Chapter 1 – Graven and the Masks

Chapter 1 – Graven and the Masks

Four masks interlocked in dreadful stare
Observation changing all before
Entangled weave of gazes entwined
To make all, that once was not,
Now there

Four masks caged in pained haunt
To build, To burn, To act, To plan
A raging storm with no end or halt
The vortex spiral of dreamland

Four masks making haste to plan all fate
Fighting for a secure place in the abyss
Longing to fill a thirst they cannot sate
Creating chaos in darkened mist


Blazing alight in the summer night a shard descends from the sky guided by the hand of fate. As sure as the shard is falling so to are many eyes upon it. Curious eyes seeking an explanation of the events of this as of yet, untold night. And so the shard falls as a burning beacon to the tent of a man amongst three other dwellings. All are awake and gaze in marvel as it burns through the tent and into the screams of the man within.

A man erupts from the tent screaming and holding his hand over his now searing eye. All attention is now on the screaming man, and no longer on the smoking hole in the tent. Standing awestruck by the scene before them four men gathered around the campfire and are slow to act as their friend runs frantic. Finally one of them shakes off the trance and moves to help his friend.

"Graven what the hell is wrong!"

"My eye! My eye is burning. By the hells it burns! Water! I need water!"

The older man opens his canteen as he pulls his friend to the ground. Pooring the entire contents of the vessel into Graven's smoking eye. The sizzle of the water evaporating is tangible as the heat from the shard cauterizes the wound where his eye once was. Slowly the smoke from the shard becomes steam and ultimately the water drips cool upon his face, and over the smooth metallic surface that has replaced his eye. Graven then drifts into unconsciousness...

Suddenly he is a bird soaring on muscular guided wings over a sea of subtle bliss. An ocean of mercurial primordial essence. The essence of all things in existence, he somehow knows. Deep within he feels a sorrow and deeper still a fear. The waters below grant him peace and yet he knows peace is no longer what he needs, nor wants. Soaring low near the gentle waves of the rolling silver sea the serenity begins to make him physically ill. Subtly upon the horizon an island is visible, centered by a large monolith. He is now filled with a renewed hope and the fear within begins to peak over the surface of his mind.

Arriving at the island he flies high only to perch upon the monolith. Sitting around the obelisk are four masks in cardinal directions to his perch. Each mask has a plaque beneath it. His eyes settle upon the first mask he sees. The mask of Order.

[Picture of Crow on Obelisk]

The skin of the mask is a labyrinth of lines parallel and perpendicular with a decadent visor over the eyes, forehead, and around the top of the nose. An orb adorns the forehead center of the mask and from which a radial pattern emerges with sections devoted to several rectangular emeralds and gems. The forehead gem is a solid black sphere from which a spine of gems follows the forehead in a contouring arc. His eyes fall to the plaque below.

[Picture of Order]

The Mask of Order: Keeper and Sentinel of the Spire. First of the two motivations it is responsible for all of the organized action to be set forth upon time. It holds all forms and actions deliberate for the goal of control and predictability. The voice of caution dwelling on fear of the unknown, but also as a positive force instilling purpose and guidance. From this need to guide it will obsessively seek out and quantify all variables, a savage desperate will set forth to seer. Encapsulating all that seems predictable for the guise of future sight. The idealistic catalogue of all action and events are locked inside of Order, filed away for all time. With fathomed charts and graphs of probability, it will long forever for the solace found in prophecy, but will not find it. Though a slave to linear time, it will gain affluence and influence through this esoteric education.

With the last word read the eyes blaze and Graven is ripped suddenly and forcibly from the dream.

"Graven! Graven! Are you alright?"

Graven awakens to being slapped lightly by the old man.

"Graven wake up damn you."

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm awake."

"Of course you're here what happened."

"I...I..."

Graven pauses as if trying to remember.

"I was asleep dreaming and I awoke to...to an intense pain in my left eye"

Suddenly all eyes turn to see the burning hole in the tent.

"What? Why are you all looking at the tent?"

Timidly, Aidan, one of Graven's friends begins to speak.

"Your tent...we watched a star fall from the sky only to hit your tent...and then you started screaming..."

"My eye. How is this possible. What is wrong with my eye."

The old man, Taeran, now speaks.

"Your eye is...it's gone Graven. Replaced by this [he says while tapping the metallic piece revealing itself where Graven's eye once was.]"

"That's impossible. My eye isn't gone. I can see you all perfectly. Better then perfectly."

"The lake. Come with me to the lake," said Taeran.

Aidan, Taeran and Graven make their way to the waterside. Graven walks forward and kneels before the water, looking into the mirrored reflection of the moon above. Slowly he moves his head above the rippled mirror and sees himself staring back. A solid opaque sphere where his eye once was. Standing up abruptly taken aback Graven runs his hand over his face to the metallic orb in his socket. His fingers touch the now cool metal and he falls once more into darkness.

After this near collapse into the river Taeran calls back to the other men for help to carry Graven to Iboga, the medicine man, of the village. It is night and the medicine man resides just outside the perimeter of the village where he plies his wares as magician and judge to the tribe.

"Corrin take Mach and get a stretcher made and grab supplies for the trek to Iboga's; and Corrin, he pauses for a moment, get my bow."

"Taeran, what do you need the bow for?"

"There is no time to explain just grab the bow."

A stretcher is made from the discarded limbs of the forest strong and secure to carry Graven from the center of the village to the medicine man's domain in the event that he is unconsious the whole way. Twenty minutes go by and the crew is now ready to depart for the journey. The path is littered with light from the constellations and a near full moon. The men begin with an unconcious Graven placed carefully upon the makeshift stretcher. Graven finds himself in vision once more.


Again through the eyes of the crow as if no time at all had passed in this ethereal place, he is compelled to look to the next mask encircling the monolith.

[Description of Forge]

[Picture of Forge]


The Mask of Forge: The Sword of Creation and Temperance. The furnace of all matter and energy, Forge takes the most basic of forms and expands upon them. Striving toward the perfection of stability and sparking the spire’s cultivation in the expanse of the abyss. It is the one force in existence that provokes the endurance of being and resists the hindering spurn of degradation. The vehemence of the Mask of Forge stokes the flames of existence to boil the molten thread that will be woven into the fabric of all things. It matters not the nature of a new idea or form. All corporeal or fleeting in nature are viciously torn into reality from nothingness then encouraged, cultured, and honed as equal components in its smelter.

The eyes blaze of the mask once more. Graven finds himself on his back, looking at the stars, and feeling very dizzy. As if the burden of all creation is now upon his shoulders. He looks around to see his friends carrying him by stretcher.

"What is going on? Why am I on a stretcher?"

"We are going to see Iboga, you are in dire need of help young man," said Taeran.

The younger Aidan speaks.

"We were worried about you Graven, you keep feinting. Ever since the falling star you have been babbling in your sleep and passing out. You keep screaming about some mask while twisting and turning."

With that comment Graven resigns himself to the trip. Curious himself to what may be wrong and what is going on with his strange visions, not to mention the shard that took his eye. Many minutes pass before Graven notices two eyes alight in the darkness, seemingly malevolent in shape and intent. Before he can say a word of warning to his companions, he once more feints to blackness.

Once again in the realm of silver shores and darkness Graven finds himself atop the obelisk. This time he is compelled to look upon the mask of Entropy.

[Description of Entropy]

[Picture of Entropy]

Entropy: Consolidator and Restrictor of the spire’s mass of form. For every item or idea made real a passive but enduring trial is in place to test its very nature. Either metaphorically or literally, all in the spire is subject to the forces of decay and resistance. It is responsible for evolution in the reverse, set forth to destroy that which is temporal or limited. Entropy is the vigor of simplification. Where opposing energies cultivate and complicate, Entropy compels all things toward the tranquillity of the mercurial sea. Envision creation as a mountain stretching far and vast. Entropy is the instigator of the avalanche that breaks loose all destabilized elements.

Once more the eyes of fire signal his return to reality only to find him laying on the ground atop the makeshift stretcher and surrounded by carnage.

"Hold very still Graven, don't breathe," he could tell the voice was Taeran's.

Suddenly he can feel swatting at his foot, and the pointed edge of some tooth or claw hoping to prod him into exodus so to run him down. He didn't move. He didn't breath, but his eyes did wander in the direction of his foot. A large creature riddled with fur and contoured by manastreams of glowing fire red. It's teeth grazing the skin of Graven's bare foot, it turned and sniffed the air, seemingly content with it's inspection. Taeran and Graven sat there many minutes with stifled breath as the creature turned, grabbed the leg of the mauled and dead Aidan before dragging him into the dark. As the creature left Graven watched with new sight as a flicker of something hinted at some form within the beast. Looking into the very essense of it's being he saw...he began to see...something, but before it became tangible in his mind so did it fade.

"We best leave before it comes back Graven," whispered Taeran. It is now more important than ever that we reach Iboga. Something dark drew the Etherbeast for any other night it would have noted our presence and passed without incident.

Quickly the two grabbed what remained of the slaughter that could be useful, including the bow fallen now from where Aidan had stood. For once Taeran recognized the danger he dropped the bow, and stood his ground all the while warning them to be still with baited breath. Aidan had grabbed the bow and deftly loosed an arrow at the beast only to have the the ether stolen from his veins.

The trek didn't take much longer before finally reaching the tent of Iboga Dhastrum, the magician of Graven's tribe. Winded and traumatized the two were invited in, before they could even see silouhette of the faith healer.

"You come at a dark time this night. The 4 stars are in alignment and their dark light has cast shadow on all lit by other stellar bodies."

"We came to seek your wisdom shaman and in doing so were attacked by an Etherbeast of voracious agression."

This was the first time Graven had ever seen the medicine man. He was a short man, abnormally short, and walked with a cane. The ether in his veins burnt a low-light purple, and his ashen skin was abnormally taut for a man his age. Rumour had found the mysticant to be well over 1300 years old, an anomally to be sure among the 3-400 hundred year average of his people. The etherforms. His eyes were of dark purple and burned with the light of twig aflame.

"You were lucky to reach me at all. You know well not to travel at this hour."

"Something has happened mysticant, a meteor has fallen from the sky striking young Graven here."

"Oh? What is this? Where did it strike you?" suddenly the magician's interest piqued.

"My eye sir, my left eye."

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. A shard of Fracture's chain! How in heaven's grasp did it find you?"

"I don't know sir, it...it hit my tent and took my eye."

"No, no, no young one, it did not take from you, but has given thee."

"Given 'thee' what?" Graven was obviously skeptical and was losing interest in taking the medicine man seriously.

"Sight. The most precious of sights given to any life form. Runesight."

"Let me touch it, I must touch it, just one touch."

"No don't do that." Taeran and Graven spoke in Unison.

The mysticant tapped the shard lightly with his finger and once again Graven laid victim to slumber and visions. This time the mask known as Fracture faces him and he is filled with fear. The shattered, cracked visage stares into his very soul. It's drought addled skin covered by adornments sweeping across the nose, eyes, over the ears, and forehead. Random gems and shapes cover the chaotic facade with everything from scales to lines of pearl, to the crown of amalgamated gems and stone.

Fracture: The Evader of the Maze and the Prism of Impulsive Action.” Fracture is instantaneous and unpredictable action. It is the small crack in the glass that cascades throughout the ventana, racing in fervor toward variant beauty. With abstraction the tempest of the cosmos is made volatile. Unpredictability exists in any moment of Order’s weakness, or Fracture’s strength. Purpose is nowhere to be found and made in a moment unaffected by the need to create, destroy, or accomplish. Instinct is responsible for beauty in the universe. It gives flame its erratic nature, causes errant and unpredictable action, and brings forth individuality to all entities and objects. Fracture is the voice of wisdom in the Quadra of Masks, for it knows no future. It embraces the unpredictable aspect of every moment and feeds upon it. It is the heart of the unknown, denying form but embracing potential.

The eyes of fracture flare into life and Graven fears his crowish form will be taken in...Suddenly he wakes to the image of the old man Taeran sitting observant in an opposing chair and the mysticant poking his ribs hard with cane.

"What in the blazes! Stop that! Stop poking me."

"I must know what you saw. I must know it now. I must."

"If you 'must' know I suppose I can enlighten you, but don't ever poke me with that cane again."
"Settled! Now please begin."

"First I was gliding through the air where there was none, adrift above a sea of silver. I was a crow, a crow of blackest shadow that made all light stray. I..then flew to an island, an island so distant so as to never reach it and with a thought I was circling above an obelisk center to the island. Before I knew it I was perched atop it being scrutinized by 4 masks...I..I remember their names."

"Speak young man, what were the names. I would hear them slip your tongue before I make any presumption."

"Forge."

"Correct, the creator and consolidator of all things."

"Order."

"The organizer and keeper"

"Entropy."

"The wind blown sand of limtation."

Suddenly Graven hesitated and was visibly shaken.

"Spit it out young man, you know whom calls last."

"Fracture."

"The chaos and prism of all things."

"I don't understand. What does this all mean?" said Taeran.

"Graven has been struck by a shard of Fracture's chain."

"A what?" Taeran and Graven spoke in unison.

The mysticant took a deep breath and sat down.

"Before time was time there was the crow. A being of eternity and divinity. It flew aloft the ocean of primordial essence. The very fabric of everything we know to exist. And so the crow was alone, adrift above it's sea of solitude. Without forethought parts of it's being were made manifest to represent it's facets, it's four personalities, it's four sides. These took the form of four masks, each to represent a seperate will.

The four masks were not merely inanimate sculpture but embodied with the essence of the creator itself. So the crow bound them to his will, and this will was made manifest by four chains. One chain for one mask and all center to a black obelisk. Though the creator was alone, it was still unsettled by these four parts of himself and so it was an eternity before he considered their release. An eternity of solitude, loneliness, and boredom. So in dark ritual it is said he pecked the obelisk before chanting a spell to unwrap reality.

The 4 masks twisted their chains, and became alight with the power of creation. The obelisk shattered forming a vacuum which pulled the solemn silver sea, the shadow crow, and the masks themselves by their chains into the vortex spire that we now call time itself. The steel chain of Forge, the iron chain of Order, the rusted chain of Entropy and the shattered chain of Fracture. For when all 4 chains were pulled Fracture alone broke free.

Now each era is ruled by the dominant chain of one mask at a time, and all eras are influenced and wrought by the chaos of Fracture. As the chains are pulled through time so too is history made. All that is written, is being written, or will be written are products of the four masks vying for power, leaving creation in their wake."

"So what does this have to do with me?" asked the Graven, now more confused then ever.

"And why did it strike Graven, surely it wasn't by chance that a meteor fromt he sky should land in the socket of a etherform of no consequence...No offense Graven."

"None taken"

"It was not by chance it struck Graven but for what purpose and by what means I do not know. I can however tell you about chaos-sight."

"The what?" Taeran and Graven spoke in unison once more.

"This is not the first time this has happened but it is not in recorded history the last time it chanced this planet.The chaosgift or chaos-sight as it is called is something not unknown to our people. It is held secret for the power it carries but one child in one-thousand is born with the ability to see the runes of creation, the very writing of the Masks themselves."

"Writing?" asked Graven.

"Runes dear boy. The runes are in everything. Every rock, every plant, every animal, every etherform in existence holds the runes of creation itself."

"So how do I read this writing, and what is the point?"

"The point is power young one."

"Power?"

With that Iboga traced a line in the air before him and it alit in purple flame before him, the same purple of his etherblood. A second or two passed and a small rock formed before him and dropped to the ground.

"Wow a rock!" Graven spoke with obvious sarcasm, Taeran obviously feigning wonder."

"This is just a touch of the written runes and no more can I show you. Spoken runes however are another matter entirely..."

With that Iboga began a chant of some language foreign and ethereal. This time the runes flared to life once more, this time brighter and more intense. A rock burst into creation, vibrated with intensity, then shattered spreading rubble all over Taeran and Graven, somehow missing Iboga.

"What the hells! Was that really necessary?"
"I'm an old man here, that almost took out my eye," complained Taeran.

"Think of it this way young Graven, written is the adjective and noun, spoken is all the previous with a verb. However this is all I can show you or tell you. The rest you must find on your own, and you must move immediately. The chaos-benders are banished until they can learn to control their power and sight."

"Banished?" asked Taeran. "He's just a young man. He will stand no chance in the wild."

"What about my family? My father? My mother? My sister?"

"This imperative supercedes your family, you will leave at once, this very night!" Suddenly Iboga's ether veins are glowing bright dark purple with his eyes blazing.

"Very well old man. I will leave."

"You don't have to Graven, I can speak to the elder. He will," spoke Taeran before being interrupted.

"No. I suppose this is something I must do for myself. If indeed this is where the shard is leading me then I suppose my feet possess little choice then to follow."

Resigned to Graven's decision Taeran says, "Very well, if he must leave I will at the least guide him to the wilderness edge."

"You may travel with him to the border of the frontier but no further, this is something he must do himself."

"I understand." Spoke Taeran.

And so the two left the tent, more confused now then ever before they arrived. Taeran spent most of the time together teaching Graven everything he knew about the wilds, their Etherbeasts, and their Etherforms. He taught him how to keep his purpose strong and alight in dark times. How belief was always more powerful then reality. A week later they reached the edge of the wilds.

"I guess this is where we part young one. I have taught you all I could in such a short time, hopefully it will guide you to a better fate then the others."

"I don't know what to say Taeran, you saved my life. I will remember you till my end my mentor, my friend."