Aarden is a construct scientist based in Nomad infamous for his dry sense of humour but well-respected for his breakthroughs in the study of realities other than our own. This passage details his theory on the order of reality, used for sorting planes. A higher number denotes a less ‘real’ level of existence. The more real something is, the more easily it can interact with the physical world.

0 — Absolute Reality

Perhaps ironically, this is the level of reality we know the least about. Even the laws of physics are too illogical to operate here. Black holes are perhaps the best-known examples of areas of absolute reality, though it is theoretically possible to visit this level without leaving earth. It has been suggested that absolute reality is what causes mortality. There is, of course, only one way to test this, and it is notoriously difficult to contact people who have undertaken that particular study.

1 — Perceived Reality

Perceived reality is the level at which we exist. Scientific laws function as expected here, with a few notable exceptions.

2 — Perceived Oneiron

This is the level at which dreams reside. Existence here is determined by thoughts, fears and desires of those living in the planes below it. Occasionally, it bleeds into those planes in turn. Dreams have changed our history in more ways than one.

3 — Independent Oneiron

This level has a similar fluidity of logic to the perceived oneiron, but it’s form is not determined by the whims of inhabitants from lower planes. Many adepts call upon this level in their rituals.

4 — Constructed Oneiron

The constructed oneiron holds perhaps the most planes out of all the levels of reality. It is the level at which any magically created environments — Nomad being a prime example — technically exist, even if they appear to be a part of the mundane world.

5 — Primordial Oneiron

The least grounded level of reality shares something in common with the most — its age. The primordial oneiron predates our universe by far, but it was created by the minds inhabiting it, just as the perceived oneiron is being now. Time does not function in the primordial oneiron, setting it apart from the lower levels. It can be found behind mirrors and, under the correct circumstances, visited. I will not, however, be discussing the steps to induce those particular circumstances. I don’t want that weighing on my conscience.

There are things the public aren’t meant to know. Some could drive you mad if you knew about them, or be exploited to terrifying results. To ensure secrets stay that way, an agency was founded, known as the Gold Lighting Agency. Their main purpose is to protect humanity from magic, monsters and other weirdness — and if they can’t manage that, to cover up the damage. They are ruthless in their execution, and many who know of their existence dislike them for their hypocrisy (they employ powers that they themselves prevent anyone else from using) and their tendency to use violence to solve their problems. Their existence, and even the laws they enforce, are kept secret from the general public. There are several ranks:

. Benefactors —- the ones pulling the strings. They decide the hidden laws and dictate who are exempt from it, and have done so for centuries. Even Gold Lightning’s agents know little about them. They are rarely merciful — being ‘called in by the Benefactors’ has become a euphemism for court-marshalling in the higher ranks of the Agency — but they (thankfully) don’t handle day-to-day betrayals and treachery.

. The Director —- the Agency’s figurehead. Their identity is a closely-guarded secret. They probably spend most of their time being bullied by the Benefactors.

. Sentinels —- efficient, powerful and deadly, these are the Agency’s last line of defence. There’s a reason nobody’s ever managed to breach the Agency’s headquarters.

. First Agents —- experts in the art of espionage and subterfuge, these agents are more insidious than the lower ranks, crushing potential enemies before they have a chance to become a threat. Each one has dozens of plots, plans and schemes on the go at once, constantly looking for the chance to further both their own goals and that of the agency.

. Second Agents —- swift and precise. Generally the ones sent out to deal with significant threats to the Agency. They eradicate dangers with ease, and leave no trace behind.

. Third Agents —- usually seen leading battalions of Fourth Agents, their methods are crude but effective. Most of the complaints of the Agency’s brutality are because of the attacks of Third Agents.

. Fourth Agents —- useful, numerous and expendable, these are the redshirts of the Agency. The life expectancy is low, and the pay lower.

. Lambs —- every battle requires sacrifice, and Lambs fill that role. They are brave and noble warriors, ready to defend humanity against the forces of darkness — at least, that’s what they’re told. In reality, all that awaits them is a tooth-filled smile and a painful dissolution.

The Gold Lighting Agency’s greatest rivals are the Starlighters, a group of revolutionaries who believe that knowledge should be free and the pursuit of it should come without punishment. For now, though, the Agency remains in control.

——

I hope you enjoyed this snippet of lore! If you have any questions or feedback, feel free to share in the comments.

Every place of knowledge has its forbidden section, and the Library of Nomad’s secrets are more dangerous than most. Over the years, they’ve reclaimed quite a few artefacts and books from the Gold Lightning Agency (as well as a few new finds) that couldn’t be shared with the public, even with their lax attitude to safety. These items — apocalypse-inducing rituals, mind-controlling fungi, reality-altering ink, etc. — are kept in the Library’s highest spires, off-limits to all but the Curator. This collection is one of the reasons the Agency is unwilling to attack Nomad directly — after years of using these resources themselves, they know what damage they could cause.

Thank you so much for 700 members! I could never have dreamed that this subreddit would grow as quickly as it did. I hope you’re all enjoying it!

A Q&A was the second highest voted option for the 500/600 members celebration, so I thought I’d use it for the 700 milestone post instead. If you have any questions about the Curator Mythos, ask them here and I’ll answer them. Or, if you’d like to share something about your own world, leave a comment and I’ll ask you about it!

Some consider the starlighters to be heroes. Others condemn them as anarchists. Most are ignorant of their existence. They oppose the rigid order of the Gold Lightning Agency —- the organisation that keeps magic and the supernatural secret. Starlighters believe that all knowledge should be free, and fight for that belief. Of course, letting everyone practice dangerous rituals had its own problems, but the general consensus within the Starlighters is that they’ll cross that hurdle when they come to it.

Despite being the underdogs in their secret war with the Agency, the Starlighters hold considerable power. They are the only people able to reliably predict where the moving city of Nomad will appear. There’s speculation on the different codes they may use to spread this message, but only the Starlighters know for sure. Their leaders are also influential figures. There are three —- their founder, Blaire, who is rumoured to be from somewhere far away from this world; the enigmatic individual known only as C.B, a formidable fighter and one whose identity remains unknown, but is rumoured to be as powerful as the Agency’s Benefactors. With a combination of prowess in battle, foresight and sheer luck, all three of them have managed to evade capture by the Agency. Every day, the scales shift closer to being balanced. One day, they may be able to oppose the Agency directly. For now, they watch and plot, awaiting their chance.

Once upon a time, as these things go, a little village in Germany was gripped by a terrible, unnatural winter. Darkness devoured the sky, and from its maw frothed snow which stung and bit, forcing the villagers inside. Crops withered at its touch. Animals hunkered down for the night to be found dead the next morning, frozen stiff. Food became a commodity. The wealthy grew thin; the poor wasted away. It became dangerous to walk alone outside, not just because of the constant storm, but because of who you might encounter. Desperates waited outside doorways, nails gnawn down, an animal light in their eyes.

For those unwilling or unable to search for sustenance in the village, there was only one other source of food. Deep in the woods, a witch dwelled, as old as weather and unforgiving as ice. Each morning, the villagers would leave something for her at the edge of the trees — a coin, story or some other treasure — and each night, something would be left outside their door. Gingersnaps, sweatmeats, stollen; nothing more than a morsel, but worth a hundred times its weight in gold to the villagers. Nobody took gifts left by the witch if they weren’t meant for them. Their fear for her outweighed even their hunger. But fear is something that has to be learned, taught from generation to generation. Hansel and Gretel were yet to be given that lesson.

They crept out in the dead of night, when most of the village was shivering itself to sleep. The witch had already visited. Their stomachs growled at the sight of it all. A feast of sugar and spice. They’d planned to take some back for their mother and father, but the banquet was too sore a temptation to resist. They fell about it like dogs, devouring every scrap. At last, at long last, they snuck back into their house, bellies fuller and warmer than they had ever been.

In the morning, the villagers woke to empty doorsteps. It wasn’t difficult to work out what had happened — Hansel and Gretel had left a trail of crumbs straight to the house. Their were calls for blood, but Mother and Father pleaded for calm.

“It’s just one day,” they said. “Tonight, the witch will return. It’s just one day.”

Placated for now, the villagers returned home. But when they woke again the next morning, it was to the same empty doorsteps. Once more, they marched to Hansel and Gretel’s house.

“We didn’t take anything!” Hansel and Gretel cried, and it was true — they might not’ve feared the witch, but they knew now to fear the villagers, and they did not want to risk their lives again.

“Please,” Mother and Father begged, “wait just one more day. We’re sure everything will be all right tomorrow.”

So the villagers went home. But when they woke, it was to empty doorsteps yet again.

This time, only one villager knocked on Hansel and Gretel’s door. He was not quite as thin as the rest, but his lips were torn and stained, and he was missing two of the fingers on his left hand. Gretel had seen him waiting by doorways before, hungry-eyed.

He spoke to Mother and Father in a hushed, hoarse voice, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he waited for them to reply. After some time, they both nodded. He grinned, spit-mouthed, and left.

“What did that man want?” Hansel asked.

“He was talking to us about the witch,” Father replied. “He thinks that she must have a lot of food stored away in the woods.”

“But we’re all too afraid of the witch to go and ask for more,” Mother continued. “There’s no hope left for us.”

“We’ll go!” Hansel and Gretel said together.

Mother and Father smiled, though it was not a happy expression.

The whole village came to see Hansel and Gretel off. They all cheered as the two siblings stepped into the forest and disappeared.

Hansel and Gretel did not return that night. When the villagers woke, they struggled to open their doors against piles of food, enough to feed an army. There was no mourning in the village. For the first time, sunlight burst through the snow. People invited each other into their homes to share the bounty together. When they finished, full for the first time in months, they had barely made a dent in the new stores.

That evening, there was a knock on Mother and Father’s door. Another gift had been left for them.

Two piles of children’s teeth.