Haunted Halloween: Spooky Story Event!



  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

    Имя Пользователя: Asmodell



    I (Harm) lived in the city for a long time, worked in a big trade shop in which goods which we with partners brought from Dunheim were on sale, but the last trip changed my life . My boss was a very powerful person and as soon as we arrived in Dunheim he went to meet with some man from the Big Council . For anybody there was no secret why he left , but nobody spoke about it ,the reason was in fires in the sky .After returning, my boss was already not acting like yourself, an adult , but slender man is aged like 10 years .Arriving in his hometown, he closed his shop and advised not to waste time .In the beginning I received this information negatively , I thought he was crazy, but when the city began to empty I began to think again about the words of the boss and decided to return to his native village to his parents .

             But all I saw when I came back ,instead of meadows and green fields - the drying up , dying earth . My village is fully consistent with the current state of the land, sick and exhausted people .The fear that my family had become the same scared me, but I hoped for the best .Coming to my father's house I was overtaken by resentment that I had not come home for 10 years .Going into the house all I saw was an almost empty house and sitting in the corner on the stretcher an old woman , who was glaring at me with a look .Children always think their mothers are the most beautiful regardless of age ,but he barely recognized mother . Coming closer I greeted her and hugged her. Asked where he was , but I saw the smile and it was not a smile of motherly love ,but rather the animal grin .But instead of answering, she just hummed :

    Harm came home. ,

    And his mother found

    Where the father does not know,

    but father yearned for his son

    Repeated again and again .And only a few hours later I began to think, but how was the mother if the father did not come home for so long ,because always sitting paralyzed on a chair ? It was with these thoughts that I fell asleep .

             Knock.knock. What? It went through my head .I lazily opened eyes, but could not see darkness . I forgot unaccustomed to light in the house light , and the only thing I heard knock , knock ! I worried about my mother and called her, but what I heard in response made my heart beat much more often - it was a hysterical scream , followed by even more hysterical laughter and more often heard a sound - knock knock. And from the doorway of the next room and ran out to my mother ! But my mother was paralyzed and could not walk ,but now she was standing on her crooked legs ,holding a piece of bone in her hands .When our eyes crossed, I heard her giggling , and then she started talking.:

             - Pathetic people defiled the world, the gods became angry and soon they will punish us, but if we wash away our sins with blood , we will save the world of Verra, your father gave for this purpose all his blood and flesh !

             As soon as she talked, she ran at me with such speed that I did not even have time to defend myself ,a bone stab pierced my stomach , severe pain spilled over my body ,but she was immediately extinguished by fear . On the strength of a push I fell on a chair and broke it . I got a piece of wood under my eye , which I instinctively grabbed and plunged into my mother's throat . black, rotten blood doused my face, but my mother's grip weakened and I was able to push her away . running out on the street I could only hear choking in the blood of laughter . Ran into the street I was overcome by weakness from loss of blood ,I could not stand ,his eyes were filled with tears from thinking of what is really going on . This did not last long . I heard footsteps . They were neighbors coming out of their houses .I with all remaining forces were trying to say :

             - Please, help, my mother, she ...she. ..

             But as soon as they came closer I saw in their hands bits of bone and animal , greedy, crazy grin on their faces .From powerlessness I fell on a back and my look directed in the night sky , to be afraid and cry there were no forces .The lights in the sky are so beautiful, like tongues of flame in the black sea .And why did everyone think they would bring an end to our world ? On the contrary, they may carry a beginning , an opportunity to creation from ashes...The lights in the sky are so beautiful 
  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

    Username: Czar

    Discord: Zara#0001


    Laughter banished the ominous silence that harbored these newly refined woods. The night sky bore into the heart of the forest; it was only by the radiance of the moon that this cluster of tired friends tread forward along the lonesome dirt trail. It was a long evening of dancing, drinking, and overall excitement that embodied the town from whence they came. With arms over shoulders, and wobbly legs struggling to stand up straight, the group slurred songs of their homelands as they made their way back to one of their friends' freeholds.  

    The youngest of the group, Aiden, lagged behind the initial squadron of friends. With his hands in his pockets, he sauntered forward looking off into the wilderness. Within the woods, he could hear the disconcerting noises of wild animals at play, the squawks and chirps of the night time creatures did not ease his growing anxiety.

    Within the forest, Aiden also heard a peculiar sound, one that he was unfamiliar with... It was much like a wind chime, but instead of the high melodic pitch one would give, it was low and reverberated throughout his body. He looked to his friends to see if they noticed as well, but they seemed to be oblivious.

    He inspected it further, his ears perked up, trying to pinpoint the specific location it was emanating from. He soon realized how much distance there was between him and the group now, nearly stepping into the bosk, he quickly backed away and joined his group again. Now, away from the thicket and the entrancing chime that took place only moments ago.

    Some time had passed as they walked down the eerie trail, it must have been an hour since Aiden had heard the noise that now occupied his mind. He was beginning to feel exceedingly uncomfortable out in the woods, and so was Tamora, a bubbly elven girl with thick blond hair. “Do you even know where we’re going at this point? We’ve been walking for ages now”, she stated, perturbed by the possibility of being lost.  “Of course I know where we’re going.” preached Dorian, a young Vaelune noble, wealthy by his parents' lineage. He seemed agitated that Tamora would ask such a dubious question. His response did nothing to repulse the parties concern of their whereabouts.

    It slowly became apparent that the further they tread down this trail the uglier their surroundings became. Fog now enshrouded the dirt path, and brittle branches stuck out like thorns ready to catch anyone who got too close.

    A now familiar sound echoed throughout the depths of the woods, the ominous chime became apparent to Aiden once more. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to locate where the bewitching jingle was coming from. "You seem to be a little unsettled, what is wrong?" Aiden turned to the voice who was now inquiring of him. He could not quite make out whom he was talking to, though he did notice the outline of pointed ears protruding from their hair. He suddenly realized that it must be Celia, an elven patron they grouped up with at 'The Mighty Beard' tavern. He hesitated to reply, "Honestly, I'm a little stressed. I keep hearing this noise off in the woods, do you hear that? It.. it sounds like a ringing, no not a ringing. Like a wind chime, but deeper. You hear it, don't you?"

    Uncertainty was radiating off of him in waves, he didn't realize how unnerved he truly was until he started speaking.

    "Oh yes, I have heard that for quite some time now." Celia gripped Aiden's hand and stepped closer to him. "Why don't you follow me to see what it is, It must be right through the woods. It is so very near." Her body was surprisingly warm pressed against his, as if the cold temperature did nothing to her. "I-I don't think that would be too wise of an idea, we would get lost, wouldn't we. Even more lost than we already are."  Her grip tightened around him, making his hand ache uncomfortably. "Oh please, we will be careful. Trust me, let me take you to look for it." The chiming grew louder around him, he was very tempted to see what it was that was projecting such a sound. Abruptly, a pain cascaded around Aiden’s hand, heat radiated off of Celia like a forge. It stung him in ways that were much too abnormal for a normal person to handle. He winced and looked up at her, shaking his hand away from her grip. “Celia, what is the matter? You are hot like the sun, are you ill?” Celia spoke no words, she only stared at him. Aiden glanced up towards the group in front of him but saw something far too frightening to bear. Next to Dorian stood Celia, the moonlight was bright enough to make out her auburn hair and pointed ears.

    Aiden came to a stop, his breath hitched as he dared to glance at whomever he was just talking to. Sunken eyes stared back at him with a visage grayer than any cobblestone found in his village. Aiden spoke, his voice shaking uncontrollably, “W-who are you…” Whoever it was, it was certainly not Celia. It stared at him long, it’s abhorrent unmoving eyes locked with his terrified gaze. Without a word, it walked into the deep of the forest, leaving Aiden in the middle of the trail alone and trembling in fear.

    “There is still much of this world we know not about.” He recalled his father telling him. “You must be careful out there, Verra is still very dangerous for a lad like you.”

    With that, he ran back to his group of friends, shrieking about what he had just experienced.

    “Still drunk are we?” Dorian chuckled, wrapping his arm around Aiden's shoulder. They continued to tread down the dirt trail, but the whole time they did, the chime never ceased to play.  

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: Ewrekt
     Discord name: [!MP Audio]
    Entry: The Contract

         The haggard old witch cackled giddily with excitement as Tim signed his name with blood onto the contract. He would do anything to save his precious daughter who was withering slowly away from leprosy. Even if it meant bargaining his very soul to this vile witch to do so. There was no way for him to know if this would actually work and would cure his daughter; she didn't have very long at all and this seemed the only way. The witch leered at him with anticipation. Her sunken eyes widened as he handed her the contract. She hastily snatched it up, grinning mischievously as she tucked it away at her side. The decrepit witch reminded him that his soul would not perish. Instead it would belong to her, to do with as she wished. To what ends she would use his immortal soul he could not fathom.

         Tim was led to a large table made of gnarled wood. There were dark candles strewn about and strange markings both carved and burned into it. He was instructed to lay down on it. Sweaty and shaking, Tim lay down feeling sick and utterly helpless. The gangly woman began chanting in an unrecognizable tongue. Dark mists slowly seeped into the witches' hovel as she continued chanting; seemingly coming to life as they swirled about and encompassed him. Tim blacked out as the sinister mist engulfed then shot into his body through every orifice.

         Tim stumbled awake nervous and disoriented. His vision so foggy he could not get his bearings enough to stand. His body felt foreign; uncomfortable. As he fumbled about trying to regain some semblance of composure, the witch grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and carried him to a portly old mirror and raised him up in front of it for him to see. As his vision cleared he realized to his horror he was no longer the Tim he knew himself to be. No longer even human at that. Tim stared into the mirror and into the face of a quadripedal stuffed bear looking back at him. The devious old hag tied a red bow around his neck while laughing maniacally with delight.

  •                            User: CountBrownbear


    Gather round Gather round, old gran said,

    And I’ll tell you a tale that would chill the dead.


    “What will you tell us?” little Luther asked,

    “Why the tale or Marcus and the witches task”.


    Little Luthers eyes grew large inside of his head,

    He had heard whispers of the dreaded dead.


    For that is where this tale leads,

    A world full of dread, dead fallen like leaves.


    It starts with a wish involving lust and greed,

    And ends with a curse that will make your soul bleed.


    Marcus was a man who had little to his name,

    He would work in his field and scorn others with gain.


    He would look at people, who had riches and wealth,

    And curse them as undeserving unlike himself.


    For he saw himself as one who should be a lord,

    And for that he felt he was due to be adored.


    Marcus had heard whispers of a woman, who could change your life,

    And ignored parts of the tales that were covered in strife.


    He sought her out, this elusive Witch,

    And demanded she help him get out of the ditch.


    She cackled with glee at this shortsighted man,

    And said she would help him if he followed her plan.


    But I warn you once! Said the devilish Witch,

    Break our pact and you’ll wish you were back in the ditch.


    I’ll make you regret the day you were born,

    And fill your existence with pain and scorn.


    The plan was simple he thought in his head,

    He just had to welcome her and give her a bed.


    The witch could come knocking once every few years,

    He would give her a feast and maybe a few beers.


    She took out a knife and cut open his hand,

    Chanting a spell that did not seem so grand.



    That’s it? He asked once the chanting was through,

    She nodded once and told him that will do.


    He ran back to town with an eagerness and glee,

    For he was so close to becoming what he dreamt to be.


    He got to his home, the shack in the field,

    And saw a great manor now stood where his crops used to yield.


    With a cry of joy he rushed to the door,

    And saw rooms full of riches, art and more.


    He was now a lord he would boast to his piers,

    And lived as such throughout the years.


    He married a young lass who was as bitter as he,

    And together they made a large bitter family.


    They lived without worry a life care free,

    That was until one day, when the witch came demanding her fee.


    Marcus was out with his sons on a hunt,

    His wife answered the door with a miserable grunt.


    An old crone was knocked looked cold and haggard,

    She shivered and sighed her breath was ragged.


    What do you want old woman? His wife said,

    Why a nice place by the fire and somewhere for my head.


    With a cruel laugh and a curler push,

    Marcuse’s wife shoved the old woman into a bush.


    Go away you old beggar before my husband hears!

    We worked for our fortune over many years!


    With a cackle of glee the old woman vanished without a trace,

    And a feeling of dread settled in her place.


    Out in the woods Marcus stopped on his hunt,

    And gutted his sons without so much as a grunt.


    He strung them up on horse like hares,

    And retuned to his home to show off his wares.


    His wife screamed with horror at the sight,

    Her sons mangles corpses out there in the light.



    Marcus did not give her much time to dwell,

    For he cut off her head like it was a tree to fell.


    He moved though the house killing all he found,

    No one escaped him not even his hound.


    A feast he prepared with his mighty hunting haul,

    And invited the town to dine in his grand hall.


    It was all going well and everyone was tucking in,

    That was until the smith found a finger in the bin.


    With degust and horror all the townspeople knew,

    That what they had been enjoying was not normal stew.


    Marcus started laughing a horrid and cackling thing,

    And opened his mouth and began to sing.


    He sang them a story of how he acquired his riches,

    And how so much better he was to be out the ditches.


    He was still singing as they lashed him to the wall,

    Humming away as they barred while the door.


    The smith lit the match and they set it to the house,

    The singing grew fainter as faint as a mouse.


    And so!, said Old Gran with an abrupt shout,

    Every year sprits of Marcuse’s family do sprout.


    And hunt those on hallowed night fest,

    To join in their feast and not as a guest.


    Little Luther jumped up with a fright!

    For tomorrow was the dreaded Halloween night!    
  • Username: NeuroGuy


    Shut. Up.” you hiss under your breath, hoping nobody hears you. It has been a week since these damned whispers first intruded your thoughts. You welcomed them at first, after all, you should be coming of age this year and for a Vek, the proud celestial orc race, such whispers are rare and a sign of greatness. But the whispers were… unfamiliar, and every time you wanted to tell someone about them, ask for guidance, something stopped you. You could not really place it, perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps you did not want help figuring out your coming of age. After all, you knew of no living Vek who heard whispers at such a young age. 

    But all attempts to decipher them had been futile, and the damned whispers would not stop. They had stolen your dreams. You still do not understand how you can fall asleep with the constant ethereal badgering but somehow you do, or you think you do. You wake up in the same spot, though you feel no rest and recall no dream and it has begun to show.

    You look around for the shop keep, he doesn’t seem like he heard anything. Good, all you need is the herbs. The star-walker’s tea is not commonly consumed by someone so young and inexperienced, especially not without a guide, but all else had failed and certainly you can handle it, the whispers were a sign.

    “Oy, Ruthgar,” the shop keep says, recognizing you, “you realize you need to sleep to dream right?”.

    “Very funny. I wonder how you looked when you were coming of age” you snap back, all too aware of the dark circles under your eyes and your haggard look.

    “Every Vek follows their own constellation. Whatever you’re up to is between you and your guide” he says. You just nod and leave, who could guide you but yourself? The whispers chose you, not any of the elders.

    You notice your pace quicken, you are out of ideas, if this tea doesn’t work… “IT COMES! THEY COME! FOR US ALL!” you jump, then feel annoyed at being startled by the screaming lunatic standing by a wall as you approach him. You keep walking forward, the whispers have not let up and allow you no reprieve. “IT CO…” the lunatic’s words get caught in his throat, his blind milk-white eyes, a common consequence of consuming too much star-walker’s tea, seem to follow you. When you reach the lunatic, his eyes locked to yours somehow, he begins to scream once more “BLOOD! IT WILL RUN AND WE WILL SEEK IT!”. You realize he is walking behind you now as if he sees you. Do the whispers feel louder or are you just flustered? The screaming and the whispers meld together, a deafening cacophony as you start to run. You can’t make out any words anymore, you need to dream, you need answers, and you need them now.

    You slam the door shut behind you, the whispers are now as loud as the lunatic’s shouting, a damned tongue you do not know. Your hands tremble as you reach for the water you had started boiling before you left. You are losing your composure; you’ve had enough of this. “Damn!” you almost spill your cup pouring the water and you still need to steep the herbs. You can no longer wait, you shove a handful of herbs in your mouth, and drink the hot water, swallowing it all as it scalds your throat on its way down. This is it, insanity or clarity. You’d welcome either at this point.

    The whispers stop. No. Everything has stopped. You fall, eyes open but when you stand up, you are in a dream. 

    Foreign yet familiar, you realize you have dreamed this dream a thousand times before. Each time starting the same: the portal had failed, you were all doomed but each time you had donned a new mask, a new weapon, new prey.

    You dream it a thousand times again it feels, as if you were stuck for an eternity… had the tea been too much? Every time you go through the dream, the same whispers begin to emerge, growing louder and you feel its hold on your mind tighten a bit more. Another dream, you no longer feel despair as the gate fails. Another dream, you do not even think about how to escape this world. Another dream, your purpose is clear: find a weapon and spill blood.

    Your features became indistinguishable, no longer Vek, nor Ren’Kai nor any other blasted race you know. Your eyes are aglow, an impossibly wide grin, and a thin black film that seems to emanate steam while you are standing alone, bodies at your feet and a vicious storm closing in on all sides. You now realize you are looking at yourself from the outside, as the whispers have gotten louder, you have gotten further and further from your body. You look at yourself one final time, even in that final moment, your grin does not waiver.

    You wake up, a broken cup beside you as you lay in the still darkness of the night and nothing else, how long were you out for? Your mind is blank. No, it is more than that... it feels as if Ruthgar’s body is being guided and you cautiously observe what was once yours. You approach the window, the strange glow in the sky somehow does not come as a surprise, but is met with your knowing expectation. The glow obscures the stars on which your people rely on for guidance. You already know, somewhere close by, the ancient portal is swirling and charged with arcane power once more. Your destiny.

    Beyond awaits a dangerous world, undisturbed for millennia: Verra. Beyond awaits the dangers and horrors that drove off your ancestors, lead to their corruption and death. Beyond the portal are the whispers.

    Beyond the portal is the whisperer... 

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

                                     Username: T-Elf

                                         Entry: A Vek from Verra

    She flips another card over showing a shower of yod streaming down.

    "This portends a tragedy befalling you," I say as I look into the confused eyes of a young female human.  Again? Like so many others these days, the cards, charts, and hands, seem to be offering the same dreadful futures.  The girl leaves my caravan like she was escaping from a fangler.  I sigh; I always tell what has been shown to me, though it would be more profitable if I lied.

    I was born rather small but with a gift of divination, a little beyond just the navigational skills of star reading like my Vek ancestors. Through the years many have sought my consultation, but I had wanderlust in my veins and set out in my humble caravan to see Verra and make my way.  I have a sign saying, "Reader of Stars, Cards, and Hands, Madam Q"  I usually park just outside of towns and villages along the main road to be easily seen by those who may want readings that will come out, mostly at night.

    I cast a glance at the night sky with it's disturbing red eyes peppering the stars.  Is this the cause of all I have been seeing?

    I set down to draw up my own chart again.  More and more it is showing me dangers headed my way.

    This time it's an elf male who comes to visit.  He want his palm read.  Mostly it appears he's had a good life; healthy, well off, but his life line is cut short with an unusual scar that I bring to his attention.  He says it just appeared one day, he couldn't figure out how it happened.  More disturbing news I to dispense to an alarmed client.

    After I've slept for a while the earth beneath me trembles for a few seconds.  It's happening more often.  Time to move on.

    I travel a few days away to a settlement near the mountains.  I am visited by a portly dwarf with an amazing beard.  The dwarf is interested in a star chart.  With the personal information he provides I set to work.  The chart shows a calamitous end.  As I go over the chart with him he muses to himself half out loud as he plays and twists his beard and mustache.

    "Yes," he mutters, "much as I thought."

    I'm somewhat surprised by this.  

    "This goes along with signs we ourselves have been witnessing. In preparation, there are those who are gathering from divine orders and scholars throughout the land and the thinking is there must be a way to escape from Verra or we may not survive what is to come."

    My heart froze.  These were my thoughts I could not bring myself to acknowledge.  I had seen the signs spread out before me.

    "Some of my readings give hope of escape.  Is there hope for escape?"

    "Aye," says he, "there be talk of portals be'n built t' take us ta new land, a sanctuary, of sorts."

    The spirit of hope lept in me.  "Where are they being built?"

    He points and says one is about a month's journey away.  Surely I can make it, surely I can spread the news along the way.

    Again that night I peer into the night sky.  More red eyes, many are closer.  That night more tremors, longer and stronger.

    With some urgency that wells up in me I travel toward the destination of hope.

    When I make stops, and give my ominous readings, I try to give hope with the news of portals being built.  Some scoff, some listen.

    More red eyes pop in the sky joining those who come closer.  Shivers run through my body.  More tremors underscore the coming terror.  

    A few days later fire comes falling from the sky!  Flames alight in the distance. The earth vomits in response.

    Please ye gods!  Let me make it!  Franticly, I urge my beasts on, my caravan swinging side to side on the ruts in my rush.

    Closer now, I can see the blue-white shimmering light of what must be a portal from the top of the hill where I have stopped.  I crane my neck to check the surrounding territory.  I notice what seems like distant curtains of fire and my breath seems sucked from the thought of it.  

    I've got to make it.  There are more people on the roads now, all seeming to be heading for the safety that the portal promises.  The word has spread.

    Flames lick the sky at night, making it hard to see the stars and other red eyes. Tremors are now constant.  There is no more sleeping.  The curtain is getting closer.  Fiery rocks drop from the sky willy-nilly.  People, houses, animals are crushed.  I'm getting closer!  So are the crush of people.  There's a slight panic in the air, civility is breaking down.  As we get closer the crush of people makes it harder to move.  Smoke fills the air making it difficult to breathe.  Just a little further...a fiery rock lands a few feet to my side crushing people and buildings.  Sparks splash over my caravan setting it on fire.  I jump off and release my beasts.  I push through the crowd.  I've got to get to the portal!  I'm being pushed and pulled; ash is starting to fall over all of us.  Desperation is palatable.  It's just up ahead.  My size makes it hard for me in the crush, if I trip I'm done for; I'll be trampled; it is almost my greatest fear at the moment.

    Ah! the portal at last!  There is mighty shoving among the desperate escapees.  I lose my footing, and I go down with all the legs and feet moving in blind panic over me.  I'm on the cusp of the portal.  I feel pain, and then all is black.


  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: Mav


    It was a beautiful day on the shores of Verra. Smiths were busily working away at their craft, while prodigious enchanters imbued their weapons with marvellous abilities; all to be locked away in beautiful chests should they ever be needed in a time of war. Everything was as normal when suddenly a huge rift appeared in the air and it felt as if the world itself shuddered to a halt for a moment. Soon masses of giant eagles began diving out of the sky bearing demons from another world. As they latched their talons to the ground a insurmountable ring of fire began to wash over the green hills - scorching everything in its wake. The women and children screamed as the thieving devils stole the magical antiquities locked away in their chests, then paused for a moment before forming a band of evil to rival the four riders of the apocalypse. Meteors began thumping the ground for miles as a mysterious bell tolled in the distance. The ever looming threat of the great wall of fire converging upon young and old. There were brutish warriors with great maces. They fell early - supplying others with mana to better use the smiths' creations. There were phantoms - evil ghosts that walked - taking lives as if they were performing for an audience. A strange group of gravity challenged individuals who claimed to be grand-masters roamed the towers. There were rangers with arrows that never seemed to fall in mid air. They fought and bickered like children to see who was the greatest marksman. And at the very end - once all the devastation had been waged - stood a figure so disgusting, so vile, and so pale he may well have been the envoy of Death himself. 

    But eventually even he, the fetid visage of an ancient land; succumbed to the very horror he had placed on others before him. He watched his life force drain away under the lashes of fire and as the final pieces of his soul vanished back into his wintry void his greatest fear had come true - he saw a handsome and talented loner in the bushes swapping chest pieces to become the victor! 

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: Heiler
    Once I entered Verra, hoping ... to be safe.
    But I never thought that something like this is possible.
    New Niküa we called our camp which was pitched season after season in another place in Verra.
     Endless joy is no comparison of how warm it feels in the heart when you walk around with the whole family and offer your craft. 
     So we were always respected and loved by all, as soon as we put in hand with the seekers for help.How could it be .... how could it only happen? We were strong, nobody dared attack us, because not only our craft was inherited to the next generation. 
    For generations, our knowledge has been passed on to the next generation.
                                        But nobody was prepared for that.
    It started with a call for help from our Dünir brothers ...
    We were in conflict for a long time, but in the New World, in Verra, we trusted one last time. But these greedy .... exploit .... power obsessed .... bastards!  
    Apparently they would not know, they have found a underrealm and do not know how to break down the crystals there, because this material is unknown to them.

    It was a beautiful place, but when the first crystal was touched, it happened, it went so fast ... a transparent black mist cloud formed around each one of us.
    A curse, otherwise I can not explain it to me.
    All at once I felt this urge as probably all of us ...
    we just had to do it out of an inner instinct. 

    My endlessly beloved wife ... I looked at her and stormed towards her.
    Still in the onslaught she knocked out 3 teeth with a straight blow.
    That did not stop me from pulling her to me, and where I used to kiss her affectionately, I pulled a piece of meat out of her with my teeth.
    As I continued to bite her and she dangled limp in my arms
     I looked up and my heart began to hammer.
    What I saw there was someone else's lover,
    my niece ... how she rammed a pickaxe into her brother's belly ...
    I love her so much, she always tells such great stories ...
     I channeled my energy and came out of mine hand a magical fire from ... at the just seen place only a few ashes were to be seen and the metal tip of the pointed ax.
    So it continued until calm prevailed ... a river of red reflected the oh so beautiful crystals ....
    I ran over a lot of meat from the underground. 

    revenge is all that I still feel
     Exactly one year ago,
    everything during this time I found out that it was an ancient curse.
    He is called "extermination of love" and he forces you to murder any person you love. today I'm happy because today is the day,
     today is 31 October. and I will avenge myself on all Dünir .
    They will learn to fear that day until they no longer venture out of their holes.
        you are welcome to scream.... 
    the Beloved Butcher is coming

    --To be continued 31.10.2019--

    (Sorry for my bad English i must work with the Translator like im bad, but i hope you still enjoy)

  • AmazonMom Said:
    Member - AmazonMom

    The Princess of Py’rai

    In the land of Verra, there will always be a nearby lake. If it is a remote lake, the amount of folklore surrounding it will be legendary. These tales may seem an exaggeration, but then again, Verra is an extraordinary world.

    *Kreater is a Verra expression meaning ‘Before Hell’s Gate.’ Kreater Lake is a kettle lake, a huge hole formed by receding glaciers and rainwater. It’s not fed by streams of clean water, nor does it feed any on the way out. There is something below to solve that mystery of what feeds the lake, but no one alive has seen it. The lake was not always so named; it came from a legend that surrounded it for centuries and it always will.

    It is told that a Py’rai princess named Diawanta met a Kealar fisherman while on her small boat. They fell in love at first sight. The chief of the Py’rai, forbid his daughter to see the Kaelar. Still each night, she would paddle out and drift a note to her lover telling where and when to meet. They were pure of heart and they were true. Her father chose another mate for her, Lukhetah. He hated all Kaelar but none more than the fisherman. One day, he floated a note to the fisherman pretending to be from Diawanta. He paddled out in her boat in disguise. The fisherman met a knife with longing and open arms. It plunged into his heart six times as he called for his love, Diawanta.

    Diawanta paddled the next night to meet her fisherman. Note after note she would float, but he never came. Lukhetah said that he left her for another. He said that he would never leave her. He helped her look each day and each night for weeks. When Lukhetah gave up, Diawanta went out alone and never returned. It is said that she is still looking. Her empty boat was found many moons later, filled only with tears.

    As Lukhetah waded to her empty boat in the shallows, he was grabbed by a dark shadowy figure. The leader and his men, with all their combined strength, were able to drag Lukhetah back to safety. Lukhetah left; he never returned to them or the lake. The shadow still waits for the one who disguised himself. It waits to take him to the gates of hell.

    Each month for centuries, someone is taken. Whether they are fishing, boating or swimming, if one touches the lake, a dark shadow approaches in those shallows. The lake has no bottom, of that they are sure.  Some get away, some are never touched, while others are found many moons later in the nearby bay or even on the ocean shores. Each one found has six stab wounds to their heart.  There have been many, far too many.  Most stay away from the lake, others will tempt their fate, for there is passage but only for the truly pure of heart.  Young teens will ‘test the waters’ to prove the purity, or in some cases, to lose it to Kreater. 

    On such a night, four young Py’rai venture out on small boats.  Two girls giggle while two boys snicker their separate thoughts and their combined fears away.  They push the small boats into the  ‘Thrill of the Kreater,’ as they call it.  Not every trip onto the lake is met with foul play. It is that fact that lures the innocent by the hand of the fearless, to the brink of hell.

    Ika sees the water sliding along the boat, she reaches in and catches a floating leaf and tosses it.  She likes the cool water running over her hand as she pseudo-paddles with her boyfriend. She looks at the handsome Jaktar as he does the real paddling.  He looks back at her in kind.  They are in love; well she is.  Jaktar is in lust and he is not alone. In the other boat is Jaktar’s younger brother, Maktus and his date, Ika’s friend Nadyi. Splashing each other as they go helps them hide their fear and the laughter is their mask. Jaktar stops paddling. He slides over to Ika and puts his arm around her. 

    “You know, I Love you, Ika,” He lies.

    “Do you, Jaktar?’ She says and hopes.

    “Of course.” And he slides his hand around her close.

    Matkus yells over, “Are we stopping?”

    “We are. Why don’t you find a spot of your own.”  Jaktar orders.

    “Got it,”  Matkus says nervously, “but not too far, okay?”

    “Don’t be afraid, little one.”

    Matkus and Nadyi paddle away.  Nadyi slides over next to Matkus. The two boats drift apart and disappear in the dark.  The couples lose sight of each other.  Nadyi feels Matkus hand casually slide down her back and around her waist. 

    “Are you nervous, Matkus.” She kids him.

    “Yeah, a little. Why?”

    “Your hands are cold.” And as she sees him by the moonlight, she realizes his hands are still in front of him…She screams. But the scream fades quickly as Nadyi is gone. Gone without even so much as a splash, just a soft tilt of the boat.  She is gone.

    Matkus tries to scream, to yell to his brother, but nothing is coming out. His throat is dry and his muscles are so weak, he can’t even bang a paddle for an alarm.  He looks to the water but knows not where to jump in, but he does. 

    Jaktar pulls up to see Matkus surface as Ika screams, “Where is Nadyi! Where is Nadyi,” she cries into Jaktar’s arms.

    So ask yourself as you venture about in Verra, “am I pure of heart?”.  The pure of heart have nothing to fear.

     * Kreater may or may not be a true expression on Verra, it was created by the author

  • It was a dark and stormy night. Steven decided to add Pay to Win options to Ashes of Creation. The end. omegalul
  • User Name: Swatch

    Twas late at night, as you moved through the zone

    If you are lucky, there’s a plot for your home

    You look left and right, up, down and around

    But it’s just not to be, there’s no room to be found


    Sad and dejected, you head down the lane

    The growing fog thickens, as if sensing your pain

    Lost in your thoughts, you plan your next move

    Your time in this world has been anything but smooth


    If only you’d had better luck on that chest

    Then maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess

    You let out a cry, curse the rules so unfair

    Just how much more do they think you can bear


    You need some new armor, or maybe a sword

    It’s just that the grind has left you so bored

    Lost in your thoughts, you fail to see

    The great hulking shape looming ahead of thee


    It turns with a grunt, holding a board with a nail

    A fight now for sure, it’s your end if you fail

    It swings at your head, you dodge and you duck

    Perhaps you can win, you just need some luck


    The monster lunges, you’re in its grasp now

    It’s so much stronger, you’re left wondering how

    It knows it has won and it laughs at your fear

    “You fool!” it cries, “It’s all pay to win here!” 


    As you respawn yet again, you make a quick wish

    If you had your way, your own gaming studio would exist

    You’d make your own game, for all to enjoy

    It be fun yet fair, the best type of toy


    As you shake off the dust, you can’t trust your eyes

    A team of developers is before you, all stunned and surprised

    In unison they cry, in well-written prose,

    “King Steven! Welcome to your Intrepid Studios!”


    “We’ll make you the world of Verra, that your heart so desires

    It will be immersive and deep, we’ll not be made liars

    We’re in San Diego, please join us there

    For this is end of your gaming nightmare”

  • Username: Remiel05

    Secrets of the gods are concealed amongst the stars.
    The bold can discover these treasures
    and gain the power of the divine
    ...or find the horrors they wished hidden.
                                              -Ancient Verran Warning

    The ruined tower was just another black blotch stretching up into the night sky.  The jagged terrain and barren, twisted trees made it appear to be resting inside a gaping maw of some beast, ready to clamp down on any foolish enough to approach the ancient site.

    Two Vek, garbed in ceremonial robes stumbled down an overgrown path towards the tower.  Each wore elaborate half-masks representing eldritch beasts with three eyes. Only one eye contained an opening; the others held precious gemstones set into the sockets.  A small, glowing orb of light floating between them served as their sole lantern.

    “W-w-why are we out h-here again?” the younger Vek asked, trepidation clear as he fumbled over his words.

    “Your out here because you are my apprentice and you do as you’re told!” the older Vek snapped back.  He turned just enough to reveal the snarl on his face before turning back towards the path.

    Shaken by his master’s unusually cruel retort, the apprentice summoned what courage he could muster and pressed on.  The journey was difficult every step of the way as no civilized person of Verra had traveled the path in centuries.

    The tower held onto fragments of enchantments cast on it upon construction as much still held together.  Vines, as thick as a man’s arm, clung to the tower all around. The door, once a great fortification with elaborate, hand-carved decorations, was now a rotted and fungus covered chunk of wood close to crumbling.

    With a few words and a wave of his wand, the master sent waves of fire out before him.  The flames roared and blinded the two for a few moments. When the spell ceased, the door stood open, with only wafts of smoke a flickers of burning matter left in their way.

    The old wizard seemed invigorated as he grabbed the young Vek’s wrist.  The apprentice was yanked violently into the tower, struggling to keep up the pace of his master as they flew up the tower steps.

    “Please, master” the apprentice begged “I can’t keep up like this and you are hurting my arm.”

    The older Vek stopped abruptly, turned and pushed him down.  The younger Vek rolled down a few steps before catching himself, but not swiftly enough to catch his mask as fell off and into the dark below.

    “Get your mask and meet me at the top.  I won’t suffer your incompetence any longer.”  Without hesitation the wizard continued his ascent up the tower with the globe of light in tow.


    The young Vek continued to lay slumped on the stairs in the pitched black.  What happened to my master.  Ever since he found that tome, he has gotten harsh, obsessive.  He shouldn’t have kept it. That place was tainted with corruption.

    What was that damn spell again?  After moments of contemplation, the apprentice uncertainty spit out a few words and a small orb of light appeared by his head.  He stood up and made his way unsteadily down the steps.

    The slowed pace let him take in the full scene around him.  The macabre decor further left him unsettled with his current situation.  Statues jutted out from the wall in obscure places, twisting in unnatural poses with disfigured faces - some had extra features, similar to the masks his master created; others had multiple limbs and parts entirely alien to Verran races.  Where the hell did my master bring me?!

    The base chamber was littered with shattered bones.  Holding back his disgust, he searched through the remains for his mask.  Just as he placed his hands on it and secured in back over his face, he heard a bone-curdling screech echo through the hollow tower.  He froze in place as his heart began bursting in his chest. He tried to hid his ragged, fear-laden breathing.

    After several seconds of clenching his eyes shut, waiting to be consumed by some horrid monster, he managed to squint out of the one viable eye.  Nothing.  After looking in a complete circle, he glanced up and saw a faint speck of light.  Master made it to the t-.

    The thought was cut short as another round of screeching was followed by a deafening slam that shook him to his core.  After pausing to ensure he would maintain his continence, he rushed back up the steps.

    The top of the steps held a large metal trap door that was largely rusted through.  He had to use every out of his strength just to get it open enough to slip through. Every inch let out that horrid screech.


    Standing alone in the center of the tower stood the Vek wizard, gazing up into the night sky.  The young Vek bowed his head and whispered “m-m-master?”


    The apprentice dared to look up again, meeting the gaze of the wizard.  The young Vek cried out. The gems of the mask now contained wicked, glowing eyes that bore into him.  Tentacles, hooks and claws began to erupt from the robe and the humanoid shape gave way to some garish creature.

    The young Vek dove towards the trap door, but something sunk into the back of his thigh and began dragging him back.  He dug his nails in and tried to pull away, but one by one they plucked from his fingers as the supernatural force overwhelmed him.

    One final, powerful yank brought the apprentice off his feet.  A tentacle wrapped around him and brought him face to face with the thing that used to be his master.  A faint echoing voice bounced around inside his head “look up and see what I have seen.”

    Tearful… powerless… the apprentice looked up into the starry sky and it opened before him.  It was horrifying… it was beautiful… it was consuming.

  •                                  Username: Horendis

    “Are we too late?” asked the Orc. She glanced at her telescope but resisted the urge to run back to it.

    “Shh,” hissed the Elf, dropping a large bloody skull into the cauldron. “All things come to balance in time!”

    The cavern seemed to grow darker, as if a thick Tulnar blanket was thrown across the glowing plants below. An eerie green mist began to rise at their feet…

    The Necromancer sneered with a half grin and stirred the cauldron. “We summon the spirit of Py’Len with bloody herbs and spices.”

    “Spices…” muttered three of the Vaelune Summoners, swaying in the circle of the 13. “Kill or be killed,” they chanted.

    The Py’Rai stirred the large black and sticky cauldron again. “And take no prisoners!” he added, now with a full grin and a wicked laugh. He threw the plants and mushrooms into the bubbling, murky liquid. It sizzled as a puff of black smoke rose from the kettle. The acrid smell mixed with the dankness of the cavern and slithered its way through the air.

    “Eww,” said the Vek Orc in disgust, “that smells like a Sladeborne’s Den…”

    Three of the Nikua Summoners chuckled. One of them in a gruff voice said, “Alright, let’s hurry this along. We don’t wanna be stuck down here any longer than we have to be.”  Two of the Dunir Summoners began to grumble with words of beachcombers and seaweed slingers bouncing around the cavern walls.

    “I should take Dunthol’s Hammer and smash your pretty crab shack!” the Dunir with the longest beard threatened.

    The Py’Rai Elf continued, “We summon the spirit of Dunthol’s might!” The cave grew quiet as he dropped in the rock hammer.

    “The Eye,” urged the Orc, as she once again glanced at the telescope.

    The Necromancer stopped stirring the pot and looked up at the large opening in the cavern. The sweet smell of blooming trees fragrant flowers was gone now. “We summon the wisdom of Velkor. May his eye show us the way…” Suddenly a beam of moonlight shown down through the opening. A colony of bats swooped and flapped out of the dark cave; causing the Empyreans and Kaelar to draw their weapons. A smirk appeared on the face of the Py’Rai. “Nature always has her way.” quoted the Necro as he stirred the pot once more.

    The lone Tulnar in the circle studied the Vaelune in their fancy robes then looked at the Necro. “Come on, come on… you’re as slow as Khyber’s Camel!” All the summoners let out a laugh, except for the Vaelune who stood with clenched fists and sneers.

    “Quiet! The Necro demanded. “We summon the spirit of Khyber!” The Vaelune focused on the cauldron like a two-winged hawk on his prey. The Tulnar mumbled something about Over-realmers as the coins were dropped into the mix.

    “Now! shouted the Necro. The ground shook as the 13 Summoners began to chant.

     Above ground a Ren’Kai, who was focusing intensely on a Mithril vein, threw down his mining pick and grabbed the reins of his mule before it ran away.

    He peered down into the cavern and shouted, “Hey! What are you weirdos doing down there!” A blast of smoke and swirling colors knocked him to his feet. He growled as the rage grew in him, but the chanting grew louder and suddenly the smoke and swirls came together. Cats howled from the flood plains. Mounts from a distant Freehold shrieked in the night air. A huge beast suddenly appeared - claws and fangs and stench. It stomped on the Orc - a sickly, nasty crunching sound.

     The summoners shouted from below, “War!” The great beast roared at the night sky.

     Lights in the nearby castle appeared one by one. The Necromancer smiled.

  • Username: Sunfrog

    A long time ago, when the wild was new, and gods still roamed the world, there lived an old man on top of a hill and his name was Giletto.  Giletto was the finest woodcarver in all the land and his name was well known all over the world.   But despite his fame, Giletto was very sad, for he had no heir to inherit his trade. He was alone with no wife or children of his own. On day, while he was sanding a table leg he noticed how much it resembled the arm of a small child and he had an idea. He would carve a boy out of wood then bring it to life to serve as his heir. He would raise him well and teach him his craft until the boy was just as good at woodcarving as him.

    It took Giletto 3 months to complete the work, but when he was finished it was a masterpiece. He labored over every detail and every fine line until it was perfect. He had never created such fine work in his life.

    When he was done he took the wooden boy to the most powerful sorcerer in his node, but the sorcerer told him he could not bring the boy to life. A mere sorcerer was not powerful enough. He needed the help of a god.

    First Giletto went to the Goddess of Love who was moved by his tale. She blessed him and offered to find him a wife, but said she did not have the power to grant life. Next he went to see the God of Charity in the center of town who offered him wood working tools and a cart to help carry his load, but he could not help him.

    Next to the Well of Need stood the Well of Greed, and so he made an offering to Prospero, the God of Wealth. “There are many things money can do, but this is not one of them.” Said Prospero, and so Giletto had to keep searching.

    The God of War said he could take a life but not create one.

    Finally, Giletto tried the Goddess of Rebirth, Verra. “I will grant you this wish,” she said, “but you will have to burn your creation.” Giletto looked down at his beautiful creation with sadness but agreed. “At the stroke of midnight the raven will crow three times. Throw the boy in the fire and pray.” Said Verra.

    Giletto agreed, and at the stroke of midnight he did as she had commanded. The fire cracked and sparked and the flames turned many colors until finally the wooden boy was destroyed. When the fire died down a small form emerged from the center. It was a small boy  covered in ashes. He was just as Giletto had carved him. The fine hair, the smooth skin, the strong arms and legs. He was even more beautiful than the carving.

    Giletto’s heart leapt with joy! He picked him up and hugged him and kissed him and took him inside. That night the boy slept next to Giletto in a small bed Giletto had made for him.

    But at 3 AM something unexpected happened. The boy rose from his bed and attacked Giletto! First he bit his throat, then tore at his face. It was a savage attack that left Giletto dead, for you see, Giletto had made a fatal mistake when he created the boy. He had carved the boy out of deadwood! The boy was a ZOMBIE!!!

    Happy Halloween everybody!! :)

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: dmgavin


    Lady Winter

    The cold October wind blew though the village of Cragstown, bringing with it an early bite of snow that would soon arrive. Perhaps even on this very Hallows Eve. A lone figure clutching a cloak tightly around him to ward of the biting chill, moved through the mining village towards the central building. Once a freehold, the building was now the villages Inn and sometimes doubled as a grange hall.

    As the voices from inside began to reach his ears through the door the figure he looks at the Inn's sign, swaying in the chill wind, which sported a weather worn painting of a miners pick and a bunch of grapes with a bed to the far side. The Picking Grapes Inn.

    “This is the place.” he said to himself, pushing the hood of his cloak back, just as a lone flake of snow drifted upon his cheek. He smiled at the gently snowy kiss of winter, then schooled his face into a passive one, as he pushed the door open to head inside and to the hallows eve gathering inside.

    Some tables had been pushed to one side of the common room, with various foodstuffs and treats arrayed on them. The chairs were spread out in two rough semi circles around the hearth.

    One of the people gathered, the inn keeper he presumed form the looks of the proprietor, called over to him, “Merry met, grab yourself some food and join us”. He fetched himself some of the treats and sweet meats as invited, and moved to the fire and a vacant chair, indulging in the stories as he snaked on the hallow's eve offerings.

    Eventual the story telling, each person sharing a tale of dread and woe, came to roost upon him.

    “I'm S'trel,” he began as he set aside the wooden plate, now almost devoid of food, “and I have a tale that will chill you to the very bone.”

    “It's from a time long before even the corruption and exile, one of the few stories remaining to us Py'rains form that age, and actually comes to us from these parts, if the legends are true.”

    “There was a spirit in these lands, a coldhearted and often unseen spirit, who our kind called Jallil Erthe.

    Lady Winter is how that name translates.

    She was not evil as most would think. My ancestors lived in these parts and had encountered her. She saw this place as her lands, and did not tolerate outsiders who did not approach her for permission first and offer her some tribute.

    Three of our towns in those times were wiped out by her and her frosty winters breath, before we learned to ask, and offer tribute. Locked in a icy cold and death so fierce, that the legends say they the towns did not thaw out until the deepest and hottest of the summer months.

    So my ancestors offered tribute every year after that. Sometimes something as simple as food left out in her name.  Sometimes gold or other valuables, and once if the myth is true, they even offered her a the son of a local towns lord. A handsome companion for her who had been alone for countless eons. Supposedly he became her consort and lover, and even functioned as a herald for her.

    That was all long before the corruption came to Verra, but does brings us to why I am here.

    What will you good folks now offer Jallil Ethre to keep your place here within her lands?” He finished the tale with the question.

    It was met with a lot of good natured laughter and guffaw's, the inn keeper even saying, “Ye almost had me with that one!” But the question in the end was ignored. Not even some of the older children still awake and listening offered anything.

    The night's festivities eventually wound down and S'trel donning his cloak again, headed back outside, and then left the village as he had come to it. Wrapped against the soon to arrive cold.

    As he crested a small hill a blast of deathly cold air swirled a torrent of snow about suddenly, and a ghostly icy hand, feminine and lithe materialized out of the sudden blizzard, reaching for him.

    He placed his hand in hers saying, “My Lady” is all, and then he vanished along with her in another torrent of snow and ice as she took him back to their winter like home of ice.

    A fortnight later a lone explorer found the village of Cragstown locked in a wintry and icy embrace. Every living soul; people, animals, even bugs, were frozen solid in her deadly embrace, and covered in an eerie but almost disturbingly beautiful sheen of an early winters frost.
  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Entry: The summoning 

    On the night of the most hallowed eve. The holiest time of year. The point at which the veil to the land of the dead is at its thinnest. A group of zealots, summoners, warlocks and necromancers made ready for their ritual. After the circle was drawn and sacrifice made the group joined hands and began their incantation. They spoke from the book of death to the lord of death. Begging for their master to free the world from the suffering of life. To bring his children home. To bring salvation!
    The lord of death heard the cries and saw fit to grant their wish.
    The tree of rebirth, the one of ashe and ember. Blood began to seep from its roots tainting the nearby river. The flames of its branches began to swell and change color. The flames now burned a deep red with a thin line of blue at the base. The ground shook violently as the earth began to tare asunder. After the tremors had stopped and the dust had settled. A giant skull now sat underneath the tree. A portal to the underworld in its mouth. An army of undead now spilling out. Woe poured from the land of rot as the legion of the damned began to march. The group of mages quickly claimed by the salvation they so seeked. Once again the dead and damned walk the earth. To try and do what they failed to long ago. Lay claim to the land of the living. 
  • Username: RileyRain

    Entry: Children’s fables

    The hands of Calamity were brushing through the Underrealm once more. The year is 1287 Post Calamity and the Tulnar face a plague of disappearances. 109 children missing and only 14 bodies found. Some with blood still oozing from bite wounds; others impaled on stalagmites.

    The Council of Representatives, or the Council, is a group of leaders elected by the Tulnar to represent the interests of the four original races and the hundreds of ethnic groups within the Underrealm. They’re the unifying factor of the diverse Tulnar people.

    The Tulnar had taken to story-telling as a way to evade the ennui of the Underrealm. Slowly, stories morphed into the carriers of their history and the tools of teaching the young.  Only one is trusted with the responsibility of educating the youth of life’s dangers - the Chief Story Teller, Fable. He’s a cottontail bard with a voice deep and passionate as the flame in a smelter’s hearth and an affinity for the Bhusera – Underrealm cats with crystalline shells and pools of opaque amber for eyes. In particular one Bhusera had been his companion since childhood, always accompanying him on his travels throughout the Underrealm.

    Unyoris, the ursine village, is the first stop on Fable’s journey to warn the Tulnar youth. The children are collected in a dark chamber, excited to hear his stories.

    “Children come near. Lend me your ear. Listen well as we retell the story of how the Calamity befell,” Fable proclaims to the children’s cheers. He conjures orbs of light that adopt the form of people and buildings, enacting his tale.

    “We once lived on the land above where sunlight kissed our ancestors’ skin. But then the Calamity struck. Corruption spread across the land,” Fable pinches the light and blackness seeps out contorting into deformed creatures and crumbling buildings. “The eight other races fled to Sanctum, while we sought shelter in the Underrealm. We were safe.” He paused, observing each child, their eyes wide and mouths agape.

    “Or so we thought.

    “A century and a half ago the hundred year rain began to fall. Water touched by the Calamity bore through the rock and formed a lake here in the Underrealm. Those who drank from it were snared in catastrophe’s grasp. The tainted came to be called the People of the Rain. The children’s bodies were too weak to bear the Calamity’s burden and wilted, while the adults fell under a curse. Some grew mad and their hysteria drove them into wild Bhusera dens. Their corpses were picked clean. Others took to the knife. Families were slaughtered and hung in village centres.  Many didn’t show signs of corruption until years after the lake dried to bone.   One woman, who gave birth to her first child thirty years later, upon holding her new-born baby, clawed his right eye out before she could be restrained and incarcerated with the tainted.” The light forms a baby’s head. A hand creeps towards the face and punctures the eye. As it pulls away scarlet light spills onto the ground and the eye deflates, sliding off the fingers onto the floor. The children scream.

    “Now we fear that another who was touched by the Rain may be on the loose. Children have been vanishing like smoke. We’ve been finding their bodies…” Fable casts the light so that mirror images of the children before him are strewn about the room, marred by bite wounds or pierced by hooks in the walls.

    “There’s danger in this world. You need to know who you can trust, and who you can’t. For making the mistake once can cost you your life.” At this Fable scratches the chin of his Bhusera. It smiles, revealing the absence of one of its canines. He casts the light to fill the room.

    “Children, tell me what you have learned today,” Fable opens his arms with a flourish. They begin squeaking inaudible replies. With a sluggish crescendo they answer, “The world’s not safe! Don’t go near wild animals! Only speak to those you trust!” The last one caught Fable’s attention, “Yes. Now who can you trust?” The children pipe up immediately, some colour returning to their cheeks, “Mommy and Daddy! The village chiefs! The Council members!”

    “Good choice,” Fable draws the words out as a smile etches onto his face. He casts a spell with a wave of his hand. From the ground behind the children rises a mimic of each and every child. In his mind he issues the command ‘go home, little children.’ Before the children can react, the mimics leave and place a magic seal on the door. Fable is not only a bard, but a summoner. From his cloak he pulls a dagger made from his Bhusera’s canine. With a single stroke he combs the locks from his right eye, uncovering the scars that mark a gouged socket.  Scars that were the first and final mark of the only family he ever had. A dagger wrought from the tooth of the only friend he ever had. The dagger that carved the last moments of 109 young lives.

    He’d watched the children throughout his performance and the mimics would behave just as the children would. In three days the mimics would dissipate into obscurity, awaiting their rematerialisation from beneath the summoner’s veil. By then his visit to Unyoris would be but a memory, and Fable would have attended two more villages.

    No one realised that through the water of the womb Calamity had also tainted those born to the People of the Rain.

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    User: Rabbit_Games
    Entry: Priss Makes A Wish

    Wendolyn did not like foraging too closely to the village, but a sort of melody floating through the night air beckoned her. She crept through the forest, just until she could see the village torches burning, and decided to go no further. It wasn't their music or singing that had called to her. 

    The villagers were caught up in their false celebration, drinking and dancing while pretending to understand the purpose of their holidays. But, like most of Verra, they had long forgotten.

    Wendolyn remembered, though. She knew why this night was special, and why the people came together. The point was to look into each other's eyes on precisely that night and prove one's neighbors were Untainted. For on that night, almost all manner of evil was revealed--from undead beings cloaked in mortal form to werebeasts shod in human clothing. And while they used to burn those who failed to show--just in case they were hiding demons--the people no longer cared.

    Wendolyn turned back towards her cave and caught the sound of a child's voice. No, there were three of them. The children were obviously untrained, and their words were simple, but the faintest trace of magic hung in the air as they chanted. 

    Wendolyn sniffed and caught a hint of blood. It called to her like a lullaby beckons one to sleep. This was dark magic; her magic. She prowled through the brush, keeping low and quiet, towards these children who dare to play dark games.

    She spied on them from behind a tree. They had built a small campfire and set three small branches around it in the form of a triangle. Each limb had come from a different type of tree, and at each point a child had placed one of their toys. They danced around the campfire and chanted:

    "Dance around the pyre,
    a fire burning bright.
    If your wish be noble,
    I'll answer it tonight."

    Two of the girls were giggling, obviously enjoying the game they thought they were playing. But the other was angry, bitter. Her right hand bled through the piece of cloth she had tied around it. She sneered into the fire as she sang, and her words dripped with venom as she finished her Wish:

    "He beats my mother and makes me give him baths. He's rude to everybody in town, even Mr. Harley--he's the baker who gives us free bread sometimes. Nobody will miss him! Take him from us, I beg you!"

    Then she stopped dancing and turned to her friends. "Okay. We can go home now."

    "You think they'll come, Priss" one of the girls asked as they started towards the village.

    "I hope so," Priss responded. "The Cleric guy said evil calls to evil. Or something like that. I'm sure they know my dad deserves it."

    Wendolyn stayed hidden until the girls reached the torchlight from the village. She crept forward and noticed the teddy bear had blood on its head, while the other two toys--a small figurine of a prince, and a little wooden bunny rabbit--did not. She snagged the teddy bear and hurried back to her cave. 

    It was time to make a little girl's Wish come true.


    Priss heard her parents finally coming through the front door and pretended to sleep, though they probably wouldn't bother checking on her. She smiled and crossed her fingers, hoping it wasn't too late for the devils to come. 

    But then the sound of her father's voice set her on edge; she'd never heard him sound afraid before.

    "What the bloody hell," he exclaimed.

    Something crashed in the other room. She could hear someone, or something, scurrying across the floor, and the sound of cloth being ripped. She knew she should be frightened, but all she felt was excitement... and hope.

    She crept from her bed to the door while her father continued to make strange sounds just on the other side of it. It was almost like he was gargling the nasty brew her grandmother used to make them wash their mouths with. "Serves him right," she thought, as she cracked the bedroom door open and peered out.

    Her father was lying on the floor, bits of table strewn about him, looking towards her mother who was cowering in a corner. Her mother was too frightened to move, and too terrified to scream, curled up with her hands over her eyes. Blood sprayed from her father's mouth as he tried to call to her, perhaps telling her to run as his right hand flailed in her direction. His other hand was trying to fend off the thing digging into his chest with it's long, sharp claws.

    The thing mostly resembled a man, covered with dirt as though it had dug itself out of a grave. But then its muscles heaved and it ripped open her father's chest, and there was no mistaking this was a monster. It drove its dagger-filled snout down towards his beating heart and began to chew loudly.  

    Priss watched with a satisfied grin as it feasted. She was both horrified and exhilarated at the same time. "I did it. This is my Wish, and I saved us," she thought to herself. 

    The thing looked back over its shoulder towards the front door when it finished with her father. A cloaked woman stood there, holding the bloody teddy bear. The thing let out a low, sad whine. The woman turned towards Priss and spoke.

    "Didn't they teach you to be careful what you Wish for, little one?" Though she spoke with kindness, darkness carried her words. "Every Wish has a price, and I'm afraid my pet wants more."

    The Necromancer nodded, and with supernatural speed the thing turned towards Priss and leaped. Her mother had no chance to react, either; she never stopped covering her eyes.
  • Username: RileyRain

    Entry: Children’s fables

    The hands of Calamity were brushing through the Underrealm once more. The year is 1287 Post Calamity and the Tulnar face a plague of disappearances. 109 children missing and only 14 bodies found. Some with blood still oozing from bite wounds; others impaled on stalagmites.

    The Council of Representatives, or the Council, is a group of leaders elected by the Tulnar to represent the interests of the four original races and the hundreds of ethnic groups within the Underrealm. They’re the unifying factor of the diverse Tulnar people.

    The Tulnar had taken to story-telling as a way to evade the ennui of the Underrealm. Slowly, stories morphed into the carriers of their history and the tools of teaching the young.  Only one is trusted with the responsibility of educating the youth of life’s dangers - the Chief Story Teller, Fable. He’s a cottontail bard with a voice deep and passionate as the flame in a smelter’s hearth and an affinity for the Bhusera – Underrealm cats with crystalline shells and pools of opaque amber for eyes. In particular one Bhusera had been his companion since childhood, always accompanying him on his travels throughout the Underrealm.

    Unyoris, the ursine village, is the first stop on Fable’s journey to warn the Tulnar youth. The children are collected in a dark chamber, excited to hear his stories.

    “Children come near. Lend me your ear. Listen well as we retell the story of how the Calamity befell,” Fable proclaims to the children’s cheers. He conjures orbs of light that adopt the form of people and buildings, enacting his tale.

    “We once lived on the land above where sunlight kissed our ancestors’ skin. But then the Calamity struck. Corruption spread across the land,” Fable pinches the light and blackness seeps out contorting into deformed creatures and crumbling buildings. “The eight other races fled to Sanctum, while we sought shelter in the Underrealm. We were safe.” He paused, observing each child, their eyes wide and mouths agape.

    “Or so we thought.

    “A century and a half ago the hundred year rain began to fall. Water touched by the Calamity bore through the rock and formed a lake here in the Underrealm. Those who drank from it were snared in catastrophe’s grasp. The tainted came to be called the People of the Rain. The children’s bodies were too weak to bear the Calamity’s burden and wilted, while the adults fell under a curse. Some grew mad and their hysteria drove them into wild Bhusera dens. Their corpses were picked clean. Others took to the knife. Families were slaughtered and hung in village centres.  Many didn’t show signs of corruption until years after the lake dried to bone.   One woman, who gave birth to her first child thirty years later, upon holding her new-born baby, clawed his right eye out before she could be restrained and incarcerated with the tainted.” The light forms a baby’s head. A hand creeps towards the face and punctures the eye. As it pulls away scarlet light spills onto the ground and the eye deflates, sliding off the fingers onto the floor. The children scream.

    “Now we fear that another who was touched by the Rain may be on the loose. Children have been vanishing like smoke. We’ve been finding their bodies…” Fable casts the light so that mirror images of the children before him are strewn about the room, marred by bite wounds or pierced by hooks in the walls.

    “There’s danger in this world. You need to know who you can trust, and who you can’t. For making the mistake once can cost you your life.” At this Fable scratches the chin of his Bhusera. It smiles, revealing the absence of one of its canines. He casts the light to fill the room.

    “Children, tell me what you have learned today,” Fable opens his arms with a flourish. They begin squeaking inaudible replies. With a sluggish crescendo they answer, “The world’s not safe! Don’t go near wild animals! Only speak to those you trust!” The last one caught Fable’s attention, “Yes. Now who can you trust?” The children pipe up immediately, some colour returning to their cheeks, “Mommy and Daddy! The village chiefs! The Council members!”

    “Good choice,” Fable draws the words out as a smile etches onto his face. He casts a spell with a wave of his hand. From the ground behind the children rises a mimic of each and every child. In his mind he issues the command ‘go home, little children.’ Before the children can react, the mimics leave and place a magic seal on the door. Fable is not only a bard, but a summoner. From his cloak he pulls a dagger made from his Bhusera’s canine. With a single stroke he combs the locks from his right eye, uncovering the scars that mark a gouged socket.  Scars that were the first and final mark of the only family he ever had. A dagger wrought from the tooth of the only friend he ever had. The dagger that carved the last moments of 109 young lives.

    He’d watched the children throughout his performance and the mimics would behave just as the children would. In three days the mimics would dissipate into obscurity, awaiting their rematerialisation from beneath the summoner’s veil. By then his visit to Unyoris would be but a memory, and Fable would have attended two more villages.

    No one realised that through the water of the womb Calamity had also tainted those born to the People of the Rain.

  • User: Toxiqueterre


    This is an old Tulnar tale, from before the great calamity. The great calamity destroyed the world of Verra, a hideous corruption twisted and mutilated nature's beauty. The only place spared was the Underrealm, but it was not due to chance. This story is one that even "the forgotten" have lost.

    You see, before the bio-luminescent environment you know, there was darkness. But even in that darkness there was life. Life that had no place alongside the Tulnar. If one was to survive, the other had to be removed. But the Underrealm was alive, and it bore witness to its children being slaughtered under its protection. It was so angered by the attack it flared up with a never-ending light to always illuminate the faces of the murderous Tulnar people. For as long as it would live, no creature would ever get rest again in its domain. But the Tulnar people adapted, and built structures to block out the light.  Insulted once more, the Underrealm wove its energy into the corpses under its dirt, and sent them to kidnap and kill the intruders. Alas the creatures were unable to drive off the Tulnar, and civilization flourished.

    But the Underrealm is smart, and to this day very much still alive...It waits for us to forget, to be complacent. There have been times when parties of adventurers reported sounds coming from below ground. Entire groups suddenly disappearing when everything goes dark. Forgotten monsters hide under the surface, dragging unsuspecting travelers under to feed on their life force. Remember, the Underrealm is alive and scheming, so be on guard, and most alert when you hear nothing.

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: Chimander
    Title: Steven and the cursed sandals.

    Once upon a time in the magical world Verra, in a mountain village called Val, there lived a little boy called Steven. Val was a beautiful village, cut from the side of the mountain many, many years ago. Rich and poor were separated by the stairs that split Val into different levels. The more money you had, the higher up you lived. Little Steven lived all the way at the bottom, he was alone and had little money to spend. Every day he walked up to the top of the village, his little feet bare and hurting, to scavange for food and clothes that had been discarded by the richer people. Steven had a little bit of magic but no one to teach him, and so his gift went unused.
    One day, little Steven could no longer bear to walk up the stairs without shoes on and so in the evening he tried his best at magic for the first time.
    With a few gambled words,  Steven used his magic to make sandals for himself. He poured all of his needs into the spell, forgetting the one important part: magic never came for free. But by some miracle, sandals did appear before him.
    In the morning Steven put on his new sandals and walked up the stairs again. Before he could even make it halfway, a man spoke to him urgently.
    "Where did you get those sandals? I want them too! Please give them to me little boy, ill pay you for them!" The man seemed strangely desperate to obtains Steven's sandals. But he would not say no to some money to buy himself some proper food. And so Steven gave the man his sandals and in return he received a few coppers. Steven went back home and slept peacefully, he would make another pair of slippers tomorrow.
    However, when little Steven woke up the next morning his sandals were in front of his bed again like he had never given them away. Thinking nothing of it, Steven went again to the center of Val to claim the stairs with his sandals. Again after a few stairs, someone stopped him. Begging for his sandals. Again Steven gave the man his sandals. Again, the sandals were beside his bed the next morning. As steven walking into Val he could hear screaming in the distance. When he got closer, he could hear what the commotion was about. A man lay on the floor, crying like a babe, several people were gathered around him. "My sandals! My sandals were stolen!"
    A feeling of dread came upon Steven. That was the same man whom he had sold the sandals to that first day. He Quickly walked on, determined to pretend nothing was wrong. But no matter where he went, more and more people came to him. Their behavior erratic, all begging him for his sandals. For the first few days, every day he gave his sandals away to a new person, hoping to make them happy and every single morning, the sandals were back in his little house. As the days passed, more and more cries were heard from the villagers about their disappearing sandals. People were crying and begging on the streets for the sandals, trying to find Steven to ask him for more.  Every day more people asked him for his sandals, yelling at him, grabbing his clothes, trying to take the sandals. 
    Even on the higher levels, where Steven was sure they had much finer shoes then his sandals, people came from the houses and the streets.
    It was so bad that Steven no longer dared to go into the village and hid in his little house. That night, he burned the sandals. Relieved that things were over, he went to bed. When he opened his eyes the next morning, the sandals were back at the side of his bed. Slowly his food supply dwindled and little Steven realized he had to go into the village to gather food. He decided to leave the sandals in the house and went to the village in the dead of the night. Hoping to evade most of the villagers.
    When he was halfway on the stairs he could hear shuffling in front of him.
    From the darkness ahead he could see the villagers coming down the stairs, their bodies unwashed and uncared for, like they had been outside crying and begging for days. A hollow moan reached his ears. "Saaandaaals." Murmurs broke out from the rest of the villagers, having recognized him, all of them slowly starting to beg and cry. "Please, give us the sandals! Even if it's only one. We need them. GIVE US THE SANDALS"
    Spooked, little Steven tried climbing back down to stairs only to realize they were coming from below as well. As he looked around he realized he was trapped.  The villagers reached Steven and started pulling on all his clothes, his hair, demanding the sandals. A crazy gleam was in all of their eyes, their faces hallow. The crowd became such a frenzy that little Steven soon disappeared in the crowd. A cry was heard and a little body fell down the stairs, the people on the stairs looking at it with disinterest.
    And as the broken body lay at the bottom of the stairs there was something left untouched on the top of the stairs.

    Little Steven's Sandals.

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: Hackerson

    Entry: "The Mountain Spring Inn"

    I'm Derek, I witnessed my 15th winter this year and have been studying wizardry for more than 10 years now. Only few Kaelar get chosen to study at the White Citadel, where Verra's most esteemed archwizards teach their knowledge to worthy heirs.

    It's late autumn when Initiate Trormund informs my class that we are going on an expedition to investigate a local village. Trormund has been responsible for us for four years now, for a Dünir he is a good teacher, he pushes us to our limit any chance he gets, but that only made us grow stronger. I have two classmates, the empyrean twins Eliya and Dariel, Dariel is never far from his sister, he thinks he is her protector, never to leave her side, honestly, it's creeping me out a little. Eliya on the other hand is a true rebel and always ready cause trouble, once she suddenly kissed me in the library, of course Dariel was not far. We got into a fight right there, I'm sure we would have ruined dozens of priceless books if Trormund wouldn't have pinned us to the floor with a gravity spell – Oh, Eliya, why are you this beautiful? Dariel and I have been enemies ever since.

    The four of us made our way towards the village, the second day of our journey is about to end as we reach a little inn right beside the road, 'The Mountain Spring', excited to spend the night sleeping in a real bed, I beg Initiate Trormund to consider staying the night there, Eliya backs me up instantly with her brother following suit shortly after – of course. Trormund furrowing his bushy brows answers: 'Mhh - time fo' dinner, we'll have it at the inn and conside' renting rooms. Behave you'selves.'

    With those words we enter the Mountain Spring, it was tiny indeed, two tables to our left, one to our right with a tiny bar and presumably a storage place across the room and a ladder leading to the second floor of the building. Judging by the size, there could be no more than two rooms upstairs, we would have to share. The smell of freshly cooked meat stew along with a note of bitter sweet ale and the uncomfortable stench of puke hang in the air – seriously open a window! As I take a look around I only notice one person in the inn, a dark haired dwarf, black as the nightfall spell and tattoos all over his face. He stares right into my eyes and slowly starts grinning. A shiver runs down my spine – this guy is so creepy!

    'Evening, friend! We're lookin' fo' a place to eat and stay the night, at a fai' price, of cou'se.' Trormund says. The inn keeper answers in a low voice: 'five silver for stew, ale and a room, you'll leave at first light.' Our teacher nods to this, a fair price after all, he hands five silver coins to the inn keeper and gets four bowls and four mugs in return. Shortly after both get filled, the meat stew is as amazing as it smelled with fresh meat, carrots, onions, potatoes, beans and several delicious spices mixed together. I devour the entire bowl, soak the last remains up with a slice of bread and flush it down with some strong, dark, yet somehow sweet tasting ale – what a great evening! We talk for a while, then Trormund sends us up to our room, so we could rest. He would follow after just two or three more drinks.

    Our room is barely enough to fit four people, no beds, no closets. Just an empty room with some straw and animal pelts lying around to make it somewhat comfortable. Well, it's still an improvement to the forest ground, I guess. Slowly I fall asleep with the thought of Eliya sleeping only a few inches away.

    A hand reaches out and roughly shakes me awake, 'Wake up! Something is wrong!', it was Dariel. I blink away the sleepiness and rub my head, a headache, too much ale last night. 'What's going on?', I ask, but get no answer. Dariel is already at the door listening and looking through the keyhole. In the corner Eliya is cowering and hugging her blanket tightly, she's crying. 'What happened?', I ask again, this time Dariel looks up an says: 'There's been noises downstairs, it sounded like fighting and then something started howling.' I never saw him that frightened before, I walk over to where Dariel is crouching, 'Do you see something?', I ask. He answers without moving his head: 'There's a stra -'

    An explosion of wood fragments erupts as a pitch black claw rips the keyhole apart and punches through Dariel's skull, a red liquid streaming over the floor. To my right I hear glass shattering, it's Eliya jumping out of the window. I have to flee! I quickly chant a spell, 'blink', I'm on the bottom floor now and run for the door, it's locked. I scan my surroundings and discover a ripped-of arm holding a wand near me, that's Trormund's, but where's the rest of him? I take the wand from his lifeless limb and use it to destroy the lock. As I run outside, I see Eliya lying in the grass, her head facing a direction it is not supposed to. I take off into a frenzied sprint until I can't take another step, the only sound I hear is my troubled exhausted breathing.

    I mindlessly walk the road for several days without stopping, I made it to the Citadel's main entrance, the thoughts of my dead comrades still fresh in my mind, when I hear a shout: 'Derek, you took your time!' It was Eliya, no mistaking her, even as her beautiful blonde hair is now black – dark as the nightfall spell. My vision blurs as I lose grip of my consciousness and begin to slip away...

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

    Username: SamielLancaster/SamielAurous

    Entry:    Horror of the Underrealm


    Lokim, dared by his friends ventured to the underrealm, made his way past the entrance.  It had been blocked off of course but being as small as he is, was able to squeeze between the boards used to block it off.  “Stories say that there are monsters that live in the caves under the city but those are just stories right” thought Lokim as he made it further into the darkness.  Soon the darkness reached the point where he couldn’t see anything at all and the only sounds he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.  Beginning to panic Lokim decided he would just chicken out and go back turning around he realized he wasn’t sure how to get back he started walking faster and faster panicking more and more moving franticly he reached a dead end running into the wall and falling to his bottom…  “this wasn’t here before” he thought.  Moving his hands across the walls until they reached empty air he was able to find a way hopefully back to the surface.  After 30 minutes of walking he began to realize he should already be at the surface, he rounded a corner and he saw the first light he had seen in what felt like hours. 

    He ran towards he light coming around another corner, excited to finally be out of the cave he rounded the final corner to his solace only to have it ripped away.  He found light, but it was not the light of the moon, instead he found the eerie glow coming from mushrooms as tall as trees and moss growing on the ceiling casting the ground in dark shadows where the light is being blocked from the mushrooms.  Beginning to turn around Lokim heard a sound coming from the way he came.  Panicking he made his way into the darkness of one of the tree sized mushrooms and hid the best he could.  Coming from where he just came were alien creatures he had never seen before.  Crouching further down as to not be seen Lokim heard a whisper like the clacking of bone coming from right beside his ear “dddinnnerr”.


    A gnarled old Dwarf leans back from a camp fire surrounded by young Dwarf children, and that kids is why we have bordered up the old caves above the town.  Lokim has never been seen again on the surface of Verra.

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    Username: Cypher
    Entry: A Haunting in Verra

    It is mid-autumn in the year 1529. I am writing this as record of certain grim events that have transpired around Aruna, a small village in the Eastern countryside of Verra.

    Two days ago, a carriage beholding a kings-man, along with his beautiful new bride, made a stop at our inn on their journey through the countryside to a honeymoon retreat. He was a cheerful, handsome gentleman with regal clothes and she was a kind and elegant young woman in a fancy dress, smelling of fresh flowers. The next morning the couple set off toward the southern woods just as excitedly as they had arrived.

    That night a mist settled in, much like we've seen here before, except the air was tainted with a strange, sweet scent. As a cold breeze blew through, Peter rushed into the inn and shakily told about a figure wandering the edge of the woods. A few of us went to the porch to see for ourselves. The figure was a pale white, almost transparent, with several ribbon-like strands of blue-gray cloth trailing behind. It was moving slowly and smoothly, almost like it was floating along the line where the field meets the trees, just barely noticeable through the thick fog. As we watched, it came to a halt and the hair on my neck stood straight up. The figure turned and before I could make out any further details, it vanished.

    The next day, just after noon, I was helping Jeffrey fix one of his instruments and noticed a man shambling up the southern road. As he approached I could see dirt all over him, from his hands to his face and all over his clothes. One of the maids from the inn walked to the man and helped him hobble back to the bench on the front porch. It was the kings-man. Except, his hair was a mess, his clothes were tattered and his arms and face were covered in scratches and dirt. And he was alone. When the maid asked what had happened to him, he didn't speak, instead closed his eyes and tilted his head away.

    Last night, I sat on the balcony of the inn and watched the day slowly turn into night. When the moon was just high enough to be seen over the tree tops, a gust of wind knocked the small flower pot from the table onto the balcony floor and smashed it. As I looked up again, the cold, grey mist crept across the fields and into the town. The scent of roses and lilacs gently washed over me. The flower pot? It held a half dead tulip with barely any scent at all. This was something else. Just then, there was a shriek from inside, and I quickly got up to investigate. The kings-man, who had taken a room for the night, was lying in bed lifelessly. His eyes were wide open and bloodshot, and through the dim candlelight I could see bruises all over his throat. A maid, who had also heard the man yell, approached him to comfort but paused. She took a step back and stood there, rigid, as if paralyzed. I reached out and touched her arm to see if she was alright and immediately felt her skin was cold and her hair stood straight up from goosebumps. She drew a deep breath and backed out of the room. I spoke to Steven, the innkeeper, and we agreed to take the body out to the field immediately to be buried. It would be much too far to transport the body back to the capital.

    The moon was high in the night sky, illuminating the mist covered field and mixing with the vapors to create an ominous glow. We came to a stop a few dozen feet from the edge of the woods. The land here was untouched by the farmers and would serve as a fine grave. When the hole was complete, Steven and I were about to pick up the body when she appeared. The wraith-like figure floated slowly toward us, her tattered and torn dress swaying gently in the breeze. Her face was pale and gaunt, her hair twisted and tangled with leaves stuck within. Her eyes, one as pale as the moon the other dark with the socket black and rotting, were wide open and gave a bitter, piercing stare. Her neck was bruised and mangled. As she approached the scent of fresh cut flowers was overwhelming. It was the kings-man's bride.

    I turned to run, Steven dropped his shovel and I heard him start to run behind me. I heard a strained, high-pitch moan from behind but I didn't turn to look. Finally, I made it to the inn and turned around, expecting to see the Steven right behind me. There was no one behind. The mist receded and all was quiet.

    I've not seen the innkeeper since last night, nor do I have any intention of going out to the fields again. I spent the better part of the afternoon and evening recording these events, and I shall take this letter to the capital tomorrow morning. The final rays of sunlight are leaving the sky as I'm finishing this letter, and the cold is settling in. I can't explain why, but I feel as though I'm covered in goosebumps, the hairs on my arms are stood straight up. I can feel something touched the back of my neck, it wasn't cold or warm or any temperature, it's just there. It's spreading over and around my neck but I dare not move, I can't bring myself to stop writing as I feel I am being watched.
    She's here.
  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

    Forum Username: Santy182

    Entry: Last day on Verra

    It was a dark, stormy night.

    -Why have the gods forsaken us?

    Thought Kali grabbing her chest with one hand, while, trying to muffle the sound of her sobbing little sister Elin with the other hand. Not that she needed to. The thunderous storm outside their hiding place was loud enough to do the job.

    The two young elven sisters sat there in this damp, dark hole, Hiding. They did not know from what. She had only questions. Nobody knew what was going on. The world they once knew suddenly changed and now they could only ask. What kind of horrors would try to kill them this time? How long has it been since Verra’s corruption started? Where did it come from? Why did the Gods and Heroes do nothing to stop it? Why is everyone except Elin trying to kill me? Disoriented, cold and desperate, Kali couldn’t remember or understand much of what was going on.

    All she knew was that everything that moved was trying to kill her, except her sweet little sister. And that she needed to reach Sanctus. To do that, her plan was to head west until reaching the western Great divine gateway and flee to Sanctus.

    She passed out while rocking her sister to sleep. When suddenly a tremor shook the ground. This time much harder than all the tremors that came before.

    Startled she woke up and peeked her head outside the hole to see what was going on.  To her horror she saw the ground swallowing up a city, just north and down the hill from where they were hidden, the screams of terror and despair of the people trapped inside the collapsing homes sent chills down her spine. Kali shook her sister awake, and both jumped out of the hole, ready to escape. But then another tremor shook them to the ground and they got to see most of the city being swallowed by Verra herself.

    With a thunderous roar a Giant golem erupted from underground chewing on the city’s buildings like they were snacks, and, with it, out of the fissures, corrupted monsters started pouring out like vermin. They ripped remaining people apart and started to destroy the remaining buildings.

    A group of monsters noticed them standing, paralyzed atop the hill and with not so much of a snarl started running towards the sisters. These monsters had something in their eyes that could only be interpreted as bloodthirst.

    Kali grabbed Elin’s hand and started to run west into the forest. This is it. Kali thought this world has no saving now there is only Sanctus. It was just past dawn, they were so close, Kali could feel the magic emanating from the gateway getting closer, but it was still dark, because of the rainfall. They could barely see ahead of them even with their elven eyes, the roar of the monsters behind them growing ever closer.

    When suddenly a clear in the forest appeared in front of them and they noticed an old Human standing in the middle, they yelled and tried to tell him to run, he looked at them with a confused, yet familiar stare, and instead of running he took out a book from his utility belt, the sisters stopped running to try and convince him to escape before the monsters got here, but instead a meteor spawned above them and almost crushes them.


    Asked Kali confused, and then she remembered, oh no, the corruption has gotten to him.

    The meteors kept spawning and crashing down as he tried to aim for the sisters in a mad haze They just dodged, rolled and in the end, took off running, in different directions doing serpentine motions every elf for herself, they got separated.

    Kali managed to escape, but now all she could do was hope that Elin would catch up with her around the gateway. So, she kept running west without looking back. When she finally got out of the forest she could see it. The gateway was there far in the distance but visible, and it was active, she could see thousands of people going through it. Escaping this now mangled world.

    As Kali started absentmindedly walking towards the gateway she didn’t notice she was standing atop a hill and fell rolling downhill when she came to. Her sister Elin, was in front of her, staring into her eyes. Kali noted something was off but didn’t care so she smiled and said.

    -Elin! It’s you!

    Kali got up to hug her sister when she felt a sharp pain radiating from her arms. She turned and noticed her arms were not there. Terrified she turned to her sister to see her with a creepy smile across her face, a knife in her hand and a look that she now recognized as the same bloodthirsty look the monsters and that human had before. Elin continued stabbing Kali until everything went cold and black for her…

    -Nobody is safe from this corruption that turns your own family into bloodthirsty monsters.

    The last thought Kali had as life left her body.

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

    Username: Jahlon

    Entry: The final portal

    The sound of wand attacks caused Tinge to dive down the hill and become a bush.  This was not magic she had trained to use; but this year while trying to stop her mother Tinge had learned some things.  

    Her father, a High Priest of the Empyrean, warned her there was no time to secure what her Necromancer mother had stolen, but Tinge was determined to bring the family heirloom with her to Sanctus.

    “You must reach the Divine Gate by midnight three days from now,” were her father’s last words.  “The corruption draws close and my magic won’t be able to keep the portal open and I must make the trip.”

    Catching the putrid stench of three zombies shambling by, Tinge looked at the moon.

    “Only a few hours till midnight” she said checking to ensure both daggers were secured on her belt.  Sneaking into her mother’s camp and stealing the daggers was a story worth telling, getting to island was going to be legendary.

    She may not have been a graduated cleric, but she knew enough as a Cultist to have insight. Reaching into her pocket for a stone she threw it into the woods and watched the undead shuffled after the sound.  When the zombies went on their way, Tinge made her way along the river to the shoreline. She knew where the island was and could have found it in the dark. Being a failed Cleric student turned Rogue did have its advantages, she knew all about the magic that Necromancers used.

    Behind her, she felt the pull of corruption.  Looking up at the sky she saw a ribbon of red flame touching the sky as a wall of crimson flowed to the ground consuming everything in its wake.

    “Midnight my ass.  Thanks Dad” she spat as she picked up her pace.  Makial, her bodyguard and long time friend, was waiting just a little further up the coast with a boat.  What should have been a rogue’s blessing in the form of a pitch black sky was turning into quite a nightmare as the red flames threw bright illumination everywhere.  As she approached the boat, the smell of blood and rot lingered in the air.

    “Makial are you,” before she could finish the question the walking corpse turned to greet her with a grin.  His throat had been torn open and his head was barely attached. As he lunged for her, she drew her blades and removed the hand at the elbow.  Vaulting backwards she looked at one of the blades glowing bright red, a shade that matched the color of the corrupted sky. Looking around she noticed a horde of zombies and ghouls making their way in her direction.  She wasn’t sure if they were headed towards her or just away from the corruption, but they were too many to fight alone.

    Looking down at her other blade, the one she had owned originally before he mother had stolen it, she saw it  glowed a soft blue. From the blade she heard her father’s voice whisper “Nor-thar i nen.”  As she turned to the water she could see ice forming along the surface just wide enough for her and just thick enough for the nimble feet of a rogue.

    Racing across the water, even the long dead began to protest the coming of the corruption.  Corpses buried at sea came to the surface and grasped at her ankles. There were several occasions where she thought she was going to be pulled into the water but she managed to keep her balance.  

    She made it to the deep water and the corpses disappeared.  The storm having reached the shore now cast a glow across the water that made the island ahead look like it was floating in blood.   Even the blue shine from the divine gate did little combat the red glow; although there was clearly defined border between the good left in Vera and the evil coming to consume all.

    As she reached the shore she saw four figures, where there should have been five.  Had she finished her training, had she become a Cleric she should have been here keeping the gate open till the last minute.  

    She laughed, “If I had finished my training they wouldn’t be here waiting for me.”

    “Come daughter, there is no time.”  

    Her three siblings retreated into the portal as she reached her father’s side.

    “Not without me I hope dear husband” hissed a voice from the shadows.

    As they turned a figured emerged from wisps of smoke.  Her face, unmistakably Tinge’s mother but spoiled by the corruption from pursuing the dark arts.   

    “You will not enter this gate” the High Priest said firmly moving himself in between his daughter and wife.

    Looking over her shoulder and outstretching a hand, the Necromancer summoned half a dozen twisted creatures.  Behind them, the corruption storm was drawing closer.

    “Father let’s go.”

    “No Tinge.  We must protect this gateway until the very last moment.  We cannot allow your mother to bring corruption to Sanctus.  Quickly, give me your mother’s blade.”

    As the six creatures rambled closer to them, Tinge lunged forward and cut two of them down in swift order. As she moved to confront the next opponent, she saw her father step in front of her palm outstretched.


    Before she could react, her father’s white magic threw her into the portal. Barely clinging to Vera she reached out her hand to her father.

    “Come with me”

    Over his shoulder he smiled down at her “I must protect this portal, for my daughter”

    Watching him do something she had only seen once before, he invoked the name of his Diety and took on his angelic form.  The remaining shambling creatures cowered in fear.

    As he turned a single pop was heard.  Red mist sprayed as his head fell to the ground. Tinge watched her mother reached into the portal as she was pulled to Santus.

    Did corruption come through too?

  • Username: MalteseWolf

    "Verra - the world of our ancestors - is a world full of magic and wonder... as I am sure you have heard before. Alas, not all magic is beneficial or even tamable. A long time ago, when civilization on Verra was still in its infancy, Dünzenkell Dwarves were digging ever deeper into their new mountain fortress of Dünheim. Whether they sought to expand the fortress or find riches nobody is sure today. But although their aim remains unknown, precious gems was what they found, or so they thought. It was a cave in that revealed a cavern in the depths of the mountain large enough for the expedition leader to build a small hut within. From here he oversaw the extraction of these gems.

    The size of a fist each was, glowing a bright orange and encasing a milky golden substance in its core. Despite their best efforts, none of the miners ever managed to crack open any of them to investigate the material within. All attempts with pickaxe, warhammer or even magic would horribly backfire, killing or injuring the daring individual curious enough to try. So it was that the chief miner forbid all of his workers from taking any of the gems out of the cavern. He spurred them onward to find more, working harder than ever before. As the days turned into weeks, the more of these mysterious gems were dug up and stashed within the leader's hut, the more he changed for the worse. Originally known for his fairness and generosity, the chief soon turned greedy and cruel, exacting terrible punishments upon workers that tried to sneak a gem out. Somehow he always seemed to know when such a feat was attempted.

    Soon enough rumors spread that the boss had lost his senses and wished to keep all the treasure for himself. The whispers turned into angry sermons from some of the senior miners, which swiftly became a mutiny. Most of the miners turned against the loyalists and pickaxes were raised against friends and comrades. Driven mad by lack of rest or greed perhaps, or something more sinister still. In mere minutes, a great many deaths washed the tunnels in dwarven blood. When the armed mutineers reached the leader's hut at last, they tossed torches onto its hay roof to set the wooden structure alight. For a while it just burned, until their chief ran out with his head aflame, screaming curses at the workers he named traitors. He fell... rolling on the ground a while, until all screaming and writhing died down. A great cheer echoed through the cavern, as the miners called their ruthless leader deposed. While some thanked and congratulated their comrades, others started moving towards the burning hut to take their bounty from within. But the cheers turned to gasps and screams as their chief rose once more, hovering in the air to land on his hut's combusting roof.

    'Traitors and Thieves, the lot o' ye. Think ye can steal -MY- precious gems?! None o' ye are worthy, for only -I- learned their secrets and drank of their golden blood!' The dwarf boss cackled, face and head still burning with flames that grew brighter and hotter as if fueled by his rage.

    Then the fire consuming his hut rose off its wooden fuel to hover instead in a circle above his head as he raised his arms, commanding it. Several fireballs escaped the ring, flying forth. But rather than burning the rebels still on their feet, they landed on the dead miners, loyal and rebellious both without prejudice. Much like the boss himself each corpse hit rose, head aflame and face melting, gathering whatever weapons or tools were at hand. They charged the living, howling for vengeance and some fought back but could not kill the undead for good. Each time they were struck down they would rise again, unfazed. The rabble-rousers died first, themselves swiftly being hit by fireballs and rising to turn against their people, who saw no way to survive that madness. Hopeless, they fled. Scrambling and clawing their way out of the cavern, trampling the slower among them to death as they went, every dwarf for himself.

    Fortunately for the citizens of Dünheim, a few of them had the sense to demolish the tunnel that led to that cursed cavern as they escaped. Blocking access to and from that fiery inferno and trapping the flaming undead below. The chilling tale spread such that inhabitants of Dünheim adopted a new tradition to remember the day that marked each anniversary of that horrible night. Every household would paint a rock the size of a fist a bright orange, and hang it by a golden string against their house door. For it was rumored that whoever did not do so would wake in the middle of the night with his head aflame and die an excruciating death screaming about traitors and thieves."


    The storyteller ends his retelling in a befittingly somber tone, eyeing the stunned crowd. Perfect silence envelops them, save for the crackling of wooden logs giving life to the campfire in their midst. Suddenly a loud voice from up a nearby hill calls out, "Gray Sentinels! Form up!" The abrupt noise makes all of them jump, including he who had been spreading the legend. "This is where I leave you, my friends. I suggest painting some stones orange and carrying them around. I believe that anniversary is soon upon us again and... you never know who might wake up feeling hotter than they went to sleep," the Dünir dwarf says as he stands, to the clinking of the gem-encrusted circlets adorning his long bushy beard and glittering in the firelight. He picks up his satchel and warhammer, resting each upon either of his broad shoulders. Smirking he starts up the hill in the direction of the voice, leaving the wanderers to their nightmares beneath a bright full moon.

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018

    Username:  ashlynmae


    Pumpkin Picking Day Horror

    It was a beautiful late Fall morning. I opened the windows and saw that the sun was shining brightly and the pumpkin patch was ready to tour to find just the right one for my carving. The town’s Hallows Eve display and festivities was tonight!  I hurriedly dressed and ran into the kitchen for a quick bite.  As a bonus, I planned to make the most delicious pumpkin pie too!

    Our family established its freehold on Verra out near the swamps to be near all the specialty herbs, so I always carried my spell book with me for safety.  As I approached the garden, it seemed a bit too quiet for such a beautiful morning, but I did not give it another thought. I was in a very happy relaxed mood. I traveled up and down the garden rows, and just as I  passed a gigantic pumpkin, I spotted the perfect one to carve.  It seemed to smile and say ‘pick me!!”.  I reached down for a closer view and to my horror, the pumpkin was not at all what it seemed.  It whip-lashed away and was replaced by a huge gaping jaw filled with razor sharp teeth of one of the swamp beasties. As It lunged at me, I stumbled and fell backwards in shock and the little beastie’s teeth sank deeply into a pumpkin sitting at my left shoulder! It gnashed and twisted to break free of a mouth full of pulp and seeds just long enough for me to draw up my spell book and toast it with a lightening bolt!  Whew, that was a close one.  Now I will not only have a wonderful pumpkin pie tonight, I will have some delicious Roasted Spiced Swamp Beastie to go with it too! 

  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
    On long awaited Halloween night ,
    the evening filled with events to excite.
    Intrepid studios get ready to stream,
    when suddenly their computer goes to a black screen.
    It will not boot up as their promises time will soon arrive,
    they panic and try to get the computer back alive.
    Suddenly the office phone will ring,
    informing them they now have terrible ping.
    Now the man arrives who has the snacks,
    but he left them in the car with smokestacks.
    An accident or on purpose as power goes out,
    there is panic as everyone around begins to shout,
    When all hope is lost Steven appears revealing.
    a statement that wouldn't be at all smashing,
    Our long awaited game is canceled,
    our entire budget has been culled!
    A wave of sadness sweeps over,
    however Steven begins to stir.
    As he lets out a grand laughter,
    With that he gives an Answer.
    It was all a but a mere prank!
    Now lets leave the winner spot blank!

    The End.
  • ArchivedUserArchivedUser Guest
    edited October 2018
                                                    Username Malgus
                                               Entry: The Enraged Tulnar
    It was a stormy night in the lands of Verra with flashes of light striking and erasing everything it touched. However there was something more sinister lurking in the shadows, one that would bring great suffering to inhabitants of Verra. We begin this tale in the heart of this darkness where the lakes of fire encompassed a lair of a bewitched necromancer named Woden whose goal was to see the lands of Verra and its people in ruin and agony. For this, Woden needed the help of his illustrious companion Lucius the damned who was a dark paladin and a champion of darkness whose life goal was to rid the world of life itself. But there was one problem with this Woden, which was dying of a plague that he blamed on the people of Verra. Lucius knows of ancient ritual where one could transfer the soul of one being into another regardless if the being is alive or not. So Lucius gathered the corpse of a Verra forgotten warrior and the preparation began for their revenge. They first had to remove the heart of the forgotten warrior, they cut open the corpse and ripped out its heart with blood dripping everywhere. Then Lucius stated the words of the ancient ritual as Woden stabbed his heart with the blooded knife. The sky has turned blood red and the land became a scorched orange then all of sudden the mysterious warrior began glowing red and has awoken, Lucius laughed heavily and shout WODEN, IT IS TIME FOR DEATH, IT IS TIME FOR SUFFERING. The creature said who is Woden I’m am a Tulnar and I’m here to bring suffering to all. The creature approached Lucius and said that includes you as he put his hand inside Lucius's chest and ripped out his heart and then bit it SAYING FOR I AM DEATH AND DEATH SHALL CONSUME YOU ALL. From this point the creature went to neighbouring towns men and woman and children none where shown mercy their corpses either laid on the ground or where worn as symbol of the hunt. Nothing is known on how the creature fate ended some say he died in battle other say he settled down to lead his people to freedom. But either way I shall slaughter every Tulnar I see, it is the only way to be certain that these filthy savages are gone once and for all for my name is princess Selana daughter of the devil King Lucius.
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