Echoes of Distortion

Perspective : Conrad Garnier

My mind a drift, My eyes encapsulated in that Muriel, at that depiction, the way they were presented, the way those pictures were drawn, who knows when? and who knows by whom?, it felt so ethereal, so life like, that I became completely lost in it.

It was like, I am living that moment, as if those figures drawn would pop out of that wall, it was exhilarating.

Surrounded by un readable text, in the middle of that moss covered Muriel, were the depiction of people or beings that lived long long ago, in this very village which is now lone and deserted, it was all so fascinating.

Now, I found myself eager to delve deeper into that knowledge, so I consciously blocked out the conversations of others around me. My mind ventured freely, delving into the enigmatic secrets it sought to unravel. In that moment, I entered a trance-like state, completely oblivious to any external distractions, captivated only by the intriguing drawings and carvings before me. With unwavering concentration, I absorbed every intricate detail, marveling at its beauty, and contemplating numerous interpretations that raced through my mind.

And then the story began revealing itself.

As I started observing the depiction from the left, as we write from the left. my focus was intensely on the first scene that unfolded before my eyes. In that initial frame, I was captivated by the sight of a small boy, just a child, standing motionless in a desolate and unfamiliar world. The surroundings seemed alien, like nothing I could readily recognize as our own reality. What caught my attention further was the backdrop behind this young boy. Towering skyscrapers, seemed once proud symbols of a civilization's ingenuity, were now crumbling, their structural integrity compromised. It was evident that the devastation I witnessed in the drawing had not occurred in the recent moments, for nature had taken its course. Lush greenery enveloped these now dilapidated architectural giants, as if attempting to reclaim the land that was once dominated . Standing amidst this post-apocalyptic scene, the boy occupied the center, isolated and seemingly lost. The remnants of a war surrounded him, scattered wreckage and debris telling a grim tale of destruction and chaos. Among the ruins lay peculiar and broken contraptions, remnants of instrumental innovations that had succumbed to the ravages of conflict. And yet, the most poignant aspect of that drawing was the soundless cry of the boy. Though no audible words reached my ears, I could feel his sorrow reverberating through the scene. The depth of his anguish transcended the visual medium, as if his tears echoed in my own consciousness, evoking a profound sense of empathy.

And I asked to myself,

"I have heard this before.... haven't I?".

I recalled the moment I collapsed after defeating that monster, that indestructible knight. These cries were similar to the one I heard.

At first, that cry was context less, now after I saw that drawing, It added colour to that otherwise un discernible moment.

And yet still much more remained hidden.

Moving ahead I continued to the next scene, next drawing, depiction after the one with the boy.

Each figure, every stroke of the carving, unfolded before my stern gaze and estude observation revealing a story yet untold. As the scene unraveled, a sense of familiarity washed over me. It was this village, undeniably so. Its depiction carried subtle nuances that evoked a visceral nostalgia. I couldn't help but utter the words to myself,

"Ahh yes... Is this... this village? It looks so different than now."

Nestled within an open expanse, I noticed buildings adorned the backdrop. Small cottages and houses added charm and character, their idyllic presence reminiscent of harmonious times. But there, amidst the humble abodes, stood a singular distinct work of architect, one that I recognized as the monastery.

This monastery.

A congregation had gathered before the hallowed walls of the monastery. A top a grand stage, flanked by vigilant soldiers, stood a figure of significance.

Their gender eluded my discernment, but the detailing of their garments spoke volumes. Adorned with meticulous care, their attire bore the marks of high status, perhaps denoting they had the role of a bishop or a holy priest. In the same distinctive attire, albeit less extravagant, others talked with the common folk. They formed a line, like a procession, as they bestowed blessings and shared the teachings of their faith. The air was charged with an aura of piety.

The scene was very religious, and I didn't liked it one bit.

But it was a depiction from the time when this desolate and haunting village was still thriving, that on itself was intriguing enough to keep me hooked.

And then, I moved to the next scene, the next depiction.

As I immersed myself once again in the intricate details of each carving, a stunning tableau of a harrowing scene emerged, captivating my estude senses. The familiar religious officials from the previous scene reappeared on this new stage. However, a disconcerting transformation began to overtake the once peaceful villagers. Their metamorphosis took on an eerie quality, as their forms contorted into nightmarish shapes. Extra arms and hands sprouted from their bodies, yet they appeared strangely content, as if these grotesque protrusions held some inexplicable usefulness, making their lives somehow easier. But the scene shifted once more, leading me to witness a startling spectacle. Towering beasts, unmistakably inhuman, now dominated the village, imposing their will upon the transformed denizens. Waves of command echoed through the air, as these colossal human-like figures, reminiscent of pigs, perched atop pedestals, overseeing the laborious tasks thrust upon those below. Gone was the happiness that once permeated the village. The denizens, now distorted with an abnormal surplus of limbs, became slaves to toil and drudgery. Some grew numerous legs to aid in construction, while others sprouted multiple appendages to assist in crafting. Some stooped and hunched like beasts, possessing limbs strong and sturdy, reminiscent of an animal's physique. The air hung heavy with a sense of oppression, a stark contrast to the idyllic scenes that had unfolded earlier.

It was getting interesting, so I hung around, delving myself in the next scene.

As the next depiction unfolded, a palpable sense of retaliation radiated throughout the scene. It became a powerful voice against the oppressive forces that had plagued the denizens. The atmosphere shifted to a battleground, where an intense and gruesome struggle ensued, with the oppressed mustering their last shreds of resilience to fight back. The artistry took on a vivid crimson hue, emphasizing the dominance of the color red. It symbolized the bloodshed and the indomitable spirit of those who had been subjugated for too long. The battlefield showcased a clash between the commanding pig-like figures and their devoted minions on one side, and on the other stood the once-helpless villagers, now transformed unrecognisable as humans but united in their defiance. Every stroke of the brush depicted the chaos of battle, the clash of weapons, and the desperation of the oppressed. The scene exuded a sense of visceral brutality, with lifeless bodies strewn across the battleground, adding to the grim reality of their struggle. Bones shattered, flesh rent apart, as the oppressed fought tooth and nail against their oppressors, unwilling to succumb to their hegemony.

As I transitioned from scene to scene, it felt more like a narration, if everything happened before this Muriel was made, I wondered who made it in the first place?.

And what was their intention behind this endeavour?.

Anyways, as I shifted my focus towards the next scene, a profound somberness washed over me. It became painfully evident that the side of hope had been defeated, their valiant rebellion reduced to a tragic tale of loss and despair. The aftermath of the failed uprising was strewn with countless casualties, a grim reminder of the harsh realities they faced. Deep down, I had always known that the odds were stacked against them. In a world where mere villagers dared to challenge an entrenched authority, the outcome seemed almost predestined. It was a logical conclusion rooted in the cruel dynamics of the term logic itself. Nevertheless, as I delved deeper into their story, a peculiar mix of emotions engulfed me. Despite my awareness of what awaited them, I couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy and compassion. Mocking their fate seemed inconceivable, contrary to the flawed logic that dictated their inevitable defeat. Perhaps, somewhere within me, there existed a genuine desire for their triumph, even against insurmountable odds. Within the eerie frames of the next scene, I beheld a haunting revelation. Those remnants of the rebellion, having lost their beacon of hope, had turned towards an enigmatic entity. A newfound faith seemed to envelop their misery, like a shadowy refuge born out of desperation. What unraveled before my eyes were depictions of unspeakable horror. Children, innocent and defenseless, subjected to unimaginable torment in the name of this elusive faith. They were cut, boiled, and made to suffer in ways that defied reason and compassion. The cruelty inflicted upon them resonated with a sense of colour in that art. The villagers, once driven by a righteous cause, appeared to have descended into madness. Their actions and beliefs had become twisted, blurring the line between right and wrong. The art laid bare their distorted perceptions, it was fantastic.

Truely an work of a genius artist.

It was in their storytelling, evident that In the face of such abominable scenes, it became apparent that the villagers had lost not only their battle but also their sanity. Their minds had been consumed by a darkness that compelled them to commit unspeakable acts

The art was so detailed that, I felt as if it unfolded before me.

That experience was truly exhilarating.

In the final scene, a meticulously sketched hand took center stage, tightly clasping a small object, possibly a ball or pebble. The circular shape of the object was somewhat distorted, lacking perfect symmetry. As I observed the artwork, a flicker of recognition danced within my mind, In my mind, I knew that what it was.

A blue pebble, we just saw that, Elkdrack was collecting those, but what relation did it held with the rest of the paintings, I didn't knew.

And now after seeing this, I knew that ought to place a solid price in the market.

I thought to myself,

"Elkdrack would be happy".

"Maybe he would be truely rich".

After observing all those work of genuine art, I could safely discern the story conveyed in the middle and yet the two scenes, one at the most left and one at the most right, their connection was still a complete mystery.

I was about to go back when Emilia, her eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation, interrupted me.

"Conrad! Did you figure something out?"

she asked, her voice carrying a hidden eagerness.

I replied, feigning ignorance as my mind raced with thoughts. What was she hoping to hear from me? What did she suspect?

"No... this is all beyond me," I responded, my tone masking the truth that I knew more than I let on.

As she leaned close, her voice barely above a whisper, Emilia's words carried a hidden weight.

"You sure, Conrad?"

There was an air of uncertainty lacing her question, as if she knew the answer but hoped for a different one. And then, her words took a cryptic turn.

"Maybe you found a link in here, of a realm, beyond the living."

In that moment, the pieces fell into place, and I comprehended the depth of what she was referring to. I couldn't help but respond in a way that she had been seeking all along—I couldn't maintain a facade of complete ignorance.

My reaction couldn't help but give her assurance about her doubt, as I wasn't expecting that.

Attempting to regain control of the situation, I replied cautiously, attempting to mask my reaction.

"What are you getting at?"

Emilia, her expression now adorned with a sly grin, spoke .

"You very well know what I am talking about,"

she said with a hint of mischief.

In the midst of our exchange, Regina, sensing the tension in the room, intervened, her voice tinged with concern.

She asked Emilia,

"Why are you acting so strange?"

Suddenly, Regina took hold of my hand, her touch calming yet urgent.

"Conrad... let's leave them be,"

she suggested, her words carrying an unspoken plea for us to escape the unease of the current conversation.

As I left the room, my mind raced with thoughts, wondering what Emilia could have meant and whether my suspicions were true. Could she really be referring to her?

[ Conrad with his estude observation of art, was able to discern the story behind those ancient drawings.

Yet he failed to grasp the full picture of the gruesome seen depicted in those drawings.

Connecting the dots, here is a more accurate and brief version of the story.

In the first scene, Conrad saw a young boy standing amidst the aftermath of a devastating war. However, according to Conrad, this world is not the same one he knows, possibly indicating that it belongs to the realms mentioned by Elysia. Elysia once described a world where its inhabitants had battled each other until their extinction. It is plausible that this particular scene is set in that very world.

The question comes,

But how did someone from Conrad's world drew that?.

Now this indicates that whoever drew that Muriel wasn't from Conrad's world.

Continuing to the second scene, Conrad characterizes all individuals as villagers, as that is the extent of what he can visually perceive. The present-day remnants solely consist of an ancient, dilapidated village. However, Conrad unintentionally disregards the possibility that this narrative transcends the boundaries of a singular village. Instead, it likely unfolded across the entire kingdom, with origins dating back even before the establishment of the Sovereign of Fasnijan, possibly during the era at which this place was among the "Untamed lands".

However, in that particular scene, Conrad becomes aware of the villagers forming a queue, seeking the blessing of the Bishop or High Priest who presides over them. Yet, it seems improbable that this was the sole event taking place. It is highly plausible that during that time, the church or religious organization was also distributing something valuable or significant to the common folk.

Now summarising the remaining scenes, as Conrad described and adding logic, it could be interpreted that the offerings from the church had a transformative effect on everyone. Upon using or possibly consuming these offerings, they underwent a monstrous metamorphosis, sprouting additional limbs and gaining newfound power. Initially, these changes seemed beneficial to their everyday lives. However, as time passed, they became increasingly accustomed to their enhanced abilities, gradually distancing themselves from their own humanity with each passing day.

Before long, their way of life underwent a significant transformation. The world swiftly responded to the influence of these powerful beings, disregarding the vulnerable and exploiting them mercilessly. These powerful people perched atop their lofty pedestals, indulging in the luxuries of life while the less fortunate suffered under their rule. But It was only a matter of time till a spark of rebellion ignited and the suppressed demanded the heads of their suppressors. However, before that spark could ignite in a fire engulfing those who sinned against the weak, it was snuffed.

Those who were involved got dealt with swiftly, and those who were remaining became mad in their misery.

And in order to cope with the reality, they relied on the guidance of a higher being. Conrad suggests that this higher being might be a newcomer, leading one to question why they would seek someone new when they already had an established God and a faith to which they belonged.

Now, not focusing on the Muriel depiction instead delving deep into the memories of the monster Conrad killed called "The Acheri".

These memories potentially relate to a period following the crushing of a rebellion, during which the villagers withdrew from the outside world. As we delve deeper into these implications, both in the scene and within The Acheri's memories, it becomes apparent that children were subjected to harm as a means to achieve a certain form of enlightenment.

They were forced to endure excruciating pain and suffering, in order to please their God.

Now, following the principles of equivalent exchange, this indicates a summoning ritual.

The villagers summoned an entity, likely the very God they had been worshipping all along. However, something occurred thereafter that wiped out the entire population, leaving the village in ruins which persist to this day. The Acheri's memories also reveal a fateful day when the adults took their own lives while carrying out their customary rituals. Whatever they summoned from the other side did not possess the right to exist in this world; it did not belong here.

This God can very well be called "The God of distortion", as Emilia mentions it.

Finally, the small stone depicted in the most right scene in the Muriel could potentially be the blue pearls that Elkdrack discovered, as Conrad says it. However, what he failed to realize is that this blue stone was actually the blessing bestowed by the God of Distortion, "the Echoes of Distortion." This blessing was possibly a catalyst for transforming those people into unspeakable, nightmarish beings.

Though it isn't mentioned directly,

The stone occupies an entire section within the Muriel, indicating its utmost significance as the potential blessing. This is the only explanation that seems logical. Furthermore, the peculiar texture of the stone defies categorization as a mere pearl or ordinary rock, adding to its enigmatic nature]