LA COMMISSION DU TEMPS ET DE L'SPACE
OFFICE MEMORANDUM

DATE: 2301754623
ARCHIVE LOAN: CASE FILE 137

AGENT LILA PITTS
REASON: RESEARCH FOR ASSIGNMENT TRIGGER

LORIEN PORTUS

/lorry-in: port-us/

noun

A Lorien Portus—also known as the Conceptual Cradle, the Cradle of Life, Anomalies or Entity Sanctuary—is a naturally occurring ring or arc of pale flowers that bloom blue in the light. They are found mainly in forested areas, but also appear in grasslands, rangelands or maize…

Lorien Portus are detectable thanks to ring/arcs of cendrillon flowers—known for their ability to bloom & glow blue in the light—as well as necrotic zones (dead grass) or a ring of darkened grass. The rings may grow to over 10metres (33ft) in diameter and draw people to them.

Lorien Portus are the subject of much folklore and myth, worldwide—particularly in Western Europe—where they are often seen as hazardous or dangerous places that are linked with witches or the Devil. Conversely, they can also sometimes be linked with good fortune.

Statement of Foreman Justin D. Crane, regarding The Stellar Suites, the Lorien Portus in Vickery Meadows and the Hotel Obsidian in New York City

Original Statement given: September 09, 2004

Audio Recording by: Agent Cha-Cha, Senior Corrections Officer of La Commission du Temps et de L'Space

Transcript Written by: Agent Herb

Statement begins:

"Once upon a time, out there in Vickery Meadows, there lay an old house at the edge of the woods. The townspeople said it had belonged to an old lady—the first person to reside there—but she had no name and even if she did, it had long since been lost to time. THE STELLAR SUITES, as it had become known as, was a thing of beauty. Standing just three stories with flora surrounding it on all side, many would agree that it felt like living in a fairytale.

And it would have of been, if not for the rumours that surrounded that place and the tragedies that fuelled them from the shadows. The house was OLD, that much was obvious, anyone with eyes could've of told you that. But a building like that—for all that it MIGHT'VE of appeared the same as the others within the that state—it was not the same. It LOOKED like a stately Victorian home, but it was not the house that was the thing to watch out for.

No, that THING was MUCH more dangerous than just the pretty facade of a Victorian house…No one knew for certain WHEN or HOW it had started, nor WHY it was created, only that it simply WAS. If you asked about the town, curious about the nature of the house & the door at the edge of the woods, many would tell you that it had started there, with the old woman and the house she had constructed upon the edge of the woods.

Others would say that it was the great & mysterious forces whom whispered words of temptation, drawing you out towards the whispering wood where the strange blue door resided. But neither of these were true. It did not start with the house, nor did it begin with the woods, nor even when the town itself, was settled. It—the strange door at the edge of the woods—was here LONG before any THING might have even THOUGHT to call this place home.

What is it? You might ask.

Well, you see, upon our planet Earth, it has no name; but on planets like Lorien? It has many names, including the most well known one: Lorien Portus; the door to the Cradle of Life…But this is ALL we know, for you see not much is known about the door or the contents of the other side. What we DO know is this: once there was a patch of land on the edge of those Dallas woods; one that was not quite so firmly placed in THIS reality as to those others in which it opened up, into…

Once there was an old woman with no name, who disappeared without cause and left the house to rot until the next occupants came to reside there. Once there was a point in space that did not quite obey all of those petty rules that decided what COULD & could NOT be allowed to happen in a world, like ours. But this story is not about the old woman, though she does tend to feature. It's not about the land, although the mud and the soil stained the landscape around the Lorien Portus do feature…It is not about a singular point in space, although the globe still spins & hurtles through the darkness of the void, always carrying IT along.

…Let us simply say that there was once a place; a place where the universe had…cracked, for want of a better word. Cracked JUST enough to leave the door between this world and the next, ajar. Cracked enough that it allowed the curious and the greedy to wander between worlds without much hassle. Cracked enough that whatever had lain hidden inside for eons, could now creep OUT…There may have of been other places like this one, whose to say? But one thing was for certain: anyone who went down to wood, anyone who passed across the threshold of the door at the edge of the wood, were NEVER seen again.

None of the townspeople could begin to fathom what had caused the door to manifest, but throughout the years, some have cited higher beings coming to either bless or punish them…But if you stopped to think about it, it was likely that not even those aforementioned higher beings who existed beyond time and who might've measured a generation in the echoes of our screams…even knew when it had manifested either. It does make me wonder though, about what THEIR theories about such a creation, might be. For that ringed door upon the forestry floor has been there as long as any—human, loric or otherwise—could remember, if not longer…It's not a HUGE opening, mind you, and to walk by it, you would never pause to notice it…unless. Unless it called to you.

HOW it called, no one knew either because those drawn to the door never speak about it and even if they wanted to, they are always long gone before any message can be left behind…People have their suspicions, of course, but that's all they are—suspicions. Perhaps, people say, that the air around the doorway is thinner, causing people to hallucinate. Perhaps, thanks to the dim lighting of the woods, people are drawn to the pretty bioluminescent flowers that surround the ring…In the summer, there may very well be the slightest of chills in the air; a coolness surrounding the doorway that pulled you in. Or maybe in winter, there's a cozy warmth emanating from within, drawing the unwitting inside, now matter how unsettling it might be.

Perhaps it is the fungus that grows in the damp bark of the trees leading the way into wood, that is somehow more vibrant in its white polka-dotted hats; the red domes peppering the moist bark like poisonous acne. Perhaps it is the pale flowers with wide embracing petals that glow blue in the silvery moonlight, blooming beneath the stars. But these changes are only slight in the grand scheme of things; barely anything to capture anyone's attention beyond a happy note of the foliage and the sombre anecdotes about the missing children.

Instead, over the years, few have ever TRULY thought much of it at all. Perhaps, as I stated earlier, there are many other places like this one—ringed blue doors across the world, that lead to strange and exciting places—hidden all over the planet…Or maybe its unique in its design, its hard to say; certainly no one had clarified either way at the time…Then again, in this day & age, people tend to dismiss such things as silly superstitions. But don't be fooled, these are NOT superstitions and neither are they silly.

…The first known person to reside out there in the manor by the door at the edge of the woods, was an old woman. She had no name, but it was understood that she was Presbyterian in nature. Some stories tell of a sister and others of children, but those are likely just heresy; tales meant to please the ear when talking of wayward women…Following in the steps of John Neely Bryan and her late father, the old woman resided upon the peaceful edges of the those soon-to-be-Dallas woods…far removed from the likes of Trinity River, and those of her kinsmen. Nonetheless, 'twas there she lived and worked, guarding family grounds as she hopelessly tried to ignore the siren cal that echoed from the woods, behind the house.

Still, even the most stubborn of people have their breaking points and when her life had neared its end, she simply vanished, as if she had never been there to begin with. Whose to say what called her out to the woods that day? Was it her terror that called to her, beating like drum of war? Or was it the glittering flowers in the moonlight that called to her? Did she go of her own accord or was there something else at play?

…It's strange, don'tcha think, that a name, a face, or even the lingering feeling of fear could persist throughout the centuries, never ceasing? And yet, not ONE person can be sure as to which of them those missing people are more consumed by…Some fears are eternal, you see, primal on a scale that is almost frightening in of itself. But within them lies a hundred titles, words whispered in the most top secretest of places within each era and every corner of the world…Whose to say if any of THOSE things were actually true as well?

Whichever it might've of been, they knew the woman's terror well…Swallowing it down, drinking—CONSUMING—every inch of her until she stepped across the threshold, disappearing into the ether. Until she awoke in a place that was as familiar as it was strange…Somewhere where the Dallas settlers had yet to make landfall, and yet there were landmarks that she recognised, if not a little off…You see, for all of her dread at this unknown pull leading her deep into the dark wood, for all the confusion at finding this strangely familiar place, her "end" was swift & clean. So much so, that none of her kinsmen ever knew of the fate that befell her after all of that…not then & not now.

Her home, left unattended, quickly fell into disrepair and then collapse. No one dared touch the wood, for the rain had warped it beyond measure. Still, many lived in that house, in those following years…slowly adding to the home or taking away from it as repairs & renovations were made…Some resided there in peace, some in misery and few others in strangled fear. But none were clever enough to tie their feelings to the land or the dwelling erected upon it.

In any case, as the old house sat out in the recluse of the Vickery woods, the village nearby, slowly grew. And before you knew it, it had become quite the populous town that we know & love today; although not nearly as remarkable as some of the other Dallas cities. That said, perhaps on occasion in the quiet of night, those who try to return home in one piece or those who toss & turn in their beds, might feel a whisper—an echo of some other place—beckoning them near, whispering words of wanting & desire into the dreams of the waking & the sleeping.

…Perhaps the house & the wood are haunted? People often wonder and it is certainly a reasonable suggestion. But that begged the question; what does it MEAN for a place to be haunted?…A place can be haunted by SOMEONE—a poor soul whose bones lay restless in the shallow soil or whose ashes mixed with that of the hearth—of course. Or it could be haunted by SOMETHING—some heinous crime or atrocity that stained itself upon the soul of a spot—most certainly.

But have you EVER heard of a location being haunted by a SOMEWHERE? Haunted by an echo of those worlds that are not our own, nor are they our neighbours in this realm…Alien places that are drawn to doors like these, leaking through the smallest of cracks with potent energies that draws the unwitting inside…For what are we to do about those doors that teeter on the very edge of existence? COULD we even DO something?

…Still, the closest anyone ever came to know, was a boy by the name of Humphrey Buckley; a troubled schoolboy from the local schoolhouse. He had moved into THE STELLAR SUITES when it had been transfigured into a halfway house for troubled children…He was a boy of God—as most in that day were—but to which god he prayed was unclear, for it always seemed to be changing…whomever it was, seemed to hold the errant schoolboy in high regard, at least if you believed his words.

His investigations began out of boredom, in the end, something born during a rainy day when they were kept penned in by strict minders. It was then that he had first found such strange oddities to take note of…cold draughts in the middle of a haughty summer and the gentle murmur of childish voices that tinkled like jingle bells in the dead of night…Once, he even found a little ring of blue flowers in the woods, dead grass surrounding it on all sides.

Humphrey's investigations were crude, of course, he was just a bored schoolboy trying to fill the time, exploring…that said, his observations were surprisingly astute and his beliefs—whatever they truly were—were closer to the truth, than you might imagine. But eighteen year old Humphrey Buckley had neither the words to talk of dimensional doors nor a mind to be able to meaningfully conceive of worlds beyond the one in which he lived…and, as a result, all of his anecdotes on the matter, ultimately led him nowhere…

Though, when he did ask about the missing children and the ring out in the woods. Most people just told him to leave well enough, alone…and if you'd read his statement, you'd soon figure out why too…That poor girl…Anyway, it was these kinds of questions that first bought him to the attention of Sir Reginald H. Hargreeves and how we became aware of what these places even WERE and what they might mean…Eventually, Humphrey's trouble got the better of him, but by that point his work had been done and another, altogether, more grander plan was already in motion.

See, Sir Hargreeves had located ANOTHER Lorien Portus in the maize fields of New York's foundations. There, he had us build this great big monstrosity of a hotel—THE HOTEL OBSIDIAN, it was called—and it still stands there, to this day, if I remember rightly. Maybe, if you're ever down there, you'll get to see it, maybe even go inside? If you ever do, maybe you'll see the ever important White Buffalo room?…Did you know that it [the hotel] once housed very important figures like Roosevelt, Ghandi, Stalin, Gorbachev, Castro, King Olaf of Norway, one of the Kim Jongs and several other fellows that I can't quite recall…I THINK Elvis might've been one, but you'd have to doublecheck that.

…It was no easy task, building the hotel around an anomaly like that, let me tell you, working all the while to both weaken the door & protect it…It was hard enough to guard it, seeing as the builders kept getting lured inside by otherworldly powers…even I'D heard that voice a couple of times. It's hard to describe, that alluring voice…It was…it reminded me of my mother, calling me home…She sounded bereaved, like it'd been too long since I'd last visited. Which WAS true, it HAD been a long time since I'd last seen her, but the smell of her sticky date pudding that emanated from the opening was strange; mostly because she'd been dead for some time, by then.

…Until finally, a gaggle of children known simply as "THE SPARROW ACADEMY" entered the lobby of that accursed hotel, led by the infamous Sir Hargreeves. It—the hotel—opened in 1923 and on opening day, they [THE SPARROW ACADEMY] were to go through that door in the White Buffalo room…to investigate what was on the other side…I'd never actually been IN the room myself, not even when it was being built, but rumours fly around secret rooms like that one.

That door in the White Buffalo Room, it opened into what we—the builders—believe were better worlds than this tired old thing. That mysterious voice certainly promised as such…The door itself was ornate (not the portal to the other side, the painted one that depicted Oriental pictures) pretty & painted to fit in with the rest of the room. Jonny had crowed about it at the time, about how a mate of his had been the one to paint the murals; but he was always going on about stuff like that…and barely any of it was true. In any case, the door wasn't big enough for a full-size army to march through, but it was wide enough for what they intended; just big enough for a handful of children to squeeze through.

Eight little children went in, but only one came out…about thirty-to-forty years later. It was HUGE news—made the papers & everything—but it was quickly swallowed up by the ones talking about the war (WW3), that is. I read the article when it was printed, what that boy saw…it was HORRID and far too graphic to be in the daily paper. All I can say that is that after reading that, I'm glad I never went in even when that voice sounded like my ailing mother.

…You may call it a crack in reality—what IS real?—but it is so much more than a crack now. Now it is a door; an aching hole, a gaping wound in the very fabric of our world and a gateway to other dimensions. So, if you happen to find a Lorien Portus—a doorway—like that one, let me just say, that you MUST run. Run away as fast & as far as you can, and don't look back. Nothing good EVER involves those doors and the anomalies that they hold inside.

How does that rhyme go again? That one Jonny wouldn't stop singing? Ah, yes!

If you go down to the hotel today, you're sure of a big surprise
If you go down to the hotel today, you better say your goodbyes
For every creature that ever there was
Will gather there, together, because
That's the place where Oblivion calls you!"

Statement ends.

There's obviously a lot to unpack here and some that'll have to be taken with a grain of salt (its always so annoying to distinguish fact from philosophical), so let's start with the obvious:

Lorien Portus exist and they are doors to a (supposedly) alternate plane(s) of reality, of some sort (perhaps the legendary Entity that is spoken of in Loric culture?). Sir Reginald H. Hargreeves discovered one in New York, which he then built a hotel around, in order to secure it. And a collection of children from The Sparrow Academy went inside, leaving only one (unknown) survivor.

As far as the Lorien Portus in Vickery Meadows goes, the case of Humphrey Buckley sounds the most promising. Hopefully there's a case file for that one around here somewhere, that I can use.