Prologue
In early civilizations, once an individual became affected by Turmoil, then they would be sent out to areas of the territory where the Turmoil concentration was higher, to respond to Turmoil-based threats over there. This practice was primarily rooted not in prejudice, nor a desire to ostracize "others" from the group, nor some ill-conceived attempt to pretend like Turmoil did not exist; those came much later, once the policy had been in place for generations. No, at first, it was simply practical: bodies were needed in those areas to do undesirable work, so they chose to use Turmoil events as a fair way to make this tough decision on who would be sent out. The events themselves happen at just about the right frequency, their effects tend to be difficult to hide from others, and it does not discriminate among individuals in the same area, so it was viewed as a perfectly fair system. Furthermore, the Turmoil events themselves would often render their victims unable to perform their original jobs, so this also served to ensure a consistent standard of quality work that the rest of society needed.
Throughout my research into these early civilizations, I have come to discover a paradox, of sorts. One would expect those who were unfortunate enough to get sent to these encampments to be walking towards imminent death. I hypothesize that this was the case early on, though the nature of Turmoil ensures that there is not much evidence one way or the other. In modern Exignis, of course, we have the freedom to stop this barbaric practice. Without the steady supply of people being sent to those encampments, then, they should surely dissolve naturally.
So why do these encampments persist to this day? Why are their numbers still increasing, not decreasing? What is modern life like, among these ostracized groups? Is there anything that their lifestyles can teach us about how to manage Turmoil in areas outside of Exignis? I must find out.
Journey 1
Before embarking on my journey to the tribes, I expected... I don't know what I expected. Folklore in civilized society, of course, paints the tribesmen as hostile savages, bitter at us for relegating them to the harshest environments that Aeternia has to offer, ready to kill on sight. From my past research, I would have thought these people to be adept at avoiding Turmoil events, or else extremely strong enough to withstand the bombardment that they surely must have been subject to.
Instead, when I arrived at the first tribe, I was greeted with open arms (or whatever was left of their arms), in a language that I could not yet understand, by a group of people unlike any group I have seen before. Merely identifying what species someone belongs to is a surprisingly difficult affair, as their bodies have been heavily modified by the Turmoil that they live with. The tribe consists not just of adults, but people of all ages. Children, adolescents, and even elders freely roam the tribal grounds.
All the tribes that I visited during my first outing had roughly the same overall viewpoints, so it will suffice to detail just the one that I spent the most time with.
Religion
During my stay, they told tales of their ancestors who grew to treat Turmoil not as a hazard to be feared, but rather as an extension of one's relationship with forces of nature that exist on a higher level than us. This relationship, they believe, should be cultivated and embraced, not shunned or avoided. This is the basis of a religion that all members of the tribe seem to completely devote themselves to.
In their belief system, they use the analogy of a mite crawling on a lizard's back, where the lizard represents the plane of Aeternia and the mite represents us. The mite has no concept of the lizard's wants, needs, or biology. The mite would not be able to predict the lizard's movements, nor anything about the environment the lizard lives in. The actions of the mite could also affect the lizard in a positive, negative, or neutral way. Depending on the mite's actions, the lizard may react by trying to throwing it off, or it might react positively to the mite's presence and offer it protection. According to the belief system, then, we should learn how to act symbiotically with the plane, aiding it instead of acting like parasites. They believe that we can learn what actions lead to beneficial Turmoil events and what actions lead to harmful ones.
I have my own thoughts about this belief system, but it is an undeniable fact that the tribesmen thrive in spite of (even if not because of) their relationship with Turmoil.
Effects of Turmoil
Each tribesman has had his or her body heavily altered from its base form, through a series of Turmoil events. These mutations (or "translations", as they would like me to call it) are viewed by the tribe not as detriments, but as gifts. They wear them as badges of honor, and each makes it their own personal goal to use their "translations" to full effect.
Again, I have my own opinions about this, but it is difficult to downplay the fact that these people experience far more Turmoil events than the rest of us, and they seem to be coming out ahead on average. I must go back. If we can learn more about how these groups manage their relationship with Turmoil, then perhaps we could find a way to at least avoid the worst of it.
Journey 2
Of course it's more than just beliefs, folklore, and all that. If I hadn't written this down myself, at the time, I would never have believed it.
I visited another tribe, one that I hadn't seen before. As with the others, they all had the same basic religious beliefs, the same reverence for body modifications, and all that. This tribe was led by a veteran hunter, a little past his prime but still generally effective on a hunt. His meta form was that of an elf, but his translations gave him impossibly keen tracking senses, he had a snake's tongue and venomous fangs for killing, and a large clawed appendage where his hand would have been, useful for snagging his prey in order to administer a killing blow with his venom. I had the honor of watching him use all his gifts, when he alerted us to an approaching herd of wild animals that the tribe particularly liked to eat. The tribe sprang into action like they must have done many times in the past, the tribe leader charged with taking down the largest and juiciest-looking one.
All seemed to be going well. He had captured it, and was in the process of administering the killing blow with his signature fangs, when it somehow escaped his grasp. The other tribesmen were able to recapture it and slay it themselves, since he had done the initial work. Though the hunt was a success, he decided right there that he was no longer fit for hunting, as he had grown too old and weary. As he would no longer need to hunt anymore, his claw would hinder him more than help him, so he just sliced it clean off with some sort of utensil. Several strong members from the hunt came around to lead him to some site, deep into the Phantasmagoria. They offered for me to come with them, though I had no desire to brave the hazardous wasteland just to watch a man get executed, so I declined.
As the day moved on, I started to wonder why everyone was just carrying on with their business, so I asked someone what the process would be for selecting a new leader. They laughed at the question: the old man was not being executed; rather, he was just getting re-translated. There was a ritual site deep out there, where he would receive new gifts that would aid him in the next phase of his life, and the others were there merely accompanying him as witnesses to the event. I asked for details about the ritual, but they did not wish to share it with me. Perhaps they could sense my doubts about their religion.
Sure enough, the leader returned a few days later, sick and weary from the journey, but he had a brand new hand where his claw had been... or so I had thought. He and the other tribesmen swore to me that this was not a new hand; rather, it was the very same hand that he had originally! They showed me a tattoo on it and an old battle scar, both of which he had received in his younger days before the translation. Strangely enough, I believe them. The hand fits him perfectly, the tattoo seems much too intricate for the amount of time that has passed since I saw him with a stump, and the battle scar is likewise too old to have been from a recent wound. This was incredible! Somehow, the "memory" of his old hand is stored somewhere, for however long it's been, and they had found a way to access it.
After witnessing this, it was all I could do to stop myself from running straight back to record this entry. There are plenty of records of objects getting corrupted by Turmoil, but never reversed back to their original state! In a moment of clarity, however, I stayed behind to do some ad-hoc analysis of some individuals (with permission, of course). I was not able to detect any actual Turmoil residing within their physical bodies, certainly not to the extent that we see in our cities when people get afflicted. As far as I can gather, even though Turmoil may be the catalyst for a translation, it actually alters the individual's biology completely, at a base level.
How, then, is it possible to restore a hand so perfectly? Where is the "memory" of the old hand stored? ...or is it not stored anywhere? Can Turmoil actually interact with time itself? That last one is a fascinating question, because either answer is exciting! If not, then what is so special about time that even an element of pure chaos cannot disrupt the order it imposes on the universe? Conversely, if Turmoil can interact with time, is it possible that it has already done so to our past or to our future, without us knowing it? Can it somehow reverse the changes that it has made? Would we even be able to tell?
I relayed all this to a colleague who has been studying the effects of time and potential ways to influence it. They told me some things to look for at the ritual site, so I'm going to see if I can convince the tribe to let me examine it further.
Journey 3
Dr. Perry never returned from this journey. He is presumed dead, or otherwise lost to the chaos.
