Lars forced the door open to enter Halac’s Rock. It led to a hallway with a teardrop shape, almost entirely obscured by darkness. The only light came in from the open door behind him. He followed where his hallucinations guided him, having become much better at understanding how the world was probably deforming. He passed by several closed doors, but didn’t see any sign of life. He noticed a line of light shining from under a doorway, and threw it open.

The room was filled with papers, potted plants, and drawings, but there was nobody inside. The light came from a glowing rock. He looked back out of the room, then back in. The door was decorated with drawings of vines, unlike all the other doors which had been blank. Lars stepped inside and shut the door behind him, looking at the unusual drawings on the wall.

They were all of primitive and simple things: thatched roofs on mud houses, drinking from wooden bowls, and dancing around trees. Stranger still, the people in the drawings looked human. He stepped around a desk, but his eyes were drawn to a paper on the edge. He picked it up, not totally understanding what he saw on it. It looked like… poetry? Not once since the Haverdash landed had he heard them recite or even mention poetry, it didn’t create enough intensity of feelings for them to care. He looked between the drawings and the poetry. Perhaps this wasn’t by a Haverdash at all, Halac could be integrating humans into high offices. Lars wouldn’t mind that, but Moxey and Trots wouldn’t stand for it; it would definitely be an offense punishable by death.

He was going to set the paper down again when he read an interesting line with a passing glance, “There Haverdash showed us new ways.”

He started at the beginning, his curiosity overtaking his desire to not waste time.

“The fields were full of saffron bright,

And moonflowers that shone at night.

The shovel, plow, and oxen strength

Made rows of barley proud in length

We saw the labor of our hands

Took utter joy in home and lands

In woven house, in peaceful glade,

We laughed and cried and children played.

There Haverdash showed us new ways,

To change a root in every phase.

He showed us visions of things grand

New colors, sounds, and foreign lands.

In comas, under light of stars

We give ourselves fresh sets of scars.

Cries Haverdash, that's not the way

I showed you how to live and pray.

His gift to us, consumed our thoughts

We all thought we would be like Trots.”

It went on, but Lars paused. The words seemed to contradict the notion that it was written by a human at first, but he had a theory. If it was written by a native of Shatem-mon, perhaps that explains the first verse. Then the Haverdash showed up and some of the natives wanted to live like them. They learned from the Haverdash, and thought they could become as great as Trots. There could even be experiments going on like those Moxey was performing in Hathor, where he wanted to find more humans that could survive Haverdash wine like Lars.

The door opened, and Lars's head shot up. There was a surprised Haverdash in the doorway, looking between Lars and the poem. He asked, "How far have you read?"

Lars counted the verses, "Three sevenths of it. It's very unusual. You've read it?"

He closed the door behind him, "I wrote it, this is my room. Do keep reading, I want to hear your thoughts."

"You wrote it?" Lars exclaimed, "I thought this was a human's room! Why the drawings of humans on the walls? Why are the people in the poem laughing and playing?"

He pointed at a drawing, "Them? Those are Haverdash, actually. It's how things used to be. That's what the poem is about as well, recalling how things used to be. Do keep reading, I will explain anything you ask."

Lars re-read the first three verses in light of what the Haverdash said it was about, then continued.

Within ourselves we looked thereon,

Just for ourselves all else were pawns,

I cannot feel what's in your heart,

Bring gain to mine or else depart,

I seek a pain that drives me forth,

A fear, and rage that give me course,

My joy is found in deepest wine,

For bottles drenched in blood I pine,

Let emptiness be gone from me,

Let hate compose a symphony.

We never thought we'd feel like this,

The strongest senses are such bliss.

But pox on all emotions small,

And patience weakest of them all.

Know peace does not become our folk

Let's see a city rise in smoke.

There Haverdash showed us new ways,

To have unprecedented gaze,

We saw new light, new ways to sing,

But made sensations our new king.

The fields were full of viney trees,

And moss that traded pain for ease.

Upon a stump, with cotton string

We'd change our winters to be spring.

We kept to mixtures that we swirled,

We did not know a greater world.

While once we worshiped with one voice,

Not since that day do we rejoice.

Lars set the paper down, "Alright, explain yourself. You call Haverdash 'he' on multiple occasions, like one of those preachers that rise up suddenly?"

"I do, exactly like them. I am one of them, in truth."

Lars cocked an eyebrow, "You don't act like them."

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He fidgeted, "I feel drawn to, but I resist. Haverdash is real, Lars, he's an individual, he's our god, and that is why we are the Haverdash people. He grieves for the Haverdash as they are. They forgot him long ago, but he still reaches out to them in the form of prophets, those who suddenly begin to preach.”

Leaving the topic for a second, Lars commented, “I’m surprised you know who I am. You must not have been in the Rivers that long, I’ve never been here before.”

The Haverdash came over to the desk and shuffled through some papers, then took out a stack tied together labeled "Moxey" at the top. "This is how I know you. You have your own page of notes I've taken relating to Moxey."

Lars looked through it, "Why do you have all this information on Moxey? You're investigating him?"

"I am, but the better question is 'how?' I don't know what you've been told about the prophets, but I need to make something very clear about them for you to understand. They are contacted by Haverdash, he reaches out to them and forms a link with them, calls to them, and explains to them how the Haverdash people have gone astray. Their will is overruled by the beating will of Haverdash, who earnestly desires repentance from us, and so they immediately start preaching to others. That is why they appear so suddenly. I am different from them, for I was a powerful Haverdash who had seen what you call visions, and I resisted the will of Haverdash. I kept my own will, and I have worked slowly but surely to bring about change in the Haverdash to greater success than the other prophets. I speak directly to Haverdash, and he guides me, and he tells me what he knows. He does not see all, but he does see everyone he's reached out to," His eyes narrowed, and he said with a hostile voice, "Like Moxey!"

Lars chuckled, and when the Haverdash's reacted with surprise he broke into laughter. "Really? You expect me to believe that Moxey is one of those preachers? He hates them just as much as anyone else!"

"He is! I don't know what's going on in his head, if he means to deceive you or is just that convinced of what he believes, but he knows about Haverdash the same as I do! I had the strength of will to resist Haverdash's mourning from overwhelming me, but I still recognized the truth. The objective truth, something you are being led to ignore! Moxey resisted, and also rebelled. He's the only one that Haverdash has reached out to who didn't repent."

"Prove it," Lars responded, "Tell me things only Moxey should know. If you can't then you're nothing but a liar, and our little talk is over."

The Haverdash looked suddenly relieved instead of stressed, "I can and I will prove it. You have thought often about climbing trees, but never have. You are given pause by examples of bravery, especially in children. This bothers Moxey, he is much more approving of your desire for greater strength. Haverdash thinks this is rooted in a desire to be a hero, which he approves of. While becoming exceedingly powerful, you have not become glorious in the slightest because you have not found the Haverdash faith clear or convincing. This shifted somewhat during the siege of Mavozshidog, where Moxey described the way to make sense of the world to you, as explained to him by Trots. Since then you have been more favorable to the Haverdash faith, not in their practices but in the ideals of it. However, your inner doubt centered in comparing yourself to the heroes in stories, and who you were before the Haverdash came along that everyone was so proud of, holds you back from fully adopting Haverdash ways."

Lars's smirk faded, "That wasn't about Moxey, that was all about me."

"I suppose it was. Haverdash has no problem reading minds, and you're often close to Moxey, so it's not a strange occurrence for him to read yours through that link."

Lars pulled out the chair for the desk and sat down, "Alright, you've proved you're not a liar." He picked up the poem again, "So explain more of this, how is it that the Haverdash think they worship Haverdash, but he's been trying to reach them?"

He started grabbing drawings off of the walls and putting them in order, "Gladly! But first, since I know your name it's only right that you should know mine. I'm Lohant. I'm glad we met."

Lars nodded, saying nothing.

Lohant placed a hand on his first drawing, "These four at the beginning, and the first verse, describe the way the Haverdash lived without reference to our drug use. We were an agricultural, even druidic people, in the hills now in northern Donfas. We kept to ourselves, but we were human in every way. Then Haverdash gave us gifts, the knowledge of how to manipulate plants to a level we hadn't known before. He showed us all manner of drug, including hallucinogens, for the first time, with the intent that we could see more dimensions of the world and be in awe. That is where things went awry, for while the gift was good, and God was kind, we became too enthralled by it. 'We made sensations our new king', I'm sure you're familiar with that. The greater the sensation, be it pain or pleasure, the better to the Haverdash of this age. It began to affect us. It wouldn't make us directly rebel against Haverdash, but it didn't have to."

He leaned against the wall and looked remorsefully at a drawing of a Haverdash standing behind an altar, holding an iron rod. "There is a disconnect between who people are and our perceptions of them. We make assumptions about people based upon who we are, what we have experienced, but we cannot be inside their mind or feel what they feel, so understanding people becomes a constant interpretive battle. The one way to be confident that you know who someone is, is to base your understanding of them on observation. You need to constantly correct your assumptions when you notice that something doesn't quite line up. You can never know if you have it perfectly, but at least there is constant improvement.

"The Haverdash began to look inward, seeking greater and greater sensations while being wholly concerned with how they feel. Observation became secondary to them, especially as they shared their visions with each other. Everyone believed their visions, as they had a sense of deep meaning and truthfulness to them, but that meaning they sensed was in actuality feelings that rose up from the same source as the visions. In order for everyone's visions to be valid, which they were far more convinced of than what they saw with their eyes, light not causing intensity of feelings like a vision, the concept of a true reality had to break apart. They no longer cared about observation to determine who is who, but based all things on themselves. Because of this, the disconnect between who they thought Haverdash was and who he is grew instead of being kept in check.

"Prioritizing your feelings or sensations makes you inherently selfish and prideful. You cannot feel other people's sensations, so you increase in importance while they diminish. The Haverdash's perspective of their god shifted to fit their wants and desires, which were so much more important to them than observation. Haverdash shifted gradually in their minds, no longer being an individual, but a representative of the Haverdash race with a semblance of personhood, that could be worshiped.

"That is where we are now. Haverdash reaches out to them, trying to give messages that aren't too different from what they know to make them palatable, but the faith shifts so quickly and drastically that it is only pure heresy they teach. It's all so wrong, and it's a lie. Everything they've told you or are trying to convince you of is a lie. I hope I made that clear. The Haverdash need to change, and this war needs to stop. You could help me with that, you'd be a hero if you did."

Lars had been listening intently, and smirked at that last line. "You're really trying to appeal to me there."

"I am, yes, but I would also hope that the truth would be appealing."

Lars nodded slowly, "And it does sound like the truth. It's all very logical. You make a good case. Far be it from me though to listen to one side then turn on a dime, I'll have to ask Moxey about everything you've said here, and I'll see how he responds."

"You can't trust Moxey, Lars, he's a manipulative force."

"That remains to be seen. You backed up what you said with your knowledge about me, well he's backed up everything he's said. Can you explain how I've become so much more powerful, if Moxey was wrong? I've been following his instructions from the start, after all."

"Not the start," Lohant spoke sternly, "Realize that the dissociation that we have between our perception and the reality of others applies even to our past selves. We forget details of our past, and try to understand it through the lens of the present, but you are making a crucial mistake. You were not weak, Lars. You were actually much closer to who you want to be. You've grown in power, yes, and I can't explain that. I think Haverdash knows how we gain power, but he hasn't told me. You may even say that you've grown in willpower, but despite that you have not grown in courage, which was above all your most wonderful trait."

Lars leaned his elbows on his knees. Trying to accurately recall his past self in relation to who he was now. "I think you're right. I have not grown in courage." He thought for several seconds more before asking, "Why did you say 'may'? What do you mean I 'may' have grown in willpower?"

"You train willpower and enslavement concurrently. That is the nature of strong feelings. You can endure things you never could before, there is no poison comparable to what you drink like water, but you have also build a dependency on that poison. Not you specifically, it is the Haverdash way. You hate the small feelings that you used to feel, they are like nothingness, but if you really want to increase in willpower without enslaving yourself you'll have to settle for them, and go without the drink."

Lars recoiled in distaste, "You want me to just stop drinking the wine? That's ridiculous. You try that and get back to me."

"Not necessarily quit it entirely, that would take a great deal of willpower indeed. I do try it, actually, as does Halac and everyone in Halac's rock. They drink a little more moderately, not as much as I do. Look under the table for a bottle of wine, I'll show you what I mean."

Lars rummaged around inside the desk, looking for a proper bottle. Then he realized what Lohant was talking about. He picked up a bottle no longer than his hand from top to bottom, with only half of it drunk.

Lohant told him, "That bottle is how much I drink in a day. No more. Less, if I can manage it."

Lars put the bottle back, "That's impressive actually, but it wouldn't make sense for me to do that. I'm at the front of the war, you're some sort of advisor to a managerial position. I need the power to win fights."

"And you need wine to win fights?"

"I need hallucinations somehow. Don't I?"

"Your subconscious mind is much better at producing experiences, like sights and smells, than your conscious mind. That is the only purpose of hallucinations as far as I can tell. The wine is not, strictly speaking, necessary. It is your willpower that somehow affects the world. You may think it is necessary because of your dependence on it, but that is something you should try to break."

"Alright," Lars stood, "Then I will commit to not drink anything but water for two days. I will prove to myself that I am not a prisoner, or break my imprisonment."

"Those are strong words! Commendable, but you should commit to something you know you can do first, then build on it."

"No, I know I can do it. I will commit to two days. You've explained a lot to me, I'll be thinking about it. As I said though, I will give Moxey a fair chance to respond. For now, I'd better complete the mission I was sent here for. I've been delayed by how long it took to get here, and we've been talking for quite a while, even if it was a good talk."

"Mission?"

"I am supposed to kill Halac, and everyone who follows him, for the crime of thinking differently than the rest of the Haverdash. That's supposed to include you, but I won't harm you. You're too special to waste like that. Just keep your head low so they don't find out and come after you."

"No, Lars! Don't kill all these Haverdash, I've seen real progress in them! Don't take away the only home for Haverdash with any sanity at all! I've worked for so long, and seen slow, but real progress. Don't wipe it away."

Lars hesitated, "I can spare most of them, but not people in authority. Halac specifically has to go, and anyone close to him. I can say that he kept his beliefs close to the chest, that only those near him agreed with him. That's the best I can do. That's for your sake." He walked to the door and opened it, "It was good meeting you, Lohant."