the aùl chronicles: prologue

My name is Robert Culford.

I will tell you about myself, as I know and remember it. Rest assured, I remember many things wrong, and what I know is very likely to be a compilation of illusions, but nonetheless - it is quite interesting.

I live in a 'place', called Aùl. I am not really sure, nor is anyone, if this is a place. In any case, by the limits of the English language, where we are currently present can be defined as a place.

Aùl is the pillar of the time. Aùl, altogether, forms, seperates, unites, scatters, diminishes, boosts and destroys alternate timeflows. The very existence of Aùl is the reason of the subjectivity of timeflow in all alternate times. The number of the alternates are unknown. It combines everything. Every possibility. Every miracle of every person. Everything happens somewhere, what we see is, as we know the definition of "we", is only one of these infinite possibilities.

Aùl, on the other hand, is a free timeflow. Imagine Aùl as a huge pipeline, whereas many other small, less significant and infinite pipes are randomly running around it, circling it but they do not touch it.

In Aùl, we are the reality. Aùl is, in fact, the objective reality, as everything else, every alternative is merely a possibility - which is, compared to the scale of the actual reality, it is not even worth mentioning.

Noone knows why such a system -a perfect one, I must add- was established.

Aùl is, in short, the trans-dimensional pillarstone of the existence. None of us were born here, as none of us are likely to die here.

Evidently, none of us died here.

...

I was born in New York in 1920, as one of the many children of an English-Irish immigrant prostitute, taking her surname. Growing up in a vile, filthy environment in Brooklyn, I can't say it was the most peaceful childhood. Whores. Their pimps. It was quite strange, there were many, many nights and days I have watched my mother fucking her customers, sometimes more than one customer, in fact. My mother never really loved me, nor she loved any of my brothers or sisters. Some of them ran away, some of my sisters became whores just like mother. I had to cling to Brooklyn until the age 22, since I've had nowhere else to go, and I was not the most extroverted person in the world, to add.

In 1942, I have joined the army and travelled to one of the training camps in Toccoa, Georgia for the military training for two years, with the 506th Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne.

As the States got involved with the World War II in 1944, I returned to New York and shortly after, I have departed to England - with noone at the docks for me to say goodbye. It was as if the city was dreadfully unaware of my presence. As I have boarded, I have realized I'd rather pretend as if this city does not exist. I somehow knew it wasn't about the patriotism - it was because even the risk of death was more tempting than the filth of the first twenty-three years of my life.

On D-Day, we flew over the green fields of Normandy. Not that I could see how green it was, actually. It was nighttime when we jumped over Normandy, and the day simply refused to rise over us.

Tired, thirsty and afraid, I woke up alone, my parachute tangled on a tree, somehow above the ground shaking somewhere little too high to touch the soil. As I was trying to gain my consciousness back and opening and closing my eyes to get rid of the damned blurriness, I have felt two hands under my armpads, roughly taking me down. I was so tired that I couldn't even react, nor I wouldn't know what to do. I've heard three people speaking in German, and shortly after, I have felt a soldier boot on my neck, my face on the dirt.

It wasn't long before I have felt the cold, German steel on my neck, as it sliced through. I have only felt a bloodflow. Warm. As if I was approaching hell, as if I was facing the sun in a mildly-warm summerday.

...

"Poor son of a bitch," said a thick voice. "Literally. No offense."

I woke up again, and I knew I wasn't supposed to. I opened my eyes to an immediate, flawless vision, and it was as if the time was flowing faster, my blood was craving to explode from my veins. I was chained on a cold, dark wall; my head chained back as well to prevent any head movement. I tried to look at my body, but I failed. All I could see was a hooded, huge man sitting by the fire, probably in a cave, eating.

He smiled, probably because he saw I took no offense from his statement, as I was very busy trying to figure out what was going on. He stood up, approached me and slapped me in the face - so hard. It was strange, I did not feel anything. Like, nothing - really nothing. As if I was immune to pain. Then he punched me: same. He took out a dagger, stabbed me on my shoulder, I could feel the liquid dripping on the ground, making its way all the way down from my body. I have felt neither the warmth of the blood nor any pain. He touched the spot he stabbed, and shortly after stopped the bleeding. It was so unreal and random, I have eventually gave up trying to figure out where I was. He looked at my face again. I was sure another punch was on its way, but it transpired otherwise.

"You are in well condition," he commented. "That neck cut might cause some problems though... We'll sort it out. I'll unchain you. If you somehow feel an unstoppable urge to strangle me or something, let me know."

I tried to speak, but instead I have literally growled, as if I was a werewolf. In my mind, the things I said were totally intelligible, but when I wanted to say them aloud, it was just bestial gibberish.

"Do not force yourself," he said. "I doubt you can speak now - or in short-term."

He unchained me, first releasing my head and observing my reaction - I was trying to stay calm as much as I could it felt like the hardest thing. It wasn't anger I was feeling, it was fear - fear in its purest form. Fear of what, though? Why would I fear? Was this hell? Was this man a daemon to punish me?

"Welcome to the Bloodrise Cavern," he said, slowly unchaining my arms, too. "Welcome to your new house, my dear slave of fear."