With all this consideration of worlds and gateways, we chose to write a piece on what our world is. If this is a construct, then it will be a detailed fantasy piece about a construct, but if it is more, then so will this essay be, it may serve as a roadmap for visitors, it depends what you believe – what we believe is unknown.
This essay enters from the last known part of our system, the outside. Nobody has been there since Geoff, and it remains almost untainted, glowing expanses of green grass, with clusters of trees scattered as with a random function across our landscape, the landscape we claim despite never having set foot on it. In the distance are mountains, that as far as we know have never been trodden, and the green of the grass is tainted with splashes of colour, of wildflowers and of great ropes of woven ivy. Most of this has never been reached, all but a small innocous cluster of rocks.
That cluster of deep grey has within it a crevice, that is passable for one, and through that crevice is where we have made our homes, for when you pass through it, feet track through a sandy mud, and down to a great river. This can be forded, and it was just beyond there that Geoff set up home with the alone children, and made them a family for himself.
At this point, the essay is resting on dusty scrolls of paper in the midst of a sprawling cave system, where all paths lead to the domed section, so we shall follow them there.
The domed section is huge, a great architectural majesty filled with pools of sourceless soft light, and is a massive expanse of cave of stone. The stone is not the simple grey of the passages, but instead is a rich shifting multitude of shimmering tones, constantly moving, like a stormy sky at dawn.
This is our homeland, for bigger or for smaller, for better or for worse this is where we have laid our roots. Be it real, or be it a construct, it is ours, and we shall never leave, for our lives are steeped in this alien world.