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Hyperborean Musings

The Hyperborean Review

About me

Location	The Weathered Watchtower, Hyperborea
Introduction	Prologue: I have journeyed beyond. I cannot go back, because I no longer speak the language of the past, of my past… From tower to tower I have traveled, from that of Babel to ivory. Past the ever- and over-reaching grasp of civilization, past the northern tundra, north into the snow, through the ice, where the earth is unhinged from its sun, through the confusion, into the clarity of Hyperborea I sojourned. As I came over and between the last crag…I unpacked the last isms from bag and passed at last into the realm of Hyperborea. The air became no longer cold, but brisk and invigorating like the land itself, at once more wild and tranquil than any southerly scenescape… I saw no sign of human disturbance except a stone tower… Refreshing my senses on the delights of Hyberborea, good and evil seemed as but two-dimensional play things to be discarded. When I got to the ancient structure I found it abandoned… The furnishings were sparse and worn, but ageless as the solitary chamber itself which crowned the cylinder’s spiraling stairs. Above the entrance, etched in the stone it read “The one who here abodes shall be named Victor Eremita” and so I am.

Location

The Weathered Watchtower, Hyperborea

Introduction

Prologue: I have journeyed beyond. I cannot go back, because I no longer speak the language of the past, of my past… From tower to tower I have traveled, from that of Babel to ivory. Past the ever- and over-reaching grasp of civilization, past the northern tundra, north into the snow, through the ice, where the earth is unhinged from its sun, through the confusion, into the clarity of Hyperborea I sojourned. As I came over and between the last crag…I unpacked the last isms from bag and passed at last into the realm of Hyperborea. The air became no longer cold, but brisk and invigorating like the land itself, at once more wild and tranquil than any southerly scenescape… I saw no sign of human disturbance except a stone tower… Refreshing my senses on the delights of Hyberborea, good and evil seemed as but two-dimensional play things to be discarded. When I got to the ancient structure I found it abandoned… The furnishings were sparse and worn, but ageless as the solitary chamber itself which crowned the cylinder’s spiraling stairs. Above the entrance, etched in the stone it read “The one who here abodes shall be named Victor Eremita” and so I am.