From the Aether #5
When we first started talking about Into the Aether, there were a lot of conversations about time: The time it would take to record each week, the time it would take to edit, the time it takes to play the games, and the time it would take before anyone would ever listen to or even remotely care about what we were doing. We talked about the long game, and how it was more probable than possible that it would take years for anyone except maybe our closest friends to listen.
But suddenly our timetable shifted dramatically. You, dear reader, came through. You listened and shared and tweeted and goofed and before we knew it, we had a rad and vibrant community of listeners. And then you asked how to support the show financially, and we were floored.
The first iteration of our Patreon was as follows:
$1 or more got you a shoutout on the show. It’s an ever-growing list! It’s a fun tongue twister! It’s a good time!
$3 gave you access to the Google Drive filled with hi-res podcast episode art and mobile wallpapers.
$5 signed you up for this here newsletter, and every three months we’d publish a public quarterly issue for everyone.
On top of this, we wanted to show our gratitude by releasing a monthly bonus episode for everyone, including those who don’t back the show. The idea was that we’d never want to withhold content from anyone, and that anything we make should be accessible to all. But we goofed! Because of *gestures wildly* this! We put the newsletter, another creative outlet for us and our friends, behind a paywall accessible only to those who backed the highest tier.
So today we’re ditching those tiers and ditching the paywalls and creating a more streamlined Patreon experience: One tier. One dollar or more. You choose what works for you, and that’s that.
So here’s the deal in 2020:
The newsletter will still be available monthly, but at a new and public home on Medium. If all goes well, the newsletter won’t be the only thing you see here: https://medium.com/from-the-aether
Hi-res episode art and mobile wallpapers will still be available weekly, but at a new public Google Drive link available for everyone to peruse: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1Clogs64SkjzskgVd652bInLT4ZNNq_Pq
Thank you all for your support, and we’re looking forward to growing into something even bigger and even better with your help. Love you all!
Okay, here’s the newsletter for real now…
~Brendon + Stephen
by Stephen Hilger
From the Wild
by Stephen Hilger
The last thing was a big blue light.
I didn’t know what it was. “Maybe this is what sunsets look like in space?” I was embarrassed as I thought this, though your mind can only relate stuff to things you already know exist.
It was peaceful though, and then everything was over —
–And then I woke up.
The last thing was a big fish.
Can’t stress enough how big. One of those creatures you’d see deep underwater — so deep you might as well be in outer-space.
I read somewhere they can’t see — only hear. I pitied them as they swallowed me and my pathetic ship. They won’t even be able to enjoy the end. I can’t forget the beauty of that blinding blue light —
–And then I woke up.
I should say that whenever things end, I see the same face. It’s hard to make out. It almost looks more like a helmet. Maybe a skull.
It looks directly at me and I see what happened before. It’s the only way I’m able to remember how things end each time. Otherwise I would think I’m just endlessly dreaming.
This face is the one anchor I have. I’ve grown to find more comfort in it than the campfire I always wake up next to. The familiar smell of roasted marshmallows and the warm smile of my fellow Hearthians only make me sad now. They don’t know everything will burn in 22 minutes. The smell of marshmallows serves as a harsh reminder.
It wakes me up.
I’m currently flying somewhere I’ve never been before — at least somewhere I can’t remember. Ironically, it’s a big green planet. Second to the sun, it’s one of the biggest landmarks in the sky. I imagine a lot of young Hearthians dream of flying here. I breach the green atmosphere. I close my eyes, brace for impact, and think of their dreams.
I open my eyes to see my ship has crashed into the ocean. This planet is almost entirely water, and I’m about a stone’s throw away from three very strong tornadoes. My ship’s headlights and landing gear are broken, but I’m OK on fuel and oxygen. I manage to narrowly avoid the storms and find a small island. I clumsily bring myself upon the shore and anchor my ship. After making some repairs, I lie down and do something I can’t remember ever doing:
Rest.
I look up at the sky. Just clouds, an unsettling green, and lightning. I laugh, “This would be a lousy place to die. Wouldn’t even see the light…”
I close my eyes and try to just listen to the water. I hope for it to be more relaxing, but the storms have replaced any tranquility found in the rhythm of waves. There is no rhythm on this planet, none I’m familiar with at least.
As I debate departing, I suddenly feel as if I’m floating.
I am.
As if the sky was flushed, I see the black void of space. Gravity has suddenly shifted in orbit, removing the green ball of water from the small island. Now it’s just me, the land, and my ship — all suddenly floating in different directions. I try to jetpack over to my ship, but I realize immediately it’s too late. If I use all my fuel, my pack defaults to using my oxygen as a makeshift propellant. I’m going to run out of oxygen anyway…. I give it my best shot.
My hand grazes the lens of my landing camera, but I don’t get a grip. My ship is gone.
I float in space. The most disconcerting thing about being outside of your ship is no direction feels “right.” There’s no true up or down, left or right. I have another silly thought as I die:
I wonder if I stay very still, if I can become a planet.
The last thing was me —
–And then I wake up.
I start crying. I get some looks by those at the campfire, but no one asks me what’s wrong. They probably think I’m just nervous. After all, today is my first time launching into space.
I think about the face. I wish it could talk. I wish I could share what I’m seeing with anyone else. Sometimes I tell the Hearthians what is going to happen. I don’t do this to scare them, but to join them. I keep waking up, but I wish I could sleep. If there’s no avoiding the end of this galaxy, I wish we could all know. I wish we could sit by the campfire and watch the blue light together. It’s sad, but there’s finality there. Maybe it’s selfish. I just wish I didn’t have to be alone each time. Even when I stay on Timber Hearth. Even when I say or am told “I love you” before the big blue light arrives, I know it’s not permanent. I’m going to wake up tomorrow as if it never happened.
This time I don’t leave. I don’t stop crying. I lie on the dirt and look at the stars, smelling roasted marshmallows as the light takes over —
–And then I wake up.
The face I see is never different, but I swear it almost gave me a look this time. Or maybe I’m projecting. I watch this last life of mine. Myself on the ground. I see that my friend by the fire was crying too. They just kept it quiet. I guess they didn’t want to wake me up.
I’m awake now. A new life. I see my friend by the fire. They look up at me with a soft smile and ask if I’m excited for my first day going into space. I give them a giant hug and tell them that I love them and the campfire and the marshmallows and everything — even the evil fish — and I won’t let it all go away. I don’t let them go as they pat me on the back. They wait a second and then reply:
“…are you sure you’re OK to go into space?”
I laugh. I don’t know. Every time I leave this planet, I’m not sure what will happen to me. All I know is that I’ll wake up. I’ll be OK. And as long as I keep waking up, I should keep going out there. There has to be a reason for me to be seeing the face. To keep seeing my life before.
I know this won’t be the last time. I know I will crash. I’ll be eaten. I’ll drown. But despite all that, I’m still here. Everything is still here. Knowing that, I feel happy for the first time in what feels like forever.
I go into space.
I tell my friend I’ll see them tomorrow.
The Silliest Snacks Spectacular
by Brendon Bigley & Andrea Caprotti
TWG was always meant to be an experiment, a new form of podcast network where the community of listeners drove what shows were created or destroyed. A dream of mine since its inception has been the idea of a public feed of potential show pilots, a place where the creators on the network could test any and all concepts for viability.
Anyway, this is a very serious way of saying the feed exists now, you can subscribe to it, and that I made the Silliest Snacks episode with Andrea because the Discord was clamoring for it as unironically as I’d hoped.
So here’s the first episode of Into the Aether’s evil twin:
Out of the Nether: A Dark Web Audio Shitpost
This newsletter was made possible by you, our incredible patrons.
We could never thank you enough. ❤
Stephen + Brendon