Sketches of Spain

I escape the heat and the crowd into the magical surroundings of ancient roman temple ruins zealously guarded by a medieval building. The columns of the Temple of Augustus command such majesty and authority. It is completely silent. If these walls and columns of stone could speak, they would tell tall tales of the Roman times. They have seen the transformation from the Roman city Barcino into the modern metropolis we know today. I meditate on the serene atmosphere. 

Just behind the cathedral, a small alley. Murals of knights slaying dragons of another age adorn the ancient stone walls. A set of windows open to the street. Inviting. There is the magnificent Jeff Buckley debut album “Grace” pouring from the speakers. I take that as a good omen as I step into the cool shade of Bar Gaelic BCN. I am the only customer. Time is standing still. I have no idea what time it is, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. I ask the Bartender, who turns out to be the owner, for something local. Who in their right mind would eat at McDonalds, or drink some Pisswasser (export only) in this city? What I get is Barcelona Beer Company’s IPA, Cerdos Voladores “Honest Made Beer”. Oh dear, an explosion of extremely lusty and bitter hops. There is nothing sophisticated or balanced going on in this beverage. Well, the bottle says it’s “rowdy”. I heartily agree. 

“Lilac Wine” rushes in from the sound system. I hum along. The interior is positively 1930’s with the appropriate advertisement placed on the walls. This place has been here for aeons. So much history here as well. I have this fine establishment all to myself. The hordes of tourist wander outside towards the cathedral, like the white walkers, to worship the touristy things. Do they understand how many lives were lost, and how much blood was spilled, constructing these houses for an idea of an imaginary being, I find myself thinking. If there ever was a god, he has not been around here for a long time. 

The live version of “Eternal Life” is blowing dust from the speakers. Everything in life is better with Jeff Buckley. I am not present in this day or age. I am somewhere outside this whole construct. 

I find myself sampling a bottle of Barcino “Bogatell Wheat”, which is like drinking clear spring water flavoured with pine needles and spices. There is something really ancient happening in that bottle of beer. It occurs to me then that the drinking establishment in question has been built exactly where the inner sanctum of the Temple of Augustus was two thousand years ago. I quietly salut Gaius Julius Octavius, whom became Emperor Augustus. That’s the least I can do, since I am in his house.  

“There is a child sleeping near his twin.

The pictures go wild in a rush of wind.

That dark angel he is shuffling in,

watching over them with his black feather wings unfurled” -Jeff Buckley, Dream Brother

The owner of the bar remarks that it is “something of a national sport to open a restaurant in Barcelona”. There is also an another reason behind the amount of restaurants in Barcelona: a lot of the operations are funded and backed by Russian and Chinese operators. Certain places positively empty of customers year after year, and still the doors remain open. The Russians and Chinese are aggressively buying new businesses and property, I am told. Very lucrative deals are offered at exceeding rate. 

After three different local beers and Brew Dogs “Punk Ipa”, the post modern classic pale ale from Maryland, I am positively sloshed. Writing is easy. I am so going to “Hank Moody” this motherfucker. Words flow effortlessly to the page. This is the moment I have feared, as I feel like I am writing better, and easier with a little alcohol. There is no pain or anguish here. There is no existential crisis, or the pathetic whining of a misunderstood artist. My fingers hit the keys faster and faster. A sentence after sentence forms out of thin air. The muse has arrived. I will bow down to her and I will worship her. I have always felt deep resentment towards writing, or doing anything creative, under the influence. There is something about it, which I find very dissatisfying. I guess I don’t want to dull my senses when giving something of myself. Yes, that’s what it is. Dull. Numb. How is it that I am enjoying this so much? 

The View from the Tower

The man and the boy stood in the tower in silence. 

Fara took a few slow steps closer to an open window as if to get a better look at the view below. What he saw was rather different from what his grandson would see. During his borrowed time, he had begun to see all layers and time zones of the ether without concentrating. His vision was filled with overlapping layers of script in motion. A sense of sadness and tiredness overcame him. He couldn't reason why he felt  that way. The tiredness he understood as he looked underneath the Daelan script attaching his essence to this world. He should not have been alive at all. But the sadness, what would he make out of it? He knew exactly where he was going after the Otto nearby would release him from time and escort him to other worlds. Was it a human reaction to feel sad when there was nothing to be afraid about? Was it a pathetic and self-righteous attempt to convince himself that there was still work left to do here? Would the Masters still grant him another year or two? He banished those thoughts quickly as returned his focus on Sola who had been standing behind him quietly. 

Sola ran his hfingers through his thick black hair. He thought of years past, the years without a care in the world, when adulthood seemed like a distant nightmare and responsibility was a joke. His mind worked feverishly trying to figure the task handed to him so suddenly. The terrible faces of the Daelan crept into his mind. He thought of the Eldar, the other mighty progenitors. The tales and legends he had heard and read as a child had come alive. They were as real as he had always suspected. It frightened and intrigued him at the same time. Could he trust his own intuition to separate the myths and half-truths from the absolute and undeniable truth,  from the way things are? 

"No, you cannot," came the solemn answer. Fara placed a hand on the boy's shoulder while continuing: 

"You mustn't trust intuition although we are blessed with greater knowledge than those who came before. We see more than our ancestors but the human mind works in mysterious ways. It takes a great deal of work to recognize which things in your vision are actually real and which are the fabrication of your own mind. Your desires, wishes and dreams leak into the ether, and in a subjective way, they are real, but they are not manifest in this time. Only the Daelan and Eldar can transpose their thoughts truly into being. They participate to the creation that way. We humans are not allowed to do such nor do we have the power to do so."

"So, if one would want something to be changed around here, the only way would be to ask the Masters to do it," Sola asked.

"Exactly," Fara answered without hesitation, "This is the very reason they keep to themselves. During thousands of years they have been flooded with requests, even demands, to have something altered but the world cannot, and will not, change for a single human. We can shape and carve the physical nature, transform even its subtlest energies to aid us, but we cannot change the fate of this world. We cannot rewrite the scripts from where all this once came into being but the masters can to some extent. Some foolish men in the past have thought that they could gain power over these beings and I fear that our beloved Grand Council is planning to do the same. When you embark on your journey, first you must find out whether someone in the entourage is working for the Grand Council. Your quest is not to be jeopardized by those maggots."

Sola, while looking thoughtful, asked, "Why does the Grand Council think the masters will heed to their demands?"

Fara pulled a troubled smile on his weary face and said: "Human arrogance, dear boy. Human arrogance, pride and the lust for absolute power over the creation are the primary reasons. Understand that there is no good or evil here. Those are subjective and artificial attributes. At this day and age there still are people who think that good or evil are somehow absolute or some sort of unchangeable values. What might appear good to us might be abomination to others. We are an opposing force to what the Grand Council represents. Thank the higher powers, we are in a world where we can speak our minds and hearts freely. In my opinion, we must coexist with the beings and forces here, but we cannot rule over or exploit them. We can always ask for guidance and help, but we must be prepared for a negative response. We must be able to find the answers ourselves. This is why you must complete my task and, in your turn, pass the knowledge and the mission to your heir." 

"If I understood correctly," Sola mused, "the Masters actually know everything but they are not telling us. Why don't they release all their knowledge and wisdom to the world at large? You have always told me that knowledge must be passed on to those who have ears to listen and heart to understand. Has the mankind in whole not evolved enough to learn and appreciate these things?"

"If there was a simple answer to that I would share it with you," said the old man, "the legend has that the Daelan have a library where everything man has ever learned and everything he would ever learn are recorded. Do you remember the painting of the Daelan in the Council Room where the Master and the Mistress are holding together three books? Those are the true world chronicles but the volumes are curiously made; the nature of those works is not fixed. The books write their own content as time progresses. They deal with finite possibilities of past, present and future, and as present is passed on to yesterday shaping the future as it goes, so does the content of the books change. Therefore, the reality, if we can fathom such thing, is in constant motion and cannot be recorded as a solid unchangeable truth. You cannot, in absence of a better expression, preach that, for example, to the tribes in the south who still cling to their ancient barbaric ways. They need mysticism and supernatural beings in order to explain the uncertainty of existence. They simply cannot accept the fact that there is no simple one-syllable word to explain the nature of the universe! They need faith, and it doesn't matter whether the content of the faith is true or not, since it's, well, faith. They do not see what we do and they think of us as sorcerers and witches. The lack of understanding often leads to hatred, and hatred will only lead to violence. The only thing keeping those savages from marching here and burning our beautiful cities, and us for that matter,  is Tyrus and his merry men, who constantly push them further away from our borders. Here is a valuable lesson: to those arrogant and lesser minds it actually doesn't matter if things are right or wrong as long as they believe, or someone tells them, that they are right."  

Chapter III, an excerpt

They paced along a neatly paved street towards the sound of waves. The August rain descended like an overture for the departing, and as they walked slowly side by side, fog started to gather, making spirals and rotating columns in the evening air. They were surrounded by the scent of the ocean mingled with fragrance from the numerous orchards and gardens of the city mixed with the pleasant odor of pine trees in the mountains. The dimly lit streetlights appeared to have halos as they were embraced by the mist enchanting them in all colors of a rainbow. The few passers-by nodded and greeted them but made haste after seeing the Otto hover in their wake. Their kind had grown to know what business the tall creatures where conducting at a given time. Their people kindly granted a dignified way to leave the world behind to one another. No long speeches or funeral services. No senseless crying over their own pain and loss. Simply a transformation to something else, somewhere else. Suppose it made a lot easier to understand the overall concept of death when they actually could see the soul leave the time-space behind. There was a promise of hope and reunion. A confirmation that a loved one was truly in a better place. 

Eternal

A screenshot from the first Land of Strange Gods game "Avenging Angel"

Chapter X, an excerpt

At that moment they went through the black sphere and the droning ceased. Misty rain fell gently inside the sphere but there were no clouds. Foggy haze drifted above the surface effectively blocking the view forward. The light inside was soft like on a summer morning and distributed evenly from all directions. The barrier was no longer visible and there was no horizon. Miela looked at the sky only to notice that there was no sky, but only limitless and infinite space. If the watery substance and the space met somewhere she didn't see it.  The fog parted in front of them to reveal a black pillar and behind it an island.  She noticed three black pillars more: two on the sides of the island and one behind it. She intuitively checked her compass, and much to her surprise it worked. They were traveling north-east. The pillars had to be aligned north-south and east-west. 

"Behold, the Daelan, the watchtowers of Ea, or Earth, as it is called in your speech," Charon declared. 

Miela had to tilt her head as back as she could to see to the top. The pillars had to be hundreds of feet high and top of each was giant black statue. She couldn't see the details, but it seemed like each of  the statues was holding a book, perhaps two. The eastern and the northern statue were lit by an unearthly light from unknown source. 

"Paehpa and Katya are on watch," Charon explained to Miela. 

"That's why they are lit like you see them."

"What about the other two...?" 

She didn't know the others' names.

"Who knows," Charon muttered, "they don't like to explain themselves to anyone."