Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink beneath the lake, The shadows lengthen In Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise, And strange moons circle through the skies, But stranger still is Lost Carcosa. Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flap the tatters of the King, Must die unheard in Dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead, Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa. "This place is... broken. It is a land of twisted time and distorted sky — the space between the tick and the tock. Space itself snaps and falls into an endless, neverending abyss from which there is no recovery. You could walk with eyes closed and never touch walls; it is only in the viewing of walls that there are walls at all." "To be honest, you probably shouldn't look around too carefully. True miracles can overwhelm and terrify mortal minds. If you dwell on what you see here, you might stop climbing." "Bravo. Bra-vo. No mortal has ever made it to Tartarus before. Well, alive that is. Make yourselves at home." "This place we're flying over now isn't in the atlas, is it?" the pilot said, grinning.
"You're darn right it isn't in the atlas!" cried the head of the Air Force. "We've flown clear off the last page!"
"Imagine a crown of thorns, twisted, dark and unreflective, grown too thickly tangled to ever rest on any human head. Put it in orbit around a failed star whose own reflected half-light does little more than throw its satellites into silhouette. Occasional bloody highlights glinted like dim embers from its twists and crannies; they only emphasized the darkness everywhere else.
Imagine an artefact that embodies the very notion of torture, something so wrenched and disfigured that even across uncounted lightyears and unimaginable differences in biology and outlook, you can't help but feel that somehow, the structure itself is in pain.
Now make it the size of a city."
"Ah yes, the mysterious, timeless non-space that lies between the planes. Okay. First imagine the square root of a negative number. Then picture an eleventh-dimensional solid with that many sides that is somehow humming the Flight of the Bumblebee backwards. Then stuff that whole theoretical construct into a temporal bottle rocket and fire it into a sped-up Big Bang of unfettered imagination, and then squash it down to a momentary singularity of nothingness that is somehow simultaneously infinite and eternal at the same time, and somehow both a specific place and the exact opposite of whereness at the same time, and then add a dollop of nacho cheese. Then give up trying to build a mental image of the Blind Eternities because nuh-uh." "To stand inside of the Starwood at night is be embraced by an infinite universe. Along this former shoreline, the trees stretch skyward and grow taller than anywhere else. At night, they blossom and reveal millions of flowers winking in the moonlight like so many stars. It is a place for inspiration and thought. Many dragons discover their genius here, but many more become lost to the dangers hidden in its beauty."
— Flight Rising
, description of the Starfall Isles' Starwood Strand
"That's not the future. That's...
The Emperor of Mankind: Have you ever heard the saying: "We all have our own personal Daemons?" Custodes
: Yes? The Emperor of Mankind: Think about that phrase, and take into account what Magnus just said about the warp. Now apply the resulting realization to the entire population of the galaxy. Custodes
: Oh. [beat
] oooohhhh... OOOOHHHH... It's worse than simply being a hellish realm, isn't it? Magnus the Red
: Ohohoho, little goldensparkle, it is much, MUCH, more than that. Every single thought or feeling you have ever had, both consciously and subconsciously, becomes reality in the Warp. Every single human emotion becomes a power. Every single metaphor becomes a literal meaning. Everyone's wishes, dreams, desires, fears, and nightmares are incarnated. Of course, the reason the Warp is so corrosive and horrifying is because so many conflicting and contradicting ideas are floating around inside of it.
Deep within the Black Moon, the Egg of Lilith, the Warp bled out into reality, creating the perfect gestation grounds for the beings within. In this seething cauldron of unreality, things had many layers, and viewing things from different angles could have a profound effect on what was seen.
Just a few light years away they could see the Thanatos Anomaly, a colossal battle wound in the fabric of reality. Exposed vortex streams twisted and churned in Gordian knots, while planets, systems, and galaxies formed, aged, dispersed, and re-formed while billions of years of time passed and rewound.
R'yleh was nothing more than a dream forced into reality, a memory of a place long destroyed - reduced to dust by the dream's creator, in his arrogance and power. And now the dream was over and reality surged in, and the laws of Earth asserted themselves.
Buildings which twisted through five dimensions suddenly were confined to three, and fell in chunks or crumbled to dust or toppled over because the supports in the fifth dimension were no more.
The very ground below it evaporated or inverted or became one-dimensional threads which snapped under the weight.
The closest words I could use to describe the things we felt in this room would be to imagine yourself strapped down, your eyes forcefully peeled open, and a morbidly bright, blood-red light shining directly into your eyes at all time. All the while, the only things you can feel are your nails being ripped out, chainsaws revving up in your ears, hundreds of people screaming in hatred and abject rage, the feeling of some primeval, shapeless nightmare getting closer and closer, anticipating the moment it finally reaches you and does something horrible. Something you can't imagine because it is simply
beyond the reach of human imagination. It was fucking violation of the senses. It was fury, and pain, broken teeth, bags of rotted flesh beating against the wall, gunfire, splintering bones, drills in kneecaps and the slaughter of animals, burning fire and savage rape, every unpleasant sensation and unknown fear man had ever known and yet to discover. We felt that all in a goddamned second. Mint was already starting to scream. They'd turned back and opened the door, but just like in the Slaughterhouse, the grocery store had vanished. The only thing we saw within was more of the Mad Room. They were cubed rooms, or at least they were
trying to be cubed, trying to form shapes you could walk into. There were things in the corners of the room, shuffling, collapsing and reforming, trying to attain solid matter but utterly failing. I wasn't sure it if was a trick on the eyes or if it was real. Something told me it was both; some half-formed thought somehow having been driven out of someone's mind and trying desperately to attain physical form but failing wretchedly. Mint immediately huddled to me, and the resultant desire to protect them was the only thing I felt that wasn't screaming at me and trying to drive me off the edge.
Where is it? The TARDIS: [beeps innocently] Clara:
I know what just happened. I went to the bathroom - thank you for the hologram leopard
by the way, an unexpected pleasure - and my bedroom was COMPLETELY missing! (sighs)
Just tell me where you put it.
Think about the last Escher print you saw. Think about your philosophy class from college. Think about the mathematics of a snowflake, or the verbs of a rainbow. That's what the landscape looks like here. It can rain choices, or snow alphabets. Seemingly rock-solid ground can fall out from under you and leave you clinging to calculus. Be careful
As for geography: the Astral Umbra is definitely stratified; the further "up" and "out" you go, the more rarefied become the concepts that form the Realms and their residents. The more abstract the region, the more surreal and treacherous your journey becomes.
"This place must be deep beneath the surface. It seems to be under the influence of a powerful magnetic force... Too powerful for conventional models to simulate actually. Based on the numbers I'm seeing, powerful enough to distort spacetime itself!"
on the Deepsea Metro, Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion
You'll get used to the balmy temperature. It's for the Bees
, they prefer it. Their honey is remarkable, though the aftertaste a little like machine oil. Her Majesty once commented favourably on Agartha to me, "A work of quite miraculous craftsmanship." I believe to tour it was one of her few joys after Albert passed. Well, try not to approach all this as something unnatural: it may not follow the, ah, accepted theories of the Earths consistency
. I assure you, though, it is very much a part of our world. Over the years, these halls have expanded and contracted with the growth of the Tree
. Like breathing, I expect. Fresh branches find their way to the surface, to many different surfaces
. The older growth, further down, leads to other places in other times. Stacked like those Russian dolls that were all the rage in Paris. Why I encountered myself as a young man once. Heh. Heh. Curious thing.
"In our desperation we turned to the Void. The blinding night, the hellspace where our science and reason failed."
The cafe's green awning flaps frantically, pushed outward by a rushing wind from within. Around it are tables and chairs, all heaving up and suspended as if about to fly away; then spasming back to their positions on the ground
. Up again, head-height and back. As they have jumped for years. The windows are blown out repeatedly, surrounded by broken glass that twitches and snaps back into the panes and then out again, repeatedly, an oscillating instant of combustion. The cafe rumbles.
Sam walks heavily toward it, into the empty road around it. It looks as if the air exhausts her, as if she walks against a gale. She stops, gasping, still meters from the entrance. The air rushes in Thibault's ears.
Far from the light of any sun or star lies the infernal region known as the Realm of Chaos. This is not a material realm, but a place without physical or temporal boundaries, a vast formless limbo that exists only because of the dreams of mortals. This is the home of the Chaos Gods
. In the Realm of Chaos, there are no physical laws akin to those that dominate the mortal world. Within its confines, dreams become real, and reality is reborn as fevered hallucination. Gravity, shape, space and reason
- all are in flux, utterly mutable to the will of the Chaos Gods. Few mortals are capable of perceiving the Realm of Chaos in its true splendour
, for the living mind recoils from such otherworldly landscapes. For this reason, no two visions of the Realm of Chaos are alike, as the mind attempts to hide the impossible with fragments stolen from memory. The Realm of Chaos is a place of dreams and nightmares where cause need not follow effect, and within its bounds anything is possible.
—Warhammer: Chaos Demons Army Book (7th Edition)
Polyhedric sculptures, the dimensions eye-wateringly off. Grass of uniform colour and uniform length. Placid canals, criss-crossed at right angles. All bisected by a pale gravel path, leading to the door of a broad ivy-shrouded mansion. Only its lack of windows betray Piranesi as a prison.
Jud: The Micmacs knew that place, but that doesn't necessarily mean they made it what it was. The Micmacs weren't always here. They came maybe from Canada, maybe from Russia, maybe from Asia way back in the beginning. They stayed here in Maine for a thousand years, or maybe it was two thousand—it's hard to tell, because they did not leave their mark deep on the land. And now they are gone again...same way we'll be gone, someday, although I guess our mark will go deeper, for better or worse. But the place will stay no matter who's here, Louis. It isn't as though someone owned it and could take its secret when they moved on. It's an evil, curdled place, and I had no business taking you up there to bury that cat. I know that now. It has a power you'll beware of if you know what's good for your family and what's good for you. I wasn't strong enough to fight it. You saved Norma's life, and I wanted to do something for you, and that place turned my good wish to its own evil purpose. It has a power...and I think that power goes through phases, same as the moon. It's been full of power before, and I'm ascared it's coming around to full again. I'm ascared it used me to get at you through your son. Do you see, Louis, what I'm getting at?
Louis: You're saying the place knew Gage was going to die, I think.
No, I am saying the place might have made Gage
die because I introduced you to the power in the place. I am saying I may have murdered your son
with good intentions, Louis.
I know, I know, I know
. You're thinking if you'd just turned left instead of right, you could've gotten away from me. But you did
go left, and you turned right and you kept running and you didn't turn at all. But here, in the Garden of Forking Paths, you didn't make any one
choice: you made every choice
... and they all led back to me.
They were in what probably passed for a courtyard in the Limbo castle. Beneath them was, recognizably, soil and the equivalent of grass, though it was of a light yellow color. A wall enclosed the courtyard on more than three sides, but in front of them was the castle proper, or at least a wing of it. There were several arches before them...Archie found it hard to count them, as if their number altered from moment to moment...and doors beyond them.[...]
Jan boldly went forward to one of the doors under the arch. It looked to be made of wood, though Archie thought that just might have been what he perceived. The door opened to Jans touch, without her having to twist a handle. "Follow me," she said. The crew could see what looked like a hallway beyond.
The Time Police woman stepped inside.
After her heel went through the doorway, the walls closed in behind her. There was no door anymore. Only a brick wall in its place.
The unterzee has no northern shore. Space is forbidden. Time contracts to a single frozen instant. There is only one way North.
The house sucks people in by giving them what they want the most. Then what? It's some kind of purgatory