Far Space
Far Space, known in ancient texts as Kaelyth-Vuun or the Unmoored Realm, is the outermost boundary of known reality—a place where thought unravels, stars are born mad, and the gods dare not look. It is the domain of the Elder Wills, the great unknowable minds that predate or circumvent the ordered creation of Ammondell. Unlike the structured torments of Hel, the elemental balance of the Inner Planes, or the radiant halls of the Celestials, Far Space is not a plane at all in the traditional sense. It is a directionless void that stretches infinitely between stars and behind dreams, a prison and a womb for truths too vast for the mortal mind.
The Great Seal of the Arcane Sea was crafted in the creation of the Mortal Planeto separate Far Space from the creations of the gods. Before its sealing, things from Far Space—sometimes called the Unspoken, the Many-Limbed, the Pale Choir, or the Hungering Flame—slipped through rifts opened by reckless mortals and dying gods. Even now, some say cracks remain in the corners of reality, especially where magic frays and dreams run deep. Warlocks who speak of their patrons in whispers, astrologers who chart “impossible stars,” and mad prophets who weep ink instead of tears are often marked by Far Space's influence.
Where the gods of Ammondell sculpted creation from purpose, the Great Old Ones of Far Space exist in contradiction. They are paradoxes made flesh, ideas too vast to be understood and too potent to ignore. Some are dormant, drifting between the stars or frozen in impossible geometries beneath oceans, while others press their will through cults, dreams, and aberrant monstrosities. Beings such as Xa'Reth the Hunger Clock, Ulun-Keph the Rooted Maw, and Isel-Varr, the Mind Beyond Shells are whispered about in forbidden texts, their names forbidden to be spoken in the churches of the gods.
Time and space break down in Far Space. Direction is subjective, and thought bleeds into matter. Travelers—those rare or unfortunate enough to arrive—report seeing memories walking beside them, songs that kill when heard, or moons made entirely of teeth orbiting hollow suns. Gravity bends not toward mass but toward meaning, and the laws of spellcasting twist into surreal forms, creating terrifying new schools of alien magic.
The Astral Plane acts as a buffer, its silvery void trembling at the edges where Far Space seeps in. Some scholars believe that when a soul is utterly annihilated—neither judged nor reborn—it is cast into Far Space, becoming fuel for the Elder Wills or transformed into something unspeakable.
Though most portals to Far Space were sealed, a few remain. The shattered observatory of Orral the Mad, atop the cliffs of Elhadryn’s Fall, still holds an inactive gate—a mirror of obsidian set in a frame of living bone. Another is rumored to lie beneath the deepest well of Bellpoint, guarded by an order of star-priests who chant in silence.
To gaze upon Far Space is to feel the boundary of the soul strain. It is not evil in the way Hel is—it is beyond morality, a reminder that the multiverse is not made for mortals, and that beneath the veil of reality waits a truth that cannot love, be reasoned with, or die.
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