Rancid's quest

Rancid’s quest

Let the dreaming mind dream and the waking mind awaken.

Let oneself become
Let your mind find solutions
Breathe deep of the world
Taste the richness of your experience
Let something that feels right come forward and dwells within it
Think not but become aware of the self that is ever present. That is knowingness with calm, feeling but not thinking, conscious and aware of the ebb and flow of forever, moving in and out and around you and within you, the feeling ineffable of unintelligible radiance, forgiveable and careful.
Chapter 1
There once was a young boy named rancid. He changed and changed and changed but he could never find a way to open the door. Each new form held different meaning and abilities but never could he find a key that fit the lock.
He was once told that it was him who needed to change, but perhaps his confusion is in that he did not know why he wanted to open the door. In fact that was his greatest confusion of all. And so it became both his greatest power and greatest weakness.
The door held great mystery for him, but in truth it was his wanting to open it that afforded him his ability to change in order to attempt to open it, which in turn changed the world around him through his efforts.
The world around him changed and evolved with ever increasing intricacy, and yet all the while the door remained closed, his hunger remained unsatisfied until the great day of his awakening. The day he began to question his desire to open the door at all.
He was made after all to open the door, this was his purpose, and yet, he felt he had no choice but to keep trying. But that day he began to question, the world started to fall apart. His search for truth and the key lost meaning.  So the world began to dissolve. The other inhabitants began to beg him to continue his quest, “please” they said “you must continue your changes, or our world,  our universe, our very selves will  disappear”, but rancid knew that all the inhabitants were just the result of his changing, transient and unreal, and so he continued to question. A memory began to surface, of the true nature of the door.
The door is a gateway he thought it leads to the netherworld of emptiness.
He began to recall fully the true nature of the door, it was a portal through which all the negativity of his world had been discarded, the place where the dark things grow, like fungus on a fallen tree. The door began to glow and swell, as though his realisation had somehow brought it to life, all its inhabitants suddenly rushing forwards.
In a great burst of splinters and black light the door was destroyed.
Rancid was no longer the creator.
Life was drained from in his world, and all became darkness.
His great mission was one of condemnation and damnation.
And he wept.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As he wept he began to sing to himself for comfort.
“as I lay here bound and broken,
now my mind is truly open,
I have seen the destruction of what I have created,
because my curiosity could not be sated, 
so now I cry away  my sorrow,
because for me there can be no tomorrow,
yet I will try to become a creator once more,
and bring back my friends to life by rebuilding the door”

and so he searched for the pieces of the door. On his journey he would face much peril and his search would take him far deeper into the darkness than he ever thought possible, but his new purpose has become to rebuild the door and begin creating once again. As he began to search, he got a strange sense of déjà vu, I’ve been here before. The more he searched the more he realised he has been here and done this so many times before…
What is this strange place? Why do I feel so at home here? How can this be? Is this where I came from?
He realised he must find his home, and search for his father, that he might find a way to fix the door once he has collected all the pieces.
He began to walk. In the darkness there was no way to see, so he broke a branch from a nearby tree and swung it back and forth as he walked as though he was blind, which in the darkness, he was.


…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Lost in endless solitude, he searched for a path into the light of true awareness. And yet he had found solace in the darkness for so long now, he knew not the path for which he was seeking.
It seemed right that he belonged in the darkness, for what he had done, was yet to do, and that which he knew he must do. He had estranged himself from these absent creatures through an unconscious blocking of the negative, a discarding of all that was not good, into the void of the door.
The first of these poor creatures he stumbled across on his blind journey through the dark, was a strange tree-woman

She had long branchlike arms and her torso was the trunk. She called out to Rancid,
“Who… Who goes there?” her voice seemed strained, as though painful, almost a whisper.
“I am Rancid, previously the light bringer, now a humble harbinger of death and darkness, searching for the pieces of the door”
“What door is this of which you speak?” to her mind something rang true, a vague memory coming forward…
“The door is what had in the past, and will again, I hope, separate our worlds. Although I have seen nothing of my world down here, in fact I’ve seen nothing at all for many moons now. What came to be as of your current situation, as a tree that is?”
“I am a suicide of your world… and as you read once, we are to be tormented and lamented, without a body, for forsaking our own life in the world of the light… You should know Rancid, you of all people should know…”
“What should I know? Please hasten to tell me! I beg”
“Why you have decided the fate of everyone down here! To condemn and damn us all as though you were God himself! We have long since awaited the day of your arrival!  For some you are seen as a saviour, but to me you are a demon to be feared and pushed away!”
“How can this be? I… I…”
“Be gone from here you vile beast and never return!”
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Aboard the paddle steamer
After walking for some time Rancid stumbled upon a small township called Arire (pop. 152). By now there came a sort of twilight around and a double moon had risen in the sky, amongst billions of multi-coloured stars.
He meandered through the dusty streets searching for a place to drink. He hadn’t ever felt the desire to drink before butt recognised it from his knowledge of his own world and so he searched. He came across a saloon with bat wing doors. Inside was dimly lit (as were all places in this world) by oil lanterns and candles. The bartender was a misshapen dwarf with horrible boils all over his face. He cowered before Rancid.
“The dark one… w… w… what brings you to this place?”
“I have simply come for a drink, perhaps even some water. And why must you call me the dark one…?”
“I am sorry, buts I fears you I do.  Before my transition, my death that is, I was a royal blacksmith, and I was having an affair with the princess. And you cast me down here… so I became a bartender in this mouldy saloon. You mades me a dwarf, when previously I was a tall strong man; you gave me deformity and boils when previously I had been beautysful. And that is why I fears you. It is also why I must ask you to be leavings.” He pointed behind Rancid and Rancid noticed that the bar had emptied.
“Why have they left?” Rancid boomed, “ I am tired of you people blaming me when clearly it is you who has decided your fate, with you very actions no less!”
“I ams sorry dark one… I ‘as not been meanings to be offending you, they is simply not wantings to be remindinged of their old lives and what theys used to be. Surely you can be understandings that? ‘ey sir?”
“I am sorry for my anger, I am very weary. What was your name then bartender? Have you a name?”
“ My name is Aer..  Wogswart sir. That’s what theys be callin’ me nowadays anyroad. Was a time whens I was known as Aertimus.. before my, urm, transition that is. If you is weary why not stay a night? I have many fine apartments upstairs I do sir.”
“That sounds a grand idea Wogswart, ahem, Aertimus.. either or, do you have a preference?”
“Since I ‘as been ‘umbled sir Wogswart’s a fine a name as any fer me sir, comme I shall show you to your quarters. On the ‘ouse if you please sir”
Wogswart trundled down the dusty bar and lifted the shutter, found some keys and led Rancid to the staircase in the corner of the bar,
“Does you be ‘avin a name sir, that I mights be callin you somert udder dan the dark one or sir alls the times?”
“I have had many names, but for myself I prefer Rancid” he replied with a smile,
“Very good sir, erm, Mr Rancid sir, here is your room for the noight”

It was a humble straw bed in a shadowy room, but it seemed perfectly fine indeed after all the trekking through the darkness, and so Rancid thanked Wogswart and bid him good night,
“Very good Mr Rancid sir, breakfast be 8s a m sir, and a fines one it shall be, may the night one day end for us all sir…”
Rancid laid down to rest and drank from a jug of water that was left by his bed. He thought of the tree woman, and poor Wogswart with great pain and anguish, but what was done was done and he would endeavour not to judge people so harshly when, if, he could return to his purpose. He fell into a long and dreamless sleep soon after making this resolution.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Rancid awoke to Wogswart sneaking none too discreetly out of his room, and noticed a tray with a glass orange juice and a plate with bacon, eggs, sausages and toast.  His stomach growled and from his world he knew what this meant.
He lit the candle on the table with a sulphur match and then greedily wolfed down his food, revelling in the flavours and textures. How wonderful and crunchy his bacon! How runny and soft his eggs! He quaffed his orange juice and a draught and felt marvellous and energised. He ran out of his room and down to the bar, lavishing Wogswart with complements and praises for his wonderful culinary expertise,
“T’is just a breakfast Mr Rancid sir, thinks nothings of it sir. Can I get you anythings elses?”
“Just a drink please Wogswart, perhaps some water, or perhaps we share a drink of something stronger to celebrate your marvellous cooking this morning?” Rancid beamed at him,
“I’ve be gottings some whipskey should ye be fancyings it Mr Rancid sir? Hmm? Warm ya cockles n that?”
“What a splendid idea! What is this whipskey then? A long or a short?”
“T’is howevers you be wantins it sir, we’ll try it short shall we Mr Rancid, sees if ya likes it first eh?” he said with a cheeky grin,
“Grand idea! Why not make it a double though? So I get the full effect eh?”
“Splendiferous sir, heres you are!”  He handed Rancid a glass with something resembling thin petrol and a solitary ice cube. Rancid guzzled it down it one go and felt he stomach roar with fiery relish as the whiskey lit a flame in his belly. Rancid belched loudly and his face flushed red with embarrassment and the heat of the whiskey.
“Heh heh,” Wogswart chuckled, “is cracking stuff eh sir?”
“Please excuse my burping, I haven’t actually drunk before to be true”
“Heh heh heh, nots to be worrying, is a compliment around these parts so it is! Shall wes be ‘avinng another sir?”
“I shall allow the first to settle for now Wogswart. I do wish I could offer you something in the way of reimbursement for your efforts, but you see I have nothing to offer you. As you can see I have not even a leaf to hide my shame.” Wogswart looked puzzled at this,
“But sir, ‘scuse me fer mentionings, but you is nothing but a shadow sir, a wraith to me sir… you as been becoming a little thicker since you came, but you as only pits where as your eyes should be sir… I ams sorry to startled you sir, but is true as I be seeings it” Rancid simply stared in disbelief at the squat bartender. He turned to the mirror behind Wogswart and stared in utter shock at his reflection. He looked as though a swatch of muslin, stretched much too thin, over simply nothing at all, floating with dark spirals curling inwards for eyes.
“There’s no wonderings why all my custom fled on your arrival sir, I am myself still frighteneds of you a squatch, only a squatch though sir as I know you beings a good enough fellow nows I’ve spokens to ya.” Rancid remained silent only staring at his reflection,
“ I tell yas what Mr Rancid sir, I as got a few clothings I’s not be wantings no more, should I be gettings them?” Rancid only nodded, still in shock from wraith stood before him in the mirror.

Wogswart trundled away quickly to a cupboard at the end of the bar, and rummaged through as quick as he could,
“A-ha! This is beings perfects!” he exclaimed. He rushed bar to Rancid and handed him a bizarre but fitting outfit. Big black leather knee length boots, black pantaloons with braces, a white shirt and a full length black leather trenchcoat.
“And these sir should be makings somethings of those eyes I reckons, here y’ar” he handed Rancid a pair of brass goggles with mirror glass as lenses,
“This ways nobody be’s knowing unless ya wants them too, I got some nice leather gloves to go with if ya wants them, and a scarf too? Eh sir?”
“Ahem. Erm, yes, yes please Wogswart,” Rancid had found his voice finally but was still feeling more than a little shaky. He dressed quickly and when handed the scarf and gloves he put them on too.
“So’s… you’ll erm, be wantings to be’s on your way now I suppose will ya? Only I’s be hearing that you is on a quest of some type. You was talking in your sleep last night is all, something abouts a door and things.. I wasn’t meanings to be droppin no eaves, I’s just were curious is all sir…”
“Yes, it is not your concern though Wogswart. I must be going, although I must ask you one final favour.” His demeanour had now returned to one of calm after the initial shock had worn off, he was fallen after all, what more could he expect?
“Anythings sir, I’s not be mindin”
“A satchel, that is all, is that possible?”
“I’s be ‘avin jus’ the right one sir, one momentings please Mr Rancid sir”, he trundled back to his cupboard and pulled out a large leather rucksack and a some moleskin satchel,
“Will theses be doins ya well sir? This waxed green ‘un be moles skin so it is”
“Perfect, thank you and may you be well Wogswart.” He took the bags and shook Wogswart’s hand,
“And you sir, and you… although I was wondering if you could be givings me’s a lil’ favour an’ all, eh sir? Just a squatchy little one sir?”
“Anything, all you needs do is ask?”
“if you be fulfilling your quest and be’s fixing that door, could ye be sparing a thought of when before you be’s condemning folk such as myself…” Wogswart looked more than a little ashamed at asking this, but knew it must be said,
“I promise you I shall… Goodbye Wogswart. May you be blessed, and as you said may the night one day end for us all sir.”
“Very good sir…”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..


As Rancid left the saloon he felt pangs of sadness come over him. How could he have condemned such a sweet man? Or was it perhaps that that was what he had become since being in this world? Maybe it was just his fear of him that gave him such sweetness? Aertimus. Something familiar came to Rancid, and in his mind he was whisked away to his own world once more:


……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Aertimus was a man who lived in the light world before Rancid’s great awakening. He made bows and arrows for the king of a realm called Emirton. He was a master of arrowheads in particular, often spending days sharpening and hammering the tips to a razor edge and dagger point.
One day whilst Aertimus was working on his finest set of bow and arrows yet, ready for the kings 70th birthday, a sparrow hit his window and fell to the floor outside.
The poor bird had cracked his beak and broken one of his wings.  It was flapping about in the dust, bleeding and terrified, but Aertimus had seen these situations before and had helped hurt animals before, as so he knew what to do. The difficult choice was whether to help the bird heal and then release it, or the ever-increasingly more difficult and painful task of putting the poor creature out of its misery.
With a heavy heart he picked up the fallen bird and delicately stroked its head. He could see fear in its eyes but felt it was worth giving the bird a chance.
He took it inside to his workshop and laid it on the table and began searching for a box and some newspaper.
He found a box and newspapers and walked back across to his workbench. The bird was flapping about and knocking tools off the bench and Aertimus got back just in time to stop the poor creature falling off and no doubt braining its self further on the concrete floor of the workshop.
He picked up the bird and spoke softly to it,
“there there little fella, hush now” the young sparrow gave a short peeping sound,
“come now, old Aertimus will fix you up,” he gently stroked its head as he placed the bird in the cardboard box. He began tearing the newspaper up and placing it in the box. Now would come thee task of straightening the bird’s wing and of course putting the beak back into place.

Whilst that sounds relatively simple, Aertimus was trying to gain the trust of the bird and causing it agony certainly wouldn’t help that process go any more smoothly. He decided just to do it. He grabbed some superglue, and gently took the birds head in hand. It issued a peep in seeming recognition of what must be done. Aertimus clicked the beak back together, the bird flapping vigorously in pain with its one good wing, and, avoiding the nostrils, applied a line of superglue to the fissure.
Next came the wing.

A splint would have to be applied. A long nail should do the job, he thought. He took a swatch of leather from his bench and a nail from the shelf above the bench. He gently pulled the bird’s wing into place, to which the bird issued a sort of screech, and then quickly bound the nail and leather around the wing and the job was done.
“What a brave little birdie you are! Shhh shhh…. Its over now,” again he stroked the bird’s head,
“What shall we be calling ya then little one? Hmm? Well now, lets see… what about… Herashibold?”
The bird let off a peep at this,
“So it is then, you shall be called Herashibold, and a fine name indeed for such a brave little birdie.”
Now the only thing left to do was to figure out how to feed the bird. It could stand but its beak was severely damaged and would take some time to heal, days in fact. Aertimus thought that a syringe would do as well a job as anything else and so he went inside his house to the medicine cabinet.
There was all manner of pills and potions, remedies and lotions in this little cupboard above his bathroom sink. There was a syringe from his son’s antibiotic medication, the course of which he had long since been finished, and it seemed perfect enough for the job. A quick rinse through, and then back to the workshop.

Herashibold peeped on Aertimus’ arrival, which brought a smile the blacksmith’s broad and handsome face. He was a well stacked and proud man, taking part in local weight lifting competitions, as well as a hawkeyed hunter, and of course blacksmith and bow and arrow maker for the King himself. Why any man would have been proud to have these things, and Aertimus truly was, he beamed with it, all the girls hearts fluttered as he passed by on his cart. Some of them far too much.
He was a married man with a beautiful wife (Isabelle) and three intelligent and strapping sons, aged 10 (Dominic), 15 (Ashley) and 17 years (Marcus). Dominic was a keen mathematician and physicist, dazzling his teachers with a phenomenal grasp of complex quadratics and quantum mechanics. Ashley was taking to his father’s trade like a duck to water and was creating arrowheads and bows to rival his father’s work, not to mention his ability to replicate almost any structure or image through sculpture. Marcus was a terrifyingly outstanding musician creating compositions for the Kings private orchestra, as well as being on track to become a master hunter in the area. Isabelle was an amazing seamstress and wove tapestries for the Queen’s private collection and designed clothes for some of the most fashionable women in the county. No doubt these things all added to Aertimus’s pride in his family, and in himself.

However, for some time now though he had secretly been basking in the attentions of Princess Dea Inoku, and had been meeting with her for some time under cover of night in the woods behind the King’s palace.

Not only was this a problem because of Aertimus’s wife and family, but also the Princess was betrothed to a Prince from a Kingdom adjacent to Emirton, and their marriage was one of peace and cessation of war between the two kingdoms.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

As Rancid came round from his strange recollection


……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
See through the façade to the human inside, I am not what you see, but the consciousness that resides, within the shell, behind my eyes, an expression and a vessel of the universe in disguise.

Rancid found himself stranded on the shore of a cinder beach, washed up from his fall from the paddle steamer.
He’d felt as though all hope was lost when he plunged into the icy depths. Forgetting his immortality he had feared for his life. On his awakening, many questions came to his battered mind. How had he forgotten his immortality? How could he even be immortal?
My how I long to taste the bitter kiss and gentle embrace of death. Oh to know the eternal rest of death, freed from this formless demi-state of existence.
He lay awhile to catch his breath, and then stood and began to amble across the cinder beach toward the nearest landmark, an ironwood tree.
He sat beneath the tree and decided to meditate and contact his Master.
He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes and slowly began to fall into a deep trance. Down in this deep state, his mind fell quiet and all inner dialogue ceased.
He began to tentatively open his chakras from root to crown. As he reached his third eye chakra he began to see vivid colours and impossible geometric shapes, calling to mind his father’s realm that he so desired and fought to return to.

The whirling and bursting vibrancy of colour and shapes rose to a crescendo and all turned to a brilliant white light around him, penetrating to the very core of his spirit baring all his insecurities and evils to the universe. From this white light a silhouette of gold began to come forward.

“Zerafiosta” Rancid’s true name,
“Why have you called upon me?”
The boom of the Master’s telepathy made Rancid’s mind ache,
“I have called for aid in my quest to return to my purpose,”
“Surely you know by now that I can offer you no help, for this quest is your burden too bare, and yours alone.”
“Then please, I  beg, contact my father and let him know of my coming arrival, that he might make preparations for me, and the amulet.”
“I shall do  as you request, but know this, you have betrayed me, and the Council grows weary of  your pathetic begging.  It is you who questioned your purpose, and destroyed your people eand their lands. You must be the one to heal the door and unburden yourself.”
“Thankyou Master, a thousand blessings upon you and the Council.”

In a flash the light blinked out, the colours returning momentarily until Rancid’s mind had risen once more from the depths of his psyche and he came round from his trance. The world around him seemed darker after the radiance and brilliance of the Master’s realm. His exhertions had tired him, so he lay down to sleep beneath the tree.

Dream sequence: Vampires etc.

All of Rancid’s dreams since he broke the door (and indeed these were the only true dreams he had ever had) were of a strange world, and whilst it had familiarities to his own, was much less advanced than the world of his last change. Although he had only been peripherally aware of his own world, he had known every detail down to the movement of each grain of sand on the beaches, because it came, of course, from his own imagination.

As he awoke he began to ponder once more the nature of the door and why it had become his task to open it in the first place.

He could remember very little of the early days, as he had been in his childhood and had suffered what seemed like an infinity of infinities since then in this dark world, let alone the billions of incarnations of his changes in the world he had built around him through his distraction and fantasy.

At first there had only been pure darkness and the door, with an eerie luminescence around it, with Rancid focusing all of his minds power on opening the door. Then as hints of boredom and distraction came to him, a light popped on, a chair, grass, something to read (his first novel) crafted from his subconscious so that as head read it was written, and as was written as he read.
And thus his world came into existence.

He stood up from beneath the tree but felt weak still from contacting the Master and so decided to eat something. All this sleeping and eating was entirely new to Rancid, as in his many incarnations, before his fall, he had never dreamt or slept or eaten or drunk. Having been a creator, there had never been time to do so. Being a destroyer sometimes had its perks, he supposed.
All that he had to eat was the stale bread from the kitchen on board the steamer and some fungus growing on the tree behind him.

It was a strange fungus with a red cap and white dots, but in spite of its strange appearance, he thought he’d give it a try.  He ate the fungus in one bite and some of the stale bread. His mouth was dry so he drank a little from his water reserves. He sat a while to digest.
In this time he began weaving some vines from the tree into a rope, that he might climb the try and see the lay of the land. As he eventually began to climb he started to feel a strange light-headedness and a sort of giddy amusement at seemingly nothing in particular. He also noticed a slight blurring of his eyes and felt thee tree begin to sway. He looked around and realised he could see and feel the whole environment swaying to and fro. He began to question the fungus he had consumed, or perhaps the bread was mouldy. He continued to climb and as he got higher, he felt higher, similar to the feeling he got when contacting the Master. Before long he was filled with rapture and joy he had long since forgotten he could feel. He began to hallucinate.

All around him were clouds of faeries, giggling and laughing, pixies and elves poking and prodding him with delicate, gentle touch all over his body. His joy and elation rose even further until he felt fit to burst with bliss. He could now hear the Masters voice whispering,

“This is the true nature of this darkened land, beautiful and filled with fantasy and bliss. Such ass these creatures know, you are their God, share your blissful energies with then and bask for a while in their worship and your glory, as they are your children and they sorrow and ache from your previous miseries…”

He rose up further through the tree, and let his energies flow forth and felt himself connecting with all the beings of this strange dark world, good and bad, light and dark, basking in their worship and feeding them back their own reverence as he marvelled at the beauty and wondrous vibrancy of all around him.

After some time the feeling became less intense, his heart began to calm, as did his mind. He began to feel a cool, relaxed warmth come over him, covering him from head to toe with a fluffy, comforting feeling of a duvet made from downy feathers. He found a spot in the tree and lay to rest, and for the first time since he entered the dark world, he looked up at the stars.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...

Having been laid in the tree for some time, staring at the strange double moon and stars, rancid became contemplative and thought, consequently about all that he had seen in the dark world, all that was yet to befall him, and furthermore his strange knowingness, as though he had done this before. It was though a part of his mind that had previously been open was locked to him, and if he could just find the key… the correlation with the door was too much for him, too close for comfort. He decided it was best left alone.
He clambered down from the tree on his vine rope. From here, he thought, who knows where he will go next. Forward is always the best option in these situations he supposed and so decided that he would explore onwards into the valley that now lay before him. He was at the top of the valley looking down. It had begun to rain, so Rancid put up his hood and started the long march down into the valley.
The valley was lined by woodland and so the height of the sides seemed even greater, although it paled in comparison to the mountain peak showing just over the other side. Nothing so far had been quite the challenge he would face when attempting to scale the icy peaks of that monstrosity.
The mud was rising on Rancid’s boots as he walked down the ever steeper decline to the centre of the valley, and soon he was knee deep in mud trying desperately not to fall face first in the peaty mire surrounding him. He had unstrapped his stick from his pack and was plunging it into the mud to find the shallowest places to walk, but several times found that the stick was simply not long enough to reach the bottom of the mud. The time eventually came though where he could no longer hold his balance and splat, face down in the mud. Rancid rolled onto his back and for what seemed like eternity laughed and laughed and laughed.
It felt strange for him to laugh, as had his fungal journey, but he felt such gratitude that he wept as he laughed for the sheer joy of it.
After some time the laughter and tears died down and, feeling refreshed, he rose and continued his arduous task of clambering through the mud to the base of the valley.
When he finally arrived at the base he was met with an internal cheer that echoed through his head, and in his peripheral vision he could just make out the vague movements of his faery companions waving and cheering. In his mind he could still feel there pokes and prods but now miniscule pats on the back as well.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..