An Anthropological Approach to Sarkicism - Case Study 01: The Vaśńa of Sarvi

An Anthropological Approach to Sarkicism

Dr. Matthieu Desmarais, Department of Anthropology

Forward:

Our understanding of Sarkicism has changed dramatically over the last few decades. This information has revealed a diverse and shifting paradigm far different from the monolithic creed first hypothesized. We are now able to paint a broader, more detailed picture of the Sarkic religion, its various sects and cultural traditions. Modern sects are the product of divergent interpretations, many bearing a mere superficial resemblance to their ancient progenitor cult. Most unexpected, especially among early scholars of Sarkicism such as myself, are the seemingly benevolent intentions of its founders. The road to hell, it is often said, is paved with good intentions - an aphorism the Foundation must always keep close in mind, for despite the aeons between us, we gaze into that very same abyss. And like the ancient Sarkites, we have found it full of monsters. Dr. Desmarais, at great risk to himself, seeks to better understand Sarkicism and its ever shifting paradigm through the study of living communities - revealing what ruins, artifacts, and the dead cannot. Though his methods are unorthodox (at least for the Foundation), his results are undeniable and deserving of continued support. Dr. Judith Low, Senior Adviser at the Department of History - Religious GoI Threat Analysis.

CASE STUDY 01: The Vaśńa of Sarvi

Overview:

A number of indigenous Finno-Ugric people inhabit the Arctic area of Sápmi, which today encompasses parts of far northern Norway, Sweden, Finland, and the Kola Peninsula of Russia. Due to a distant but shared cultural origin, Sarkic communities are difficult to differentiate from local Sami but these similarities quickly disappear with closer inspection. These people identify themselves as the Vaśńa and they are the subject of this study.

One Vaśńa community is the village of Sarvi. Located on the coast Lake Inari in the Lapland region of Finland, the people of Sarvi are isolated but self-sufficient. They harvest fish via primitive but clever traps and herd a distinct subspecies of reindeer for meat, fur, and transportation. Sarvi remains connected to other Vaśńa communities throughout the Arctic, including some which are entirely nomadic, but who join together for significant religious events or in the defense of their ancestral homeland.

A house in Sarvi during the warm months. Such dwellings are actually quite spacious with the bulk of the structure located underground.

History:

The Vaśńa belong to Haplogroup N (M231), a Y-chromosome DNA haplogroup typical of Northern Eurasia and have likely lived along Lake Inari for the last 4,000-6,000 years. It is believed that the Vaśńa descend from or share a common ancestry with the so-called "reindeer folk of Adí-üm", a Finno-Ugric people once native to the Northern Urals who were among the first followers of Grand Karcist Ion.

The Norse saga "The Tale of Asbjørn the Unready" relates a failed invasion of Lapland, whose inhabitants closely resemble Finno-Ugric Sarkites. The natives are described as having ghostly pale bodies (though this is likely a reference to white body paint) covered in red-colored runes. There are frequent (often gratuitous) references to blood and flesh, as well as "blood magic", a "land kraken", a "god of entrails", and several stanzas dedicated to the description of a Norse warlord being turned "inside-out".

For a time the inhabitants of Sápmi, whether Sarkic or non-anomalous Sami, lived in relative peace. Sweden and Norway would seize control of the area by the 15th century but the Vaśńa tribes, due to their northern isolation, remained largely unaffected. During World War II, German forces in Northern Finland applied scorched earth tactics to the region, causing devastating losses among both the Vaśńa and Sami. Between 1946 and 1961, the village of Sarvi was under the occupation of GRU Division "P" and village elders speak of brutal experimentation and later, unmerciful vengeance. Although the elders do not explain what occurred in detail, they were certain to note that it did prevent GRU Division "P" from ever returning.

Culture, Tradition, and Misconceptions:

The Vaśńa refer to their religious beliefs as Nälkä ; the word "Sarkic" is actually a pejorative created by the Mekhanites, an ancient anomalous cult of Mediterranean origin (as well as the probable forebears of the Church of the Broken God). Efforts to remove this Eurocentric misnomer from the Foundation lexicon have proven fruitless. Sarkites worship neither "flesh" or a "god of flesh"; in fact, while there is a belief in the existence of gods, they are reviled rather than revered - an example of dystheism, the belief that a god, goddess, or singular God is not wholly good as presented and even possibly evil.

The Grand Karcist and his Klavigar play an important role in daily living. Lovataar (Lovarakka to the Vaśńa) is invoked by soon-to-be mothers and those seeking love; Orok offers strength and protection, and amulets depicting his icon are worn by hunters for good luck; Nadox (pronounced "Naw-dock" by the Vaśńa) is prayed to by those seeking wisdom or those merely wishing to make the right choice; Saarn is less commonly called upon but when she is, it is usually in the hopes of cursing/vowing vengeance upon an enemy; and the Grand Karcist Ion (pronounced "Yon" by the Vaśńa) is prayed to daily (although the Vaśńa request little from him, claiming that his "work" is too important to be selfishly interrupted).

Reports of human sacrifice appear to be unfounded. The community practices endocannibalism as a funerary rite but scoffed at the implication of hunting humans (though they do state that it would be "wasteful" to simply allow any corpse to decay).

Life in Sarvi is relatively simple (even idyllic, if one enjoys the cold). An outsider might not notice anything unusual at first and I would go so far as to argue that these people could assimilate into other communities without significant issue (were they to choose to do so). Peace is valued and rarely broken beyond the occasional petty squabble.

Neither puritanical nor libertine , the Vaśńa have a generally healthy attitude towards love and sexuality. One today might refer to these views as progressive but such a label is relative and distracts from the ancient roots of their norms and folkways. Sexual orientation is regarded as a spectrum (though they do not refer to it as such) and concepts like heterosexuality and homosexuality are viewed as strange and restricting. The Vaśńa do not allocate labor based on gender, despite living a traditional way of life that tends to lend itself to such a practice, and this has possibly resulted in a diminished concept of gender - but gender and even biological sex appear to be quite fluid throughout all Sarkic traditions.

The denizens of Sarvi treat the human body as a canvas, artistically expressing themselves through tattoos, scarification, bone piercings, and the occasional corporeal augmentation . Traditional garb is practical and rustic but includes a pleasing aesthetic. Such outfits are usually composed of wool, leather, and fur. Locals use natural dyes which include red , blueish black , and yellow and clothes are decorated with symbols and patterns associated with the Sarkic religion.

Though physically isolated, the people of Sarvi are not entirely disconnected from the outside world - radios have long been common and the younger generation occasionally gains access to technology with internet access. The incremental nature of these changes are not the result of some aversion to technology but rather due to an extreme distaste for money, with most residents preferring to barter with outsiders. Sarvi, in turn, functions as a sort of proto-communism, the concept of private property being entirely foreign as well.

Those born within Sarvi are free to leave and it is possible that their traditions are being secretly practiced in more populated areas without any taking notice. From what I am able to gather, most return but those that stay with the outside world are not begrudged for their choice (though I have certainly sensed disappointment, take that as you will). Locals refer to this practice as one's Valtaanok (or "The Wandering"). Dávgon , a young man in his mid-twenties, attended university at Helsinki before returning; he received a degree in microbiology and financially supported himself through "odd jobs". I would interview Dávgon about his culture and faith; the transcript is available in the collapsible below:

+ Interview Subject: Dávgon the Younger (06/15/████) - ACCESS GRANTED Interviewed: Dávgon the Younger Interviewer: Dr. Matthieu Desmarais Foreword: Dávgon is less apprehensive towards the Foundation than other residents. Earning his trust and confidence is instrumental to my work in Sarvi. Intelligent and inquisitive, he enjoys relating his interpretations of Sarkic scripture and how they pertain to modern science. <Begin Log> Dr. Desmarais: Hello Dávgon. I would like to ask you a few questions. Dávgon the Younger: Go ahead. Dr. Desmarais: How does your community view the practice of lihakut'ak ? Dávgon the Younger: To shepherd the flesh is no trivial act. Yes, some are born with a natural affinity for the craft, but it requires meditation, years of training. Nor should it be abused for the sake of power and glamour. Dr. Desmarais: Do you have any idea how it works? Dávgon the Younger: It isn't magic. The actual mechanics are beyond me but… try to imagine yourself perceiving all living things at a genetic level. Imagine shifting through cells, moving them around, switching genes on or off as if they were a light switch. [Subject laughs nervously, his face visibly reddened] I'm sorry, but I'm not very good at this. I might as well try to explain color to the blind. If performed correctly, it is a transformative experience. Exploiting a flaw in nature, pulling it like a thread of cloth and watching the whole thing uncoil before your eyes. The hard part is using that thread to create something new. Dr. Desmarais: So you have experience with the craft? Dávgon the Younger: Yes. Some. I'll have to show you the burrows later. I doubt the elders would mind. Dr. Desmarais: I would very much like that. Dávgon the Younger: Good. Good. [Subject smiles] Dr. Desmarais: Do you not change yourselves? We have encountered other practitioners of your faith who- Dávgon the Younger: [Subject interrupts] We are *nothing* like the Gluttonous. Dr. Desmarais: Explain? Dávgon the Younger: The ones your Foundation call "neo-Sarkite". Those that betrayed everything we stood for. They are no different from Vultaas . They have no interest in ending the Tyranny of the Gods - they simply wish to replace them. Dr. Desmarais: Isn't apotheosis a central goal of Nälkä? Dávgon the Younger: Not like this. The Grand Karcist sought to raise *all* people. We hunger from famine of the flesh and spirit - they are the Devourers that feast while the masses starve. Murderers and rapists, every one. They spit on Ion and his ways. Why compare them to us? I'm sorry but I overheard some of your associates the other day. I'm fully capable of understanding English, you know. Your organization lumps us together, labels us all "Sarkic". Nälkä is a religion. My religion. Something I take pride in. But these monsters are pretenders - they appropriate our faith, wear it like strutting fashionistas, but they are not us. Dr. Desmarais: Have you encountered these people? Dávgon the Younger: [Subject visibly pales, refusing to make eye-contact] Yes. During my Valtaanok, but I do not wish to speak of it. Might we visit the burrows instead? I know you are curious about our Lihakut'ak traditions. <End Log> Closing Statement: Dávgon is a man of two worlds, attempting to bridge the gap between myth and science, the past and present - but I sense struggle, the two facets of his identity not as harmonious as he believes. Many seek religion when in search for answers not meant for science - whereas he sought the sciences, hoping to answer the questions presented by his faith.

Located beneath the village is an ancient network of cavernous tunnels. Dated to the 2nd millennium BCE, it is potentially the oldest Sarkic structure west of the Ural Mountains and was likely settled by the Adí-üm people prior to or shortly after the successful overthrow of Daevite rule. The walls display thousands of years of artistic expression, either painted with red pigment or engraved into the stone itself. Images include flora and fauna (some of which are entirely unidentifiable) and humanoid figures undergoing metamorphosis. Adytite glyphs are also common but most are faded beyond recognition, their meaning a casualty of time.

These caverns are also used in the cultivation of various fungi, Foundation mycologists identifying thirteen unique and previously unrecorded species. One species, the recently named Mycena candentis ("Ion's Flame" to the locals), produces a green light quite reminiscent of the auroras common to the region, with a brighter bioluminescence than any known non-anomalous organism. The fungus is harvested and used to light the village at night. Another fungus, Psilocybe calixtinus ("Nadox Eyes" to the locals), is a potent psychotropic employed during religious rituals.

Another section serves as a kennel, housing a previously unknown SK-BIO species (classified as SK-BIO Type Θ). The creatures wag their tails (and tendrils) and pant excitedly at our arrival. Although their behavior differs little from the average canine, they look absolutely nothing alike - indeed, it would be difficult to even recognize them as mammals (something Foundation biologists continue to debate). Known as "pǟnalka" (or "witch-hounds"), the species has a leathery red epidermis, chitinous white plates and scales, a thick mane of white feathers, and a row of prehensile tendrils along its spine. Its head resembles a featureless skull while its mouth opens along multiple axes, due to the multiple flaps of muscle and skin that compose the aperture. Its six legs provide excellent locomotion and its feet resemble a cross between talons and hooves. Although they lack visible eyes, Dávgon assures me that their vision is keen and that they even see things "beyond the sight of man".

I asked about SK-BIO Type Θ's origins, Dávgon informing me that the seemingly chimeric species does in fact descend from wolves. I delved deeper - perhaps deeper than one in my position should - into the ethical ramifications of fleshcrafting. Dávgon took a moment to laugh and shake his head, then replied:

"They are healthier than wolves. They can live well over eighty winters. And they are as clever as ravens. You outsiders are in no place to criticize our ways. Your methods are both inefficient and cruel. Can you truly say the same of your dogs? The pug is a crime against nature."

I found no fault in his argument. Shifting the conversation, I inquired again about his faith and was able to convince him to translate some Sarkic scripture. Though the Foundation has encountered Sarkic scripture in the past, such documents vary from cult to cult and are devoid of codification. In turn, such documents are rife with contradictions and there is strong evidence that much of the Sarkic religion - its history, mythology, ritual, and dogma - was either lost or purposefully removed. The Valkzaron, the most complete Sarkic grimoire in Foundation possession, displays evidence of gross alterations dating back centuries. This suggests that shortly after the original faith (or Ur-Sarkicism, as Dr. Low has proposed) suffered its greatest defeat, others sought to control the narrative and use it towards their own ends (such is the way of even non-anomalous religions).

What Dávgon was able to translate proved intriguing and important to understanding the Sarkic ethos, while also providing a possible explanation for the peacefulness of Sarvi. Examples are provided in the collapsible below:

+ Newly Recovered Scripture - ACCESS GRANTED Ion's Sermon at the Black Sea: If you seek treasure, power, and reputation – to rule man through conquest and tyranny – then leave us now, return to the shadows of your own black ambition, and know that you will not escape our light. But should you wish to learn wisdom – to shatter the chains of bondage and realize the potential of mankind – then I shall embrace you as blood and teach you the way of all flesh. You take pride in your triumphs. This is not unexpected, for you have shown the world that the Daeva can be felled - that they can be driven from your lands. No longer will your children be fed to their infernal engines. No longer will you sacrifice to their gods of pain and domination. We are the doomed that stand defiant, for the redemption of the many. Be ever mindful, for pride precipitates a terrible fall. As you gaze deep into the void, let not the void become you. Our Great Work is incomplete. For as long as the gods remain, we will never be free. Take pity on the Daeva, for they are but shadows upon the wall - harbingers of those that cast its darkness; a darkness we must dispel. But as long as humanity remains divided, as long as they believe the lies of the gods, we cannot know victory. We will sail the vast seas; we will march through the highest mountains. We will spread our ways until the whole of the world knows our Truth. And the Light of Truth shines through endless night. Lovaatar falls, only to be reborn: …And Lovataar said unto Ion, "This rebellion ends now. You will be denied the martyrdom you seek. You were born a slave and so a slave you shall remain. By the Gods, I will claim you as my own. I will know you. I will break you. You will forsake your vows a thousand times and crawl through flame just to worship at my holiest of altars. You will salivate and rise at the sound of my voice. My pleasure will become your new religion. And when the day comes, you will feel honored to die by my hand." The Grand Karcist set aside his staff, let his robes fall, and stood calm with open arms. "Pathetic," said the Daeva.



But the Grand Karcist intended no such surrender for, lo, his flesh took new shape. Blessed tendrils erupted from his ascended form and bound Lovataar as a spider did its prey. And Ion said unto Lovataar, "See through the lies of your God-Queen and her daemonic masters. Surrender and be witness to the dread reality of our world and beyond. Feel the pain of the many, their suffering and sorrow, and know that we are all one flesh."



The Ancient Litany flooded the Daeva's mind and pulled her into its abyss. She beheld her mother, Daeva of Daevas, God-Queen of an empire, and saw the crimson tethers that dictated her every action. "Her power comes at a price," spoke the voice of Ion. "Her will is not her own. She is bound by the Blood, shaped by the Blood, and so too are you. May your delusion of power fade, for you have never been free - you have always been a slave. Your traditions, your supposed birthright, are entirely meaningless. Who really lurks behind your mask of violence and domination? What is left when only truth remains?" Lovataar fell ever deeper and from the darkness came temples, great and terrible ziggurats dedicated to the gods. From their terraces flowed rivers of blood And the voice of Ion spoke again. "Symbols have power. You are Daeva. You know this well. That is what the Living Avatars taught your people. But these pacts come with a terrible price. A price that drives your empire. A price you force upon others to escape your fate. Sacrifice after sacrifice after sacrifice. Why do the gods thirst for blood? Why do they covet your faith? Look closer, see the cracks in their divinity - behold the workings of their twisted machinations." And the temples crumbled, stone by stone, revealing undulating flesh in impossible shapes. She beheld them across every iteration of reality, eternity and doom - creation and destruction - all in the same form. Her mind screamed, suffocating at the edge of madness. These were the true gods! The faceless rulers of the universe! But there was more - something beyond even the gods and their black, unspeakable ambitions. The threads of fate all pull in one direction - moved just as the stars and moon and sea. And Lovataar gazed upon the truth of our reality. Here was the tumorous heart of our stillborn universe. The beginning and the end of all things; mother and father - our dread progenitor! A cosmic void wrapped in flesh and sinew, eternally screaming its inconceivable secrets from a billion venom soaked tongues. Its world devouring maw opened and she beheld the countless souls who bellow in grief and tears. And Ion said with sorrow. "Not even in death… Do you feel their pain? Without suffering, there can be no empathy, without empathy there is hope, and without hope we will never transcend." Lovataar felt their suffering; never before had she known such pain. "And in sorrow, and in love, we become one - we are the new flesh that will usurp the old. And end this Cosmic Blasphemy once and for all. I hold truth as a flame - may it burn away your falsehoods." Lovataar was returned to reality. She fell to the ground, shedding tears for the living, for the dead, and for all she had ever harmed. "Just kill me," said the Daeva. "I am at your mercy. End this now. You have your chance." Ion placed his hand upon her cheek. And Ion said unto Lovataar: "Take off your mask." Ion stands before the People of Urartu: The people of Urartu wished to welcome the Grand Karcist, who by right of war was now master of the city and of the lives and fortunes of its people. Ion took to the palace balcony and cast his gaze upon the multitudes. Finding the people soaked in blood and viscera, the Grand Karcist demanded to know just what they had done. "We give you the blood of our children! A great sacrifice in your name! For you, our saviour - our living God!" They swayed in rapturous delight, raising their crimson hands so that Ion might behold the evidence of their deed. "For your power and glory!" They cried. The Grand Karcist stumbled back and fell to his knees. The broken remains of the innocent littered the ground, while their mothers and fathers stood entranced - their eyes wide with fanaticism. Orok joined Ion's side, helped him to his feet and asked: "Do these animals deserve salvation? Can they even be redeemed?" Ion hesitated, blinded by the glare of this atrocity. "Yes," he answered even as tears rolled down his cheeks. "They are ignorant, knowing only the way of the Daeva and their perverse gods. We will teach them and lead them away from this darkness." Orok sighed and lowered his head. "At the first sign of weakness, they will turn on you like the ravenous beasts that they are. I would advise retiring for the night - the mob is simply too unpredictable. Best we allow their fervor to die. And if they seek to bring you harm, I will crush them." "They can be saved," he again reminded. "They must be."

The Sarkic calendar emphasizes astronomical phenomena and is based on the alignment of celestial bodies rather than solar (such as the Gregorian calendar) or lunar/lunisolar (such as the traditional Chinese calendar). Precision is unimportant, the calendar recognizing seasons and years but not days. The calendar is primarily used in the reckoning of animal migration and holy periods.

The calendar is divided into three seasons: Kätkea ("The Cradle") corresponding with spring and early summer, Tulisija ("The Hearth") corresponding with mid to late summer and early autumn, and Kalmaa ("The Grave") corresponding with mid to late autumn and winter.

Sacred periods, known as vahvuusajat ("times of strength"; singular: vahvuusaika), are similar to the concept of holidays. I was able to observe one such vahvuusaika known as Lovaska.

Celebrated in early Kätkea, Lovaska honors Lovataar and is associated with sex and fertility. It begins with the encouragement of flirtation among uncoupled individuals for 12 days. During this time, those not already ritually bound to a partner (or partners) are forbidden from having sex. Gifts are given, friendly pranks are played, and amorous feelings are made known. Though the Vaśńa generally lack gender roles, it still appears that female participants are more assertive and aggressive than the males. Similarly, there seems to be an expectation for males to be coy and show more restraint. It is possible that the personalities of the Grand Karcist Ion and his lover, the Klavigar Lovataar, influence the development of these dynamics. This is not universal and is only noticeable in female-male interactions. It is important to remember that Sarkites have a notion of human sexuality untouched by Abrahamic religion, manifesting as a spectrum and devoid of terms to distinguish one as "heterosexual" or "homosexual".

On the 12th day, uncoupled individuals gather at nightfall and divide themselves into "predators" and "prey". Individuals playing the role of prey don antlered headdresses and long gossamer scarves but are otherwise nude. Those choosing to act as predators paint themselves with animal blood and wear the skulls and skins of bears and wolves. There appears to be some unspoken understanding of who will play what role as well as who would be "hunting" who.

The "prey" consume a tea brewed with Psilocybe calixtinus and are allowed to enter the nearby forest a day before the "predators", who themselves are tasked with the raising of lavvu which they then paint with the seal of Lovataar. The predators awaken at dawn and consume the same psychotropic tea and venture into the forest. They return throughout the next few days, with predators carrying their prey over their shoulders. These couples vary in composition and include nearly as many same-sex pairings as opposite; a few aren't even pairs, with two predators sharing one prey and another carrying one male and one female slung over both her shoulders - a rather remarkable feat of strength. Prey and predator then enter their lavvu, which the other townsfolk (elders, those already in relationships, etc.) have filled with food and drink during their absence.

When their supplies run out, they will return to the village with newly forged relationships. Despite the predatory theme of the celebration, elders inform me that this practice is entirely consensual (I will note that I didn't see a single frown among those that returned; all appeared to be quite happy before I allowed them their privacy).

Dávgon offered to arrange an interview with Võlutaar Jaská, the eldest resident of Sarvi and the closest person the community has to a leader. I agreed and was brought before her at dusk.

+ Interview Subject: Võlutaar Jaská (07/19/████) - ACCESS GRANTED Interviewed: Võlutaar Jaská Interviewer: Dr. Matthieu Desmarais Foreword: Võlutaar Jaská is a respected village elder. A centenarian, she studied Sarkicism under the direct tutelage of a Karcist in her youth. <Begin Log> Dr. Desmarais: Lušakälv , Võlutaar Jaská. Dávgon the Younger suggested I meet with you. Võlutaar Jaská: Ask your questions, outsider. Dr. Desmarais: Straight to the point. Fair enough. I would first like to learn a bit more about you. Võlutaar Jaská: I suspect you haven't come all this way to listen to the dull droning of an old woman. [Subject chuckles dryly] But I will play your game. I was born to this village nearly one hundred and thirty six years ago on the eve of Orok's Hunt Dr. Desmarais: An auspicious birth, no doubt. Võlutaar Jaská: [Subject strikes the interviewer in the knee with a gnarled cane] Do they not teach you manners where you are from? You may speak when I have had my say! [Subject flashes a fleeting grin] Dr. Desmarais: My apologies, Võlutaar Jaská. I will remain silent until you are finished. Võlutaar Jaská: Hmph. Make sure that you do! As I was saying… Life was simple. I didn't grow up with the fancy machines the youth covet so dearly. Got nothing against technology. But the outside - the outside is alluring. The blood of Sarvi will run dry. I say smash those devices lest we lose the village. [Subject mumbles, her words growing increasingly unclear and off-subject before returning to the interviewer's initial question] Oh, but my life was good. Good and simple. I was happy. Dr. Desmarais: I was told that you studied under an actual karcist? Võlutaar Jaská: Yes. Karcist Varis. He disappeared when saving us from the Russians. He was clever as a raven and very difficult to kill. I've little doubt that he still lives. I do not miss his love of dramatic surprises. Dr. Desmarais: Interesting. I wish to better understand how your people see the universe and its creation. The Grand Karcist refers to it as "a failed and fallen creation" but what is the root of this cosmic flaw? Võlutaar Jaská: Maailmankaikkeus? Dr. Desmarais: Yes. I apologize. Võlutaar Jaská: [Subject shrugs] It is what it is. A brute fact. We do not deny the gods. Ion himself gazed upon their flesh. And yet, what evidence is there for divine benevolence? There is but one acceptable conclusion. Do you know what the oldest falsehood in the universe is? Dr. Desmarais: What? Võlutaar Jaská: The belief that the gods are good. Accepting this is the first step to understanding our ways. Dr. Desmarais: I see. Võlutaar Jaská: [Subject lets out a dry chuckle] You do not come to their defense. Yet neither do you fall to your knees, grasp the hem of my robes, and beg for enlightenment. You don't believe in the gods, do you? Dr. Desmarais: I do not. Võlutaar Jaská: You are a fool, but as you do not serve the outer horrors, perhaps you are at least a good man. Are you a good man, Desmarais? Dr. Desmarais: I don't really know. Võlutaar Jaská: A wise answer, if anything. I cannot blame you for your lack of belief. You desire evidence of the gods. Dr. Desmarais: Evidence would be required. Yes. Now, that brings me to another question. If the universe is flawed, if all life descends from malevolent gods, how can there be any good? Võlutaar Jaská: The blood of monsters flows through our veins. This is not contested. A pup playing with its kin, a child's laughter, the embrace of an old friend. There is beauty and goodness to be found in this world but it is the product of defiance. Dr. Desmarais: Defiance? Võlutaar Jaská: Murder and rape; war and madness - that is the true nature of life. Our race is far too often a reflection of our creator. Wherever there is beauty, wherever there is love and compassion, there is defiance. As you see in nature, defiance is not uncommon. Dr. Desmarais: Tell me more of our supposed "creator"? Võlutaar Jaská: Despite the greatness of your science, do you still not understand? Dr. Desmarais: I would like to hear it from your perspective. Võlutaar Jaská: I know of your science. I know that you have discovered the link between all life. Dr. Desmarais: Our common ancestry? Võlutaar Jaská: Yes. You believe that we descend from small mindless beasts, invisible to the naked eye - and you would be correct. Change and adaptation - that is the way of all life. But you perceive only a fraction of the truth. You know nothing of its origin. Dr. Desmarais: And what is the origin of life? Võlutaar Jaská: Human words cannot express this truth. But we can show you - if you are willing. <End Log>

I agreed to her offer. The ritual would involve a tea brewed from Psilocybe calixtinus. Ill-prepared for what I would encounter, I write this after several days of hospitalization. Further experiments with Psilocybe calixtinus should be conducted with D-Class personnel. I do not begrudge the people of Sarvi for what occurred; they have likely developed a tolerance to the substance and had no frame of reference to predict an outsider's reaction.

+ Psilocybe Calixtinus Test 01: Dr. Matthieu Desmarais - ACCESS GRANTED Jaská was right. The words do not come easily. Ineffable concepts and visceral sensations. And history - too much history. The stains of time are that of blood and rust. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be cryptic. I keep reminding myself that it was just a hallucination - no different from a dream - and that there is no reason for me to believe in any of this. But it seemed so real, even as I felt myself unravel at the helix. For a moment I experienced oneness with the universe. There was no sense of harmony. No spiritual bliss. There was only the clarity of pain. I had become some small variable in a cosmic organism of inconceivable size - some undulating vastness of unintelligent cancer. This was the true flesh. I saw a Red Leviathan rise from a black sea; the longer I watched, the more I began to realize that this monster and its dark waters were one and the same. I remember turning my gaze to the stars, perhaps seeking some solace in their familiarity. The stars resembled drops of freshly shed blood upon an obsidian altar. The stars moved, forming a spiral in the inky blackness of the night sky. I looked down - where was the leviathan? Where was the sea? Red and black; flesh and void. It was all connected somehow. The spiral twisted and spun with increasing velocity. There was a mournful voice among the madness; it spoke with words I had never heard but whose laconic meaning was clear. "The wheel turns again." Then there was nothing; no light, no sound - only darkness. Thoughts and memories flowed from my mind like blood from open veins. All that remained was a fleeting memory of a memory as I sunk into the thoughtlessness of torpor. Pain forced my eyes open and I saw a certain priestess - her skin white as chalk, her eyes as gold as the jewelry and trinkets that decorated her scantily clad form. Though her beauty inspired awe, her presence invoked fear and self-insignificance. My naked body was painted with symbols of vague familiarity. I was her sacrifice and the cruel instruments of her faith were already buried deep inside my torso. My efforts to pull away only facilitated my own disembowelment and I fell to my knees. The sacrificial priestess met my gaze, her growing sardonic grin revealing sharklike teeth. She placed a bare foot on my shoulder and gave me the slightest push, sending me tumbling down the stone steps of her blackened ziggurat. I caught fleeting glimpses during my agonizing fall: my own entrails and organs, the stains of blood and bile, the lifeless tundra, and the grim-faces of onlookers - until I hit the base of the structure with a sickening crack. This is likely where it would have ended, had this been a dream. The vision repeated, the priestess and the temple remained but my cause of death differed. This repeated over and over, a temporal loop of suffering and terror. I had become thoroughly mired in this one event and could not for the life of me tear myself from it. I am decapitated, castrated, asphyxiated, raped, bludgeoned, blinded, skewered, cannibalized, flayed, and burned alive (among countless other atrocities). But this was merely the beginning of my downward spiral, the experience growing increasingly difficult to comprehend. I remember a mountain of corpses and constantly shifting shades of red. Tendrils sifting through the remains, penetrating wounds and orifices and feeding the dead with new and terrible life. A distant voice speaks to me, saying "Flesh and form. The flesh is transmutable. The form is malleable. To change is to exist." And I see the corpses merge and take new shape. It transformed into that Red Leviathan. "The gods do not change. The gods do not exist. Not truly. But they wish to. The void screams for a mother that will never come. Life is drawn to the Void like flies to decay. The Void wraps itself in sinew and bone and blood; a facsimile of life. The Void is a god-shaped hole. It knows nothing but hunger." And I saw the Red Leviathan for what it really was. Words fail me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm trembling. The tears keep flowing. I still hear the heartbeat of the universe - the primordial rhythm of sacrifice and war. The universe is a machine. Not of metal and gears but of flesh and stars and nothingness. It is an automated butchery. And we? We are the flesh that feeds the gods.

After receiving extensive therapy, I was again able to continue my work. Despite the accusations of my detractors, I have neither lost my mind nor have I "gone native". My experience was a hallucination and it was never presented as anything more than a chemical trick of the mind.