The basket near his ornate wooden desk was already full with crumpled up paper when he threw another one in it. For days Aniramus of Lebrairr had been trying to write to his friend about the subject matter, but no sooner would he finish writing that he would change his mind and throw it away yet again. On the one hand it was his friend and he wanted to let him know of the Huua’sh great mystery that he had finally solved with the paranormal solution… but on the other he worried, this could be too much even for his friend’s scholarly inquisitive mind.
I had been in the city of channels for 2 weeks now, sent by the merchants of Konstantinoupolis to make sure this new deal went smoothly (unlike the bloody last one), and as such I had passed by the peculiar monument a few times. It seemed to have been recently moved there, although the monument itself looked older, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why somebody would do such a hideous move, so offensive to the eyes. Until that one day, when the light hit it straight on, and suddenly my mind lit up in strange supernatural ways. Then I got it. I understood why it had to be here, and why it had to be here NOW. I understood like a child does when his parents explain something way beyond his comprehension! I also saw with my mind’s eye how it would be taken away in just a few years, and how it would be somewhere else. At that moment I realized it was my calling to make sure that it’s new home would be in my own oriental homelands, and how with it a new age of enlightenment and prosperity and power would come. The price had to be payed, of course, but what great things happened without that ever in history?
from ‘Memoirs of Milttiades “The Englightened” Issadore”
Nobody believed me until i showed them, but ever since I recovered that strange statuette from the cave in the jungle, I started to be able to “feel” somehow all the insects in the vecinity (about 5 miles by my estimation, which was quite vague given the confusing cacophony of unnatural “signals” i was perceiving). After the little show I put on for them last friday night, evoking a few shouts of amazement and followed by nervous laughter and even some applause they started to believe me, and treat me like some kind of hero of humanity. What I was afraid to tell them though was that I could feel the connection was two-way, and that influenced by my way of thinking and perceiving the universe through my eyes I could feel the hive mind developing quickly in rather unsettling ways.There was no need for them to know, after all, right?
“Sometimes, even through some accidental trick of the light, or some coincidence of events, the mortals see the other side of things, a glimpse of the other beings that surround them. This is not natural to them, as they, as any other species tends to search for what they know, for bodies, minds, actions and thoughts like their own or that at least fit into their world view. And of course somehow related to the act of feeding or continuation of the species. But sometimes it does actually happen. Mostly though they immediately ignore such things as the mental apparatus of perception and association cannot “digest” what they saw/felt/perceived and it is forgotten.”
Natural Observations on the human species – Lhfosjfoy-Hhhri-Nhrrrololow-Whii’3
As I lay that night in bed, for some reason sleep kept eluding me and instead I felt myself in a restless strangely frightened state, with no reason that I could discern. I kept feeling there was something wrong about the past day, but I just couldn’t figure out WHAT it was. The visit to the factory with the pompous ignorant state official was surely nothing out of the ordinary. The parade, the workers with the flowers, singing as usual something foolish about how their collectivist experiment was going to be glorious and righteous, about how the productivity in the factories as in the fields has been improved by big percentages and all that usual nonsense that had always been convenient for rulers to convince the masses of for thousands of years just as long as they got to rule them with iron fists. But, let’s be honest, that was the usual, nothing special. It must’ve been something I had seen, something not obvious enough for my conscious mind to pick it up, but that somehow now my subconscious was nagging me with. I tried for hours to sift through all the memory imagery of the day, all the flowers and colorful ribbons, the women and the men in festive attire yet working for show at the dirty machinery, the big billboards, the fresh strong paint on the otherwise decrepit factory and machinery, all of it meant to overwhelm the senses along with the sounds of machinery and people at work, meant to convince through me the bank that we should give them yet another loan for their newest great utopian dream… all of that was what my mind had sort of noticed and remembered, the themes on the walls of workers holding hands and singing praise to the motherland or some-such typical nonsense. Was it the bombardment of new “modern artwork” covering walls and the freshly made big imposing statues? No! The big bas-relief with the typical patriotic nonsense in the new artwork style sanctioned by the government… no it wasn’t that still… But there was something… something sticking like a thorn in the back of my visual memory, something nagging for an answer!
And then, it hit me! It was the little bust on the desk of the factory foreman! It just didn’t fit! It wasn’t in the new state religion artwork style, neither did it have any uplifting patriotic message for the masses. And then it hit me why my brain must’ve noticed it: unlike everything else that was freshly painted over for my inspection IT looked old, very old, and even rusty at parts. Except the top part which seemed very smooth, like those religious artifacts from the time before the state atheism became all encompassing, the ones which the masses would touch a lot for luck/blessing/salvation and they’d become smooth and worn in those spots. THAT’s how that bust looked like! It didn’t make any sense!!! And why would it be there!?! Surely the government representative would not be the worshiping type… and yet it was all there, I remembered it now clearly. I couldn’t sleep all night wondering about this. How peculiar! I finally managed to fall asleep after filling out a form 5347b request which I’d mail first thing in the morning to ask for another inspection of the local officials. This prospect seemed to finally calm my tired mind enough to fall into the much needed sleep.
“The last time the Kingserr had been mentioned in the histories was in some apocryphal writings which suggested that the secret campaign in the Peloponnesian wars was around it’s negotiated transfer safely from Thrace over the Aegean Sea and into Sparta, something which the Athenians naturally didn’t want to allow for fear of the horrible consequences. Since then this great artifact of the power of kings over kings has gone in the black market underground, with no official mentions. The silencing mainstream story tries to suggest that it was lost at sea, but rumors are beginning to resurface that it’s out on auction again.”
Excerpt from the intercepted blood note
When she got her hands on the old manuscripts from back in the first centuries of the founding of the great cult of power, the first thing she did was search among them for any mention of the famous Cup of Fangs, used in the initiation ritual. For ten years now she had wondered at least how it looked like. Of course a nobody like her would never even get to see it, let alone touch it, still it had intrigued her endlessly. But what she found out was beyond her wildest expectations.
She had found some initial designs for the cup along with explanations of intended functionality. And in there she found something that possibly even the High Council Inner Group didn’t know… except maybe for one?!? If she correctly understood the Old Language, it seemed to suggest that the cup had a secret purpose also: that it’s name was more than a metaphor: that it was designed so that it would literally cut, a tiny unnoticeable mark, the lips of those who partook in the ceremony, and that those little droplets were a way for the cup to gather their powers, for a later unspecified purpose. This was too much for her to know! She wished she had never found this out. Surely she would be killed (or worse) if ANY of this got out. She was too afraid to even read further for fear that she may know more. She proceeded to burn them all!
The recently departed professor’s old office was filled from floor to ceiling with stacks of papers, notes and even sketches of his studies. One that attracted his attention what was a colored crayon depiction with the following sub-note scribbled in ugly hand writing:
“The Lokuss of space-time is a form of energy like any other, a structured form of the universe, so naturally there have evolved beings that feed upon it’s order and live and develop based on it’s entropic transition of form.”
He spoke in a booming angered dimensional voice: “Students of the ether-mysteries, listen up, and listen up good as I’m only repeating this one more time. Your test results were pathetic, in particular the ineptitude answers you gave to the questions relating to the VaseK ritual of binding were simply embarrassing. Not a single one of you gentlemen made a half decent effort at learning how to to duplicate the effects of a spirit capture in a VaseK holder. Instead you all blurted out the methods of a weak simple one and useless trivia such as it changing appearance to reflect the spirit held within, but that is the things that every initiate knows even just from fairy tales. Lamentable! Get back to your respective universe laboratories, and come back better prepared the next time!”
It took a few hours until the clouds and thunder went away and the mini earthquake stopped. They’d study better for the next time. Some were having second thoughts about what they had enrolled in.
He was totally lost. He’d been walking for hours in what must’ve been gigantic circles as he had the feeling he kept seeing the same trees. And that thing. It was like a vase… just that it wriggled a bit, or at least made his mind imagine things. It was too strange for him, so he just avoided it and always took the opposite direction, yet somehow he’d always end up back near it. In the end he gave up and approached, only to find himself in a conversation that lasted many days and nights, or so it seemed to him. It told him the fascinating tale of what was once something like the spirit of these woods, and it’s binding into tangibility.
They all had thought it to be just another crazy figment of the imagination of yet another lost soul, an outcast addict. Just a frightful dream fantasy in the middle of the night of a mind that was no longer recognizable to it’s past glory. But then, as the countess received the mummified THING and the whole court wondered around it mumbling … suddenly things looked very different. Forever!
It was true, that which they all feared so much that they invented religions to cover it up: money did bring him happiness! Lots of it. And most importantly, the power to fulfill his goals. Thus he was already 60 when he finally was able to afford buying the Bazial Statuette at the gallery (after a series of well orchestrated political bribes, of course). But what matters? It was now his, forever! He had been obsessed by it and driven into higher motivation in his many businesses and exploratory endeavors. It wasn’t easy, and sometimes he felt like giving up, resting his tired always spinning mind, but then he’d visit the gallery, look at it memorized in deep thoughts for minutes on end, reflect upon the legend of how it’s golden base was molded onto the shape of the jaw of a long extinct dinosaur with supernatural attributes that had allegedly killed many Agrrarorian and later Nermani mages who tried to control it. It always gave him new energy, and now, after all this time, it was finally resting in his own home, the most valuable of all his great treasures.
The two photos that the old university professor had received from the deep sea divers were of a horrendous quality. Truly! He had expected much more from the advance of technology! He ended up having to hire artists for an interpretation that he could present in class. It was enough fro him to say that the creature was Animalia of Phylum Arthropoda, at least related to Subphylum Crustacea, but not much more. He could identify a lot of commonalities that he could explain, but also some organs that he could not explain and had no place being functional from an evolutionary perspective.
Unless they served some other purposes he was not aware of? No matter, he still was happy to have payed the divers even that exorbitant sum, as ever since he saw those images he had discovered a new zest for life and a surprising new hunger for his old age. Thus were his thoughts as he sat in the old mansion at the whole huge wooden table covered in half eaten marine animals, all bloody and uncooked emanating such an unpleasant odor that he thought it fortunate there was no longer anybody else around to complain about. But it didn’t bother him, on the contrary… it made him think of the photos and he felt hunger anew and lusted for more, feeling invigorated at the transformation he was feeling in his once frail body.
Normally the fields and forests all around the village were relatively quiet, with nothing but the mundanely soothing sounds of cows eating and the occasional runaway agitated geese to be heard. Not so today. The screams of horror and distress could be heard echoing all along the countryside, over the field and even across the river delta. Villagers could be seen from a distance running away screaming, like little agitated points moving across the grass. Upon approaching one could notice that some were stained with splashes of fresh blood.
It had been just one egg, presented as a curiosity at the Saturday market, but when it hatched and the young baby had the urgent biological need to feed after its many years of incubation. Others would have sympathized with with the poor tragic bystanders, but traveling professor Narkhu’m Lervantus felt more for the poor baby (which he suspected to be a Ktronimus dimension slice incarnation). Sure, it was tragic, and he definitely wouldn’t have wanted to see this “front row and center”, but how was IT any more guilty than any other form of life with its newborn instinct of feeding and desire to grow and take its place under the sun? If anything one could take pity on it as its parent were not of the nurturing type and it had to take its first risky steps in life on its own.
Popular opinion was that it was time! That great things were afoot, and the a for change, that after the long waiting, it had finally come. For what or why… that nobody knew. But cares about that? They could all feel it. And they could see in the eyes of everybody else that they felt the same!
The secret key to it all was in that peculiar painting. The king had been persuaded by it’s extravagance to store it inside the palace at Sersaiici. And thus the seed was planted. Nobody noticed the slow transformation that was happening inside the painting, the blooming of the colors, the transformation in mood. It was too slow for mortals to notice as the changes were at each stage was so minuscule that only somebody with a fantastic memory seeing it but once a week might have a chance to notice something. But what everybody DID notice was the gradual change of the mood at the imperial court radiating even to the distant colonies. There had always been royal intrigues and assassination attempts, this was normal, but nobody could figure out why their frequency had been increasing… seemingly on a weekly basis. In the first year it was barely noticeable as the court spies would catch them before anybody could realize and eliminate all traces, but by the 3rd year it was becoming hard to hide rumors of all the failed attempts, and by the 5th it seemed just a matter of time until one would succeed. The punishments for intrigue were getting more and more severe, some even grotesque, which would normally reverse the tide at the cost of just some good prestige, but as it was currently not even that worked. The strangest thing was that the assailants were not the same, or even the same interest group, but rather of seemingly different backgrounds and motivations, and constantly new groups emerging… the strange painting was indeed working. He’d have to order more to gift to the other rulers across the continent!
To be honest it surprised her that nobody commented on the huge and very peculiar stone sticking out of the river as they passed by it. Any other day she would have made a big deal out of this, but given the shocked state in which the whole team still was after the earlier life threatening events, she tried to shrug it off and just forget about it. But for some reason however she discovered she just couldn’t and she kept wondering about the face she (thought she?) saw stuck/emerging/transformed/captive in the stone. What strange epithets to use. It was just a stone. Surely!She was ashamed of herself for thinking like that, after all maybe it was just some natural rock formation, an accident of the weather corrosion, or maybe who some kind of long forgotten meaningless sculpture. Why was she still thinking about it!?!? It had been more than an hour now. And not like she didn’t have the opportunity to raise the issue: everybody was silently walking along in shocked exhaustion, with only the quiet hum of those annoying mosquitoes to be heard. She could’ve said something! Did nobody else notice it? Was it too late to tell them how it made her feel? Would she just make a fool of herself? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? And then there were these other thoughts…
And then the fire which undulated in weightlessness turned to sound, pulsating waves of it radiating and spreading with flows of deep blue wrapping around them like magical ribbons.
I soon discovered that meditating upon the little figurine would lead to a kind of “projection” from it, some kind of spiritual form of it, which would then in turn take my spirit with it. In this form I would see myself above the clouds, which were moving like a strange stratosferic ocean of peace, uncaring for the turmoil of the world far bellow it. And near me, standing huge was a solidified cloud of the figurine itself, except that it was different, opening up to reveal it’s inner power, making me see the world bellow with far different eyes, eyes in the mind.
What remained of him after the ascension-transmogrification was not really a pretty sight. A shell of his former physical human self, a mixture of all the biological and ethereal beings he had consumed, he would definitely not be accepted back into the high society polite circles he came from just a few centuries ago. But that didn’t bother him, nor did the screams in the rare occasions he showed his true new form to what used to be his kind. What he did miss however, was water. Immortality and powers beyond even his ambitious plans were now his, pulling the strings of the world like a true dark puppeteer, but he missed water.It wasn’t just that his newly pieced together body would be at risk if he left the safety of the dry deserts and arid lands because of the increased corrosion of atmospheric moisture, but there was something, something about large bodies of water that stopped him from approaching, lest he become unconscious again for another decade like the last few times he tried with his typical stubbornness. He had succeeded it multiple times, to cross seas and oceans… with enough preparation and at high expenses it could be arranged that he is carried safely across, even in his slumbering state… but he hated it, and he hated that loss of control as the world passed by. Sob he often stood, as near as he could get to the edging of aridity and great waters, and on the hottest days with his empty sockets stared for hours with his mind-eyes trying to understand what frightening powers could be lurking there, stopping even a monster like him from approaching the fascinating waves and their great secrets of the depths.
In the middle of the cavern was a white glowing almost milky liquid that would gradually thin into the thickness of a glowing fog. At first I noticed an ominous shadow swimming a few centimeters underneath, but then it rose and broke the reluctant surface only to emerge and start slowly lifting into the center of the lake like a majestic living chitinous column.
By my third week of captivity I have realized that what I initially took to be a bunch of mindless giant insectoid beasts was far more than that, that it was a society, complete with social norms, cultures and an intricate religion. From my strangely manufactured cage I had now seen how three times a day a “chosen one” would be elected by group consensus and it would have what I can only assume was the honour of getting to carry their idol/deity through the community, to the great reverence of the others (one day I observed the individual for the whole next day and he seemed to have temporary higher privileges as a result). This moment was apparently of great sanctity, not to be disturbed, as unfortunately some of my fellow prisoners had learned. Normally nobody seemed to pay attention to us in preparation for some great ritual, BUT, anybody who spoke louder than a whisper during the procession was promptly silenced… forever. I write these things down in the journal today also, in the hope that when the great ceremony happens and if I am right I will be taken away they will ignore this little leather bound notebook and then after the next migration somebody of my own species will find it and learn something from it, that it may not be too late for them also and they may learn from our mistakes.
——— from “The lost notebook” ———
It was a wonderful day to be walking in the sun and the two lovers were thrilled they had chosen to get away to the peaceful countryside for the weekend. Intrigued by the playful shouts of children they veered off from the beaten path into the pleasant shade of a small forest. As they approached the clearing however the children ran away, leaving behind what felt like a deadly silence, somehow made even more ominous by the sound of the blades of grass in the gentle wind. They also seemed to have forgotten something they had apparently been sculpting, some kind of a wooden figurine. It somehow managed to frighten Lady Mir’Garleen something terrible, because she dropped it screaming and it took him a few hours to calm her down from the ensuing state of agitation. What could it have been that she had seen or felt? Sure, it was mayybee a little bit strange, the eerie pig/goat shapes intricately cut into the wood… but definitely not to this level of distress. He felt in fact somewhat… intrigued the whole story. Knowing she would never agree that he take it back into the city he pretended to throw it away while secretly packing it at the bottom of the picnic bag. Where could be the harm in keeping this peculiar wooden carving?
Gaigaii seemed unstoppable for a few centuries, conquering planeverse after planeverse, until, in this provincial world he suddenly fell and was assimilated by the other powers. The most popular theory attributed this to something called “the spear of spiritual triumphal defeat”, while others call this nonsense and rather ascribe this historical mystery to shadowy local forces that prefer to remain unrevealed and keep this little cluster for their own experiments of higher magnitude than even an imperial conquistador’s armies.
At the core of this whole beehive of life, powering not just the amazing mechanisms he had seen all through the day, and the layers of luxuriant gardens with living water, but also giving life energy to the inhabitants of this great cosmic city, was a floating shape, “dodecahedron” was the closest name that came to his mind, yet that was clearly not correct as it was constantly shape shifting, and sometimes he even had the impression that his mind perceived cross-sections of it. For some reason his mind flew to an old dried seal he had seen as a child in his father’s cupboard, before everything… no, he, had changed.
The music now reverberating through disoriented air molecules was as impossible as the feelings that the crowd was experiencing. Even as their minds’ eyes were opening to see the stage in it’s true frightening form, their spirits were lifting with the growth of the repeating musical pattern into a crescendo of fiery emotion. The couple of hundred in the audience today were any day of the week of the type that would gladly abandon rationality for an urgency of acting on their intuitive feelings, but as the chorus approached they indeed lost all such pretense of either rationality or of the glorified social norms they normally had replaced it with.
Newspaper clipping report on “The unbelievable incident at the National Opera House”
“And should you ever get squeamish thoughts, remember, nature is the best instructor in it’s ruthless ways. It teaches us that always and everywhere the inefficient is eaten away and reused towards the growth of another being more adapted to see the nutrient where others perceive just disgusting waste or do not use the striving essence to it’s fullest. Any niche that has an opportunity will always and everywhere be eventually filled by somebody… or someTHING better able to use those resources.”
Excerpt from the instructional books written by the frightful plantmaster Jooirkhi’ih the IIIrd
Was it something real that she was seeing, or just a pattern constructed or re/de-constructed in her imagination in the mind’s eternal loop of trying to make sense of the stimulus data of reality? She tried blinking, closing eyer eyes and vigorously rubbing them and even shaking her head in dazed disbelief while mumbling guttural sounds… it wasn’t working. It wasn’t going away, it was becoming stronger with every moment she was looking at it, gaining in depth, consistency… reality.
The legends say Narra-Ku’thm used to be the capital of an ancient forgotten empire, but then they became so decadent that the Gods of Light abandoned it, and the Shadow Deities took an interest. The inhabitants built a great temple to honor their great hunger for passion and life, which lead to a renewed bloom of their empire, until one frightful day the whole city was swallowed by the vengeful earth. This is where the legends end and well documented history steps in, because 3 centuries ago this ancient metropolis has risen again as a moving city, only partially devoid of life, carried by a frightening great tentacular mass from the depths, and in constant motion. Not fast motion, mind you, to a casual observer it looks just like an old ruin, for it moves just a few meters per year, not enough to notice with the naked eye, but enough to frighten all who ever visited it with the implications that this entails. A few end-of-days cults moved into it immediately, along with the adventurous and extravagant, and even the old temple started to see a resurgence of the old rituals. But nothing happened. In a few years caravans of goods and trade started to include it in their routes yet again. Who knows, maybe in a few more centuries of uneventful strangeness all will be forgotten, and in that behavior so typical of the short lived humans this city will pulse again with great crowds of people spreading out and conquering the world from their moving fortress.
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 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.
Xanadians perceive the world not through color wavelengths but as a form of bounce-back melody of the universe, a living song that’s ever-changing with their motion. Woe unto the man that becomes part of this song. He might hear beautiful rhythmical bony clicking that delight his ears, and a deep low vibration wonderfully going through his body… but not for too long. Few are knowledgeable enough of the secret world around us to run with all their strength at the first sounds of this amazing melody.
When the Rogganite first arrived, they thought it to be reason for great celebration. The Pharaoh instructed the priests to make a great feast in it’s honor, hoping to thus secure his lineage’s rule. He was struck with fear as the priests told him the Rogganite had come not to help, but to rule as God among men.
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.
In many cultures across the wide green earth storks are associated with the bringing of babies. Of course that is primitive nonsense, weather through natural science or common knowledge we all know of how babies are really made. There is however a bit of truth behind this myth, the truth of the Swhuushirimi Predatorius that might have inspired the legend. Though a being of the spiritual plane and thus invisible to most observers, every one in about ten thousand men are born with the aberration of glimpses into the spiritual world, and such men sometimes see a flicker of a Swhuushirimi as it brings the free choice chaotic spirit of the child (though often only years after the lump of clay enters the world).
edge of page scribbled annotation on the apocryphal writings of the heretic Narimian Opteul.
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.
“I was prepared for the next time. It wasn’t cheap, had to sell one of the smaller family mansions, but I was prepared. So, 3 seasons later, when the caravan came through town again, I went straight to the old gypsy lady. Upon giving her the gold and diamonds (the only currency she would accept) she sold me her small bottle. There were just a few drops inside, but I knew it was worth it. As instructed, I went home and lied down on the big bed, after of course having arranged for 2 servants to stand by should there be emergency need for help or to run for a doctor. I put a droplet into my left eye and two into my right eye, just as she told me… but nothing happened. Where was the Deptais!?! I waited a few minutes feeling ashamed like a little kid who still believes in dragons, and I was just about to stand up and do something I would regret when it hit in: I suddenly found myself floating in a sea of colors, the room faded into a blur of violent spectacle of vibrancy, and true to the promise, I saw a couple of Deptais come attracted by the smell of the drops. They were excited, talking constantly in a language I so wished I could understand… and one, one was in particularly animated… and even as I watched him (and it knew!), to my amazement it split into two similar and yet different parts, which then proceeded to complete themselves. It was all worth it, just for that moment!”
Excerpt from the dying journal of trans-substance addict
Death in nature is a state of harmony and assimilation, it has it’s keepers and it’s makers, but it’s evil is in the eyes of the mortals only. The sheep must be herded to it’s embrace as the transformation cycle is the perpetuum of the universe.
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.
The Shellwalker had had many names among the human tribes across the millennia, not in his true form, but in the form of the humanoid skin-body it was by now accustomed to wearing among them. Only once in a century or two did a situation call for his celestial form to be revealed or it’s powers to be needed, so he had just gotten used to living as a human… as many humans. A boring yet, to his surprise, a very satisfying life. He hoped the cataclysmic mission he was sent on would never be activated, and that the great powers across the galactic dimensions would never trigger him for the purpose he was actually sent here so, so, soo long ago.
A lemplaj infestation advances slowly, very very slowly. It takes many weeks, months, sometimes even years until the disturbing biomass conquers a usable habitat. This however doesn’t make it less terrifying, as the realization of the inhabitants has time to settle in and all attempts of stopping it fail, be it in slow motion but still irreversible ways. Feeding on all kinds of biological mass, not just plant and animal life but many a brave knight has unwilling fed it to a new explosion. The same driver growing it also kills it off though, as it runs out of nutrient it eventually dies out leaving behind only little red spore formations. Cursed is the fool who would want to collect such spores.
The whole family had come to the secluded beach this weekend. It was a wonderful sunny day and the ocean was shining in bright blue-green tones. They hadn’t read the local papers about the disturbances with the native populations in the islands on the horizon, nor did they care for that TODAY. Eamon was the first to notice the distant growing drums. The waves were somehow resonating with their beat, and soon so did the sky, which got an ominous feel. Not long after they started to notice shapes under the waters coming towards the shore. They materialized into strange aquatic beings, hundreds of them, climbing out of the oceans they had evolved in. They were covered in algae and other plants of the deep waters, some even seemed to be decorated with them.
And after that I heard the two black figures make a strange shrilling whistle-like noise, which brought forth from the foggy night two frightening cries of reluctant obedience. With the sound of fluttering hurricanes, two shapes formed in the darkness before them, shapes that I could only describe as reminding me of strange morbid twists of what children’s fairy tales would call dragons… if they were built out of ripped fragments of nightmares. And the figures climbed onto their backs and flew off into the night to hunt for fresh human blood.
Fragment from the now banned “Memoires of the years of my captivity in the Dark Lord’s dimension” by the occultist Rudolph Malegro
I followed the being breathlessly into the swampy forest, deeper and deeper, until, knee deep in mud and dizzy from the strange yellow vapors, I lost my breath. For hours I kept searching, but everything by now looked to me like one of these old sunken knotty trees. Exhausted I stopped to lean on one but upon touching it i had an overwhelming vision: I found myself in a wholly different place. Through IT’s feelings I was tempted to call it “home”, yet my spirit told me I was galaxies away from my home lands. Hot furious sandstorm winds hit me with a barrage of pebbles in the sunset of the twin suns. And then the stone sands beneath me started to tremble, as if something humongous was moving underneath. I could feel my heart singing joyously: “father, father!”
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 fantastic thing about the golden figurine was how it synergized with it’s environment in a way that was nothing less than supernatural. It was slow, to be sure, but in a matter of short hours it was already noticeable. At first it would lose it’s perfect polished gold shine, and itself acquire the characteristics of it’s surroundings, be it moss, rust, erosion and even environmental micro-vegetation. But the even more incredible effect was that over longer time-frames it’s environment would also transform as if to seep into the same universal substance. THIS was the part that on the one hand excited and on the other frightened him terribly to the point of recurring nightmares.
He had experimented in different environments, from his house to fort ruins to dirt to wild forests. He dared not leave it anywhere more than a few days for when you thought about it, about the logical continuation of what he saw every time… it was quite frightening. Enriching, indeed, and he had already made a much resented new fortune based on it… but also frightening in the possibilities should he ever forget it somewhere for a longer period. He still bore the painful scars of the first days of excitement when he foolishly used to carry it in his pockets.
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.
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.
In my dream the strangely (?) colorful (?) being was explaining to me a kind of mathematics of waves and concentric circles, a looping and returning, arrangements and combinations that harmonized ethereally. I could feel deeply that what it was telling me was important, and that should I understand it it would change everything, not just for me, but the universe, but I could feel it losing my grasp with every outreach. I woke up at that point, as somebody ran by on the street close to where I had been sleeping and splashed unto me water even colder than the murky rain of the evening, which had apparently not woken me up. I tried hard to remember something of what it said, but all that remained in my mind was a kind of ringing of my ears in ways of alien harmonics.