The frightful God protector had been helping their tribe for many generations now, and would for millennia to come, from jungle to plains, to castles and one day forts. But he was not to be named! That rule they learned the hard way. But even that cruel experience served the Galdinica-nyii well: in the paradox of not forgetting that which must not be spoken saved them always: once a year, when nature died, one of the most loyal believers would take it upon himself and utter the unspeakable name. All the believers then gathered to worship this majestic fool of faith, the men brought all they could offer in riches and honours, the most beautiful women gave themselves to him, and so for 7 days they worshiped the man become God, after which he would die a most horrible death. Then they all gathered and in reverence ate his earthly remains, burying the divine excrements, that his spirit may descend into the dark grounds bellow to seed the earth with a new rebirth for the next year of fruitful sweet trees and plentifully fat hunt.
Those dealing with mind travel and cosmic dream warping are always and forever at risk of their mind getting lost in the twisted beautiful dimensions. Without the palpable boring constraints of reality spirits tend to lose internal cohesion, to go in all directions first with excitement, then in hopelessness, becoming nothing, or at least no longer what we might call a person.
Such was now the fate of the Khalina’tr. Locked inSelf, possibly forever. His only chance of survival was to build himself a mental tower, to preserve and lock down the leftover bits of his sanity, to anchor them in prisons, to torment them into awareness.
Jonatheus had been walking for hours through the thick jungle, containers and nets and all jingling on his back. He pushed forward fuelled by rage alone, all the while sweating like a pig while cursing his fellow biologist Richards. He had hired the ungrateful prick many years ago when nobody wanted him, and now… now he was stealing his research and giving it off as his own. But he’d show him! He had gone deeper into the undiscovered wilderness than ever before, looking for new species. He mistakenly thought he’d found his luck when he discovered a rotten old tree with petrified looking egg-structures all over it. They looked like they were about to hatch any moment…
A creature of deep space, home on baren planets devoid of life and feeling, they are cosmic scavengers. How would such a creature end up on earth?
I had escaped my dimensional experimentor’s captivity through that stupid accident that could’ve well ended my existence, but instead set me free. But I did not know what to do with my new-found freedom. The huge alien distorted manifold castle I was in had endless corridors mirroring backward into endless rooms each more strange than the previous. In one such room I found a long rotten corpse that looked almost humanoid as it was sitting on a surprisingly well maintained luxury soft leather couch, with some kind strange helmet on. In an unexplainable morbid curiosity I put it on, and I was instantly transported to something that I strangely knew to be one of the orbiting moon’s volcanic crater… which to my surprise seemed still active and steaming, and teaming with strange extraterrestrial insectoid life. It seamed to mean me no harm, but instead of safety, the sight of their hive mind-collective filled me with an overwhelming feeling of celestial loneliness mixed with fascination.
As the small group of survivors climbed the stairs towards the gruesome sacrificial altar something even stranger happened. Instead of looking at the poor victims as you’d expect, they all independently started looking respectively at the two frozen statues framing it, with a kind of morbid fascination. Cold vapours emanated from them forming a kind of mist which was slowly drifting downwards from the eternal ice, freezing anything they touched.
The warehouse smelled bad. No wonder, considering the piles of skin, flesh, torn scales and organs wrapped in fresh leather laying across the floor. Yet in the middle of it all the flesh-merger worked undisturbed by all this. Occasionally he would reach into a pile and take a required bit of tissue to add to his creation, as needed. This one had taken longer than expected due to the calibrations needed, but he was confident his next attempt of electrification would bring it to wonderful life. He worried for a moment of the unpredictable resultant mixture instincts it would have, but he shrugged it off in his scientific curiosity.
“Seeing” into 5 and 6 dimensional space was NOT the problem. He had told those fools at the military this many many times, and brought incontrovertible evidence that his formulas were correct. The problem was the complex mathematics required to process the data thus obtained and make any sense of it for the frail human minds. They had argued that it would require taxing the masses very heavily indeed to build a computing machine as powerful as he had asked for, and were about to cancel his beloved morbid baby project, but then some older glory hungry generals (of the type fearful that this would be their last chance at greatness) came to his rescue by dangling the threat that some other country would get this before them, and plus the high technology jobs thus created, so he got the funds. 5 years, an imperial fortune and a few hundred burned out top scientists later, he had his machine and today was the day when they would use it for the first time. The audience was filled with elder statesmen when the first 5 dimensional project appeared. It was later not easy to then explain to the curious newspapers how such a large group of top officials could all have a heart attack at the same time, but with some diversions and story alterations it worked in the end. The project was cancelled and buried. Deep. Very very very deep.
The young lord was a great disappointment not just to his parents, but in fact to the whole county which had payed a high price in taxes over the years for his high education in foreign lands that he may come back and rule them all with benevolence and the wisdom that would bring them the great prosperity of the trading knowledge of the distant orient. Instead he returned obsessed with ancient cryptic books from the deep desert and tormented by visions and fantasies, which he insisted were not dreams but contacts with beings from other dimensions. They locked him up for his own good, despite his half-hearted protestations. He seemed to pay little interest to it all, conversing further with his imaginary friend from beyond “in order to acquire more knowledge”. The matter would have long been put to rest were it not for the recently released memoirs of his old doctor, Hanupembert, which insisted he would sometimes say things which made great sense and started a great number of incredibly profitable business ventures based on the rantings of the useless madman.
Gabriil was already 50 years old when he finally inherited his grand-Grandfather’s old mansion. The will had been convoluted to execute and full of more than peculiar conditions, but now he had fulfilled them all. Many ancient treasures awaited him in the old house, mysteries he’d probably spend the rest of his life to decipher, but now they were all unimportant as he rushed to the attic where he indeed found the tome he had been planning for all his adult life: “The Horrificus Magnus” !!! It was finally his to study!
Weak powers shout and scream, and are quick to show bloody fangs and broken bones, while the truly powerful need only stand there benevolently to invoke the petrifying fear of their subjects. Such is the power of The Queen of Rerrn-kha that even just a figurine representation placed by the emissary on the grand room table was enough to fill the hearts of the imperial council with fear and make all the shouting stop into a deadly silence.
Richard and Leon were ramming the captain’s cabin door as hard as they could. Slamming, screaming, kicking with a desperate frenzy. Their shoulders were screaming in painful agony, but they didn’t give in until they broke the door. Somebody had to do this, and if not them… WHO? The crew was in total disarray, not far from mutiny. Ever since that rich booty they had struck on hitting the sinking regal galleon everything had gone downhill. Sure, there were gems, gold coins and exotic jewellery with beautiful engravings in a language never seen before, and everything in plenty for everybody, but what would it all be worth if they all died with a mad captain? Sure enough, as they feared, they found him still staring into that strange crystaline ball showing funny things. It had been 4 days, for God’s sake! It looked like he hadn’t ate or drank anything in all this time, just sat there… just sat there… just…
The giant of the underworld crawls in slow motion through the burning sands of the infernal depths, for though he was once a frightening lord of great powers, he is now but a shell of his former might, a host and carrier of the burden that hatches upon his back, burrowing into it and reshaping it to it’s needs as it grows and multiplies.
The Cloid crawls through the crevices in the cliffs of the underworld, never getting out into open spaces, and avoiding the scarring green flames. Why would it go out, when aeons ago it discovered that these stones are so charged with the spiritual energy of the journeymen that sometimes they break through the dimensions and into the mortal realms? There nourishment exists in abundance!
The Dimension-0 ring hides under it’s beauty and shine a very dark secret indeed. For the gems it is a adorned with are no ordinary precious stones, but pieces from the volcanic explosions on mount Krara-rathou, the place where hundreds of slaves over centuries had been brought as living offerings, not to the volcano or nature (as some westerners still think with superiority), but to dark powers living deep in under the earth’s crust. It is said that the wearer is able to see with it The Overlapping Dimension. This perspective of his surroundings makes the wearer feel “enlightened”, first through the discovery, and then through the other-beings that talk to him in hi trances. Ultimately though all the wearers (mostly great kings) ended in insanity, no longer being able to interact with their own kind.
excerpt from the book
“Forbidden Lost Artifacts” – by Lugunarius Markhee
The demonoid had been ordering humans around for millennia, so when it realized this stupid man was actually seriously trying to actually order him to do something, the expression forming on it’s face was a mixture of disgust, surprise, disdain and infernal anger.
The “Bones of Saraoth” ritual seemed to Jarredth to be a smart way to work his way up to communicating with the high Lord of the Abyss himself. But, even as he tried that, the apparition that started to gently materialize in the mist clouds now gathering around him made his heart stand still forever.
The Bnii Fyid skull had been passed on from great ruler to great ruler for millennia now, ever since ancient times since when it is rumored to have fallen burning out of the skies and the someone discovered it’s amazing one-to-many subconscious communication abilities. Many great wars of empires had, in fact, been fought solely for this ancient artifact, as regardless weather they were called cesars, pharaohs, sultans, kaisers, kings or presidents they all realized the great usefulness of playing with the fears of the masses, the value of instilling popular fears of other people/cultures/languages/civilizations, and how this allowed their own power to be increased on waves of fear. It is not a precise tool, it is is rather speculated it functions for the emotions of the masses like a prism for light: it breaks balanced ones into spectrums of intense separate sentiments which once separated can be distinctly channeled like rivers.
This ancient political knowledge that the fear of an (even imaginary) common enemy is possibly the greatest way to unite a people under a “great leader” may be commonly known, but the great use and even existence of the Bnii Fyid for this purpose is a secret sealed with ocean scale pools of blood, and not just that spilled by the many spies of different nations trying to find it again, and then their own as soon as they do. Those who know it, know why.
As the two grey haired men with incredibly expensive suits sat in the antechamber awaiting to see The Great Politician, they were getting more and more nervous. The older one was periodically wiping his sweat filled forehead with a golden embroidered handkerchief. They were THE two leaders of business and banking in their country, yet they both knew that the real power belonged to this diminutive man, the man who controlled men with guns who could destroy their empires in gunfire, and controlled the press in to every whim under state imperative. In a mixture of fear and boredom they would both repeatedly be looking at the big portrait painting that was dominating the great room. And as they did so, and as the minutes of waiting turned into hours, they started to get the feeling that the setting sun moving across it was revealing an underpainting, something much older and more frightening. Or maybe they were just going crazy.
And then in the twirls of thickening darkness I started seeing a shape, no more of them, feeding upon the soul-remains of the depths. I remembered then of my master’s teachings and realized I was seeing the bottom feeder beings known as Deepscourers. Remembering that was fortunate, as otherwise I might’ve let myself be deceived by it’s benign looking, almost peaceful outlook and gotten closer, risking being mistaken for a damned soul and being mercilessly fed upon.
“The nightmare traveler journals” by Ruberti Markun
This had been a robbery planned out at the highest levels. Weeks of preparations with virtually unlimited budget had given them the best possible crew, both physical and in paranormal abilities. They were prepared for everything, as one should when preparing to rob the castle of somebody as great and frightening as the great knowledge Seeker Rahamgarii Litkania. But they were not prepared for THIS.
I mean sure, Inner High Council members were often joking that he’d one day, presumably in a few centuries, be found burned alive by some frightening demon… but not like THIS. There was no fire, no, this was much more disturbing.The whole place was as if invaded by an abundance of strange living vegetation. And no, this vegetation did not give a feeling of serene calm and beauty of nature, you only feel that when you know to be far superior and in power to the plants you were beholding. Here was definitely NOT the case of that.
Three of the veteran men had ran away at the sight (well, after a round of puking), two had been killed in minutes with the third still slowly dying in great poisoned agony. By the time the last two had made their way to the core rooms they found everything “infected”, all destroyed, corrupted and overturned… and at a center of it all, in a radius of peace, stood the little oriental statue that they had been payed so handsomely to steal. Frighteningly still in a sea of moving natural death.
Many of the paintings of Lucilian Bradley were controversial, some were even banned by the art community, but, in his morbid fascination with the unknown, he didn’t really care about that. However there was one in particular that he exposed that night at the new gallery that caused the outrage to explode into incendiary violence. In truth is, even having barely escaped the burning building and the furious mob, he was secretly happy IT was swallowed by the flames. The fact that his paintings were inspired not by imagination but by the demonic trance visions was his dark secret, one that he could live with, but what he saw when he painted that particular one traumatically opened his mind to the horror that some abominations can occasionally fuse, creating fresh new horrors.
However, a few weeks later, his secret relief shattered on the cliffs of reality as he received a large check with the post. Normally he would’ve celebrated the huge sum of money, fueling his expensive decadent lifestyle, but, to his unease, the check revealed that the secret collector who had been generously bidding at the exhibition auction somehow managed to save that painting and wanted to thank him. Lucilian wished at least he hadn’t known! From that day on he started praying for engulfing fires, seeing them as paths to salvation.
The diminutive race of Ankh’arr’nilf’schioo has long been enslaved by the fire demons of the south. So long in fact that most peoples have forgotten the original name of their kind and now know them only by how they’re called by their masters: “Boneslave”. They have however tried to keep parts of their own culture from “the before”, and at nights they sometimes can be seen crawling out of the volcanic cracks of the mountain to do their strangely frightening bone dance music in worship of the true-God.
The brothers Dheadjat had always been united. United in their desire to have more land. To own it, to control it, along whit whoever passed upon it. This was as true today as it was 3047 years ago when they lived out their mortal lives. They started out humbly with some adventurous thieving and pillaging with their small band, but within a short decade or two they managed unite a few tribes and after a couple of guided wars they managed to take over their own little government, even to graduate into instituting the moral code in their region by smart use of a couple of priests, until it became immoral to oppose their tributary taxes, as they began to call them. Nothing to complain, they lived a good life, with many castles and many slaves, up until a leisurely luxurious old age.
The only thing that surprised them was awakening fused together, just a few short years after their deaths, into this dark overlapping dimension. It was strange, but after a while they got used to it. Pillaging among the dimensions had it’s joys that they could live with. They had some disagreements though, now that they had to share a body as well as these strange lands. This lead to them not talking for a few centuries, but in the end they still shared the same passion, this desire to acquire more precious land, and even without words they had this unspoken understanding of what is truly precious.