The Centre

The Centre. Home of the known worlds of the Imagiverse. Although it can be considered small compared to the surrounding Edge, it is still bloody massive. One world, one of the many bubbles of space-time that were spawned by the Creators to house their Ideas, orbits around the very centre of the Imagiverse, which is unfortunately the location of a titanic mass of blackness, a large spot in space where there are no stars, no light. This is the Darkness, home to what has been referred to uncommonly as the Maelstrom's second army. The aforementioned world is the Imagiverse Hub, a universal crossroads for inhabitants of all the known worlds to meet, greet and visit other worlds. In that same bubble is the home of the Creators, separate to the mortal Hub. You may ask why they decided to put the universal crossroads so near to perhaps the most dangerous region of the Centre. Well, one may answer that it is to keep watch of the Darkness, acting as an orbiting satellite to observe it at every angle.
Somewhere in the expanse of space, the S.S Victoria bursts into existence with a brief flash of cosmic light. Slowly, it would turn, until it's main thrusters were facing the black blob in the very centre, and make it's way towards an ineffable point in space.
Within the ship, the gramocoms would ring again. "Everyone in one piece?" echoed the voice of Jonathan. "We'll be making our way to the Threshold, but that'll be a while. In the meantime, kick back and relax with one of the records I've packed for the journey!" A scratching would be heard before an aged, warbling tune starts to play from the gramocoms.

“Well,” Vragi remarked as they materialised, “That was something.” He felt quite shaken, having never travelled at such a speed until now, and the unconventional nature of their mode of transport probably didn’t do much to soften the experience.

The dwarf hopped doggedly onto the floor and shuffled to the window to gaze over the view as they passed through the space. His eyes widened as he stared outside, mulling over their conversation and the possibilities of what might be out there, waiting for them (and whether that ‘waiting' was just a figure of speech). It wasn’t long before he realised he’d begun humming along to the music.

“Interesting song, haven’t heard one like it before.” He piped up, unsure what people might or might not be interested in discussing.

Impressively, she was barely shaken from the warp itself but rather what came after caused her to stir. Wrapped in the bedding, she rolled and fell from her bed with a thud. Fighting her way free of the sheets, she peered out groggily around for the source of her disturbance, and narrowed her eyes. "Ey! What the bleedin' 'ell is that? "

Grimms would look up from his book, his eyes blinking out for a moment as he focuses on the music for a moment. "It is music, early 20th century I would assume," he responded, rather confident in his assessment. "I wouldn't know the title, however, but-"

"Music," she huffed. "I'd prefer somethin' with a... a beat, life, temp, y'know?" She then pantomimed playing a guitar to make her point, bobbing about to the beat in her head.

The S.S Victoria was already picking up considerable speed. It was speeding past the many space-time bubbles that orbited the centre of the Imagiverse, entire worlds of different textures and colours, each entirely different, or rather similar, to the other. Soon, the spaceship had left the inner circle of worlds and was venturing deeper into the less-spacious Outer Centre, where raw Imagination, filtering through space on cosmic currents, crystallised into strange entities. As Max the Robloxian, currently playing a card game with his comrades to pass the time, glanced away from his shoddy hand towards the window, he was greeted by a large eye, belonging to a lolligo caeleste, also known as a giant space squid, its star-flecked hide a glowing blue. He would stare out of the window for several seconds before Adam nudged him back to attention. Afterwards, he kept his gaze firmly away from the window.
To name a few other peculiar phenomenon, the volunteers in the other cabin might see, through their window, a bitten green apple the size of a moon, a titanic purple whale with a little top hat perched on what could be considered its head, and a snoozing giant formed out of sea-blue stardust. It has become apparent that they were approaching the threshold in space where what can't possibly be real turns out to be just that.

“Hmmm…It’s difficult to hear but I rather like it, myself.” Vragi replied, “Ah, not that there’s anything wrong with having a different preference!” he hastily added, not wanting to get into an argument. Getting on the duchess' nerves was something he thought best avoided

As the ship passed through space, the dwarf’s attention was drawn back to the environment outside which was becoming stranger by the minute.

“Now that’s…certainly a view.” He observed, gesturing toward the window. He wondered if looking at it all for a prolonged time was good for his health, but of course this didn't stop him gawking at it anyway.

Skitters looked at Vragi, raising a brow, then, with a mightly leap, and kicking her feet, she pulled herself up far enough to a porthole to peek out. "Cor..."

Grimms steps over to lean over and look out as well. After a moment he just gives a short chuckle.

"Whaaat? What's so funny?"

Grimms pointed at the massive apple. "Look there."

"Oh? What is it?" Looking out for a moment, the raccoon looked attentively, swaying her tail excitedly, shifting her focus on one and then the other. "Sure, it is odd, is there something I'm..."

"Suppose since Mr. Giant didn't want it, anyone hungry?"

She freezes for a moment, then her ears and tail drooped, turning to give Grimms a glare. At first she seems ready to lash out for the bad joke. "All yours, sparky, I ain't eatin' after a bloomin' giant, let alone anybody."

Grimms chuckled at her reaction. He then cleared his throat and straightened his suit. "Well, to be serious for a moment," he said in monotone. "Although they seem benign so far, we should perhaps be on our guard in case there are some that are not. Not to be ominous, of course."

The gramocon speakers would shudder and whine once again. John's disembodied voice spoke thusly, "While we are waiting to reach the Threshold (we are already halfway there, by the way!), I might as well educate you illiterate thugs, and the volunteers, on a piece of mythology unheard of anywhere except the Palm Grove, a rather select world inhabited by the isolated Hand Druids - that is, in fact, 8 foot tall hands that wear druidic robes, rather hospitable people, I find. Anyway, they are possibly the only species in the Imagiverse to even know about this story - except for myself, but only because I ventured there myself and read all their books - so listen well.
There are those who claim that the Imagiverse was created by a galactic detonation known as the Imagiversal Implosion, and I was once one of those who accepted the theory. However, the religious books of the Hands say that the Imagiverse was brought to existence by the Maker, Creator of Creators, a multiversal being who could create anything from nothing with only a thought. He lived in the very rim of the Imagiverse, within His dream castle, writing the rules that would govern the workings of His new universe, as well as forming creatures that would act as His caretakers, maintaining the castle He resided in. It was there that He also made the Creators, who you might consider to be His children, if the laws of reproduction apply to multidimensional gods of His level. According to the Hands, He intended to create a... playground for His children, a universe where they, and He as well, could shape the Imagiverse to their liking, free from the pressures of Reality.
Of course, things didn't go exactly to plan. You see, the Maker, after making the Creators and teaching them His abilities, he started having nightmares. Of what exactly, the books do not specify, but each nightmare brought forth increasingly dangerous creatures - a horde of black, tar-like demons that He imprisoned in a box, only to be released many years later as the Darkness - a towering mass of flesh and eyes, known nowadays as Argus, whose blood was later spilled onto Minecraftia and became the Flux Taint, and whose body broke apart into umpteen abominations - the list goes on to mention other demons with names I cannot pronunciation or recall at the moment. The final nightmare would be His worst yet, bringing to existence a malignant entity equal in power to His own; the Maelstrom, often referred to by the Hands as the Unmaker, the opposing bringer of Destruction to the Maker's Creation.
What followed was an intense battle between the two gods, until the Maker imprisoned the Maelstrom within the rim of the Imagiverse and sent the Creators towards the Centre of the Imagiverse, where they could create in peace. The effort in imprisoning the Maelstrom, as well as the resulting trauma, sent the Maker into an aeons-long slumber, and He hasn't woken up to this day.
His fitful dreams, as well as the Maelstrom's increasing influence over the aeons of wearing down it's chains, are likely the main reason the Edge is incredibly dangerous. The Threshold is the barrier between the Centre and the Edge, the froth of chaotic Creation that would tear any ill-equipped vessel to shreds. When we do get there, I would like it if you try and stay in your cabins, and don't, out of sheer curiosity, look towards the engine. We will experience what could be the highest level of hyper-fantasy that is possible in the Imagiverse. In short terms, well, try not to go mad from whatever you see, aight?"

Vragi had his own maelstrom of sorts swirling inside his head, as his ocean of questions swelled yet again and it was all the poor dwarf could do to keep his trap shut. He was already racking his brain to make sense of the whole thing.

“I think I prefer the first theory, if it’s all the same” he mused quietly. Despite his own curiosity and usual openness, he was quite sceptical and not a fan of legends and rumours. When asked why he would usually go off an a rant that incorporated various words long the lines of 'fanciful' and 'airy-fairy' as well as some probably made-up phrases. His own thoughts were cut short by a warning to stay away from the engine.

“Ah, he just had to go and tell us not to do it. Might as well throw me off the side o’ the ship, It’ll just as well be ten times harder now.” He lamented, scratching his nose.

Skitters's body slowly slid off from the porthole and dropped to the floor as she listened to the story. She was rather personally aware of a portion of this, being as she was, but it interested her in actuality on an outsider's position. While the thought of... talking hands was absurd even to her, seeing what she has been through thus far, it isn't hard to believe either. Her life thus far has lead her to accept the improbable, similar to Mr. Grimms, but with the added drive to... harness it, rather than simply observe and document.

The dwarf then said something quietly to himself, her keen ears picking it up rather clearly. To this she snorted, and from her jaws, rather than from the device that spoke for her, a shrill sound was uttered. "Kreehkehkehkehkeh..." It was laughter, or, at least the closest thing the vessel's vocals could muster. She held her sides, with all four of her forelimbs, and rolled on the ground. "Kreeeehkehekehkehkeh!" she cackled louder, the device now just sputtering in monotone: "ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha."

She stood back up to regain her composure, giving a short soft snort as she wiped a tear from her eye and spattering it against the wall beside her. What hit was rather not water, but something black that quickly dissolved into the shadows. "Well then, I know what I'm looking forward to," she muses in an almost childish singsong manner. Her tail flicked as the last words were spoken. "'Don't,' he says... oy, oy, he had to say 'don't'," she mused, slapping her upper forepaws against her cheeks, squirming anxiously. She was toying now, possibly teasing Vragi, if only for the reason to see the dwarf's views turned on its head, much like her's was when she stepped across the threshold. It wasn't exactly malicious, but rather curiosity on how another being handles the awakening process, a bit of scientific curiosity that made her almost gitty. Maybe then, finally, somebody would be able to understand her on her own level.

Grimms on the other hand stood silent, listening, until looking at the other two. He looked to the raccoon, who was rubbing her hands together, looking rather shifty, and the dwarf being compelled by his curiosity. "Okay, what are you up to?"

"Nuuthin'," she answered cutely, rolling her eyes to the side and shifting slightly, under her mask however, she cracked a smile.

It was clear to Grimms that she was up to something, what surprised him, however, was that she wasn't even trying to hide it. On one hand he was concerned what her scheme may be, but his profile of her, so far, was not one of a particularly sadistic nature. She's greedy, prideful perhaps, she was out to gain something, but what, well he didn't know that yet, but he had theories. "You know, that warning most likely comes from experience."

"Eh, he turned out alright, give or take," she responded with a coy little shrug. "I... would prefer to keep the insulation, however."

Soon, the Innovatium-powered space shuttle was within lightyears from the Threshold, the galactic barrier between fantasy and hyper-fantasy, between conscious Imagination and the more primeval, subconscious streams of Creation. This was not readily apparent to the crew, although outside the porthole, they could see a planet-sized turtle gliding through space, four elephants perched on it's star-flecked shell, which in turn supported what looked to be a flat world, complete with continents and a spire of ice protruding from the centre of the disc. "Great A'tuin," John would announce. "The star turtle, carrying the Discworld on it's shell. It's often theorised by the collective scientific minds of the Imagiverse that it can only exist in areas of very low reality levels, so we're close to the Threshold."
Time would pass before they were now relatively touching the barrier. From a spacious distance, it seemed as if there wasn't anything unusual, just the regular specks of stars sprinkled across the infinite horizon. This close, however, there was the unnerving impression that the stars were merely painted onto a vast dome, the stars overhead climbing over the spaceship.
When John next spoke, there was an odd undertone in his voice, almost imperceptible under the feedback of the gramocon. "In the next few min- next few moments, your ideas on the fundamental workings of the universe will be strained to their limits, changed either minutely or completely. I'm sure you have gotten the hint from what you have seen so far, but once we pass the Threshold, you will know for certainty what I have known for many years. If you are of faint heart, then close your eyes, although that alone may not shield your vision from the creative froth that is (From the opposite cabin, "John, for the love of Telamon, would you JUST STOP TALKING FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE AND GET ON WITH IT!") the Threshold."
Again, the increasing intensity of the engine's hum. The gradual vibration of the cabin. Then a great deal of distance, into the Threshold, in a matter of a second.

Vragi watched the Duchess’ apparent mirth in befuddlement, one bushy eyebrow twitching anxiously. He was mostly unsure what exactly was going through the raccoon’s head though he would have to guess that she was waiting for him to trip himself up in some way or other.

As the ship began to speed up, he glanced around. His eyes widened beneath his goggles, and the dwarf grabbed the end of his beard and, spiky as it was, pulled it back over his head, tying a knot just behind. The result was what looked like a tiny creature with a large white pom-pom for a head, one dagger-like nose protruding.

Whether it would shield him from whatever it was looking at the engine would do, he had no idea, but at least now he didn’t know how to look at it, so if he did try it, he at least had a reduced risk of succeeding. The smith braced himself as the ship began to cover the remaining distance to the threshold. During this time he appeared to lock up, not even a twitch of movement.