines grow up every fence. Olives drop from the trees. A vase of flowers, a bowl of fruit, and a pitcher of wine sits on each table. Footpaths wind around the hillsides. The views overlook the sapphire sea in one direction and the groves and vineyards in the other. Visitors watch plays and participate in debates in the Content Amphitheater open to the ocean, wavesong in the background can be heard. They bring picnic stuffs and afterward dance with laughter, good-nature, and cheer. "Relax and be assured of a good visit," says the Gu...

The raft Overwhelmed floats in the ocean. Its towers rock. Waves topple. Everyone wears slickers, storm or no, misty from turbulent seas. Seals and whales collide against Overwhelmed and swim underneath. Otters crawl up and walk through the city diving into its fountains. Overwhelmed writhes and flexes. The sea goes on and on. Visitors arrive by ship and find themselves long adrift. They tender to the raft and the motor stutters as it brings them back, riding the rough waves. Everything tastes too salty. Lost, a tower far out in the middle of the churning sea of Overwhelmed, rocks and drifts. The Lost Selkies, who cast off their seal skins when they climb up the Lost tower steps, make poor and unmotivated decisions about the fate of Overwhelmed, who shall come and go and which ships are allowed. “Follow the red sun,” the Selkie Mayor says. Travelers dive into the ocean and swim and swim toward home. Some succeed, others slowly slip below the waves. What is this?  Emoti...

Snow caps the peaks of the mountains Capricious. Paths wind up. Switchbacks lead to chalets, firesides, and potent drink. Visitors sit on the balcony and overlook the frosty peaks. “Which one will we climb tomorrow?” Miss Doe Friend asks. Miss Emeline Traveler points at what appears to be the steepest slope, “That one.” Asters bloom pink on the hillside. Crews maintain the trails and build bridges over the streams. They hike in and out carving the paths. “I dare you to ascend,” one visitor says. “I climbed that peak on a whim,” says another. Marmots whistle. Wolves howl. Bear lumber. Deer prance. Chipmunks chatter. Squirrels leap. Trout splash and flop. Rivers run white from the glaciers. Fish fill the blue lakes and spawn in flowing rivers. Photographers take pictures of it all rising at dawn, waiting at dusk, documenting each rise and set of sun and watching all night for hunters: fox, owl, and all. In the Expansive stone castle high in the mountains Capricious ...

Taste: ginger beer Sound: roaring, thumping, pounding, banging, clanging — garbage truck Smell: patchouli Sight: green leaves and blue sky Touch: sun-warmed Extra: nebulous Grateful for: bridges

Wildflowers pop! Warmed by the sun on the rolling hills of Giddy in between the winding river. Fairies dance casting cast magic on the blossoms. Sprays of pollen bring laughter and delight. Fairies giggle. Deer prance and spring over the streams. “I remember where I used to run and jump over the waterways as a child,” Miss Doe Friend says. Long grasses swim in the stream banks flowing green and orange. Visitors become citizens of Giddy unable to leave, because they are laughing too hard. “Come visit the Palace of Childish. We welcome everyone,” the Guide says. But visitors visas expire: as soon as they stop laughing and dancing, they go. Only the fairies can sustain the Giddy dance long enough to live here. So the flowers bloom again; never downtrodden. In the fairy palace Childish shimmers. Its multicolored dome wiggles with pale pink, lavender, periwinkle, lemon yellow, spring green and tangerine tones. Inside the fairies play music, games, and dance. It is a beautif...

Chalky sand coats the cracked desert Chagrined. Hard rain breaks the surface and leaks into cracks. The land becomes paste. It dries under burning sun and stretches, bright white, into the distance. The sun sets pink and rises yellow: Pallor. A soul wanders, footfalls in the cracks, head down searching. “Where am I?” Miss Emeline Traveler asks, in a rare moment of confusion. “This is not what I expected.” The wandering souls pass each other unseeing. They don’t see the others who share their plight. The ribs of the horses show. The herds walk slowly toward the rapidly drying lakes. Rainfall soaks them. Manes and tails drag through the white mud so they look like ghosts. Sparse grasses beat by rain flatten against the chalky soil and cling. Miss Emeline wisely grabs the mane of a passing horse and holds tight. The mare will find the way and lead her out. Emeline walks beside Caballo Fantasma stroking her long wet mane.  The capitol of Chagrined is Disappointment. It is a w...

Anxiety with its dry, knotted, grass bound in clumps to its knolls pains the feet of travelers with its rough sticky sand. Windswept, near but away from the unseen sea, sand blows close to the scalp. Visitors get lost wandering in the wind. “How did we arrive here?” Miss Doe Friend asks. “There was a shipwreck. We swam ashore,” says Miss Emeline Traveler. "I did," wonders Doe. "Amma-Pom wandered off in search of fresh water. She heard trickling." "Something is missing," says Doe, patting her person. The denizens of Anxiety are wraiths, wandering the moors. In the washed out seaside town, Frustration, tourists have left and the weather has turned bleak. The wind blows harshly down the few streets with their shops closed for winter. A kite has been impaled on a lamppost. Sand gets into everything and cannot be cleaned away. Denizens stroll aimlessly up and down main street. Seagulls squawk for scraps. Words on the signs are too faded to read...

Tunnels run underground in Paranoid twisting through dark earth and dense stones. Shafts of sunlight fall sideways through caves inhabited by tiny rat folk. The land, Paranoid, speaks to its rats who excavate new tunnels. Sometimes there are cave-ins. Visitors walk fearfully through the narrow tunnels. Some store paper-treasures here, often mistaken for rat’s nests, and frequently chewed. They bury their dead and the tunnels turn into catacombs. A series of chambers, each larger than the next, make up Confusion. The Paranoid have no mapmakers. Elementals and jinn live here in a vault filled with precious metals. They are moody and capricious and may or may not help lost travelers. What is this?  Emotion 365: Every Day a New Land of Emotion

Salt scent rises from scrubby bushes in Loss, a land of dunes along a distant sea. A few flowers grow in the beige sand. Sky stretches over Loss in muted blue through some stretched clouds. A thin wind blows. Rain patters leaving drop shapes in the sand. Clumps of tall grasses rock. The sea hushes the gulls. Visitors shuffle through the sand trying to make their way to the sea. “It’s further away than it sounds,” says one. The Lonely Lighthouse sits among the sand dunes, grasses nestled around it, and overlooks the sea. Sandy trails wind to it through the grasses to its white steps. Inside the narrow cylinder it smells of sea salt and lemon. It gives off a soft violet beacon of light, its purple tint more visible at night. It’s light circles round and round casting light on the blank surface of the shipless sea. In Loss no one considers diving down into the ocean to find the underwater colonies -- and no one sends ships. Jack sits in the tower, watches, and waits. What is th...

It rains intermittently in weedy Frustration. Patter falls and poofs of dust rise. There’s almost but not quite enough liquid to settle the dust. The stunted vines grow thin. Underfed roots strain to suck moisture. The sun wanes over the plain its light filtered through a dusty haze. The air smells metallic and the sunsets blaze pollution red. Locusts hop through the fields and fly in waves over the weeds. Half-eaten flowers unfold in the thick air of Frustration. Water settles on clayey soil after the rain. It sticks to the bottoms of boots and hooves. Frustration receives many visitors. Many reside here barely subsisting on thistles and dandelion wine. Some wander the plains searching for precious stones. They wave their metal detectors, which give off false alarms, back and forth. Many become lost while looking for lost coins. Weeds grow around the shack of sticks, Apathy, not much of a place. Dead bramble lies over the roof. The shack sits on a patch of acidic clay where litt...

At the bottom of Disheartened canyon a shadowed river runs. Visitors cliff jump into the chasm then find it difficult, no impossible, to ascend. They swim down river with the rock walls high above them. The narrow canyon goes on and on. The rock walls close in. Raptor cries echo. The cold river flows fast and deep and still. It’s the color of blackened steel. On slim sand shores, lizards scurry through the rocks. Trout swim deep and river octopi tell stories. Those who jump into the river lose their legs and gain tails and gills. Their slim arms fail and they are sucked underwater where they relearn how to breathe. “They never quite drown or freeze, but are carried a long way by the river before they are released,” says the Guide. In the river city Gloom, live Trout Men with strong tails and arms. Gloom lies deep below in the depths of Disheartened. It runs underneath the river. Visitors plunge into the river and arrive in Gloom where they are captured, their legs are chopped off...

Piles of junky treasures wobble in the wasteland Worthless. Dust billows between the stacks. Clouds gather, darken the sky, and burst. Lightening strikes the tallest stacks. Thunder booms. Rain torrents. Rust forms. Parts break. Paper wilts, withers, and tears. The items dry, crack, and fall into smaller bits of nothing. Things become garbage. Scavenger rats multiply here. Wickedly intelligent, perhaps. But who would know, except for their evident success in survival? They crawl from tower to tower wrapping the goods in their tails, crossing runways of discarded glass, and tunneling into the Worthless stacks. The Indignant city of rats rises in Worthless. The rats gather Worthless objects and make them useful. Beneath the sprawling junk of Indignant lies a well-designed city of tunnels, mazes, and nests. It appears chaotic but manifests into the most remarkable and comfortable city for the rats. "It's amazing what the Indignant rat-tons can do!" says Miss Emeline Tr...

Fertile Intrigued grows grains over the rolling hills which sweep to and fro with the wind. Intrigue nourishes all its visitors and the peoples of distant lands, too. The Intrigue Inventors live in a village with many common areas. They build and launch sky balloons. They cheer the liftoff ceremonies. From the balloon baskets, they see the patterns of their land. They paint pictures of Intrigued as seen from above. “Time of year, time of day, wind velocity, rain… all affect the pattern,” says the Guide. They harvest swathes of grain for food. “Herds of Intrigued Deer nibble their way through the fields. Then we replant and see how it regrows,” says the Guide. “It’s fun to scatter seed,” says her daughter. Those who seek inspiration hang pictures of the Fields of Intrigue on their walls. The city from which the sky balloons are launches and where the most Intrigued Inventors live is the capitol, Inspired. Artists flock here to the Sky Balloon festivals for a chance to launch...

Taste: champagne and elderflower; apple cider vinegar Sound: cat licking water Smell: alfalfa and cow manure Sight:  spring green, new leaves Touch:  slug bodies, soft, firm, slimy Extra: reckless driving, a loose dog, a loose llama, late for a deposition unable to work Grateful for: lilies

Everything rushes by in the rivertown Nostalgic at the edge of a dark forest in the sunny bend of the river. Birds trill over the paddle boats. White caps crash around rocks at the lip of the waterfall. Boats slip over the edge and are swept down the falls. No matter how hard they rowers pull they can’t escape the downward rush. “Mother taught me the ways of the river. Take your time. Pay it respect,” said the Guide. “And still I rowed too close and lost my boat and nearly my life. I gasped for air just in time. The bruises took forever to fade.” In the forest, denizens gather mushrooms and pick berries. Elderberries grow on the left banks, blueberries and currents on the right. “Lovers make the perilous crossings. We always want what grows on the far side," says the Guide. Dwellings are carved into the rock protected and misted behind the Waterfall Contemplative. The beings that live inside are secret and full of thought. They have bird wings and heads and griffin legs. ...

Moss droops from dead evergreens in the dark forest Disenchanted. Thorny vines travel between branches. Dead pine needles crunch beneath the hooves of a passing elk. She stares in stony silence. Her ribs show through her matted coat. Fog shrouds the dense wood as visitors pick their way through the forest. Many become lost. They were bound for beautiful vistas, but took a wrong turn or perhaps never began at the correct trailhead. They wind up here. Rats crawl across the forest floor. Owls take flight carrying the bodies of voles. A chill wind blows. In the distance, a trickle of river holds the winter moon’s reflection. The river leads out of Disenchanted to the Sea of Enchantment. A sign over the door of a cottage in a clearing reads "Disaffected." There are no flowers or window boxes and no path to this place. It is made of stone, logs, and mud. The thatched roof is thinning in places. It is empty, but for ghosts. There is a large kettle on the stove coated with dust...

Peace island has pink sand beaches, flowers, spices, tea leaves, and fruit trees. Peace ships bring flowers and spices to other lands. They unfurl great sails and ride the wind. The sailors are Peace Cranes who live beneath waterfalls. They ascend stairways to sip tea in Contemplative. “Peace welcomes all soft-mannered visitors,” says the Guide. It carries its goods to all peaceful lands. “Perhaps we’ll return,” the pirate captain says. “Build your own peace where you find it,” says the Princess of Peace Cranes. On the island Peace, the city of steep hills Contemplative has many winding staircases. The denizens carry parasols and books and read as they go. They walk through floating cherry blossom petals. They sit in open, glassless windows looking out across the city. They enjoy the warm, mild Peaceful weather. "No one here fears another," says the Guide. Sometimes it softly rains, but the stairways never become slick. Sometimes the stairs are closed for cl...

A tower flames in the middle of the desert Rage. It burns through the night, the flames grow red as the land chars. From the top of the tower, Miss Doe Friend sees barren land to the horizon. The acidic soil prevents life. “Who built the tower then?” she asks. “The Caretaker Demon teleports through the Rage portal and watches from the top for marauders,” says the Guide. In the basement of the Rage Tower lies the Dungeon Confined where demons are chained to the stone walls, the Caretaker Demon among them. He makes all decisions and decides whether the portal is open or closed. He accepts or refuses audience with the Enraged inhabitants and those who bring warnings from other lands. But the Confined Caretake Demon may not leave basement where he conducts his business. In the windowless, muggy circular room the demons can withstand the hot, muggy air. Its eyes are dry, its lips peeling, its clawed feet swollen, and belly bloated. "One day a hero may free the demon,...

A skiff of snow on verge of melting covers cold, still Melancholy. Grey skies hide weak sun. Green grass tips poke through the snow. The snow catches rabbit and fox prints. The animals shelter under dried bushes. An occasional cottage dots the landscape. Visitors walk far to find a place to rest. The denizens of Melancholy keep to themselves. They gather for silent sermons given by a dour pastor, who has taken a vow of silence and gestures instead. The monotonous words drone on. Afterwards, the people go home to read books. They silently ponder while sitting by the hearth and walking across the snow flats beneath grey skies. A great gray stone castle lies in ruins. There hangs a tattered flag and a sullied crest and coat of arms. It belonged once to lost kings and forgotten queens. Lost rulers and forgotten overlords. Now it serves as the Church of Melancholia, but the pastor has taken a vow of silence and the nuns and monks as well. No one speaks. Still the parishioners come. T...

Wind blows through grasses and grains under the dark hanging sky of the moor Morose. Stone cottages and castles hide behind hills and in low valleys. Hounds howl at a cloud obscured moon. Somber, sullen lachrymose beings chew stale rye bread for supper and soften it in thick stew. Wild-haired witches gather in circles to cackle by day and cry in the dark. They chant rituals and carve runes into the stones, marking the land to keep intruders away. Energy in the land simmers low. It awaits a hero. “Tame the beast who lives in the castle,” say the tourist posters. “Tell it a good story and it will set you free,” says a Morose Witch. The Morose Witches gather at the rock ring ruin Empty, a destination on the moors, obscured by clouds except on full moon nights. Paw prints and scat ring Empty. Some of the witches are feline. Witches have carved runes into the slate grey rocks and colored the lines with white, red, and black powder ground from stones in the sea caves. "Often ...