The most important effects of aakom are its effect on the human mind and soul. It twists both, exerting a dark magnetic force pulling them toward ultimate chaos and corrosion. Even Chaotic characters recoil from the laughing, grotesque specters somehow revealed in the corner of their vision as innately part of the very angles and helices of existence. Those poisoned by aakom become nihilistic or self- destructive, or both; even the meaning that the human ego assigns itself is peeled away in the boiling illumination of aakom.
However, a bit of calculation² indicates that even weaker protagonists likely have at least a few days before the poison might start to set in, and even then its effects can be mitigated or suppressed for the week or two of journeying to any one of the upriver sites. Unpleasant as the poisoned environment may be, it tells us that our possible narratives will converge on missions, motivated by a strong goal. The text provides examples. The protagonists might be selfless heroes, risking death to destroy the source of the region's contamination. They might be searchers, desperately following rumors of a lost friend or family member. Or they might be a band of outlaws, scheming to find a fortune and haul it through the chaos of war.
Whatever the protagonists' goal, they will likely begin their journey in the relatively intact coastal city of Qampong. They come from somewhere else; Qampong is a foreign city to them. Negotiating local markets, they supply themselves and start heading up the river. In a few days, and perhaps after a few harrowing encounters, they will find a mercenary company that has made a base in the mostly ruined inland city of Sajra Amvoel. The protagonists are tempted to be at ease around familiar accents and clothing, but perhaps it is best to be wary of rogue mercenaries in a war zone. Perhaps the protagonists continue; from here, their journeys will branch to various destinations. Or perhaps they have chosen an overland route and avoided Sajra Amvoel altogether. In most of the possible stories, they will meet murderous enemy factions, each with their own agendas for the river valley. The countryside becomes stranger, more hostile: monsoons, evil mists, or the mind-melting aftermath of wizard-war magic. The poison sets in. The protagonists limp toward their goal and whatever final confrontation stands in their way...
It should be noted that some of the protagonists' potential obstacles are truly terrifying, which makes sense given the author's extensive work in the horror genre. Your humble reviewer has found himself rather grossed out by the details of how certain ants in Qelong can take over people's brains. The horror elements generally suit the genre of the journey upriver to hell, although in one case there is an unseemly and probably unnecessary detail that a violent cult rapes its victims, as if simple massacre wasn't bad enough for the genre. Qelong is not for the sensitive reader, and certainly not for children.
But for a reader who can stomach the disturbing sections, Qelong raises interesting questions. What sort of people could make these journey? Surrounded by so much suffering, would they change their goals? Are the potential protagonists strong enough to make any kind of difference? It is an open critical question whether a form that declines to actualize itself in a particular fiction can wrest enduring significance from its inherent indeterminacy. Put another way, is there some higher aesthetic purpose in the arrangement of possibility structures? Qelong is a particularly effective structure for many stories, which are all, mythically, the same story, and as such it is a good clue for the inquisitive critic.
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