[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's Etrian Odyssey, as well as its sequels.]
Uroboros 5, Etria: The Rooster Inn, Year 1212, The Journal of Circe Estrade, Untitled
Early morning. I am the first awake and I am filled with thoughts and memories of the past five days. I did not sleep well. I have been thinking – about love, about protection, about Etria, about duty. I have been thinking, too, about my soon-to-be companions in the Labyrinth. They are such wonderful idiots; I already feel affection for both of them.
We used our Guild money, given to us by the Radha, to purchase supplies – camping equipment, weapons, food, waterskins, etcetera – from Shilleka, a local blacksmith and general goods merchant. Ludo and I spent the remainder of our time finishing paperwork and being on patrol. Only yesterday did our transfer into Guild Crimson become official. Ardell spent the last four days gathering gossip and stories about the Labyrinth. He keeps them in a journal, which he sometimes shows to Ludo and I when he is in an extraordinarily excitable mood.
[Written in the margins, next to the words "excitable mood," is the word, "OFTEN!" It is underlined three times. Below that is another list of words. You can make out the following: white teeth, monstrous laughter, joy, energy, footsteps on cobblestone, empty mugs, clattering, chattering, gathering…]
I arranged for us all to meet in the Golden Deer Tavern each night. I thought that it would be a good idea for us to become better acquainted if we are going to be entrusting our lives to one another.
He is worse than Ludo. When Ardell gossips, he always begins by relating what he's heard from several different people. He builds his narratives with many different and disparate threads. Then, at the height of your confusion, he unleashes his favorite line – "Now, what does this mean? Well, you see…" and he begins to interpret. He studies the chatter of common people like a scholar studies the histories of the ancients. The conclusions he draws…dreadful. Senseless. But he is so earnest that it is hard to be angry with or disdainful of him. It would be like kicking a dog.
Ludo encourages Ardell, that is the worst of it. I think that he enjoys winding Ardell up, like an old and malfunctioning clock, and watching him sputter. He likes to see Ardell red in the face and shouting, passionately, about his nonsense. Ludo has a very special, unfamiliar, and loud kind of barking laughter that he reserves for the end of an argument that he and Ardell have gotten into. As angry as Ardell seems to be with Ludo, generally, I think that he enjoys Ludo's company. No one else will humor him like Ludo will. No one else will ask the provoking questions that Ludo will ask. If they don't kill each other, I have faith that they will be good friends someday.
Today will be Guild Crimson's first day in the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. Here, in Etria, they call me a city guard. When I was a sworn dame of the kingdom of Grularde – that was seven years ago, I suppose…time does pass - they called me a Protector. Today I feel like a Protector.
Uroboros 6, Etria: First Stratum, The Emerald Grove, Year 1212, Map-Making
Our first task is to make a map of the first floor of the Labyrinth. This is the standard "test-of-entry" for all Guilds. The Radha wants to ensure that we are a good investment by sending us on this mission. I believe that they will be pleased with our results. We have not met with any feral beasts yet. I hope that our luck continues.
Tonight, we are camping within the Emerald Grove. Ardell has been silent and wide-eyed all day, enthralled. Ludo scoffs at everything, has a joke for every new sight, but I have heard how his voice quivers and I have seen how his hands shake. I know that he is terrified. I am too.
This is the Emerald Grove, an underground forest. During the day everything is cast in brilliant colors. Blue, red, green, and yellow flowers are scattered like gemstones across the forest floor. In the sunlight, they seem to glow with the simple joy of being alive. Tall trees and thriving, voluptuous shrubbery line the paths that the Etrian Labyrinth Guards have cut through the first floor. And the sunlight itself – that is the most magnificent sight during the day. The Emerald Grove is awash with pockets of swirling, scattering, playful pillars and patches of light. Everything seems to be moving, either in the wind or because of the way that the light dances across it. Ludo finds this unsettling. He says that he is never sure if we are being watched or followed. "Naturally predatory," is the way that Ardell described the scenery.
The moon is waxing and almost full. Its silver-blue light is not like the sun's: not playful, not swirling, not life-giving or movement-inspiring. It swallows the air and cloaks all of the things that swim in it in shadows. During the day, we could hear birds chirping and beasts calling. Now, all we hear is a cacophony of insects punctuated by…rustling – a silence – rustling….and the noise resumes.
The way that the moonlight illuminates some things and makes others seem like black shadows is distracting to me. The black shadows of trees and bushes remind me of living beings that are waiting for something. I feel how they are tense, in their legs, leaning forward. And when a gust of wind blows through the forest and scatters the light for a moment, I sense what a joy it is to be lit-up, to be revealed, to be free in the air and wild like a dust-storm.
Ludo, Ardell, and I were talking around the campfire.
"Beautiful, isn't it all?" Ardell said. Ludo snorted.
"Like a freshly whetted blade."
"You sense it too, then? Why were you so quiet when I said earlier that the forest is a natural predator?"
"Because I knew that you wanted to talk about it. And I didn't," Ludo smiled. Ardell began to grumble.
"Come now, Ludo, we should be open with each other…"
"You'd like me to be more open? Do you think the sheep enjoys hearing from the shepherd how sharp the wolf's teeth are, how skilled it is at stalking and hunting?"
"I'm the shepherd of this group then?" Ardell said.
"You are supposed to be the most heavily armed of us with that fancy gem of yours. And it is a little disturbing to hear from you about what magnificent pieces the wilderness could cut us up into at any moment. But I'm not being literal, I'm not a sheep and you're not a shepherd…you're missing my point…"
"Don't worry, I will protect you Ludo. You have my word of honor."
Ludo sighed heavily.
"I wasn't trying to compliment you. I was trying to tell you to be silent about how dangerous everything is because I already know it…"
"It's natural to feel like a sheep in my presence, Ludo," Ardell said with a flourish of his hands. I snickered. This was new – Ardell had only just learned how to sincerely pinch Ludo's nerves. Usually it was the other way around.
"I'm no sheep! I'm strong as an ox…"
"But an ox doesn't need a shepherd's strength to protect it as you apparently do."
Ludo looked like he was about to burst, and so I intervened.
"You both think that strength is what makes a shepherd a shepherd and a sheep a sheep," I said. "It isn't so. The shepherd is not a sheep because she is watchful. The sheep is not a shepherd because it must be watched over."
"Then I suppose you're the shepherd and I'm a wayward wolf in this case," Ardell said. "I'm sorry to torment your flock like this…a little sorry, at least."
Ludo sighed. "As long as you're doing the watching, Circe, I don't mind. I would appreciate it, actually, if you'd keep an eye on Ardell for me. Keep him under control. Put that big image he has of himself on a diet: I'll be the sheep if you'll do that."
"Don't trust me?" Ardell asked.
"Not a bit. Yet," Ludo said. Ardell's eyebrows arched, then fell, and his whole face puckered in offense. "You don't feel much fear in here, do you? You like to talk about 'predatory instincts' and all that, but you don't feel very threatened, do you? You're going to get us all killed with your recklessness and overconfidence. What happens if you lose those gauntlets of yours? What if that purple gem of yours stops working?"
"The forest is predatory," Ardell sat up more straightly, closed his eyes, and pointed a finger at Ludo. This is what he had been waiting for: a chance to explain himself. "The forest is predatory because it is beautiful. Many plants and animals look and behave beautifully with bright colors, exotic movements, and scents in order to lure prey. Then, when their prey feels most comfortable and safe, they strike."
"So fear is common sense, it's about safety," Ludo said.
"No. Fear is a sign of weakness to great predators. We must be ready for anything and fear nothing. Even if we are being lured into danger, if we are always prepared then we will always prevail," I said. Ludo stared at me, open-mouthed. Ardell began to smile and he blushed.
"Is that what you were going to say?" I said, and smiled back at Ardell.
"Something like that, yes."
"I think you're wrong. We won't prevail if we always ignore our fear. You can't ignore fear. Do you fear being afraid? Fear is something you have to live with. Even if it seems like an enemy, it's a part of yourself," I said.
"I'm not afraid of fear. No."
"If you are, even if you're prepared…if something goes wrong, you'll begin to panic. Even if it's only a little. And that panic will grow, quickly, into a powerful fear. And then you won't know what to do because you've never felt fear before. And while you're feeling your fear for the first time…"
"It always feels like the first time," Ludo added.
"…you could be injured," I finished.
"Or killed," Ludo said. Ardell looked up at the sky. I followed his eyes and realized that he was watching the moon through the trembling leaves above.
"There's an old story about an ancient religion. One of their gods was a god of painters and death. Supposedly, it was his job to paint the final images of the dying."
"Final images? Like how they would look on their deathbeds?" Ludo asked.
"No, the last thoughts of the dying I mean. The last thing that a person would see and feel, in their soul, even after they'd lost their physical senses of sight and touch."
"Not everyone thinks in images all the time. What if it was a word that a person thought on their deathbed? Then their god makes no sense," Ludo said with a grin. Ardell shrugged.
"A myth doesn't have to be entirely factual to be true or useful."
"As you like."
"I've read books that consist entirely of the dream-images of the dying. The priests of this religion believed that they could sense the image and record it. Some especially skilled priests would try to recreate the image – as an artifact, you see; as a piece of the divine, something inspired and originally created by a god and given to men."
"How sad and beautiful those must have been," I said.
Yes. That is what the trees and the shadows in the moonlight remind me of: something divine, something dying, something more felt than seen.
Ardell continued: "The priests made notes after the first sensing of an image… notes about how it inspired them to feel: how did divinity taste, what texture did it have on the skin, what memories did it resonate with? And many of the priests said that they felt afraid. What made them afraid? Can you guess?"
"Well…if they believed that they were feeling something divine, it's not unusual to be afraid," I said.
"I try not to think about gods and such," Ludo said.
"But can you guess?"
"It must have been indescribable. I can't imagine the true face of something divine," I said. Ardell nodded.
"That's exactly what it was. Always, they said, it was indescribable. Mortal words could not encompass the sense of a dying dream, although they could try. The priests described joy so strong that it bled into terror: shortness of breath, saccharine scents, thickness and impotence of the tongue as if it was wrapped in velvet or fur. The sense of being held but also of being alone at the same time. Uncertainty."
"I hate to ask, because I know you want me to ask it, but where are you going with this?" Ludo said. He picked up a stick and began to poke at the fire with it.
"These ancient people believed that experiencing death was something so wonderful, so good, so comforting that it was unearthly – uncanny. They felt warped caricatures of happiness and comfort. That's what made them afraid: the inability to know. We could all very well die while exploring this Labyrinth, it's true. So, then, if we feel fear we must fear death. But we cannot know either. Both are indescribable, and so to try and understand your own fear or anything you feel is a pointless exercise."
"But we must live with that fear and learn to make it a part of ourselves," I said. "We must know it."
"But we can't know it. We can't know true fear or happiness or comfort or death or anything because all of those things are just what we believe them to be. We know our feelings, but to even give them a name is to be like those priests – there's a tension between what we actually feel and what we believe that we feel; between what is true and what is divine."
"So you think that the proper course of action is to ignore that tension," I said.
"Yes. Trying to resolve it is impossible, pointless, possibly dangerous. We should be content with what we know but do not understand. Since we cannot learn understanding, we must learn control."
"When I was a very young girl, I was given a ribbon to tie into my hair for my mother's birthday party. My hair was finally long enough to tie a ribbon into it, and I was very proud to wear one. My mother often wore one. I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world to wear a ribbon like her. I was very happy. But when I saw my mother later that day at her party – saw her see me – and she began to cry, I couldn't understand why," I said.
"She was happy," Ardell said.
"I know that now. I know what happiness feels like for me, even if I can't describe it. And I can feel it in others even if I can't articulate how. I think you're missing the point of your story."
"Which is?"
"That the priests continued to try and sense the dreams of the dying and that they continued to record them even if they knew they couldn't describe them completely. If, like you say, they couldn't understand what they were feeling…they continued to try anyway. Why would they do that?"
"Does it matter? It was a great waste of time…"
"But why would they do it? It was clearly important to them for some reason. Why?" I asked. Our eyes met and I noticed the way that the fire-light washed across his pupils.
"I don't know," he said. Ludo laughed.
"I never thought I'd hear that!"
"I'll have to think about it," Ardell said. I could feel him retreat into himself. I could feel all of his sense of contact with the outside world contract completely into a tight bubble inside of himself. He became silent. He continued to joke, to talk, and to sing when prompted…but his voice was hollow and his energy was elsewhere for the rest of the night. That's not the way to find the answer, I don't think. Although, then again, I don't know what is the way.
It was a good story. I am watching the shadows in the moonlight again now, tending the fire while Ardell and Ludo sleep. But enough writing. I have had enough of the past and will live in the present.