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The Creeping Evil
Hello everyone. It's been awhile since my last """story""", but as it always happens this time o' year I'm in the spooky Halloween mood. And that mood demands stories! So I've been at work with one, just for y'all. Now as usual it's not entirely done yet, and looking like it could be lengthy, so I've decided to post it in parts over the course of this/next few week(s). That way everyone on Heroscapers (or at least this forum) will have something to read this season. I've posted part one below. And despite the author's best efforts, I do hope you enjoy it. P.S. If yer the type (or even if you're not) who listens to music or noise while reading, I recommend one of those ten-hour tracks of Rain or Storming you can find on YouTube, such as this one: www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsgBCdK01oI&t=5507s
Spoiler Alert!
I ____ Today I got a letter. It contained but one page on a notebook, tattered and torn with carelessness or damage. September 11th, 12P.W. (Post-War) Harold Phillips, of the chronicler’s guild ____ To the Chronicler, ____ I’ve investigated the temple on Drooling Pine Hill, north of Old Vestklar. I had heard tales of nameless horrors beneath the old crypts of that wretched place, and had so foolishly hoped they were true for the sake of winning the Glyph of Scop from you. What I found was beyond the grasp of imagination, things too beyond human comprehension for words or history to ever contain them. ____ Still, it is my duty as an Apprentice of the Chronicler to try my best to relay those lost secrets. You must meet with me and soon. This letter will travel faster than I can. By the time you are reading it, I hope to be en route to Lindesfarme. Meet me there and I will tell you all I know, should my mind remain stable enough for the journey. ____ Even now I jump at shadows. Out of the corner of my eye I can see them moving, roving this way and that into horrid shapes that demand my attention away from the pen. I still haven’t slept since I ventured into the Abyss. How could I? The unconscious mind is as illogical and paranoid as mankind’s was at the dawn of time. The Primordials would seek to ruin me into madness should I lower my guard in such a way. For indeed they are ever watching. ____ I must maintain a form of stiff reasoning. I shall be waiting at the Junction of 3rd and Feywind once you reach Lindesfarme, I’ll be there on the 18th at the earliest, at 3:00 in the afterno nyobig xcxkhecniuyk felldellar cxndl akmd onea jf kik ewf uooic iiinsnuanyxx kaejknf kroopgp ownnnlale,fml jndwpamf kjeaiudnfoam jedoii alm lsof oqnr aimfe jaythirtysix dmawkm dufendrr klwemdf iunrewofm a ____ wfmlw oidf lksnrf oje koiiinfoapmf kj wkjeovcms jakjdofppv j ejnoapfdm aje djsod jad adpifn jeofiajpin esjuoaenfie shjfeiein lkamwd h kaej dfnefin rsjnadoin esnoaina kj odicna dj oiend aejf oasnf dl ae afndaw awnoianof sdj o enfo j aejod chioaef j oaine chiuen ajboiv pmomovcinx ocnsdenox d oionnl dfnlicnoaijwpdomp aoidpojaon oianefono oawnoa diunaiwndaj orin sejf ailamoifneoaljaind alkdnlai eubfoioi fosdpnea osidna dnoinofs oaijdpwa eoinfpaow eopfjapwnawmpdoofomfpaijo oiwajpdojp eipvnso oad lnaefin awodonf oajdpowjdml kalojdawbdefnoaidmnd feaiohaijkn niehaisn iahfepoaoinwdbf ____ A large splatter of ink was streaked across the center of the page, right after the first O in “afternoon”. As you can see, of course, the quality of Harold Phillips' writing degrades somewhat over the course of the letter. But he did keep on writing all the same. Today is the 19th of October. I’ve since talked to every Imperium stationed near the trains at 3rd and Feywind, and not a single one of them (nor any witnesses I could track down) saw Mr. Phillips on the day of September 18th. Clearly he missed his train, just as he missed sending his letter on time. But he did send it nonetheless. Now I’m on the train to Old Vestklar, or rather on the train to the station closest to that remote, forgotten place. One way or another, these things always involve lots of walking to the destination. ____ “Excuse me, sir… Sir!” Someone tugged at the cord of my earbuds, rousing my attention away from my reading. I looked up carelessly, the initiator of the conversation doing little to spur my interest; one of the conductors of the train. He was an older gentlemen, a preexisting irk on his withered face, “We’re coming up to the last stop, sir.” ____ “Thanks.” I fumbled a bit with putting away my headphones, dropping the magazine I was reading in the process. I got droppy when I was tired, and the long ride up as well as the gray weather outside had done little to improve my condition. ____ Despite my thanks, the conductor scowled at the open pages of my reading material. He snatched up the magazine and rolled it up before returning it, “Honestly sir, looking at that dirty drivel? There are—well, there were—children aboard this train!” ____ “Hey, I get sick when I try reading aboard a vehicle! It’s medicinal!” I excused, but he was already hastily trudging off, “We’re all only human here.” ____ I staggered to my feet and made my exit. The inside of the train was luxurious in appearance: very fanciful and felty. It made the outdoors seem all the more unwelcoming as I stepped out onto the platform. Gray rolling winds immediately battered at my coat, bringing the unpleasant sort of cold that sunk straight into the ears. I shivered and looked for my ride, stuffing the magazine under my coat by my holster. ____ Dellbriggs, or Dullbrig as its teenagers called it, was a dark brown town without the burdens of merit or aspirations. Even its architecture kept its head low, none of the buildings going beyond a first floor. Yet in spite of its ugliness it still represented civilization compared to Old Vestklar, my destination. That place beyond the bog, the place that the children here told ghost stories about. No one looked to that direction of the horizon and hoped for a brighter future. It was a forbidden place, part of the Old Valhalla that no one liked to talk about. My destination. I couldn’t wait. ____ A tall thin man stood on the edge of the boardwalk, looking through the invisible crowd of would-be departures from the arriving train—as if there was anyone but me. Behind him stood a rickety black carriage burdening a thin wide-eyed old horse. A sign with the word “CRONACLER” written on it was held tightly in the man’s bony fingers. I approached him. ____ “Are you him, senior?” The man asked me in a sheepish, nasally tone. ____ I extended a hand, “The cronacler; that’s me. Avarius Fantus is my name, if you please.” ____ “And Vigo Love is mine, senior.” Despite his thinness, he gladly took my hand and shook it heartily. My impression of him improved mildly. He stood up a bit straighter, “They gave me your letter. I can take you to Old Vestklar.” ____ “Then we can talk on the road, Mr. Love.” I motioned to the carriage. ____ He gestured and moved as if to respond but said nothing, stepping back and allowing me access before climbing up to the rider’s seat. With the sharp crack of a whip the horse jumped into a trot. With the carriage rocking and bouncing with the uneven road, and with the window seat, I was back on the train all over again. ____ Vigo talked loudly from his spot, me unable to see him from inside the carriage, “So what exactly do you chroniclers do, Mr. Fantus?” ____ I was in the process of fetching my earbuds but stopped at the incited conversation, “We, uh, we’re a guild of historians. Or storytellers as some prefer. I see myself as more of an investigator.” ____ “And what investigation business do you got in Old Vestklar, senior?” ____ “I’m looking for one Harold Phillips, a fellow chronicler.” I said, “Or more astutely, the purpose of this investigation is to find out what happened to the last investigation.” ____ “Oh.” ____ “Oh indeed.” ____ “Well,” Vigo took a moment or two before speaking up again, “We did have a guy come in a little over a month ago. He wanted to see the temple. It’s just about the only thing people come looking for around these parts, senior. But, uh, I didn’t talk to him much. It could be him, but I didn’t talk to him enough to say for certain. He was shacked up with a guy (well, not really a guy) named Craft. When we get to town, I can take you to him. He’d know. He’d know for certain.” ____ “That so?” I mused, “Er, how long until we get to town, exactly?” ____ “It took me seven hours to get down here, senior. It’ll take just as long to get back, provided the fords haven’t flooded. It’ll be a late night, Mr. Fantus.” ____ “Ugh. No kidding.” I leaned back, finding the stiff seat uncomfortable and trying to strike any posture other than the one I had just been in on the ride here. Closing my eyes, I reached to lean a hat down over my brow, groaning again in frustration for not bringing one. Finally I retrieved my magazine, opened it up and laid it over my face. Probably looked like a lazy sleaze, I did, but it wasn’t necessarily untrue between the two of us. And honestly the picture draped across my face was the only pleasing thing to look at out here, and that would continue for the duration of my coming visit. ____ It took a long time to fall asleep, despite my best endeavors to freely surrender myself to it. Even when it did overtake me it was as brief as a 10-Point ninja’s lifespan, and without dreams to fill its darkness. Vigo slapped my arm, suddenly by my side. The cart was stopped and it was raining. ____ “C’mon, senior! It’s pourin’, and I don’t much care to be out in it for long. Help me get your things.” He said, already turning to leave as I sat up. ____ I stepped out, glad to be standing for once. Heavy droplets tapped my hair and shoulders at a steady pace, what was once a drizzle slowly becoming a full-on downpour. I hastily zipped up my overcoat. ____ It was indeed very dark out, only an edge of the sun’s light still visible beyond the murky clouds on the horizon. Old Vestklar rotted around me, a shambling collection of uneven buildings and roads; all painted black in their murky palette and the darkness. Only the soft glow of firelight against a curtained window gave the structures any form. It was a town that earned this kind of weather. ____ I turned and saw it, to the north. Far off in the horizon, painted black in silhouette and juxtaposed against the light of the nearly-extinguished sunset. The temple I had been told about. Only its dome-shaped top was visible from this far away, but I could see it nonetheless. A sense of foreboding rose up my spine, meeting the sense of dread running down halfway. ____ A semicircle of pitch black, like a sun without its fire, the temple sat there in silence. Overlooking the town. What exactly had Harold seen there that cracked him so? I myself had seen and uncovered a lot—all of us chroniclers had. But even so, there was something about that structure that struck a particular chord with me. Unsettled me in a way that I could not rationally explain. ____ I smiled. That was simply my favorite flavor of horror, the surreal kind. I had work to do. A lot of it. ____ The rain had picked up enough to be rather noisy, justifying Vigo’s volume as he shouted at me, “That there’s the place, senior! Craft puts up with any visitors.” ____ “Got it.” ____ “I live over there down Murg Street. Me an’ my family that is.” He forcefully handed me my only case, “I’ll be going now. My wife’ll kill me as is, being so late. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Fantus.” ____ “Right, right.” I watched him rush back to the carriage and take off in a hurry. He seemed strangely antsy all of a sudden, certainly in no fast pace on the ride up here. Ah, forget about it. I turned and walked into my new abode. ____ The place was a tavern of sorts, various ugly shades of brown making up the walls and furniture and such. A fire struggling to maintain its existence in the corner was the only source of warmth and life. There was a bar counter at the northern end of the room—only a few drinks on display—where I thought I could hear a strange noise like the faint clanging of pots and whirring of metal. Instinctually I reached for my holstered Glock. ____ A metallic man rose up from behind the counter: a Warforged. I relaxed my movement. He was a banged-up old model, his metal plating only shining where any fresh stains would be and numerous parts of his frame seemingly replaced with wood or lesser metals. A small furnace growled where his stomach should be. ____ “Are you Mr. Craft?” I asked, now understanding the simplistic name. ____ “Yessir. I trust you’re the Chronicler?” He replied solemnly, “I got your letter. Have a seat by the fire to dry off. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat an’ then we can talk.” ____ “Sure.” ____ Clack. A shallow metal bowl full of soup landed on the table next to me as Craft returned. He pulled over a stool and sat down, rubbing his three-digited hands together as if they were cold, “There y’are, Chronicler.” ____ “Avarius is fine.” I carefully handled the hot dish and sampled its contents. The broth wasn’t salty, and it tasted strongly of cheese and chicken. Not horrible, but more importantly it was hot. I cautiously worked on it while we chatted, “What brings a Warforged all the way out here? If you don’t mind me asking.” ____ “When the war ended, I wanted to go home.” Craft said, “But Vydar would not have it. He wanted us to stay in his service, being now addicted to machines as he was. He would not send us home, so I left. Now I live up here.” ____ “I see.” ____ “And why is a Human like you still here, Avarius?” ____ “Fair enough question.” I answered coolly, “I could have left with everyone else, but I’m more interested in this world than my own. Most of the chronicler’s guild is. We’ll always be with Valhalla, invested in it, even though everything has been over for a while now. But anyways, that’s not why I’m here right now.” ____ Craft nodded, “Harold Phillips. You are looking for him.” ____ I nodded in return, squinting as I felt something in my spoonful that wasn’t the other ingredients. Squishy. ____ Craft continued, “He stayed here. I put up with any visitors we get here.” ____ “Do you get visitors often?” ____ “No. But we do get them. They’re usually here to see the temple on Drooling Pine Hill. Up north.” ____ My eyes instinctually drifted toward the nearest window. A little pitch black square within a wooden frame, the generous amounts of drizzle on it the only thing that could be seen. I held my stare, “What can you tell me about the temple? Why are folks interested in it?” ____ “In the old days it was a burial mound, that hill. Then during the war a Kyrie named Orym built a church on top of it. Turns out, or so they say, there was actually a hidden wellspring under it. The Kyrie was using it to summon creatures, but it didn’t turn out so well for him as it did for the other generals. At any rate, people go there to visit the church and explore it. Some are trying to find the wellspring; to others it is simply a site of tourism and ghost stories.” ____ “Any luck on that wellspring?” I inquired. ____ “No. And it is forbidden to disturb the burial mound beneath, although if there were such a wellspring it would likely be there. It is a holy site, and people both revere and fear it greatly.” Craft sat perfectly still as he spoke, never breaking eye contact with me even when I would look away and back, “Harold Phillips was investigating the temple. He and Vigo Love went there numerous times during his stay. He kept extensive notes in his room. They’re still there if you want to look through them.” ____ “Yes please. I’ll take his room, if you don’t mind.” I said, setting the finished soup bowl aside and starting to get up. I had slept plenty on the way here, and if Harold had left any further clues I wanted to see them immediately. ____ Craft said nothing but rose to his feet and returned to the bar. He opened one cabinet, revealing three room keys and an old lever-action shotgun within. ____ “He was in Room 3. All of his things are as he last left them. You should not stay in his room or read his notes.” Nonetheless the Warforged tossed me the Room 3 key, “It’s bad to do so. He was a foolish man, Harold. He didn’t do as he was told and didn’t respect the history he was uncovering. He roused bad things, and it might rub off on you if you follow in his footsteps.” ____ I caught the key and patted my holster, “Thanks but I’ll be fine. I’ve got protection.” ____ “They’re not the sort of things that can be fought off with weapons.” Craft warned. ____ But that was the last he said of it, and so I fetched my belongings and went up to my room all the same. It was at the end of a cramped hall, beyond the reach of the light. I felt for the keyhole and slowly opened the door, peering it curiously. ____ It was a mess to put it kindly. The room was bigger than I thought it would be but all the same I could barely see the floor. Books and papers were scattered everywhere. Harold’s bags were all open, their contents spilled all over the place. The only thing free from the debris was the bed and ironically a desk by the door. It indeed looked like the untouched living space of a man who’d gone mad in his last moments of living. ____ I unpacked my things and prepared for my work, setting my phone and machinepistol on the desk. I had brought an electric light but there was no outlet to charge it with, so I instead used an oil lamp already on the desk. It bathed the room in an orange light, cozying it up save for the increased shadows beyond its reach. But I hadn’t been scared of shadows for a great many years. Some pens and a journal of my own I set down in the corner of the desk. The rest of my stuff I left on the bed. ____ It took a long while to snatch up all the books and papers around the room, but I was diligent. Not a thing could be missed. I organized the papers and began looking through them. Most were torn pages of Harold’s notebook, others were torn pages of various history books and similar texts. I ignored them for now and tried to rearrange the scattered notes back to their original order. I wanted to see if there was anything dated past his last entry that I had received by mail. There wasn't. ____ Hmm, by mail… I pondered for a moment, wondering if this mess was truly caused by Harold in a fit of madness. Craft might say otherwise, but there was also a very good chance (worth betting on I’d say) that someone else had trashed the room while looking for something. Or looking to destroy something, rather. After all, I was willing to assume that Harold was lost to madness or dead. Someone had sent me that page—and only that one page—and the chances of it being the lost chronicler were slim. ____ I knew When and Where, but I didn’t know Who or Why. Obviously the evil monsters and Primordials he was fearful of hadn’t done it. Someone in town must’ve. ____ I tapped the desk and reorganized the notes again, hastily sorting them chronologically. I didn’t know much, but I had a good way of finding out more. Harold had done much of the research for me, after all. ____ I took up one of the pens and pushed its point out with a click!, readying to take notes of my own, and got down to reading, “All right, Mr. Phillips. Let’s grade your report… What do you got to tell me…?” to be continued... I can't promise when I'll be back, but I will be back. ~TAF TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT Last edited by TheAverageFan; February 25th, 2019 at 03:03 AM. |
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Re: The Creeping Evil
Know what I'm doing tonight. ~TGRF. |
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Re: The Creeping Evil
Nice little start. Good worldbuilding, as I never read your other stories before is interesting that
Spoiler Alert!
this takes place in Valhalla after the war, and it seems like industry has started to take place, but like how it is not spelled out but deduced. Also like the noir feel mixed with fantasy setting, as is mostly unique, with Dresden Files being only thing I can think of as close.
Looking to see where it goes. C3V/SoV cards @ 3/page PDF / LeftOn4ya's Customs (including Jurassic World) / Competitive Unit Alters / New? Start Here! Unit Debates REVIVED - #76 Tandros Kreel vs Torin "Today is a good day to die... but the day is not yet over"
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Part II
Quote:
Anyways, here is part 2:
Spoiler Alert!
II ____September 2nd, 12 P.W. ____ Harold Phillips, of the chronicler’s guild ____ Day 1 of the investigation ____ The crisp papers rattled in my hands as I peered over them, the inks difficult to read in the orange glow of the only light available to me. I pulled the lamp over much closer, it now feeling hot on one hand in its proximity, and dared to read on. I refused to allow myself to pause any further until I was satisfied with my readings, so that I might immerse myself with the material as much as humanly possible. Harold Phillips had been a smart man after all, his notes full of detailed writing (and far less doodling than my own tended to possess), and I wanted to know exactly what he could prepare me for going forward. I delved. ____ I was not Prompted to begin this search by the Chronicler. Nor was it spurred by any of my other associates in the guild, a fact I know find fascinating considering the history and intrigue I was promised to find here. Indeed, I fully expect this find-to-be to finally win me the Glyph of Scop and the position of head of the guild. The fact that the temple of Drooling Pine Hill hasn’t already been the subject of study by our guild is all at once a grave oversight on the part of the chroniclers as well as a potential gold mine for me. ____ I had heard the story in passing from a friend of a friend at an excavation dig in northern Thaelenk, on the 22nd of June. He—a Kyrie fellow of Anund descent—expressed interest in the chronicler’s guild (although he was disappointed at the discovery that the guild was exclusively Human) and had asked me if I knew of the Legend of Orym and the people of the marshlands. He seemed surprised that both my colleague and I hadn’t heard of it. Smelling a story right then and there, I waited until my associate was gone before pressing for more details, knowing that this was going to be my ticket—and mine alone—to the Glyph of Scop. I set out to Old Vestklar as soon as the Thaelenk dig ended. ____ The Kyrie—his name was Sol—told me of the temple and the long-dead Valkyrie, and of the horrors he had summoned deep within the heart of the bog. Of course, no such monstrosities had been sighted in the area, nor were any reports of creatures ever filed in the nearby town. My eye was more on the history of the place, although finding any horrors would honestly only improve my stories to the Chronicler. The church was once the site of a wellspring and a Valkyrie: of great historical significance to the war records. Plus beneath that was the burial mound erected by the Old Tribes. It was two stories at once. I rushed to Old Vestklar as soon as I was able and arrived late the night of September 1st. Unfortunately I was too weary from travel to see the temple right then and there and instead rested at the abode of a Warforged named Craft. ____ Today I met with two of the townsfolk: Redgir Sylien and Vigo Love (a human), both of whom agreed to accompany me to the Temple. Redgir was my guide from Dellbriggs to Old Vestklar and throughout my stay, and Vigo was one of the temple caretakers who gave guides to any outsiders who wished to study it. The three of us ventured to the temple at 11:00 in the morning. ____ It was cautious work, the journey, veering on perilous. There was a simple and shabby boardwalk traversing the marshes between the town and the hills, and with it still being the wet season the bog was hazardous to tread through. Now I was envious of the Kyrie folk, seeing Redgir simply fly overhead while Vigo and I had to wade through the rickety wooden path. ____ Vigo was quick to remind me that our time at the temple had to be very limited, as it was both hazardous and forbidden to be at the temple after dark. He refused to tell me why, being very obstinate on the matter, and even Redgir would only say it was because traversing the marsh in the dark was dangerous. I had suspicions of ulterior motives right away, but shelved them for politeness or chalked them up to the small town superstitions of unenlightened folk. Whichever line of reasoning you prefer. ____ We reached the temple at 1:15 in the afternoon and stayed until 2:37. I wanted to simply survey the location and know its layout at its most basic before moving on with the investigation, so I was not too irked by the short visiting hours. I will, after all, be here as long as it takes to get to the bottom of this, and I knew that no one else at the guild knew of the legends. I had the town all to myself. ____ The temple was smaller than I had imagined, propped up by the burial mound like a child standing atop a gravestone to appear taller. It was built from a gray stone that I did not recognize, many parts of its ancient walls missing and deteriorated. For being built during the last war, it had aged terribly. It could very well be lost to time soon, as the nature around it seemed to have no intention of enabling it to endure the winters. ____ The inside of the church was made up in a cross shape: four smaller chambers connected at cardinal ends to a center circular room. Further structures, being far more depleted, surrounded this building. I could not discern their purpose during my short tour, although Vigo told me that they were originally walls and corridors of a castle around the church—as Orym had intended to become a Valkyrie General. I cannot say if he knew what he was talking about or not. ____ The only find of significance I discovered during the stay was that of some strange symbols etched upon the northern wall. I could not discern them for the life of me, being in neither Kyrie nor English or any other language I have come to know over my years. So strange and alien this language was to me, I could only describe it as some sort of eldritch hieroglyphs. Yet even those ancient Egyptian symbols possess more understandable meaning to the untrained eye. ____ Bafflingly, my universal translator was unable to decode it. My scanner dated it as being the same age as the temple around it, so I could at the very least conclude that the message was not particularly old. When I consulted Vigo on the matter, he merely said they were nonsensical ramblings that belonged to no official cypher and left it at that. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps not… ____ Most strangely of all, the particular corner in which I found this message was noticeably colder than the area around it. Not the kind of cold that indicated its origin, such as the damp cold of nearby water or the moving cold of wind or air. Just colder in general. I spent a good deal of time searching that one corner of the temple but was unable to discern a source or reason. ____ I spent the rest of the day interviewing various townsfolk about the temple, and received many differing answers regarding it. Some spoke of the religious importance of either the wellspring or the burial mound (and why pesky investigators like myself oughtn’t disturb it), while others talked with far less reverence: warning me of the horrid experiments Orym preformed on his victims up at the temple. ____ It seemed that there were several ghost stories regarding the old church that were traded all over the town and neighboring provinces. One regarded how Orym was so affected by the primordial terrors he’d summoned that he was transformed into a wretched beast that stalked the marsh at night and sometimes wandered into town looking for victims to steal away and tear apart. I was told that if I heard two taps on my bedroom window that I should not answer and avoid looking out or at the window for the rest of the night. ____ Another proverb spoke of the victims Orym had so cruelly taken to his church to experiment on or supply to his summoned demons (whichever you prefer). Some were mutilated to death and hidden in the bog, where they remain to this day looking for victims to share in their pain. Others were unlucky enough to endure the simple knife and saw, the eldritch torture turning them into creatures beyond the description of words. They stalked the halls of the church and sometimes returned to town hoping to return to their former lives, only to turn to monstrous violence and bloodlust upon the rejection of the normal and the living. I was told that should I awake at night and see a deformed figure at the door, I should immediately hide my eyesight beneath the covers and remain there for the duration of the night. ____ Lastly I was told of the horrors beneath the church, where a twisted wellspring that could only summon creatures beyond evil was hidden away. I was told that some of the monsters that killed their fledgling summoner still remained, trying at all times to find a way out to the surface world where more victims could be found; where more mortal minds blissfully awaited the destruction of their sanity. I was told that if I heard a sound alien to me, beyond my peripheral, beckoning me to places where no one else was, I was not to follow it. ____ These things seemed quaint to me on hearing, having just visited the same wretched temple only a few hours ago. The words rung of country exaggeration for the sake of cheap scares or enforcing pre-established rules. At worst, to someone like me, they were a call to adventure. I remained very interested in the writing I had found, and the dip in temperature that had accommodated it. If the stories were intended to scare off visitors, they weren’t about to work. ____ Tomorrow I will visit the temple for a longer period of time. Despite my interest in the symbols, I ought to further investigate other areas. There could very well be more to find. I will also do a bit more research around town regarding the character of Orym. There is a good likelihood that he wasn’t a Valkyrie at all, with the lack of evidence regarding the wellspring and summoned creatures. Oh, silly me, that’s right—they’re all underground beneath the burial mound, waiting to get out. ____ I flipped pages to the next entry, still only mildly intrigued at the moment. ____ September 3rd, 12 P.W. ____ Harold Phillips, of the chronicler’s guild ____ Day 2 of the investigation ____ Early this morning I spoke to Craft regarding Vigo, the tour guide who had given me some sketchy answers during yesterday’s venture. I found many of the townsfolk dodgy but had expected better of my guide nonetheless, and since Craft was a Warforged who was relatively new to town compared to everyone else I was hoping he would be more intellectually honest. If there’s any idea that frightens me when it comes to this line of work it’s not mutilated monsters or ghosts of the damned: it’s being alone and far away from everyone else. At least as far as understanding between men goes. Fortunately that wasn’t entirely the case here, as I still had some people in town I could relate to and work with honestly. ____ Surprisingly Craft informed me that Vigo wasn’t too much older than himself regarding staying time. He had come in only a few years earlier, looking for a life very far away from the Valkyrie and their society. He stayed for a while and settled in Old Vestklar, marrying a Kyrie woman who’d lived there her whole life. When I asked why Vigo would give me rotten answers to my queries, Craft answered in a simple enough way: he too didn’t know the temple all that well. He didn’t answer straight because he wasn’t sure. I suppose I couldn’t act too surprised. ____ Later that morning Redgir and I visited the town hall to look through records on its history. The hall was more of a large shack, heaped miserably on the end of Mahkra Street. It genuinely looked more haunted than the temple did. We were hosted by a man named Valiska, a melancholy fellow whose pallid hollow form accompanied us throughout our search for records. ____ He told me that Orym was a Kyrie of noble descent whose family had moved to Old Vestklar to hide from the purges of a rival house (likely Vydar, judging by the region of Orym’s origin). Despite their notable lineage, Orym’s family did not rule Old Vestklar during their long stay. ____ The history was bloody before too long. Unable to bear the loss of status, Orym’s younger sister slit her wrists and walked off into the northern marshes less than a year after arriving. His older brother abandoned the family’s status and instead took up a normal living no different than any other peasant in town. His only sons both died in freak accidents when they were young—otherwise I would’ve been able to meet them and interview them right now. ____ Orym didn’t give up on his lineage, nor did he give up his life like his sister did. Instead he turned to bitter zealotry and ambition, studying the forbidden arts of summoning. He intended to restore his family to fame, and if there was indeed a wellspring under the church on Old Pine Hill as they say then he very well had a chance at succeeding. ____ During his stay in Old Vestklar, Orym had held the position of a banker. It’s likely he used stolen funds to construct his temple, between the years of ____ The sound of a extremely loud and shrill scream put a sudden halt to my reading. It sounded distant yet loud enough to reach me nonetheless, and rung of a child’s voice. I stood up and paused, momentarily unsure about investigating. But no, there was too much going on around here for me to sit one out, even if it turned out to be nothing. Grabbing my machinepistol and holstering my shortsword, I ran to the door and rushed outside. ____ It was cold and damp out, the rain having momentarily stopped. Only the odd light of a half-dead lamppost and its twin reflected in the puddles guided my way through the darkness. At first I only had a general direction to go on, but my destination soon became more clear as a single home dead ahead lit up its windows. That had to be it. ____ Running up, I kicked the door open and dodge-rolled in. A cramped hallway lay directly ahead, the source of the light at the furthest-left door accompanied by hushed voices. I dodge-rolled over and peered in, aiming my gun but not touching the trigger just yet. I called out as I went, “Inquisitor Fantus. What’s going on?” ____ It was a child’s bedroom, a boy of about 6 still in bed sitting up. A Kyrie woman knelt next to him, both of them looking back at me wide-eyed and shocked. There was no sign of any threat. I lowered my weapon. ____ “What’re you doin’ here, senior?” Vigo’s voice came from behind me, the man running up with a shovel in his hands. He too peered into the room and lowered the tool. ____ “I could ask you the same.” I told him. ____ “This is my house!” He snapped crossly, shouldering past me and walking over to his family, “Are you okay? What happened, Junior?” ____ “He said it’s gone.” The Kyrie woman replied. ____ I frowned, “Do you mind explaining what’s going on here?” ____ “It’s nothing, senior.” Vigo said, “Uh, this is my wife Lanore and my boy. He’s Mr. Fantus, the Chronicler; I told you about him honey.” ____ “Hello.” Lanore merely nodded. ____ She was a simple and tired-looking woman. I didn’t ask her anything, instead returning the nod and advancing over to the kid. He looked drenched in sweat, staring at an empty corner of the room with a wide-eyed shock. I had to draw very near before he looked over at me, “What’s your name, kid?” ____ “vigo” He whispered back in a barely audible tone. ____ “Hm? What’s that?” ____ He spoke up louder, “Vigo. But I don’t like it.” ____ His father piped up as well, looking entirely too proud, “He’s named after yours truly, senior. Little Vigo Junior.” ____ “Thank you for piecing that together for me, Mr. Love.” I said dryly, “Don’t care for it? How about Junior?” ____ No reply. ____ “Yeah, that sucks too.” I stroked my chin, “How about VJ then? Yeah, that sticks.” ____ “What’s the J stand for?” Vigo Sr. requested plainly. ____ I stood up, “You’ll hafta figure that one out yourself, my dear assistant. Now VJ, tell me what happened. In detail.” ____ The illusion of a professional’s presence must’ve calmed the kid down, as he slowly breathed deeply and nodded toward the corner. He spoke in a soft tone, “There was a door in the corner. Someone was coming out. Over there.” ____ “Hm.” I strode over to the directed spot. The walls were faded, cracked white, not a speck on them hinting at any activity. I retrieved my trusty scanner and began meticulously testing the area. Nothing. I tried again and again, muttering a hum to myself as I worked, “Stop, Don’t Touch, Scan the Area, Tell and Adult. Stop, Don’t Touch, Scan the Area, Tell and Adult…” ____ I kept my ears peeled, listening to the consolation of the family behind me in hushed whispers. ____ “It’s okay now. It’s gone.” ____ “It keeps happening, Ma. I’m scared. It keeps getting worse.” ____ “If anything comes at you boy, just pray. And it’ll go away. Promise.” ____ I piped up as I stowed my unsuccessful tool, “Depends on who you pray to, I’d wager. How long has this been happening?” ____ Vigo paused, “Uh, I don’t remember. Only a short while, senior.” ____ Lanore spoke up, “We didn’t think much of it when it started. We thought it maybe was a good thing: that our child was gifted and being visited by Celestials. But they’ve become increasingly malevolent over time.” ____ “‘When it started’, eh?” I paced around, “Started around when Harold Phillips was in town, perhaps?” ____ Vigo shrugged, “Uh, maybe. I dunno.” ____ I scowled at his dodginess, walking back to the door only to be stopped by a strange squish at my boot. I’d stepped in something extremely sticky, finding slime under my step when I looked down. It was an ugly transparent violet color, a substance I did not recognize. I stooped down and scanned it as well. ____ SUBSTANCE: Genosplasm \ AGE: Unknown ____ The hell was Genosplasm? Nevertheless it was obvious evidence of some sort of activity. I took a sample the stuff and rose to my feet, my lips wavering as I mused. This was going to involve more investigation. I was dismayed. There was a lot going on here. ____ “Does the entity ever visit more than once a night?” I asked. ____ “N—No…” VJ sheepishly replied. ____ “Then you should be safe for now.” I said, “Don’t worry, VJ. I believe you. I’ll be back tomorrow to fix this.” ____ “But what about seeing the temple, senior?” Vigo inquired. ____ “I’ll get to that too, Mr. Love. But surely you don’t mind if I also investigate these, erm, episodes your son seems to be experiencing?” ____ “Certainly not! I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” ____ “Let’s hope so, Mr. Love.” I took my leave the same way I came in, sample in hand. I only looked over my shoulder once on the way back, shortly after exiting the house. I could see Vigo’s silhouetted form standing at the open door, watching me leave. I mused on it. Are you a friend or a foe, Mr. Love? I’ll need to read more of Harold’s notes to know for sure… Hmm… ____ My room was just as I’d hurriedly left it, notes left unread still laid out upon the desk. I shelved them for now and retrieved some more advanced testing equipment from my case. The M4C-G0F1N 219 was the finest evaluating technology Alpha-Prime had to offer, making my handheld scanner look like a child’s toy. I set it up on the desk and inserted the sampled Genosplasm, yawning as I did so. I’d sleep if I could at this point, but this new development was too important to wait. And the dead of night was my hour. ____ Genosplasm --- ____ Age Unknown ----- ____ The results popped up on the screen. I frowned hard at the repeated results, turning the rigid knob on the side of the machine and scrolling down the data. ____ Element Number Unknown --- ____ Molecular Number 45OC ----- ____ RNA Pattern Unknown ------- ____ Planet of Origin Earth --------- ____ I paused and double-checked the last one. Earth? I was prepared to acknowledge the possibility of summoned monstrosities remaining in the town and leaving behind a bizarre residue. Primordials or Illithids perhaps but nothing from Earth. This material didn’t even register as an element and yet it was from my own planet. ____ “Ugh.” Frustrated with the contradicting and vague results, I picked up the M4C and threw it (okay, I didn’t actually do that). But it was irksome nonetheless. Perhaps the machine was mistaken, or maybe Vigo had accidentally come into contact with it and marked it as Earthen. Either way I was exhausted with lack of answers and retired at that. ____ Laying down on the bed after vanquishing any remaining lights, I found myself again surrounded by complete darkness. Everything I had read and discovered this evening alone was enough to continue to spur my imagination even as I tried to sleep. But fatigue won out in the end and took me to sleep and dreams somehow less dark than the waking world. ____ And to think Harold Phillips had thought that his first evening in Old Vestklar wasn’t even worth discussing in detail. Everything thickens and all that. Next time... ~TAF TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT |
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Re: The Creeping Evil
This is perfect for Halloween, now I just need to someone to watch it with.
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joyknights |
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#6
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Part III
Holy hell did this get away from me. Did I die? Don't be silly. But moving and a new job did sort of bite into my schedule, so sorry about that. I'm sure this'll still work just fine as a Christmas story anyway, right? Right?
TheAverageFan having difficulty finishing something? Nonsense! Let's continue...
Spoiler Alert!
III ____ I slept in the next morning, being naturally prone to do so. Even so, the light shining through the windows was relentlessly bright and pallid. It pierced through the late morning air and scalded my eyes in that rude sort of awakening only nature could provide. I cursed the early hours of the day and dragged myself out of bed, struggling to recount all of yesterday’s events. ____ I sent word to Mr. Love to meet me at Craft’s place for breakfast before we’d set out to see the temple. Harold had been very fleeting in his first stay there and I had no intention of making that same mistake. He’d been there for scientific curiosity—I was there to investigate his death. Time mattered more to me. ____ I was sipping morbidly at my black-n-bitter-as-hell coffee when Vigo came in and sat down. He’d brought a second guide with him, an Elven fellow. He looked more of Toril than Feylund and was the first elderly Elf I’d ever laid eyes upon, finding his fat gut and balding scalp unusual to behold. ____ “Hey, this here is Loney, senior.” Vigo said, “He’ll be goin’ with us to the temple today.” ____ “Ah, yes, Mr. Fantus.” The old Elf extended a hand, “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” ____ “Charmed.” I replied, only halfheartedly and briefly exchanging the offered handshake. ____ “I had talked to Mr. Phillips back when he was in town.” Loney explained, “He’d probably mentioned me in his journals, so I’m sure we’ve already met in a way.” ____ “I must not’ve read that far.” ____ Loney looked surprised, “Well, that’s a shock. He an’ I talked a lot, you see. He helped me see reason. I was paranoid as a Vydarite before he came along. Cracked I was, haha! So if I can help ‘im or any of his affiliates, I’ll do my part.” ____ I wasn’t thrilled by his words. I myself couldn’t believe Phillips’ naďve rationale, at least from what I’d read thus far. There was absolutely something afoot in town, perhaps multiple things afeet. I sipped at my coffee and eyed Vigo, “As I understand it, Mr. Love, Harold Phillips already had another guide: one Redgir Sylien. Where is he?” ____ Vigo bit his lip and doffed his crumpled old hat, “Well, uh, he’s, uh… He’s dead, senior.” ____ I tried to spit up my coffee but I’d just finished it. Instead I merely set the cup down and rose to my feet posthaste, “Where, When, and How?” ____ “I’m not exactly sure, senior. He an’ Mr. Phillips went to the temple after dark. Well—not exactly—he went after Mr. Phillips. He was tryin’ to save him, senior. I don’t remember what date that was.” Vigo’s lengthy fingers ran along his clutched hat as he spoke, “But… we never saw him again. So, y’know. Around these parts Missing is Dead, for all intense and purposes.” ____ “It’s ‘All Intensive Purposes’, Mr. Love.” I said. ____ “What? No it ain’t…” ____ I ignored him and headed for the door, “We’d better get going then. This just keeps getting better and better…” ____ Loney hobbled after me, “Yes! Coming, Mr. Fantus!” ____ It was cold and bitter outside as we trudged our way toward the temple. In the light of day it was far less foreboding to behold: just another old gray stack of withered stone. We made for it slowly across the winding path of creaky wooden planks, a long journey that took us far beyond the reach of the town. ____ I had a lot to consider while I walked, thinking about everything that had happened to Harold Phillips that I was still in the dark about. I needed to do more reading. Then there was the matter of Redgir’s death to consider, as well as the strange happenings at Mr. Love’s house, and the strange residue I’d discovered there. It was difficult to think about it though, as Loney talked to me most of the way up. ____ He was a cheery and prattley talker, going on and on about the needless affairs around town I ought to check out during my stay and asking me questions he ought to know the answers to. I held him off as best I could, juggling fake conversations with the bitter weather and staying on the crooked path as well as focusing on my inner thoughts. And I wasn’t good at juggling. ____ I was relieved to finally reach the temple, remote and frigid as it was. I zipped up my overcoat and shivered, eyeing the place with both curiosity and dread. Time to get to work. Loney finally ceased his chatter, “Oh, look at that—we’re here.” ____ The temple was surrounded by a series of rings of ruins, remnants of adjacent structures long gone by now. I carefully navigated through the fossilized buildings, noting the uneven footing of what floor was still left and what the marsh had claimed. Similar to how Mr. Phillips had described the layout of the church itself, these structures also seemed to have the form of a perpendicular cross, with these rings winding around its outstretched arms. I took little more than a mental note and made my way to the nearest entrance for the main building. ____ A bog spider scuttled out from under a rock ahead of me and burrowed into the soft earth, a flat-backed tan critter of Fylorag size. I made a face and moved towards the sanctuary of the indoors, my desire to linger here waning fast, “Mr. Love, over here. I need your help finding something.” ____ Generous amounts of sunlight pierced the roof of the building over my head, lighting the area before me. Nonetheless I retrieved my phone and turned its flashlight on, shining it at each cramped corner I could see as Vigo approached. ____ “Yes, senior?” ____ I gestured dead ahead, “Harold Phillips mentioned a strange area in the main building here, on the northern wall. A corner with some odd graffiti and a noticeable temperature change. Where is it?” ____ “Uhm…” He walked forward, in no particular direction, “I dunno, senior. What’re you talking about?” ____ Loney waddled in as well, “What’s this? Mayhaps I can help. I am a bit of a history buff around these parts, after all!” ____ I told him the exact same thing, eliciting much the same reaction from the old Elf, “Oh, pish posh, Mr. Fantus! There’s no graffiti here! Come have a look for yourself!” ____ I scowled, unsatisfied, and shouldered my way past the two unhelpful guides. Fetching my scanner and pocketing the phone in my breast pocket, I hastily searched the small structure in every nook and cranny. Harold Phillips had been very specific regarding his find, and I wasn’t about to let it go unfound. ____ Not a thing. Every dusty abandoned corner of the wretched place was void of any temperature dip or any eldritch words. Any decals etched on the walls were simplistic and clearly of no language whatsoever, and no furniture blocked any area sufficiently to hide any such messages. I scowled twofold. ____ “Mr. Love.” I pocketed my scanner and turned to the man, “You were here on the second of September with Mr. Phillips. He talked to you about what he found. Collaborate, please.” ____ “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you’re talking about, senior…” ____ “Bull. He was very specific in his notes.” ____ Vigo shrugged, “Just ‘cause he wrote it down don’t make it true. ” ____ “Hm.” I dropped the conversation at that, rechecking the building several more times but yielding nothing Phillips had described. Once again I found myself extremely doubtful of my host, but nonetheless he was correct—there was some possibility that what Phillips had recorded had never actually happened. But he’d only been there one day at that point; it seemed unlikely that he’d have gone bananas that quickly. ____ The scanner only yielded the faintest signs of arcane phenomena, somewhat lending credibility to the idea that Orym had been a Valkyrie. But the traces were far too faint for any recent activity to be plausible. If any summoning had occurred, it had been a long long time since the last one. ____ The only real thing of note I could find was the final red-threaded remnants of what had once been a lengthy rug running across the four halls. I liked the idea of some sort of hidden stairwell leading down to the supposed chambers beneath, and such a flooring could have hid one. But the stone was flat and without any signs of separation, and no trapdoor dwelt where the carpet had once been. ____ Loney watched me work, both he and Vigo being of absolutely no help at the moment as “tour guides” and simply staring at me. The old Elf gave an aged hearty chuckle and gestured at me, “Yes, lots of folks have combed all up and down this old place looking for ways down. I should know, I used to be one of ‘em! Cracked I was! Lots of disappointed visitors, yes, hoho!” ____ I didn’t doubt his claims but nonetheless was unswayed. There had been too much going on to ignore. I scanned the floor diligently, looking for any nightstone or runestone that might react to magic or the dark, revealing a hidden place when spurned or when no one was there. But no such luck. ____ Loney continued, “I of course had my own theories back then, most around by the ruins surrounding the building. Them was the ticket, I said, I did! But, uh, Mr. Phillips had no luck there either. Tried everything, he did. Took that long for me to see how nuts I’d been. Cracked I was!” ____ He had no idea how much he was repeating, more or less the same as his endless idle chatter on the way up here. I ignored him and rose back to my feet, heading back outside and continuing to scan the entire area. It was more expansive out here than the smallish temple at the center, and I mentally mapped out the place as I went. Vigo and Loney just stood at the church entrance and watched me, talking out of earshot to each other. ____ I walked around the heaped stacks of faded gray stone and the sticky mud and yellowed reeds and grass more times than I’d care to count. Somewhere beyond the gray clouds above me the sun gradually moved across the sky. Finally close enough to what I’d call satisfied, I returned to the central temple, finding Vigo and Loney just sitting there on the floor. A handful of old creased cards lay between them. ____ “We can go now.” I told them. ____ “Satisfied, senior?” ____ “Sure. Let’s go.” ____ It was past 5:00 when I returned to Craft’s abode, just barely making it back before another shower of rain washed through town again. I left a handsome tip in exchange for something hot and hearty to eat before settling down with a journal of my own, trying to translate my mental mapping of the place onto the page. ____ It would’ve been easy to miss something. The rings of ruins surrounding the church made for a somewhat complex layout, running around and down the burial mound. It was a lot to pour over, and the possibility of hidden entrances or what-have-you still remained. I ran a hand through my hair. ____ Craft walked over to me, eyeing the pages, “Any luck out there today?” ____ I returned his look, “Craft, what do you think of Vigo Love? He seems to me a little bit… odd.” ____ “Everyone here is a bit odd.” The Warforged replied, “Phillips thought so too. Took longer for him to get paranoid than you though.” ____ “And what exactly did Harold Phillips think the last time you saw him?” ____ A moment to reply, “He didn’t trust anybody. Thought he was all alone in his search for whatever was out there in the marsh. He was mighty scared of that, Avarius, mighty scared of it indeed.” ____ I smirked, “Well then I suppose I’m all alone here too then, in a sense.” ____ Craft shrugged, “Well, you’ve got me, at least. Cheers to that.” ____ He took my empty drink glass and stuck it in a nook in his body, water pouring out and refilling it before he returned it to me. He motioned to Cheers with an invisible cup of his own and then returned to the kitchen behind the bar. I stared at the water he’d, uh, provided and didn’t touch it again. ____ “Sure. Cheers to that…” ____ I found myself more than fatigued when I’d returned, so I put off doing more reading in favor of a quick nap up in my room. Being surprisingly dark already—making all the strange junk form together into strange silhouetted shapes in the shadow—I didn’t have much trouble falling asleep. Still, strange dreams assailed me all throughout the short rest. ____ I frequently dreamt quite a bit, but this was still unusual to me. I saw and felt inexplicable things coming and going all around me, saying words and phrases I didn’t understand. I tried over and over to fixate on just one thing and focus, but could not. It was all awash like a rapid sea swirling around me, and when I awoke it all quickly escaped my memory. Even the most basic of details beyond recall. ____ It was dark still, but not yet bedtime for most outside. I got up, still having work to do. Just not here. ____ I headed to Vigo’s residence, knocking on the door and being greeted by the man’s wife. I tipped a nonexistent hat to her, “Evening, Lanore.” ____ She looked tired, “Can I help you?” ____ “No, but I’m here to help you.” I replied, thinking I could’ve phrased it better immediately after speaking, “Do you mind if I keep an eye on VJ? I’d like to study the episodes he’s been having.” ____ “Oh. Uh, sure. Come in.” Seeming mildly intimidated by me and my station, she hardly refused, allowing me access to her son’s room. He was nowhere to be seen at the moment, giving me time to explore the small chamber as thoroughly as I could. Finding nothing, I put a chair in the corner of the room opposite the corner where the boy had claimed to see the door and took a seat. Mrs. Love stared awkwardly at me as I sat down and set down several books and papers next to me, “What’s all that?” ____ “Reading material. To pass the time. For research of course.” ____ “Of course. I’ll send him straight to bed.” The Kyrie took her leave, again leaving me to my own devices. I waited patiently. Before long VJ came in, staring nervously at me before slowly walking to his bed. ____ “Hiya VJ.” I said, “I’m here to study the phenomena occurring in your room. If that’s okay with you. Don’t worry I have a license.” ____ He didn’t react as jovially as I’d hoped, slowly peeling back the bedcovers, “Sure…” ____ “Excellent.” I retrieved some notepaper, “Do you remember when exactly this thing started?” ____ “N—No, not exactly, Mr. Inquisitor. It was a lot of… weeks ago.” ____ “Hm.” I tapped my lower lip with the back of my pen, “And do your parents believe you?” ____ VJ frowned, “No! Nobody believes me!” ____ “Shh. Don’t worry. I believe you.” ____ The kid sighed, “At the, in the beginning I think they did. Mom was happy because we thought they were angels. But after awhile Dad stopped caring. Now I think Mom’s stopped caring too. They don’t like talking about it.” ____ “I see.” I motioned to the corner, “Is it always there? From there I mean.” ____ Nodding, “Always a door there. Unless I cover that spot with my dresser. Then it appears somewhere else.” ____ “Do you see it appear?” ____ “No. It only shows up when I’m not looking. It always opens when I’m not looking too. And things come out and try to get me.” ____ A scribbling sound came madly from my notepad as I jotted, “What kind of things, VJ?” ____ “I don’t know. It’s always different.” ____ “Has anyone else seen these things?” I inquired. ____ “They go away when anyone else shows up. The door too.” ____ “Well you’re in luck.” I shut the notepad and looked up, “I’m gonna be here tonight, so you can rest easy. Studying this sort of thing is one of my specialties. I assure you it’ll be safe tonight. Promise.” ____ VJ looked genuinely pleased, “R—Really?” ____ “Really really. Now get to sleep. I’ll be right here. Watching.” ____ The boy looked at the ominous corner and then back to me. He slowly nodded and laid down, facing away from me. I settled into my chair and stared at the corner. Test 1: simple examination. It was a mere waiting game from here. ____ Nothing occurred for a long time, giving me the chance to read more of Harold Phillips' notes. He spoke of further study of both the temple and its owner, and the extensive research he’d conducted on the mystery spot I’d failed to find. It was frustrating reading on my part having no indication of this place’s existence. Was Harold already off his rocker or was there some greater conspiracy at hand here? ____ Vigo and I took great efforts to excavate untouched sections around the temple in an effort to further examine the strange essence around the northern section of the church by the graffiti. He was very strict about what could and couldn’t be touched by men like myself, but I convinced him that we’d only be digging through old marshy soil that had never been built upon. Vigo also imposed a strict limit on how far I could dig, not wanting me to pierce the burial mound too deep. I thought of it as a silly limitation, but he was a superstitious lad and my generous host so I didn’t cheat his offers. ____ I had to use a great many tools to try and get under the temple without going too deep or damaging the structure or its balance, but I nonetheless succeeded at retrieving a sample of dirt directly beneath the cold spot. I was quite surprised that I wasn’t stopped sooner, half-expecting a hidden basement beneath the temple or something, but there was nothing to find after all. ____ Strangely, the dirt in question was also noticeably colder. I sampled it to Redgir and Vigo to prove my suspicions, and they agreed that it was oddly chilly even compared to the rest of the samples pressed under the ground. My queries as to why this was the case was met with the mere shrugs of uneducated observers. My tour guides could not answer me. ____ The strange happenings have spread to town as well. While I was writing my nightly journal, I did indeed hear tapping at my windows. It sounded like the rapping’s of a stiff knuckle, and yet it was terribly dark out and much too high up for a town prankster to be the one behind it. Ignoring the warnings, I thoughtlessly opened the window and looked for a culprit, suspecting perhaps a pecking crow or such. There was nothing, not even a pebble or stick on the ground far below me to explain such an occurrence. I shamed myself for feeling a shudder, being a man of science, not baseless rumors. It didn’t affect me adversely, however, and I proceeded to have a sound night. ____ Tomorrow I will collect more samples and make a case to the town council to allow me to directly excavate the spot with the writing. I have physical evidence now and wish to get to the bottom of this, literally. The Glyph of Scop is as good as mine. ____ This was only the final excerpt in a long series of diaries chronicling Mr. Phillips' studies of the temple over the course of a week. I rubbed my eyes after finally finishing it, wishing I could skim it to the part where the man met Loney or Redgir died, but that would be poor research on my part. Nonetheless, it was all I could take for now. It set the papers aside, eyeing the corner for activity as I did so, and fetched my more affectionate reading material. ____ “In a child’s room? For shame!” I said to myself in a deep English accent as I opened it, affectionately “reading” with the occasional glance at the suspicious spot. ____ Time passed and nothing happened. I indeed felt a strange sensation over the course of time, being in this room. There was certainly something going on, with the oddities all around this wretched town and the bizarre Genosplasm I’d found here last night. But whatever I was fishing here for wasn’t biting. I put my magazine down in frustration and glared at the corner, listening to the dead silence save for VJ’s sleepful breathing. More time passed. ____ “It’s intelligent.” I whispered to myself as the thought crossed my mind, “It’s not going to appear unless I’m not here. Schrodinger’s Cat or something like that.” ____ Silently setting everything aside save for my gun, I quietly got up and opened the only window in the room, muttering as I slipped out, “Sorry about this VJ…” ____ I walked off aways, trying not to look back and finding a dark alley to hide in for a while. Heh, a dark alley. Everything here was dark: the whole world black and wet around here this time of night. I could still barely, just barely, see the shape of the temple off in the distance beyond the buildings to the north. It eerily sat silhouetted against the dark navy of the night sky, darker than dark, somehow responsible for whatever was going on in the house I’d vacated. I nervously gripped the handle of my pistol and bit my lip, still waiting. ____ “AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!” ____ The shrill scream met my ears like an alarm clock, coming right from where I was expecting. Turning back, I drew my gun and dashed to the Love home as fast as I could. I sprinted and dove through the open window, needlessly crashing it as I went and cutting myself. I dodge-rolled up and pointed my weapon. ____ Indeed there was a door—normal looking as one could get—sitting open in the corner, the “other room” inside it black as black could get. But that wasn’t what caught my eye. A huge tube of flesh stretched out from the door over to VJ’s bed, hovering directly in the air as if it were but a finger of some far larger being out of sight. It writhed in place and pulsated, thick with veins and fat and rolled in moisture. VJ was sat up in bed, wide-eyed and shivering as he beheld the thing: paralyzed with fear. ____ Its very tip faced the boy, rounded and wound like a sausage or bellybutton. It was in the process of slowly unraveling its “head” when I jumped in, only able to catch a glimpse of what it was revealing to the kid: some sort of vaguely humanoid shadow clambering against its innards. Whatever it was, as soon as I’d entered, it turned almost as if to face me, then was yanked back through the open door in a heartbeat. And then somehow the door was closed, and then gone. Just as with the fleeting dreams how it had pulled this disappearing act was taken from my memory like a slippery frog refusing to be held in hand. I stared bewildered at the blank wall, holstering my unspent pistol and hurrying to VJ’s side. ____ “Junior?” The actual door to the room opened and in came the parents, Vigo looking at me in both shock and anger, “What’s going on? Why’s the window broken? The hell is on that magazine there?” ____ “It’s okay, breathe…” I put a hand on VJ’s chest before looking back at Mr. Love, “First sign of proof, Mr. Love. I’ve got a lot of sleepless nights ahead.” I will be back with more, hopefully sooner than later... ~TAF TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT |
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Re: The Creeping Evil
Hopefully sooner. I’m really enjoying this so far.
good trades with rudyvalentine, crazytankster, and Jexik. |
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Re: The Creeping Evil
Still editing part IV; should be up sometime around Thursday at 12:34 a.m. Hopefully.
~TAF, apparently a monthly author TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT Last edited by TheAverageFan; January 24th, 2019 at 12:40 AM. |
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Part IV
Well, I'm back and with another part, right about when I said I would!
I won't waste your time further; let's dive right in, shall we?
Spoiler Alert!
IV ____ September 6th, 12 P.W. ____ Harold Phillips, of the Chronicler’s Guild ____ Today my breakfast was rudely interrupted by the mad flailing of an elderly villager calling for my attention. He shouted “Hail Chronicler! Beware the devilry on Drooling Pine Hill! I alone you can trust!” at me. Such a ruckus he caused that it took several other patrons to forcibly remove him from the tavern. I took him for just another superstitious loon, but I nonetheless took note of his warnings and decided to consult him later that day. Any individual could have more information I need, especially concerning the mysterious activities on the temple grounds. ____ I inquired Craft about the man after breakfast. He said he was an elf named Loney, who’d moved to Old Vestklar a few years before the war’s end, and that the old codger had become increasingly cracked over the years. Perhaps driven mad by the isolation and paranoia, he said, and the other townsfolk had begun referring to him as Looney. I shamefully chuckled and asked the Warforged where Loney lived. He pointed me in the right direction and I added another item to my to-do list. Craft warned me that the man was off his rocker and he could be dangerous if “provoked”. I of course wasn’t worried about that. ____ I turned the page in my readings, sat in the corner of VJ’s room while I waited for the M4C-G0F1N 219 to finish scanning the room for leftover residue after last night’s “visit”. I had the place to myself all day today, having insisted the Loves out of the house now that I had genuine evidence to mull over. Still, the oversized machine I had in the corner where the door had been was going to take a long time, so I had time to do some more reading. ____ The journal was now only four days off from Mr. Phillips’ final note to me, but was still in its procedural state for now. I was still waiting for things to hit the fan, but it wasn’t there just yet. I read on. ____ I sought out Loney later that day, finding his shambled house at the end of Old Vestklar’s main street. It was in quite the state of disrepair, being relatively isolated from the rest of the neighborhood. Its only well-fashioned feature was a sturdy fence around the property, built in a clear case of discouragement towards entrance. Several unseen dogs barked as I approached, and soon the old elf showed his face. ____ He wore a mask of hostility and feebly handled an oversized crossbow in my general direction as he demanded who’s there. I told him to calm down, saying that I only wanted to talk and discuss my studies concerning the temple. My calm demeanor must have worked some magic, as he lowered his guard and allowed me access. A host of dogs swarmed about me as I entered his abode, barking and drooling and sniffing at my hands and clothes. The loyal beasts were a precaution, Loney told me. ____ Against what, I asked him. He told me that he was referring to the creatures from the mound. Even though he only needed four hours of sleep, he still needed sleep nonetheless, and the dogs were his only guard against such aberrations in the night. I tried not to chuckle at this, but continued to entertain him. ____ I asked Loney to calm down as much as possible and explain his take to me in the most rational and organized way he could fashion. The elf found this agreeable and set aside his weapon, taking me to a lounge of his where we could both take a seat and talk. Again dogs swarmed about me like nagrubs as I sank into the easy chair he provided, licking at my hands and pants and trying to get up on my lap. I was discomforted. ____ Loney told me that the creatures living under the mound came out at night and haunted the town. He explained that they weren’t monsters in the strictest sense, possessing an intelligence that surpassed most mortal creatures. Their ways, however mysterious and unknowable, were nonetheless strictly of evil intent. No place they touched with their presence was safe. Loney feared that these Primordials wished to infiltrate and destroy Old Vestklar, and that they were after him specifically. I, an outsider, would also be of great interest to them. ____ I asked Loney if he could illustrate these beasts, and he obliged to the best of his abilities—despite claiming that the creatures could not be looked at directly or for too long else the observer be driven mad. He clumsily doodled images (hands shaking more and more the further he scribed) depicting humanoids in the vaguest sense. Their thin lanky forms were bound more in the skin of undersea creatures than of humans or other such beings. None of them possessed human heads: replaced with the deformed shapes of tendril-like feelers or brambly branches. No eyes or other sensory organs could be seen on any of them. I inquired how these creatures sensed, only for Loney to answer ‘they just do’. ____ The machine beeped loudly on its first discovery, making me jump instinctually. It whirred and printed out the results, none of them altogether surprising. ____ Genosplasm --- ____ Age Unknown ----- ____ Element Number Unknown ----- ____ Molecular Number 45OC ------- ____ RNA Pattern Unknown --------- ____ Planet of Origin Earth ----------- ____ “Hmm.” I stroked my chin, walking over to the machine and configuring it to proceed scanning. I needed new results. Returning to my reading, I eagerly turned the page, wanting to see where this odd creature business went. ____ Finding these claims absurd, I asked Loney when exactly these creatures came for him. He told me that they mostly came at night and tried to break into his house, doing so on a more frequent basis over the course of time. Finding myself at a relative dead end on the temple front and having little to do at nights, I offered to stay at his place and study the occurrence. ____ ‘You’re too new to be one of them.’ Loney told me, agreeing to the idea and allowing me to stay the night. ____ I packed up my things in a hurry and set up shop at the old elf’s abode, all too ready to find nothing but unwilling to rule anything out. I made his house into a makeshift study of mine, resembling a very messy and dog-infested clone of my lab at the Chronicler’s Tower. I tuned the sensors to account for aberrations and took up the watch. ____ Loney paced around restlessly, crossbow held tight in shaky hands, muttering to himself. He had given me a crossbow of my own to use, insisting that we both be armed at all times. I held the unwieldy weapon only to keep him at ease, watching the sun set over the temple on the horizon. I felt a strange sense of foreboding wash over my subconscious as the light was slowly lost, wishing for information but also weary of what was out there in the coming dark. With increasing desperation I longed to know what was going on out there on Drooling Pine Hill, when the sun went down. ____ In the sun’s absence darkness quickly took the land. Sundown was fleeting and before long all the town was submerged in an utter and eerie black. Loney lit candles around the house and set one beside the windowsill near me, saying that they could come for us at any time. In the lonely darkness I was more susceptible to believe him, pushed ever further into paranoid superstition. Were they truly out there?? ____ The night persisted for several hours without incident, fatigue beginning to assail the both of us. We began to take shifts and watch the walls and windows with increasingly heavy eyes. I could not begin to guess the time. I can only say it was my third shift of the night when I heard the low growl of one of Loney’s dogs. I searched for the animal and found it facing the corner of the back room of the house. Odd for it to harass the corner and not the back door (which Loney had securely bolted shut), I approached the animal. ____ It was a mutt of some breed I knew not, drooling and growling with yellowed teeth bared. It would pay me no heed. I stooped to its side and examined it, finding an odd grey light in its eyes, almost as if blind. Suddenly then I heard a stepping noise above me, like the sound of a raccoon or some similar pest rooting through garbage. This noise silenced the mutt, which snapped out of its trancelike state. The dog whimpered and quickly left the room. ____ Loney, Loney, I said, turning and searching for my elf friend to rouse him. Again I heard the noise as I traversed through the rooms, accompanied by a bizarre voice. What it uttered I cannot recollect, nor would I be capable of putting its words into letters. The sheer alien nature of what I heard still sends shivers down my spine recollecting it. ____ Mounting paranoia added to my sights that night. I thought I saw a creeping hand out of one of the windows as I went, grey and pale as the petrified wood of Bleakewoode. Indeed perhaps it was little more than the branches of a thin-armed tree, but I had not the time or levelheadedness to stop and study it. Instead I went into Loney’s room and woke the old man. ____ By now the sound of movement above me had gone off three times, and the dogs were all barking constantly. Loney staggered out of bed, seizing his crossbow and very nearly pointing it at me. Alarmed at nearly being skewered by an arrow, I told him to calm down—that there were merely noises about that could mean something. Perhaps this was somewhat spoken to myself as well, trying to remain levelheaded. ____ "I know," he said, "they’re here." ____ I started to say that we shouldn’t panic, that it could very well be our imaginations or paranoia get carried away with us. However I was interrupted by a terribly loud crash, causing the two of us to jump out of our skin and renewing the barking of dogs around us. Arming ourselves with our weapons, we hurried to the source of the noise, accompanied by a rush of dogs. ____ It had come from the room I’d found the first growling dog in, the back door completely gone and the hinges torn asunder. The door itself was nowhere to be found: not in pieces around the floor or outside anywhere. How this had happened I had no idea, the two of us baffled. Yelping and whining and barking, the dogs swarmed about us and fled to the outside, spilling out into the dark. Loney tried to calm and corral the beasts, but they were too many and had been taken by panic. ____ At this Loney too panicked. Calling for the animals, he ran out into the dark, shouting something I couldn’t understand—some form of Elvish perhaps. He vanished into the night before I could stop him, leaving me alone in the house. Frightened out of my wits, I backed away from the open door, unable to do anything but hold my weapon in trembling hands and keep it trained on the entryway. All around me now were the sounds of clanging and banging on the roof above and the outside walls around me, and a multitude of voices speaking in alien tongues going on and on like a hellish chorus. ____ Minutes felt like hours and left my body drenched in sweat in so short a time. And yet nothing assailed me directly, although my peripheral vision was constantly detecting strange shapes and creatures all about me, all evading my gaze when I turned—turned as much as I could without leaving the open door—to meet them. Finally the din stopped and Loney returned, drenched in what little sweat elves could produce and filthy with the muck and mire of marsh swamp. A large portion of the fence out back had been leveled. He’d lost the dogs out in the bog. ____ I very nearly shot him much the same as he’d done to me, but he couldn’t bear a grudge—happy to see another, another… individual. I told him everything I’d experienced, unsure if I could truly believe it myself. He only sputtered something about how things had always been like this, and how “they” were nearly complete and getting more aggressive. ____ I comforted him with the knowledge that my instruments could physically measure these seemingly surreal creatures, and had been set up in the old elf’s study all night awaiting such a visit. However, upon returning to the main room, we found that much of the equipment had been smashed apart as if bludgeoned to pieces by a hammer. I was dumbfounded. How had they gotten past me? ____ The instruments were slightly coated in a strange fluid and spattered with a spot of blood. I gathered what samples I could, both discouraged and confused at this revelation. Fortunately I had a scanner at my lodge I could use, so it wasn’t a complete loss. ____ Loney told me that the creatures rarely attacked more than once at a time, but that I ought to stay with him regardless. Despite the calm demeanor he expressed, which should have done well to assure my nerves, I felt uncomfortable at the idea of staying longer at this wretched place. I politely declined and hurried home with the samples. It was a hurried walk full of over-the-shoulder glances and quickened paces. No lights guided me back to Craft’s inn. ____ I paused as I flipped the pages, bemused at all I’d just read. As if things weren’t complicated enough at this point, between the temple and Vigo and the entities visiting his son; now I needed to speak with Mr. Loney for a bit about a few things. At this point there was no way his current character was, well, in-character. At least I wouldn’t believe so. ____ I kept reading: ____ September 9th, 12 P.W. ____ Harold Phillips, of the Chronicler’s Guild ____ I’ve been shut up in my room for two days. Whatever was assailing Loney has followed me home. I’ve stolen Craft’s shotgun and barricaded the door, only accepting food and resolving other basics needs when absolutely necessary. ____ I used what’s left of my tech on the samples I found. The ectoplasm I discovered on my destroyed equipment is a Genosplasm. It’s a type of Eldritcism I was familiar with from the Innasmoth case several years ago—a sample of an Earth town of the same name that was famously afflicted by aberrations a long time ago (if the tales are to be believed). ____ The blood was human blood. That only confirmed my suspicions. ____ Indeed I believe that the creatures in question for this particular case are indeed Primordials of that ilk, likely summoned from Earth to Valhalla by dear-and-desperate Orym himself. Of a similar strain to the more-tangible Illithids used by Utgar in the later parts of the war, these creatures are vile infiltrators that have slowly been poisoning this town for a long time now. How many of the townsfolk have already been taken by them is hard to say, but those of us who haven’t been “replaced” are in a great deal of danger. I can only trust a select few, specifically the newer members of Old Vestklar. Loney was clearly one of the last. Craft seems solid. Vigo Love is out. Obviously no Kyrie… Well, except for Redgir. I can trust him. ____ I need to be cautious. Even a small sample of these Eldritcisms could be enough to contaminate me. I could in fact be contaminated already. Indeed I have been assaulted and battered night and day by strange sights and visions. Perhaps it is the lack of sleep or ramping paranoia that is doing this to me. I cannot say anymore. ____ There are secrets yet unfurled over at old Drooling Pine Hill, beyond the bog. I must go there again and do a more thorough search. Despite their best efforts, the aberrations left something behind. I must find it. I must uncover what’s going on here. No matter how much my very body and soul cry out to return home to safety and familiarity, it is out of the question. ____ After all, if I have in fact been infected in some way, I may not know it yet. I may be a sleeper cell waiting to go off and infect all the Chronicler’s Guild. Perhaps all the world. ____ This menace has been in quiet hiding. It is very nearly at the peak of revealing itself. I cannot allow it to take hold of this good world. ____ I need to contact Redgir. Somehow quietly. In some way they won’t expect. ____ I’ll write back more later. Perhaps. We’ll see. ____ That was all that was written for the 9th. I mused quietly on it. So Harold Phillips thought he had figured it all out. I still didn’t quite know the details regarding his guide Redgir, nor how things progressed from there. ____ I read on, or tried to at least. There was only one entry left, not counting Phillips’ letter on the 11th that I’d received. There might yet be one clue still in those unread pages, but for now I had a splitting headache, and my work at the Love’s residence was done for now. I knew what the entity was and what it wanted. It seemed that VJ was perhaps one of the last residents of Old Vestklar left unclaimed by the aberrations (or so Mr. Phillips would believe). Perhaps the only one left, in fact. Well, no. Craft, being a Warforged and not an organism, may very well be immune to whatever contamination the Primordials inflicted. It was worth hoping for. It made his inn a valuable stronghold. ____ I packed things up in a hurry, interrupted by a woman’s voice, “All done?” ____ It was Vigo’s wife. Kyrie woman, standing at the door. She looked simple and earnest as ever, but for now I didn’t trust her one bit. For all I knew at the moment she was a simple shapechange away from one of the horrid monsters Loney had described to Harold. Who knew what she was actually thinking right now, if she was capable of independent thought at all. ____ Couldn’t take my chances. I turned to face her fully, hands in my pockets beneath my overcoat. Hand on my holster beneath my overcoat. ____ “Yes ma’am. I’m all done here.” ____ “And?” She asked, lighting up at the prospect of answers to her son’s plight. Or trying to pry me to see what I knew thus far. ____ “It’s uh, it’s uh…” I was thankfully good at improvising, “It’s… not… that important, really. I gotta go.” ____ “Hm?” She cocked her head to one side, buying it completely. I went to the window and opened it, slinking out stealthily. She eyed me oddly, looking confused (or pretending to). I wasn’t about to risk going around her, after all. ____ Shutting the window, I made a quick sprint to the nearest alleyway and snuck into it, sticking to the wall to avoid detection. I could hear Lanore calling for me not far away, “Mr. Fantus? Mr. Fantus? I think you forgot all your equipment here! Hello…?!” ____ I was out of her sight. Good. I slinked away, having more important business to attend to. An entrance to make, as a matter of fact. I stealthed out of the POV. ____ Loney walked into his abode, humming cheerily to himself. A basket of fruit slung in his arm, he casually walked into his kitchen and began setting things in his cabinet. All his paranoia was gone, not a hint of shakiness left in his motions. Now he was as happy and clueless as any sappy citizen ought to be, or as desired by any tyrannical government or evil alien entity in our case. ____ Satisfied, the old elf returned to his lounge, jumping out of his skin at the sight of a sudden guest reclining in his easy chair, holding a pistol to him, “Oh, goodness gracious me!” ____ “Hello Loney.” I said, cocking the Glock in my gloved hand, “I thought we might have a chat. You see I didn’t know you were so involved in Mr. Phillips’ journals. Have a seat.” ____ “If—If there’s anything you want to know, I’ll say it!” Loney stammered, slowly sitting down across from me, eyes on the pistol that followed his every move, “Of course, you ought to know everything if Phillips’ scribed it. Yes, indeed.” ____ “Mmnhmm.” I said coolly, “See, I’d like to know how exactly you managed to chill out so quickly after what happened that night with you and the chronicler’s apprentice.” ____ “W—Which one exactly did—” ____ “You know the one.” ____ “Uhm, uhm.” He seemed distracted by the pistol, already sweating profusely. ____ “Fascinating.” I said, “I wasn’t sure if a simple bullet would do your kind in. Seems I was wrong. Would it put you more at ease?” ____ I slowly set the pistol down on a meager table next to the easy chair. Loney breathed a sigh of relief and continued, “Harold was my chance to calm myself. I had hoped he would put my worries at ease, figure things out to be a simple mystery or prank. But things only got worse, you see.” ____ “Do tell.” ____ “He only got worse—Mr. Phillips did—he knew what was going on.” Loney glanced to the windows and back, “But they’re all gone now, and he is too. You know only Mr. Love’s kid is left.” ____ “And Craft perhaps.” ____ “Y—Yes, and him.” The elf nodded hastily, “But now they’re after the boy next. The entity is coming for him. I think it’s taking so long because you’re here. There have been prying eyes for a while now, from the outside. It wants out of town, but not yet.” ____ “Mr. Loney…” I said, “You still haven’t answered my question.” ____ “Me? Me myself? …” Loney ruffled his fingers like Bilbo would in the awkward silence that permeated between his sentences, “… I knew they were onto me. Barricading didn’t work. Trying to escape was suicide, or possibly quite dangerous to myself or others around me. So I blended in. I calmed myself down, hoping that I could pass myself off as one of them. I don’t think they have a hivemind, after all. And it’s worked thus far…” ____ “Hmm.” I must’ve looked perplexed to him, “So you think their information network isn’t that tightly knit. That you can hide amongst them perfectly? Socialize and lay low during the day, and sleep soundly at night?” ____ “Yes! Yes, exactly!” Loney got to his feet, “I can help you, Avarius, just as I helped Harold Phillips before! I can give you all the information you need to finish this! I can—” ____ BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!!! ____ In a single swift motion I had swiped the Glock at swung it upwards, holding down the trigger as I did so. The kick of the machinepistol raised it into the air, drilling bullets in a straight line right up Loney. Elven blood and a clear fluid sprayed out and he collapsed to the floor. ____ “I’m afraid not.” I said, walking over to him and brandishing Phillips’ entry of the 10th, “See, I’ve already got all the information I need. And I’m sorry to admit your hivemind theory is wrong—I never mentioned a damn thing about VJ to you before. And I know for a fact that none of you sleep soundly at night.” ____ “Khala… alalal!!” Loney sputtered blood and shook violently. His limbs bent backwards, his joints breaking in the process, assuming a spiderlike stance. The old elf (or whatever it was) then skittered away fast, just not as fast as me. I leapt after it, drawing my shortsword and skewering it through the gut, pinning it to the floor. Another spray of bullets finished the thing off. ____ “Goodbye, Mr. Loney.” I muttered, glancing to the window where the old temple loomed on the horizon, “I’ve just got one job left now…” ____ September 10th, 12 P.W. ____ Harold Phillips, of the Chronicler’s Guild ____ Loney is out. Out, out, out. He came out of nowhere this evening and knocked on my door. I told him to go away but he insisted that he was “feeling much better now” and wished to talk to me—wanted me to come to his house again. He sounded so calm I would never take the offer in a million years. Must’ve got to him when he went outside. Perhaps the process of converting took several days. Who knows. ____ I contacted Redgir. Took me a long time to spot him on the street and contact him, and longer still for him to squeeze down the chimney to meet me in my room. Mighty pissed he was. I told him everything I knew. He didn’t believe me. Said he did, but he didn’t. I could tell. ____ Nonetheless as my guide, he is required by my payments to take me wherever I like. Everywhere except the temple at night, that is. That was the key. He wouldn’t do the temple at night. I’d tried to be polite when I first arrived, abiding by their rules and superstitions. But now I know that’s the only thing left for me to truly investigate. Whatever it is about that mound, whatever it is I’m missing, whatever is really going on there… I have to see it. I have no other choice. ____ September 10th, 12.P.W. ____ The time is 11:13 p.m. ____ Tonight I’m striking out to the temple. I just saw Redgir head northward. I told him my intentions, he refused, and now he’s leaving in the dead of night. ____ I’m following him. If this is the last entry in this journal, then I am dead. Don’t follow in my footsteps. There’s no time. I have to go. Farewell. Part V will be on the way soon enough. It's likely to be the last part, bringing a close to this particular (formerly) Halloween tale. Only time will tell what happens next... ~TAF TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT Last edited by TheAverageFan; January 24th, 2019 at 03:43 AM. |
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Re: The Creeping Evil - Part IV
I am almost done with Part V, but as it is longer than the other parts it will also take longer to edit. Stay tuned and all that.
~TAF TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT |
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Part V
Okay, after five months we are finally finished with The Creeping Evil. Turned out a bit longer than I anticipated--45 pages, wow!--but a promise is a promise--it is done. Yaaay.
Now as stated previously, this chapter is longer than the others, so let's not waste any time. Enjoy!
Spoiler Alert!
V ____ Lonely drizzle battered the window to my room, producing a sound similar to the tapping of countless tiny fingers on the glass. It was dark out already, the days getting increasingly shorter this time of year. But that was what I wanted, more or less. ____ Phillips was dead. There were no more notes left to read, unless he left any extras behind on his final adventure. I wouldn’t be able to find out what he discovered on his last venture to the temple: what he found or what truly happened to his guide. Not in detail anyway. He had survived the night of the 10th—that was all I knew, and even that I couldn’t count on. He hadn’t entirely endured, falling to madness even as he penned me. And even that might’ve been some trick to lure me out here, the man already gone by the time he set ink to paper. Who knew. ____ I packed up all my things in a hurry, all save for the equipment at the Loves (which I didn’t dare to go fetch). Sheathing my sword upon my back and clipping every magazine I could carry to my belt, I felt both a sense of foreboding and excitement. This kind of adventure is what I lived for after all, but I knew many a man went to his death with an unknowing smile on his face. Anything could be out there. I would do it professionally, quickly, and then get back and out of here. If worst came to worst, the Chronicler’s Guild had the influence to get a Soulborg ship out here in two days and blow the whole town to hell. Fire had a way of clearing away aberrations. ____ I was fastening the buckles of my last bag when a noise outside got my attention. Weather notwithstanding, it was usually so deathly quiet at night here at Old Vestklar. Even a small noise as this stood out. It sounded like… oh, what to compare it to? ____ Every single thing we sentient beings comprehend comes from a source—we ourselves are not wholly original in regards to our own creations. We can’t make a new color or shape or sound: it must be made from those things we already know. So when I drew upon my memory for comparison to describe this noise and came up blank, I could only figure that it was something beyond the borders of fathoming. It was truly alien, and I could never recreate it, even in my memories. Imagine then, my curiosity. ____ What terms I could use to discern the noise was volume (quiet) and direction (outside). These things guided me to the window, where I peered outside to the dark silent streets below. Any street lights were all out, leaving only the moon to illuminate what lay before me. A small figure walked along the road at a steady even pace, heading northwards toward the edge of town, where the marsh was. ____ It was VJ. He was dressed normally, whereas I had only seen him in sleeping clothes before, as if casually heading to church on a Sunday morning. His eyes were open and he looked perfectly conscious, but was without expression and emotion. There was no straight-shot road leading north to the edge of town, so buildings soon blocked my line-of-sight with him—he was out of view already. ____ “VJ! Damn!” I whispered, half to myself, and backed away from the window. My time table just jumped way ahead. I had to catch up to him before he made it to the bog. Who knew what fate awaited him there should it come to that. ____ Grabbing all of my belongings and packages, I kicked the door open and made my way downstairs. A burly silhouette stepped in my path as I did so, causing me to bump into him and tumbling us both down the stairwell. Back hurting, I struggled to sit up and failed, pulling my gun out only to relent at the sound of Craft’s voice. Thank God it was him. ____ “Avarius!?” The Warforged sat up and looked at the mess of belongings around him, “What’s all this? Why have you been shut up in your room? Where are you going?” ____ “I, uh…” ____ The machine reached over and picked up a magazine laying open on the floor, beginning to hand it over but stopping to examine its contents, “Er, nevermind. Sorry for bumping into you. I—Wait, is this a horse?” ____ “Gimmie that!” I kept trying to sit up, “Okay fine; you caught me! It’s not my fault they gave Rarity all the best episodes! I’m a victim of circumstance!” ____ “You are a strange, surprisingly pathetic man, Mr. Chronicler. And for someone living here, that says quite a bit.” ____ I paused at his words. I had almost forgotten that the Warforged was potentially my one last ally in this town. Perhaps my way out as well. I rolled over and staggered to my feet, “Listen. I’ve got a very important job to do. Possibly world-ending, most important job (and that means something given my experience). And I need your help.” ____ The machine raised an iron eyebrow, “Me? How exactly?” ____ I dusted myself off and continued talking as I moved my bags to the corner, “You’re my last hope, Craft. The possibility exists that everyone in town is crazy and evil, save for you and me. I’ve got to go, but if I do make it back then they’ll come for me. Here. I need you to help keep them out if that happens, savvy?” ____ “I… Hm…” ____ “Listen to me!” I snapped, “Barricade this place as best you can and wait for me to get back with VJ. If I ain’t back by sunrise, then I highly recommend you skip town. And don’t look back.” ____ The Warforged said nothing, just looking at me like I was crazy. ____ I sighed, “The Guild will compensate you. Like, severely.” ____ At this Craft nodded and began closing and shuttering all the windows, getting right to work. I returned the nod with an extra dose of sarcasm and hurried out the door into the night. ____ “I’ll knock exactly four times, with a second between each one.” I instructed over my shoulder as I went, “Be seeing you.” ____ It was damp out, as if that were abnormal, getting colder all the time. A faint wind was all there was to move the still night air around, furthering the chilliness. I zipped up my overcoat as much as able—it would only get colder the further away from town I got—and began speed-walking after the boy. Northward. ____ By now there was no sight of VJ, nor sound—only the noise of my own footsteps into the dank puddles of the empty black streets. Sparse clouds had overtaken the moon now. It was terribly dark. ____ I made my way through the increasingly decrepit pathways, not daring to light the way with my phone for fear of giving away my position to any prying eyes. Fortunately I was used to late nights, and the darkness that came with them. I made my way to the edge of town. ____ An expanse of black nothingness lay before me, only the silhouette of the temple on the mound visible to the eye. I could only smell the bog. Nothing else. ____ “VJ!” I called out to the nothingness, “VJ!? Are ya out there??” ____ Silence. I paused. And mused. ____ “I still haven’t slept since I ventured into the Abyss. How could I? The unconscious mind is as illogical and paranoid as mankind’s was at the dawn of time. The Primordials would seek to ruin me into madness should I lower my guard in such a way. For indeed they are ever watching.” ____ The Abyss. ____ Knowing full well the risks involved, I took out my phone and switched its flashlight on, illuminating a large portion of the land ahead of me. The light shone twice as bright out here, with nothing else to compare to it. An ugly yellow-green mire of filthy muck lay now in my sight, with the boardwalk leading to the temple a bit to the right in my peripheral. A small creature I couldn’t identify slipped off the wood into the bog as it was caught in the illumination, hiding from the beam. I tucked the phone into my breast pocket, leaving the flashlight still exposed and shining, and withdrew my Glock to be safe. Turning off the safety and cocking the weapon, I then held my breath and slowly advanced onto the wooden planks leading further north. It would be a long walk. ____ The light was illuminating. Every now and again I spotted a tiny footprint upon the damp planks, proving my quarry was still ahead of me. I felt more exposed now than ever, a single light for all the eldritch eyes in the dark to see. ____ I didn’t have enough eyes for this, always having to look all around me, checking every single noise that the marsh emanated. Terrible things lurked and watched wherever my gaze wasn’t—I could just feel it. So exposed. I quickened my pace significantly to outrun the feeling, but I was never going to make it to the church so fast. The way wound on and on. The burial mound loomed overhead. ____ Looking back, I snapped forward upon the feeling of my foot stepping into bog muck. The path ahead had vanished, the boardwalk I’d traversed so many times before simply dead-ending right there in the middle of the marsh. ____ I almost couldn’t be surprised, backing up and looking behind me again. The path there was also suddenly gone, leaving me just a few feet of wood floor to keep me afloat. Just out of instinct I pointed my weapon at the ground, muttering to myself, “Sh*t! …Shoot!” ____ It was only quiet for me on my little raft amidst the bog for a few seconds, the ugly-sounding noise of movement in the marsh catching my attention behind me. The thick, muddy slush rippled and bubbled as I shone my light, piling up high before a humanoid form began worming its way out. Thin, wiry arms wrought with decay jutted out towards me. Featherless wings, rotted to the core and webbed with swamp, stuck out straight into the night air. ____ What was just barely more than a skull poked out towards me, moaning in abject agony, “Ohhhh… Ohhhhhhh!!” ____ “Hello Redgir.” I stepped back and shot the head clean through. BANG!! ____ Swamp, not blood, spurted out as the bullet shattered the creature’s face. Down it went, limp as a bone. More bog-juice gushed out plentifully, my face contorting with disgust at the display. I turned to face northwards again, only to hear a strange sound emanating from the corpse. ____ It was a strange whirring noise, billowing like the howling of wind. I turned to meet the sound: shining my light at the dead… corpse. Tiny feelers had sprouted from the splattered head, hissing and wriggling violently. More and more sprung up, growing larger and larger—soon there wasn’t a semblance of a head at all. ____ I shot the head repeatedly, but the tendrils came again and again as if from an indefinite source. The being rose to its full height: about eight feet tall (big even for a Kyrie), and staggered towards me. Eight little black holes were etched across the torso of the creature. I grimaced at the sight—seemed Phillips had killed Redgir already. Hadn’t worked then. ____ I sprayed the monster with a few more bullets, short bursts of gunfire to keep it at bay. It only stalled for a short while, and I didn’t have the ammo to waste on it. Everywhere the shrapnel struck more feelers sprang out of, the being resembling the long-dead Kyrie less and less. The noise it emitted only grew louder as it climbed up onto the boardwalk. ____ Giving up on the machinepistol, I turned and waded into the marsh. Instantly I sunk up to my waist, no amount of cursewords able to express my disgust at the feeling. But this was no time to complain. Struggling against the resistance of the bog, I moved further northward, aiming for the safer grounds of the mound. Behind me the creature slid off the boardwalk into the swamp, slowly following me. It dipped below the surface, now out of sight. But not out of mind. ____ “Sh*t!!” It was like sharing a pond with an alligator. Knowing every step could be my last, I hastily waded toward the temple. It was the only thing out here to guide my way, just endless swamp and horizons on all other sides. Not ideal. ____ The ground grew increasingly uneven and difficult to traverse. Each other step was halted by clingy mud and the feeling of groping hands looking for me. Tendrils tightly clutched my leg. I looked down, “Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!!” ____ I fell as the clawing intensified, lost in the pitch-black of the opaque liquid. Instantly I went into a mad frenzy, kicking and struggling through the muck and feelers. My right hand felt around and touched solid ground, my immediate instinct practically forcing my body to go in that direction. Delivering one last kick to the clawing sensation, I climbed up the ramp of earth, exiting the bog. The marsh’s waters behind me bubbled slightly and went still and silent as ever, as if nothing had happened. ____ “Fudgesicles!!” I spat out muck and rubbed my arms, finding wetness to not particularly mingle with the frigid temperatures out here. Despite this the feeling of bog ick all over me wasn’t preferable to warmth—I removed my overcoat and discarded it, taking only my weapons and light with me. Looking back one last time before heading up the mound, I saw the boardwalk only about thirty feet to my left, as if it had always been there. I spat again, “Figures…” ____ It was a short walk up the hill towards the temple, the only noise besides the wind being a strangle periodic rumble (almost paced like breathing). My light seemed lonely in the dark, offering only a small blurry circle of illumination around me. The occasional bog spider skittering out of sight was the only sign of life. I bit my lip and cautiously proceeded. ____ It was pitch black inside the temple. Fatigue and fright actually pushed me forward, wanting simply to find out what waited inside and get this over with. I took the first step forward, “VJ? Bud?” ____ Silence. Inside the church there was nothing. Almost nothing. Right there in the very center of the floor there was a large hole leading straight down. It smelled and looked like exposed flesh, a red tube of death. Inviting. ____ The wind outside sounded like the soft chanting of alien voices. I bit my lip, not exactly feeling safe out here either, and leapt down the fleshy chute. It was only a short drop down, my landing feet greeted by soft earth below. I was now inside the mound. A Valhallan archeologist’s dream come true—I raised my machinepistol and looked around. ____ I was in the middle of a earthen corridor curving around: giving me a path to my left or right. So there was something down here after all. But there was no time to thoroughly explore the place; I had to find VJ and get the hell out of here. Pressing tight against the wall, I quietly moved down the right hall. ____ It was dank and quiet, safe from the noises of nature above. Only the sounds of my shoes along the ground and the occasional droplet of water falling from the dirty ceiling served to remind me that not everything had been muted. I barely had the courage to whisper, “VJ? VJ?!” ____ Nothing. ____ The tunnel ceased its curve and ducked down further into the earth, ramping down and turning again. This led me into a surprisingly large chamber made of old rotted stone, an altar not so different in design to the church above. Whimpering blue flames in the corners offered what could only just be called light, barely illuminating the area and the halls connected to it. ____ I held my hand over my phone light at the sight of a figure standing before a stone tablet at the far end of the room, not wanting to give away my presence. It wasn’t VJ—too tall to be him. ____ “Ah…” The man spoke up, speaking in a clear voice. It contradicted the mood around me, as well as his posture as he began trembling violently, “You have not been blessed to enter the sanctuary of noble Vol. Or some have called him Yuggoslith. In the hamlet of Innasmoth.” ____ I paused, aiming my Glock at the shaking host of mine, “Mr. Phillips?” ____ No reply. ____ I stepped forward cautiously, “…Orym?” ____ The man turned slowly to face me. I couldn’t help but instinctively recoil at the sight that greeted me—the man had no face. Just a caved in lump of skin-colored flesh, save for the occasional almost branch-looking feelers poking out from the skull. Despite the lack of features, somehow the voice continued to speak, “We were once the summoner. We are Vol now. Conjoin with us.” ____ He started a brisk approach toward me. I didn’t particularly like the notion, spraying him with a handful of bullets. Just to be sure. The weapon punctured the Valkyrie right in the face (or lack thereof), but it didn’t stagger him in the slightest. Backing up, I circled around one of the stone altars to avoid the zombielike man, turning from there and fleeing down one of the halls leading further into the unknown. I wasn’t going back until I had the kid. ____ “VJ! VJ!” I shone my light down the corridor, trying to stumble my way down the increasingly complicated tunnels. The way continued to wind around and split apart, going this way and that without any real sense of direction. Still damn nothing. ____ I could still hear Orym’s clear voice behind me, calling out, “Come, come, Avarius. We have been waiting for you. He is waiting for you.” ____ Turning a corner, I was quite suddenly confronted by a shocking view. I had stumbled into a large room with a bright blue glow illuminating it. The cause wasn’t any firelight, but rather a glow coming from a body of water in the center of the room. It was genuinely a wellspring. ____ I’d never seen one before. Things were in the water, squirming about like maggots and struggling to escape. More and more of them were spawning from the base of the pool, the bottom of which I couldn’t see. I couldn’t help but pause and stare in awe. ____ Again Orym called out to me, “You won’t find him down here. He’s already served his purpose, bringing you here. Yaloclar be praised.” ____ I didn’t have the means to do anything about the wellspring and what it was spawning. I also didn’t have the time to dwell on Orym’s words, only able to process that I needed to get out of here ASAP. If what the Valkyrie was saying was true, then there was nothing I could do for the kid. Other than avenge him. ____ Orym turned the corner and staggered after me, “Come.” ____ He raised his arms and they stretched out, grabbing me by the shoulders and yanking me to him. I whirled around and faced him, staring wide-eyed at the lack of a face meeting my gaze. The flesh was stirring and unraveling, feelers twitching wildly. ____ I didn’t wait to see what he was doing, drawing my sword and jamming it into his shoulder. The soft earthen wall ate the blade easily, allowing me to pin him to the corridor without difficulty. He dropped me and I fled the way I came. Not bothering to explore the rest of the place—it might’ve pissed off the lead Chronicler before me, but between blowing stuff up and my own survival it was an easy choice for me. I ran out without hesitation. ____ “Run, run, run…” Orym murmured, his flesh slowly splitting apart to allow him to escape the blade stuck in him. ____ I barely managed to escape out of the hole I came in from, pulling myself out of the damned tunnels and racing out of the church. Again I thought I heard chanting voices outside, finding shapes and silhouettes lurking out of the corners of my eyes. I ignored them and darted straight to the boardwalk leading back to town. They followed me home, increasing in number as I drew nearer to Old Vestklar. ____ “Craft!” I struggled to speak while so out of breath from all the running as I approached the inn, “Craft! Open up! Sh*t!” ____ Behind me I could see the lurking shapes taking form, villagers lumbering out of the dark and murmuring chants like they were practically possessed. I grimaced and turned back to the door, pounding on it harder and even kicking it repeatedly. ____ A gunshot went off from inside in response, shattering part of the door and nearly hitting me. I backed off in surprise, glad to still have all my parts, looking through the newly formed hole in the door, “Craft! It’s me!” ____ “Oh.” The Warforged was behind the counter, his Model shotgun still smoking, “You said you’d knock four times.” ____ “Er, right. Sorry. I forgot. I’ve been having a bad night.” ____ Craft stared at me more in eye-rolling frustration than suspicion. He set the weapon aside and raced over, taking a crowbar and beginning to pry the barred door open. The barricades gave in easy to the Warforged’s strength and I darted in. Craft immediately set to repairing the damage he’d done, blocking the way again, “Surprised you’re back, Mr. Fantus. Got all your bags over there, and your pony magazine so you got something to read on the train ride home. If we make it to morning. And if you don’t have any actual books to read.” ____ “Thank you.” I began counting my ammo, “And I do have actual books! (I just get carsick reading aboard a moving vehicle real easy...)” ____ By now the shambling crowds had reached the tavern, softly pounding on the boarded doors and windows. Each and every one of them continued to speak only in an alien tongue, their eyes glazed over and vacant. Any semblance of humanity they might have once pretended to have was completely gone. ____ Even what little of them he could see between the boards was enough to convince Craft that perhaps my night was going as bad as I said. He grimaced and cracked open his Model, beginning to cram more shells into it, “What’d you do to p*ss off the whole town?” ____ I reloaded my Glock, “I may or may not have visited the temple at night. Seems the curtain has lifted.” ____ One of the boards flew off the window, several groping arms reaching through in our general direction. Craft aimed and fired without hesitation, the exact kind of precision and willingness to kill all of the best Vydarites expressed. He cranked the lever on the weapon and approached the window, continuing to fire. ____ As he did so, I heard a crash above me. Shattering glass. I winced at the realization, “Sh*t! Did you barricade the upstairs windows?” ____ “No, why?” ____ Now it was my turn to look at him like he was crazy, “Half the town can fly, dipsh*t.” ____ With that I turned and raced upstairs, turning into my own room and aiming preemptively. Sure enough the window was smashed open and a Kyrie was clambering her way inside. It was Mrs. Love, on all fours with her wings down, clinging to the wall and windowsill like an insect. I blew her head off. Bang!! ____ Lanore kept moving even without her cranium intact, high-pitched hissing coming from her bleeding neck. Lengthy tendrils began sprouting from the stump, quickly forming into a branchlike cluster where her head had been. I muttered curses and just ran over, pushing her out the window before hastily grabbing the mattress off my bed and blocking the hole with it. Moving furniture against it made for a quick and shoddy barricade. ____ “Damn…” I heard more gunshots downstairs, and more windows breaking down the hall to boot, “Damn damn!!” ____ Thinking quickly, I raced back downstairs and ran behind the bar, snatching all the room keys I could gather. Going back up, I ran from one room to the next, locking each of the doors as fast as I could. It was difficult work finding and using each key, and I had to fight off several "guests" trying to leave as I went, spraying them with bullets and kicking them back inside. Soon all the doors were locked and rattling, and then locked and pounding. Splintering. I gulped and went back downstairs. ____ Craft was once again reloading his shotgun, standing alone at the bar where he’d set his spare shells. The muttering crowds were still prying their way in, but none had gotten in just yet. Just as one began slipping in through the only fully-exposed window, the Warforged grasped a full bottle of liquor off the counter and threw it at him intensely fast, knocking the intruder to his ass. Craft merely turned and continued to reload, “How we doing, Mr. Fantus?” ____ “You’re booked upstairs. You?” ____ “I’m running out of ammo and one-liners.” Craft finished loading, turning and shooting the intruder just as it recovered from the bottle-to-the-face, “I have bad news. I don’t think we’re going to make it to morning.” ____ I frowned, “Might not have to. Only need a ride to Dellbriggs to skip town.” ____ “I don’t have a carriage, Mr. Fantus.” ____ “Vigo Love does.” ____ “Hm.” Craft spotted another board breaking and fired in that general direction, “Don’t suppose you’ve got an easy way to get to Mr. Love’s house?” ____ “Nothing worth doing was ever easy.” I muttered, looking over my options and struggling to improvise, “Let’s see… Rooftops!” ____ “Huh?” ____ “Let’s go! Quick!” I turned and raced back upstairs, only stopping to grab what bags (and magazine) I could carry with ease. Craft shrugged and jogged after me. I went to my room and opened the door up, heading to the barred window and moving the mattress aside. I could just barely see more shapes flying around in the dark, more Kyrie circling the house. Dangerous, but I’d have to try and make it nonetheless. I turned to Craft as I made my way out the window, “Watch my back.” ____ My room’s window faced the street, the tavern being stationed on a corner of the road. But there were adjacent buildings to the south and west: ones that weren’t being swarmed by the townsfolk. I shimmied up onto the roof, keeping my head down and watching for any flying friends coming my way. ____ Some of the Kyrie clearly noticed, screeching like harpies and swooping down. I could only just make out their forms against the night sky, aiming expertly and shooting them down. Losing their heads did no good, but alien or not they couldn’t fly on dead wings, so taking those out removed them permanently. I continued watching for any more fliers as I waited for Craft to follow me. ____ “Now what?” The Warforged asked as he mounted the roof. ____ “Follow me.” I said, turning and running southward, Vigo’s house being closer east than west. There was another two-story building next to the inn, a little bit higher up without a sloped roof of its own. It was a tricky run down the damp footing, but I figured myself to be a fairly acrobatic guy and made the leap anyway. My torso hit the side of the building hard, but I held a firm grip on the roof and slowly pulled myself up, “Off! Okay… keep up, Craft.” ____ This building had a sort of gutter pipe along its south side to account for its flatter roof. I located the downspout pipe and grabbed it as I leapt off, sliding down it like a fireman (firefighter—sorry…). The pipe wasn’t quite designed for that purpose though, bolted to the wall and hardly made for human hands to slide down easily. My fingers struck jutting metal about halfway and I fell to the ground, hitting the unforgiving earth rather hard. Pain shot up my legs. And across my torso as my bags landed on top of me. ____ “Mr. Fantus!” Craft landed beside me, having simply jumped off the roof without consequence. He extended a hand and helped me to my feet. I bit my lip and struggled to maintain a limp at best as we hurried to Murg Street towards Vigo’s. Behind us more villagers shambled around, only a select few spotting us and turning to follow. More and more of them had sprouted waving feelers. Hissing and clicking and alien tongues filled the night air. ____ We moved down the street, finding Vigo’s house without difficulty. The whinnying of horses made it easier, the animals in the shed nearby seeming terrified of what they could only hear. ____ “There!” Craft shouted, helping me limp over, “Aboard, Mr. Fantus. The horses’ll take us to Dellbriggs.” ____ I paused, checking the animals, “Good thing they’re still normal. Lucky…” ____ “Still normal.” Craft stared right at me as I did so, “Out of curiosity, Mr. Fantus, how is it you figured I myself was still normal amidst all this?” ____ I began saddling the horses as I spoke, “Well, you are a Warforged—an inorganic being. I figured that meant they couldn’t pose as you the same way they could everyone else.” ____ The Warforged laughed, “So you didn’t really know? Just a hunch?” ____ “Just a hunch, Craft,” I said, “‘sides, if you were one of them, I’d already be screwed. I’ve been living with you all these days. Coulda poisoned me the night of—” ____ I paused again, turning to face the Warforged one second too late. He’d already advanced on me and was mid-swing with his gun by the time I turned to him. The butt of the shotgun hit me right in the face, knocking me to the ground in an instant. The sky swirled around me and everything darkened as I struggled to sit up and failed, “Oh, fudge…” ____ Both his pistol and his magazine fell to the ugly ground, the pages soiled in the filthy mud. Craft stooped down to pick them up, struggling to wring the pamphlet out. It was ruined, “Oh, sh*t… Oh, well…” ____ The Warforged tossed the weapon and magazine into the carriage and then picked Avarius up and laid him gently on the seats within. He shut the door and climbed up into the rider’s seat, leading the horses out into the night. More of a crowd had formed around the Love’s house, Craft making his way around them and toward the southern road out of town. He looked one last time over his shoulder, spotting a tall robed figure atop one of the buildings—a faceless Kyrie watching the carriage without eyes, silently nodding as he watched the cart escape the village. Craft turned to the road again and didn’t look back. Not once. ____ “Excuse me, sir… Sir!” Someone tugged at the cord of Avarius’ earbuds, rousing his attention away from his reading. He looked up carelessly, the initiator of the conversation doing little to spur his interest; one of the conductors of the train. He was an older gentlemen, a preexisting irk on his withered face, “We’re coming up to your stop, sir. Lindesfarme, sir.” ____ “Thank you.” Avarius fumbled a bit with putting away his headphones, dropping the book he was reading in the process. ____ The conductor stared at the open pages of the reading material. He snatched up the book and returned it to the correct page before returning it, “History of Modern Valhalla. A great read for the modern traveller getting to know the road, sir. It’s good to see people are still well-read these days.” ____ “Anything to pass the time on the train really, sir.” Avarius said, closing the book and looking over at the Warforged sitting across from him, “I get off at this stop. I’ll be seeing you.” ____ “Be seeing you, Mr. Fantus.” Craft replied, “It will be good to see the other Chroniclers again, I’ll bet.” ____ “Very good. They’re a good bunch of guys. Highly influential, and well-travelled.” end There you have it! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of it by commenting below. If you'd like to Rate this Fan Fiction, PM @The Grim Reaper's Friend with your score outta 10. ~TAF, with bonus points to anyone who can figure out the ending P.S. For those just starting looking for easy access to the whole thing, the entire story has been compiled in just one post in The Book of TheAverageFan. (shameless plug, check!) TAF was the Storyteller... in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT Last edited by TheAverageFan; February 21st, 2019 at 12:14 AM. |
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Re: The Creeping Evil - Part V
I'll second TAF, and say that if you want to rate the fan fiction out of ten, that would be greatly appreciated. I believe TAF to be the most deserving to get a rating who - to the best of my knowledge - still does not have one.
A simple number will suffice, with 5 representing an average fan fiction, 1 awful, and 10 unbelievably good. You can PM them to me or just post them here. I'll count them either way. ~TGRF, who would provide a rating if he had, you know, actually read it. Which he should. And probably will. At some point. |
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