The planet of Golth is one of the more interesting ones I've learned about. Its most prominent history is a war between mages and architects. The mages were said to gain their power from enchanted threads that they would stitch into the skin on their arms. The architects built massive walled cities and machines of war to keep the mages out. And the innocent pacifist tribes who didn't pick a side were forced to suffer the consequences. I'm still working to find all the details, but at some point, before The Conglomerate came to Golth, the architects gained knowledge of The Conglomerate and the nature of The Matter. In response to this discovery, the architects began constructing a ring of shrines spanning Golth's entire equator. I assume these shrines were meant to protect the planet from the invasion, but something must have gone wrong. I first learned about Golth when I found and purchased a journal from Delshad's Delendus. Most of the journal was damaged or illegible ramblings from someone who had succumbed to an intense, addictive relationship with The Matter. Still, I found the following passage near the end of the journal to be the most legible and least damaged part of the journal:
I found myself staring down at my legs today after an expedition. My supply is running out faster, or maybe just my concept of time. How can these legs be so thin for how much walking they do? Sticks. Twigs propping up a hunched, crooked mound of tangled flesh.No blackouts today, not that I can remember, but that's the nature of blackouts. I managed to fill two jars and extract an arm of thread. The thread clew grows, but it still isn't big enough. I'm starting to doubt it will ever be big enough. "Starting" is being generous. I've doubted everything, but I have no choice but to press on, however doubtful. I need to rest. The two jars should hold me over for a couple of weeks.
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I don't know what to do. By my count, it's only been four days, and I used the last of it this morning. I don't know how this happened. I've never gone through it this fast. Maybe the blackouts are coming back. I've tried scraping the inside of my pipe for any remnants, and I've dug through my waste bin, but it's all soot. None of it ignites or produces smoke. There are scratches on my table and splinters in my fingers, but I'm sure it isn't me. He must have been here again. I need to find more threads for the clew. I don't have enough time for an entire expedition today, but I'll go to the lookout and plan for tomorrow.
After hiking to the lookout, I managed to mark a few promising locations. More bodies have been rising and washing to the edges, almost like he's teasing me, the thread stitched through their arms glinting in the sparse sunlight. The path to the shrine remains blocked, but at least my progress hasn't been in vain. The abyssal shores remain receded where I've pushed them, at least as far as I can tell from the lookout. I guess I'll find out for sure tomorrow.
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Somehow, I managed to sleep through the night. I can't tell if the withdrawal symptoms are becoming less severe or if I'm just getting used to them. Sometimes, I think I hear him talking to me, but it must be hallucinations. I almost miss his voice sometimes until I remember the things we did. I had the black beans for breakfast and washed them down with tea. If the blackouts don't return, there should be enough food to last me until I can make it to the shrine. Here's hoping the next safehouse has something better than beans.
Today's expedition was a success. I filled three jars and extracted four arms of thread. The thread ripper is getting dull. I nearly snapped one of the mage's arms when trying to cut out his stitches. They're all brittle husks at this point, but I remember it being much smoother to cut the thread. I couldn't wait until I got home, and as soon as I found a safe place away from the abyssal shores, I began winding the thread around the clew. It started to glow brighter, but still not enough to clear The Matter blocking the shrine. I think I'll need about five more arms. Hopefully, I'll get lucky on the next expedition. Extracting The Matter into the jars was much more manageable by comparison. The feeling of wanting to plunge myself into it was still there and maybe more potent than usual because of the withdrawal, but it felt easier to remain methodical.
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I emptied the jars into the refiner. It should be safe enough to smoke soon. "Safe enough". Nothing about it is safe in the least. I have no choice but to slowly kill myself with the stuff. I'm sure if I stop, so will my mission. My ancestors built these shrines for this very purpose. I can't forsake them, yet I can't give up this vice either. The only thing keeping me going is also eating away at me.
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I'm ashamed to admit I'm inching closer to failure. After refining the matter, I binged on the stuff for a full day. After the previous withdrawals, finally inhaling from my pipe felt too good. I kept going and ended up blacking out for at least a full day, maybe two. When I came to, the house was a mess. I'm not sure what happened to the food, but now there's only enough for two more days. My supply is down to one jar. Luckily, the clew is still intact and continues to glow. If I can ration my supplies and complete a successful expedition on the next two days, I should be able to reach the next safe house on the third day.
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The clew is finally ready. I'm not sure how long it's been, but I'm out of food, and there's only enough left in the last jar to pack the pipe once more. I need to pack up the few things I have left and leave as soon as possible. This may be the last time I write in here for another few decades. I can never know for sure how long the stasis is. If I don't make it through, these may be the last words I write, and who knows where they'll end up.
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I can't do it. Something is wrong. I swung the clew at the ground, and it cleared The Matter away from the shrine, but there's a person in the conduit. The black beam of The Matter still extends from the center of the shrine, up through the hole in the domed ceiling, but there is a silhouette of a person embedded right in the middle of the beam. This isn't possible. The silhouette looks like a woman. If I activate the shrine, she could be killed. I can't have another death on my conscience. I have to find another way.
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Somehow, I made it through without activating the shrine. I can't know for sure if activating all of them will rid this world of The Matter's infection or if there's anyone left here worth saving. That silhouette is the first sign of life I've seen since however long ago. I can't know if her death would end up saving more lives. Even if it saved mine, I don't have much left to live. I tried to keep his voice out as I waded through his black pools. I ripped pieces of him away from my head, but it was useless; he got in, and the awful taunting returned. He's right, I'm useless and pathetic, nothing I'm doing here matters. All I can hope for is another moment chasing that feeling he used to give me. The refined matter is a poor excuse for the real thing; it keeps the withdrawals away, but it's hardly the same feeling.
All I can do now is sit here and wait to die. On top of it all, this safehouse only has beans.
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While reading these journal entries, part of me hoped that the author, whom I have decided to name Fulcher, would eventually activate all of the shrines, and I would learn of their purpose. I assume that they were intended to be a way to destroy The Matter or at least protect Golth from it. Perhaps someone will eventually travel to Golth and complete Fulcher's mission, but I doubt his story will fall on capable and willing ears. I don't know the details of Fulcher's eventual fate. He may still be on Golth, eating the rest of the beans in that safe house.