World Description

A roiling jade tinged expanse of abyssal waters stretch off, out to the edges of the horizon; An impossibly vast distance in all directions, drowned in the depths of this choking black lagoon that encompasses the spattering of land. These tumultuous waters of animate ink lap at the defiantly standing constructs that arise from such inky blackness, litter this realm under a crawling sky of false-light. Of which forever burns with fulgent streaming hues of foreign energy. To set one's focus on such fathomless horizons which grasp outwards to lengths vision can no longer distinctly separate is an intoxicating quandary. For one measure of such environs hold no metrics, no peace of mind, in scale to behold. To excogitate upon such, could hold a viewer of finite comprehension's mind for a time as breadth as its distance is long. But dotted throughout the seas of this abyssal ink, great lands and sculptures of alien design egress such an ocean. Rising out, as harbourages amongst the august pearlescent tendrils of seemingly cognisant ink - those great arms reaching for what could pass as the sky (or unaware ink-faring traveller), for some unsubstantiated wanting. The refuges from the grinding waters of ink are mostly incongruent archives of vast information. With the odd exceptions to what seem to be small clusters of domiciles, hubs, and various useful municipalities. For the most part, in all directions libraries spill out, overflowing, with a categorisational method not understood by many but the denizens; of books, media, recordings, findings, artefacts. If it held value of information it would be hoarded here upon discovery and retrieval. As for its purpose - its obsession to do so - indeterminate. Such repositories tower to great lofty heights, bookshelves, lecterns, and drawers snake up in heaps - in suite to the tendrils. Their impossible structure nobly holding a trove of aeons collected by the creatures of ink. Upon the edges of solid ground that stands precariously firm. Hold-fast against the tide. Swaths of serpentine bookshelves, stacks, piles, and all manner of information spill or dive into the ocean's ravenous appetite. Ink coating and drenching their contents, threatening to drag it under; Never to be seen by eyes unopened again. In a curious discovery by one such aspirant; there have been reports of unfamiliar and disconcerting literature amongst the hoards; scrawled with diagrams and texts that have not yet occurred within their understanding of their personal timeline, or could not occur, given discrepancies in depictions of what is presumed to be facsimiles of their world. These vexing curiosities hold one more irksome finding - that such books shift and twist, runes move and reform, fold upon themselves to new possibilities. A finding best not dwelled upon, oft decided. Even under such conditions, these lands hold many spatterings of communities; With denizens and a peppering of visitors intermingled between corridors and hubs. The native populace often focused on their roles amongst the archives - be it some form of librarian, gatherer, or the likes. Whilst the transient guests more than often occupy themselves with the records, lost in their contents, a boundless archive too irresistible to part with. To those that find themselves coming here, a future can be made, with a stalwart mind. Even under the lands antithetical sprawl, all the dim sounds of life can be found. Gathering around areas that meet the needs of traditional forms of life. Whilst the sustenance found here can be... questionable... and oft writhing in its jet complexion. Is serviceable, if more so enjoyed by the creatures of ink than flesh. The meals sating in more than appetite; reports from visiting species report a dull burn in the back of the awareness that speaks to memories unfamiliar. Usurped information from consumption, filling a new-founded ache.