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The Hungering Darkness
Posted: 28 Oct 2005 02:28 PM |
It was an insidious thing, this living darkness. It crept slowly and patiently across the turbid, tempestuous sea, clamping its phantom teeth upon the east coast and sucking life and light and joy from the mainland. At first the signs were obvious and violent. And then, for a time, the symptoms went away. None realised that the silence was a symptom in of itself and that the darkness had never ceased to feed since the nightmares stopped manifesting themselves.
She had been counting on their complacency. She had been counting on their inactivity. And they had not disappointed her.
This time, when the taint of darkness rolled in from the sea like a nightmare tide, it did not recede. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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Halloween Events
Posted: 28 Oct 2005 02:29 PM |
All Times/Days = UTC
31 October 2005, 09:00-13:00 – Bloodwood (Brandibuck Vale Exit) – The Sword
1 November 2005, 01:00-05:00 – Brandibuck Coast – The Struggle
1 November 2005, 06:00-09:00 – Brandibuck Vale –The Serpent
Time Zone Converter
Enter above days/times and convert “From Time Zone” UTC to your time zone.
More details about Halloween sessions forthcoming: stay tuned. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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News
Posted: 28 Oct 2005 03:13 PM |
A terrible shroud of darkness has settled onto the East Coast and blotted out the sun. Brandibuck, Mirghul and the fringes of Midor Deep Forest have been plunged into a cycle of night that knows no day.
Strangely, though, there is one place on the East Coast which the blight has left untouched...
* * *
Ships that sail along the east coast continue to be lost at an alarming rate. Shaken sailors and survivors speak of a huge sea serpent that roams the waters, a beast so black that to look upon it is to go blind.
No ship dares to pass within visual range of Maldovia. It is said that a mountain of shadow has accumulated there ever since the world nearly ended. All who have seen it seem to believe that it is a biological feature rather than a topographical one: not something formed by earthquakes shifting earth, but instead a living cancerous tumour.
* * *
Mirghul continues to wither away more noticeably than before. The local rangers have withdrawn to the forest's untouched western borders. Nature screams and nature bleeds, so violently now that those attuned to nature's whispering voice can hear it like a sound right at the edge of hearing. But none know where the wound is, let alone how to heal it.
* * *
Bloodwood is once more the topic of many strange tales. Some tell of a mysterious veiled and hooded woman wreathed in an aura of menace and power. She speaks no words, and her silence is echoed by the woods. Where she goes, emptiness follows.
Others speak fearfully of a sword that was last seen months ago, when the Nightmares first manifested. A vicious weapon with a mind of its own, it was seen only briefly when the Nightmares first began to feed, but now it has returned... more vicious, more bloodthirsty, than before. Some say it stalks a man; others say the man stalks it.
The man is described as tall, lithe, dressed in black. His right arm is skeletal and his hair is an unnaturally vibrant shade of purple. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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The Sword
Posted: 30 Oct 2005 05:00 AM |
It was quiet in Bloodwood. The usual thud of giant feet was noticeably missing, and even the howling wind had stilled its breathing and ceased to move the creaking branches.
Somewhere within that silence, the sword stalked.
When it had first entered the woods, he had simply dismissed it. Many had heard the call of Archiax and been drawn to the woods. Many had fallen under the thrall of the nightmare beast, becoming little more than murderous monsters more savage than those that already dwelt in the woods, driven mad by bloodlust. It was only after the sword had retreated to the nearby marshes to the north-west that he had found out what it was.
There were things about him that they did not know, and he had not cared to enlighten them. For one, he was a collector, first and foremost; it was what he lived for, and nothing else mattered to him. For another, the defence of Brandibuck had never concerned him. There were safeguards in place here, forces at work beyond their comprehension. When this had last happened, four hundred years ago, something had stopped the Syncursed. Something… or someone.
They could run around and prepare as much as they wanted; but the truth of it was that the scope of this disaster was above and beyond what mere mortal minds could grasp. No, whatever happened here to end the battle of shadow and light would not be decided by them.
But there was no point in explaining that to them. They did not have his perspective on the matter. They wanted to believe that their lives and actions actually made a difference. And so he gave them the clues that they could have easily found themselves. And he guided them towards actions that they would have taken even had he not been there to nudge them along. And in the meantime, life continued for him as it always had: he waited, he watched, he recorded, he collected.
Today, it was the sword that he was after for his collection.
Oh, he had his share of tomes, scrolls and artefacts, all meticulously preserved. But more than anything, it was lives which he took, conserved, kept. He had a genuine Maldovian relic. He had a disembodied Celestial. He had an extremely rare breed of Illithid. And there were others—so many others. Things of terror, things of beauty, things impossibly rare and unique.
The living, bloodthirsty sword would be a challenge. Perhaps the biggest challenge he’d ever faced. Dimly, he wondered whether he’d bitten off more than he could chew this time.
In his hand, he held a small ornate box. Within the box was an artefact of decidedly Illithid origin. It was something he, Vansane and Menmuir had found a little over half a century ago, during that one disastrous expedition they’d taken to Maldovia’s unexplored north-western regions.
The first and only time he had used the artefact, it had incapacitated him for months. After that, he’d left it with Menmuir for safekeeping.
Now, decades later, he wasn’t sure whether he was any more prepared to use it than he had been all those years ago.
But if he knew what the sword was, then Syn’s forces must have known, too. Recently, the reports had started coming in again. The sword had re-entered the woods. And it was heading east, to the cliffs.
To the mirror.
So now it was a race. Archiax had beckoned to the sword, and the sword was on its way to the living city of shadow. And heaven help them all if the sword fell into the hands of Syn’s forces…
Pushing the thought away, he put the box into his pocket and started to assemble the traps he’d brought along. There was still a lot to be done, and not enough time to do it.
And there was still the issue of finding the right bait for the ultimate trap. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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The Struggle
Posted: 30 Oct 2005 05:19 AM |
It was such a quiet thing, a sound that existed on the edge of hearing. Its influence was undeniable. Its pull was irresistible.
Amidst the roiling emotions of fear and dread that churned within those who dwelt in the darkened regions of the east coast, the song came. It drifted soothingly from the sea and touched their minds, promising peace and calm.
Angel-song. Siren-song.
And they came in twos and threes, walking zombie-like through the woods, and waited at the coast. From Brandibuck Coast to Syn’s Cliffs, all the way down to Midor and Paws Coast, they gathered. Listening to the song. Waiting for the promise to be fulfilled.
Overhead, the gargantuan, half-seen shapes of a flock shadow-bats wheeled in silence. Bats as big as a house, easily capable of carrying off a grizzly mammoth in their talons.
The crowd grew. The bats waited.
The song went on… |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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The Serpent
Posted: 30 Oct 2005 05:56 AM |
His name was Bibbido and he was known as the resident drunk of Swiftfoot Hall. The man practically lived in the place and had not been known to set foot outside the Hall since, well, forever.
Which is precisely what he did.
At first he was merely an object of curiosity, this bumbling drunken Gnome who spoke gibberish and ambled aimlessly down Brandibuck’s streets. Every now and then he would perform an amusing magic trick, or set off a sparkler, or cast a simple spell of light upon those he encountered.
The walks grew longer. The tricks became more complex.
Then… the pumpkins arrived.
Yes, the pumpkins.
The wagons rolled into Brandibuck Vale. And one by one the old Gnome set the jack-o-lanterns around the vale: in windowsills, on the streets, by the gates.
“’S th’ ligh’ tha’ keepsssh th’ darknussh ‘way,” he would slur. “Gotta ssshtay happeh. Gotta parrrty. Not jusssht in th’ Hall. Gotta parrrty ev’rywhurr or elsssh we loozsh.”
And then he would continue on his way. Performing tricks, distributing sparklers and alcohol and lollies, and in his own little way, doing his bit to keep the darkness at bay. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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Countdown
Posted: 30 Oct 2005 10:32 PM |
| ((5 hours to go until "The Sword")) |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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Countdown
Posted: 31 Oct 2005 06:26 PM |
| ((1.5 hours until "The Struggle")) |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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The Struggle: Epilogue
Posted: 31 Oct 2005 11:57 PM |
They came to the coast by the hundreds: entranced by the music. Lured by the promise.
They came... and the immense shadow-bats bore them away.
No one knows where they went. No one ever heard from them again. Of those that vanished, only a few survived. If you could call it surviving.
For they don't even recall being carried away. They don't recall being slashed, sliced, sacrificed and left for dead. They don't remember the mad escape, the musical light, the transformation that took place and tainted their souls and minds...
No, those that came back from Maldovia remembered only an insane dream of darkness and madness. The details of the adventure slipped from their minds.
They stirred on Brandibuck Coast as if waking from a dream.
Those who went on the insane mad romp as shadow tentacle creeper things through Maldovia will have trouble recalling the details of the adventure. By tomorrow, you will only remember it as a vague dream.
Perhaps it is for the best. Some horrors are not meant to be remembered. Some atrocities can never be justified. And even in hell there is sin, and some sins cannot be forgiven. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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Countdown
Posted: 01 Nov 2005 12:01 AM |
| ((1 hour until the Blood and Nightmares finale. If you have a tale to add to this storyline as it draws to a close, feel free to post in the Blood and Nightmares - The Players Perspective.)) |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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The Serpent: Epilogue
Posted: 01 Nov 2005 04:16 AM |
So. It happened again and, yeah. I won again. Pfft. Stupid Syn and his stupid children. I just wish...
Ugh. I just wish they'd stop.
Oh, but you're wondering who I am, and you're wondering what happened. Well. Long story short? I'm, like, a really old and powerful dragon. Yeah. And I just finished helping the people of Brandibuck and some random adventurers to kick the butt of another old and powerful dragon. It's something of an old vendetta, crops up every couple of centuries. But I won. I mean... I always win.
Sound easy?
Welllll, I have to say, I made it look easier than it actually was.
(I can't take this. I can't take this any more. I want to quit but darn it I can't. Do you... do you KNOW what it's like to be the first and last and only one of your kind? To be the only one who can do the things you do?)
I... I... I...
It breaks me, you know. Look, I don't mean to whine. But it breaks me every single bloody time I do this. Is it too much to ask for... for... for them to just stop being nasty? Is it too much to ask that someone else take the initiative, realise what needs to be done and... and make a stand...
It is. It is too much, isn't it?
But I'm just too old for this. I'm not a three-thousand-year-old hatchling any more and... and... hnnhh... I'll miss Brandibuck. But oh, so long ago, I went to sleep on purpose. Went to sleep and waited to be woken up (and prayed I never would be) because... because I can't be allowed to exist. Because I am growing but the world isn't growing with me. Annnd... now I'm too big for the world.
I mean, for Swiftfoot's sake... I could probably sneeze and blow away all the dust from the Kobai if I wanted. I could probably grow to my real size and stand ankle-deep in The Murdering Sea with a wingspan one-third the length of Vives. But... it's not something I'm proud of, you know? It's... it's why I went to sleep in the first place.
*Sniff* Ahehh.... I never told them. I never told them but I hope they know in their hearts that... that the victory was entirely theirs. Funny how no one noticed when she said that I feed off them the same way she feeds off them. But the difference is, I don't take anything. I don't leech off them. She does. She takes all that rage and despair and pain and terror from them, uses it to power that nightmare machine so that it spits out more rage and despair and pain and terror. To feed anew.
I'm... I'm just a mirror. I'm just a prism that focuses all that beautiful inner light that they possess within them. That all living beings possess within them, no matter how far they've fallen in life or how cynical they've become. Everything they are is me. And without them I don't exist.
But without them, she doesn't exist either.
I want to tell them that what they did today was entirely their doing. I was just, like, the physical symbol of all that hope and all that happiness. And you know what? I find I can't hate her. Because she will never know the meaning of those words. I mean... can you imagine? Can you imagine only ever looking forward to pain and humiliation and defeat until the end of the world? Can you imagine never knowing that warm fuzzy feeling you get when someone throws you a surprise party and all the presents you get are everything you asked for?
And when I say never, I mean never.
Hell. No wonder she's bitter.
That's not to say I agree with her, or that I like what she is. It's just this understanding you get, you know? In a way, we're peers. I mean... how many people do you know who've existed since the beginning of freaking time? Or close enough to the beginning; but let's not get into semantics here. It's such a hard and lonely and painful thing to be an ancient immortal entity. No wonder most of them are such pricks. If they all had bleeding hearts like me...
This is why I can't stay. This is why I can't take it any more. Stupid Syn and his stupid children and oh I hate this stupid bleeding heart of mine... why I can't I just be like stupid Midoran and kick stupid evil butt in the name of what is holy and righteous and good, and pat myself on the back afterwards without feeling sorry for the stupid evil dummy who was practically asking for a buttkicking in the first place?
Hrrrhhh....
Besides, if I stayed, I'd be as bad for them as she was. They would come to rely on me. And eventually they would come to hate and resent me. For stealing their destiny from them. For achieving what they themselves could have achieved without my help, thereby robbing them of a victory. No, it's better this way. My departure will either leave them wiiiide open and vulnerable, or make them stronger and more capable than ever before.
I fly over Brandibuck one last time on the way up and away. It's a brilliant, shining valley of light full of laughing, partying people, boxed in and bounded to the north, south and east by dark and dangerous places. Like a haven. Like a ray of sunshine stabbing through the gloom of a bunch of storm clouds.
...I think they'll do all right without me. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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News
Posted: 01 Nov 2005 09:05 PM |
The east coast is as it always was. The sun shines once more and the shroud of darkness has been lifted. One would never guess that Bloodwood, Brandibuck and Mirghul were the stage for a drama that has played out since time immemorial: a story of fear and hope and faith.
The eastern waters are still stormy and treacherous but not as deadly as they have been in recent times: this is nothing new, for the east coast has always been dangerous. Nevertheless, routes are shifted to give Maldovia and the whirlpool known only as The Hungering Maw an even wider berth than before.
As for the serpent, it was last seen angling towards Brandibuck and has not been heard from since.
There are tales told of the fate of the sword and the man, but they are vague at best. Few knew what actually happened. Perhaps they'll tell if you seek them and ask. Then again, perhaps they won't.
The song no longer calls; it has fallen silent at last, whatever purpose it served accomplished. But somewhere deep in the rotten heart of Maldovia, the song lingers still, a feeble and lonely melody in a frozen marsh: a plaintive dirge for one who suffered a fate worse than death.
Life goes on as it always has, tinted to varying degrees by shades of light and dark. |
The subculture of my dreams
Is waiting for me to fall asleep.
I know you're scared—you should be.
I know you're scared. |
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