Scholars of Novia CONTEST #1 "The Sisters Grim" Starts: September 24, 2014

Scholars of Novia​

CONTEST #1​

"The Sisters Grim"​

Starts: September 24, 2014​

Ends: October 6, 2014 (at midnight, GMT)​

In a crumbling stone tower, deep in the Shadow Wood, there live two sisters, Vomica and Repugna. Some say they are immortal, having survived from the time before the Cataclysm by the use of an enchanted hair comb. Others say they are simply two old crones who have gone half-mad eating poison mushrooms in the forest. Still other rumors claim that long ago they came from a place known as the Land of Wish Gonesoon where they were great scholars of Wick Torrean literature -- though the location of Wish Gonesoon and the identity of Wick Torrean remain unknown. Whoever they are and wherever they are from, over the years Vomica and Repugna have gathered together a spine-tingling collection of some of the darkest tales in all of Novia: The Grim Sisters’ Anthology of the Mysterious & Macabre.

Once again, the sisters are prowling the countryside listening for additions to their eerie series. Yours, perhaps, could be their next inclusion.

Contest Instructions (the basics):
Reply to this thread with your submissions. Only replies made to this thread will be considered contest entries.

For this contest we are seeking spooky stories, scary tales or even creepy poetry as would fit well in the Grim Sister’s collection. Keep in mind that although it will soon be Hallowe’en, All Saints Day, All Souls Day/Day of the Dead and/or Samhain for many people on Earth, these holidays and holy days are not (as of yet?) a part of New Britannian culture, so avoid direct references to these Earth celebrations and solemnities.

For this contest, you may compose a text attributed to your character/avatar, a text authored by your usual SotA Forum name, a text attributed to some theoretical Novian personage (not an actual in-game NPC), or even a text intended as anonymous. Entries should be 733 words or less. One entry per player-author, please.

Contestants will have an opportunity to work with the Scholars to produce a finalized version of their submission before final judging. Final judging will be carried out by a panel of judges comprised of the Grand Masters of the Scholars of Novia and a special guest "dev" judge.

Prizes for Contest Winners:
Contest winners will receive free in-game publication by Portalarium of their winning texts. Winners will also have the titles of their winning submissions placed on the Scholars of Novia Recommended Reading List and will have their winning submissions copied to the Scholars of Novia Library area of the SotA Wiki. Finally, the Scholars of Novia will devise some in-game method for recognition after game launch.

Have fun! Good luck! Get writing!​

The Fine Print for this Contest:

Content: We are seeking spooky/scary/eerie/macabre submissions as would be appropriate to the Grim Sisters’ Anthology as described above. Submissions may take the form of stories, journals, letters, song lyrics, poems, etc.

Content Consistency: Submissions should be consistent with SotA lore, including pre-alpha game-play, entries on the SotA Wiki, and the text of Blade of the Avatar. In short, though you are creating what could be considered imaginative fiction by the average New Britannian native, it should not contain elements as would not be recognizable to the average New Britannian.

Submission Word Count: Submissions should be no more than 733 words. Titles, subtitles, author’s names and the like will not be considered as part of the word count. There is no minimum word count.

Quantity: This contest is limited to one submission per player-author. The one submission can be a single text or several smaller texts making up a series or compilation so long as the total word count is not exceeded.

Author Name: For this submission, the player-author has choices as to the name of the author to which his or her piece will be attributed:

• A player-author may choose to attribute a text to his or her avatar or to his or her usual name on SotA Forum. In this case, the character or avatar name will accompany the text in all publication places as described in the prize package below.
• A player-author may choose to attribute his or her text to another theoretical New Britannian personage (not, however, another avatar or actual in-game NPC). In this case, only the invented author's name and not the player-author's avatar or usual name on SotA Forum will accompany the text into in-game publication as described in the prize package below. However, when the submission is posted on the SotA Wiki, the avatar or usual name on SotA Forum will be included as part of the information associated with the text.
• A player-author may choose to submit a text as a text that would be considered an anonymous text in New Britannia. No author's name will accompany the text into in-game publications, although the submitter will be identified when the text is posted on the SotA Wiki.

Submitting Entries: Entries should be made as replies to this Contest thread only.



The Review Process:

• The Scholars will review all submissions. They will select those with the best potential to include in the Grim Sisters’ Anthology. Once these submissions have been selected, the Scholars will work with the author to edit the piece for grammatical, spelling, or readability issues as well as consistency with lore.
• The Scholars will then present the finalized versions of the submissions to the judges. The judges will decide and declare the winning entries.
• For this submission, the judges are the three Grand Masters of the Scholars of Novia and a special guest judge from Portalarium.
• The number of winning entries will depend upon the total number of entries. Multiple winners are likely.

Announcing the Winners:

• The Scholars will announce the winners of the contest.
• They will post finalized versions of the winning text on a Winning Finalized Submissions Thread within the Scholars of Novia area of the SotA Forum.
• The author of the submission will be required to respond to the above post, quoting the finalized text, and giving his or her final approval to the version of the content as it appears. This will ensure that the author acknowledges the finalized version of the text as the version of the text to be published in various ways as described in the prize package below.

The Prize Package:

• Recommended Reading List: The Scholars will list winning submissions on the Scholars of Novia Recommended Reading List which will be available to the entire SotA community.
• Publication on the SotA Wiki: The Scholars will copy the texts of the submissions into the Scholars of Novia Library area of the SotA Wiki. Reference will be made to the thread in the SotA Forum on which the submissions were originally made as well as to the SotA Forum name of the submitters/authors. Over time, other people may add cross-references to this wiki page such as is typical for all wiki pages.
• In-game Recognition: As the mechanics of game-play are more fully revealed to the Scholars and the rest of the player community after the official launch of SotA, the Scholars may devise some additional in-game system for recognizing winners of Scholars' contests, including winners of contests as were held before the official launch.
• In-game Publication: Portalarium has offered in-game publication at no cost to the contestant as the prize for all winning submissions.

The Even Finer Print for all Calls for Submissions - See:
http://sotawiki.net/sota/Community:Scholars_of_Novia/Submissions_General_Rules

 

Written specifically for this challenge.
(edited & removed all references to non-lore)

Title:
Tales from Lux - Moonlit Vigil

Author:
Collected at Lux Sanctuary's Library
…

The first time I saw her I thought it was a dream.
I was on my way home, with happy thoughts in my head and cradling an almost empty jug in my arms. Needing to relieve myself and given the courage only found at the bottom of a pitcher, I stepped up to the cliff’s edge to look fate in the eye and show how I felt about the cards I had been dealt so far.

That was when I glanced down into the canyon and noticed a pristine slender figure in the lake. She was laughing while splashing twinkling droplets in the moonlight. Although she didn't look my way, I quickly retreated homeward.

Over the next weeks a transformation came over me. No longer did I seek the relief of liquor. Instead I slept by day and spent the evenings taking the winding way into the canyon, strolling along the lake and contemplating how a dream could so utterly possess me.

It was under a clear sky's moonlight that I saw her again. I was sitting on the lakeshore, when I heard a splash and a laugh. I turned and there she was. So beautiful a sight that for a while I forgot to breathe. When I finally remembered I let out a gasp, but the sound startled her and she quickly retreated away. I turned around and apologized profusely. Angrily she called to me that I better go away, her big brother was there to protect her. Turning to where she pointed I could see a silhouette of a large man with a stick standing on the cliff above us.

The next clear moonlit sky I hid behind a tree making sure the foliage would hide me from her brother’s watchful eyes. My heart raced and skipped beats as I watched my obsession bathe in Daedalus embrace. But this time when she stepped out of the water I could have sworn that she stole a glance my way.

The hopes and fears was driving me insane. Did she know? Was it just my imagination? I had to find out. Next moonlit sky I sat in front of the tree, shadowed by the foliage but visible from the lake. When she finally arrived she looked straight at me, undressed and stepped into the water.

One cannot even fathom the joy sitting there partaking from a distance in this canvas of radiance. But with fall approaching I had to grow bold. I stood up, but seeing my move she rushed forward trying to intercept me before her brother would see me. That was when my stomach went cold, seeing her up close for the first time I noticed I could see through her. She saw my bewilderment, stopped and with a sad smile descended into the lake.

Quickly I climbed the cliff wanting to confront the silhouette. My surprise was complete when he turned and though still tall, it was an old man leaning on his cane. Taken aback I challenged why he stood there moonlit nights. With a hoarse voice and with a stream of tears running down his cheeks he told me a story from his youth. The night before the grand dance, his younger sister had wanted to take a cleansing moonlight bath. His parents had charged him with her protection and he had followed her to the lake, but with the recklessness of youth he had strayed from his task. They never found her, but he swore that on clear nights he could still hear her laughter.
At the end of his story I gave him a hug as it was all I could do. He collapsed and for all his stature he was like a hurt child seeking comfort from a parent. For a long while he held my arm desperately and sobbed at my shoulder. When it finally subsided I held him at an arm’s length and looked him into his eyes.
I told him “It is over” as I gently pushed him away and over the cliff’s edge.
…
Now I'm standing here in the fading light of dusk. Standing waiting with stones in my pockets at the brink of the lake. Waiting for the moonlight so that I can tell her that from now on I will be the one protecting her and that I will share her vigil in the lake.

 

This is covered in the "Even Finer Print".

Just grab your existing work and paste it into a reply on this thread, and I think you're covered.

 

The night was black. So black, that Nomad felt as though the absence of light was a sign that the stars and the heavens had forever abandoned him in that dreary tract of forest. The trees barely visible, seemed to howl as the cold night air blew between their branches further magnifying the haunting feeling of desolation. For Nomad knew that no beneficent god would ever allow such a disturbing place to exist within the gaze of the righteous heavens and it t'was by that logic that Nomad knew he must be blindly trekking through the space between the living and the damned.​

What to do? What could he do? The minutes stretched on for hours and the hours melted into days. No sign of life, no sign of the world he knew - Nothing but cold and unrelenting darkness.​

It was from within that primal part of Nomad's body that the true fear unchecked and flooded his logical senses. The fear grew into an unsettling feeling so deeply rooted into the darkest pit of Nomad's brain thus paralyzing all of his thoughts other than survival. It was within this darkness that Nomad encountered true evil. A lord undone, a life bereft of humanity, a creature so foul that it could only be perceived as a lich.​

With steady speed the lich closed on Nomad raking its skeletal hands across his chest with fury. Nomad frantically tried to fight back but it was to no avail. It became clear as the darkness crept into Nomad's consciousness that one cannot encounter such menacing evil and hope to survive. It was in that blackened forest of evil that Nomad's candle was extinguished.​

 

THE STRANGER​

The Shadow Wood

The forest spoke of eerie adulations of un-bespoken cries of anguish. Fearful glances about, as the bedraggled stranger could sense the very worms in the soil with benevolent smirks of doom. Sensing the strangers presence, the worms flew from the ground, each had rows of razor sharp , tiny teeth. Teeth gnashing, they flew out and bored into the eyeball of his mind. The stranger screamed.

For three days he had run, stumbling and tumbling through the forest, scratched and shaken by thorny brambles and brambly thorns, the stranger grew ever so weary. The witch sisters never mentioned it would be this painful, the hallucinations. Or were they? Scrambling and grunting the stranger picked himself up and continued to run, the worm in his eye blinked away.

On and on he ran, the spirits of the dead climbing their way to the surface and shrieking and screaming ran at him in translucent glory. Each time, the stranger seemed to scream louder.

The sisters were forever in his thoughts, but to get to the end, to achieve the unachievable spoke volumes of his determination. Driven by fear, pushed by loathing, the stranger needed to keep going, needed to survive.

Glancing about again, he saw that now he was in a clearing, with a path leading to a small cottage that had a single candle burning like the sun in one of the quaint windows.

Maybe the occupant was home? Salvation? Redemption? Hope? All these thoughts and feeling burned through the stranger’s mind that he might be at an end to the perpetual torment.

Willing his tired and slashed legs to obey, the stranger half hobbled, half ran along the path to the cottage. Only twenty feet. Or was it two hundred feet? The cottage seemed further away, then further away, and so on and on the stranger kept running. Stopping dead. The carnivorous worms, poking through the spectral shades eyes, shrieked ever closer behind him.

Closing his eyes, the stranger knew that the cottage was only a short distance away. All he had to do was reach out and….

Opening his eyes, the cottage was right in front of him. Grasping the door knob as if death itself stalked him, the stranger flung the door open and leapt through.

The shrieking was getting louder and louder and….the door slamming shut, the shrieking stopped.

The stranger was standing in a modest room, with a roaring fireplace, a bearskin rug, wine, food and fruit were on a table in-front of him. Warmth flooded through him like a wave off the Bay of Storms. The stranger was home, safe. Secure.

The scene faded, replacing the cottage with a ramshackle hut. No fire and no fruit, dilapidated and ruined, it looked as though nobody had been here for a millennium. Since before the Cataclysm. A figure in front of the fire turned. A blood zombie!

Why was this happening? The sisters had deceived him!

There was a great explosion, the stranger was knocked to his back as the hut disintegrated around him. Fear threatened to overwhelm him and cause him to recede into the depths of his psychosis, where darkness and despair reigned supreme and he but their lap dog.

Something though, deep down, stirred. A spark. The spark grew and spread, igniting inside his soul, the light of the soul fire purged the fear from the stranger. Warmth and joy replaced the cold.

Standing there in majestic glory of righteousness and strength. There was nothing this world could do to him now, any-more that would bring him to the same dark place he had just encountered. The wailing spirits, the blood zombies, the eye gouging worms. On this, inaugural day of change, initiation and no doubt a day that would become famous, it was the day he was born again.

‘You have not beaten me” The stranger proclaimed with the light of justice burning bright.

The stranger stood there, soul fire shining bright, spreading out the sisters shrank from it. It was bright and gleaming and glorious. Fear and dismay were vanquished.

“Very good. You have passed the test, you’re Majesty”. The sisters replied.

At that very moment, the world as the stranger knew exploded.

The Stranger woke up.

END

Excerpt from The Grim Sisters’ Anthology of the Mysterious & Macabre
By Lendrick Dawnfire, noted scholar of Brittany
Lord Commander
Knights of Novia

 

Yay!!! I LOVE spooky stories!

*grabs a blanket and a flashlight to read by*

 

AWOKEN​

With a sudden chill in her spine, the little girl woke up.

Keeping her eyes closed, she let the blanket engulf her, not sure of what could lie with her in the darkness. As the feeling subsided, she gathered enough courage to reach backwards to the other side of the bed, and sighed with relief as her fingers felt just the holes in the mattress.

Still covered with the blanket, she turned around slowly, looking at the room she was in. A moonlight ray coming through a small window revealed a dusty floor, and gave the cobwebs in the opposite corner the appearance of silver threads. The little girl almost enjoyed the vision, but skittering sounds in the shadows made her aware again. Why did she woke up? What was she doing in that rickety room?

The sound made her pay attention to other corner of the room, into the inscrutable darkness. The unpleasant sounds became louder, thicker, as if creatures were crawling into her tiny skull. The gloomy corner captured her sight, and not being able to look away nor blink she saw the blackness twist and expand, acquiring an almost solid state. The ambient light became increasingly dimmer, and her confusion became fear as she felt an unfathomable presence in the deepest, furthest segment of the murky tentacles the darkness formed. It wanted to reach her. It wanted to grab her. A million inviting whispers in a language she couldn't understand came at her at once, becoming a silent scream that terrified her.

Suddenly, a sound of unsheathing came from the lower room, ripping away the darkness. She found herself in the middle of the room with her right arm extended, her eyes drowned in tears sliding by her face and soaking the blanket underneath. She then heard steps accompanied with the squeaky noises of old stairs, and without a chance to wipe his face she tightened the blanket around her in a desperate attempt of gaining protection. Once again, the darkness shrouded her as the steps came closer and closer, and once again the ambient sounds penetrated into her, making the climbing steps into a heartbeat of sorts. In that state, she waited, wishing for the intruder to leave.

The steps finished climbing. Trying not to make a noise, she stayed inside her blanket, but the moonlight betrayed her, revealing her position. An unexpected force took the blanket off, and she faced a man in his twenties, donned in mail armor, pointing a sword at her, with her blanket in the other hand. The determination in his eyes changed into kindness as he saw the skinny little girl trembling in the ground.

As he seathed his sword, she suddenly remembered the fear and rage she felt while some bad men murdered her and her family, giving her the answer of why she was there. As he extended his hand, she lifted her head and their eyes met. On the sight of fresh meat she felt the insatiable hunger attached to her condition and thus, why she woke up.

After feasting on flesh and blood, the little girl felt drowsy. She left the young warrior's corpse, and hushing away the voices calling her from beyond, she went to sleep again.

Edited to reduce confusion Haven't thought about the author nor the title... if you like it i'll think about it then
Edit 2: fixed some mistakes in the text, change some sentences to make a bit clear what happened (sorry, sometimes i'm too cryptic). Got title for it!

 

Does this mean that we get copies of the book in-game to do with as we will, or that the book shows up as a prop in the world outside of our control?

 

The following is written in the form of a diary, perhaps located in a creepy house outside of Braemar.

the well

by Bubonic


drip... drip... drip.


The noise rouses me from my slumber. I open my eyes briefly, spying the shafts of light from the shattered moon cascading in through my window. Still too early… I drift off again, my mind’s eye wandering.

drip
droop

drip.


I roll over, covering my head with my pillow, drowning out the nagging drips.

Ahhhh…. better.

Silence.

I smile to myself, thinking about the barmaid who bought me a drink tonight. I hope she’s there next time.

Sleep comes again, slowly pulling me, spiralling…. welco--

Drip.

My eyes snap open, seemingly of their own accord. That infernal well! Every night, every single night, I can hear it. More times than I can count, I’ve asked him to fix the drip, but he just rolls his eyes. And laughs to himself. Even now, as I lay here in the dark, I can hear his whispers. His condescension. His denials.

I rub my face, exhausted, and taste copper. Looking down at my hand, I can see the red lines in my palm, glinting in the moonlight. At least, I assume they’re red. It’s hard to tell, the moon is so bright, almost blinding. I have to shield my eyes as I walk across the grass.

Vaguely, I realize I’m outside. But why wouldn’t I be?

Drip.

I turn quickly and see it, the darkness bubbling up inside me. The well just stands there in the grass, mocking me, as if its leaky bucket and coarse rope somehow make it better. The rope feels… strong. I like the way it feels when the fibers push into my palm. It makes me feel alive.

I’m testing it now, judging it. Daring it to be as strong as it thinks it is. Looking closely, I can see the fibers forcing their way into his flesh. The supple and tender neck veins bulge excitedly as I push downward. Its fascinating, really, watching the skin expand and contract with the pulse. Slower, slower… just like falling asleep. So peaceful.

Back outside, I consider the leaky bucket, now lying harmlessly on the grass. Despite myself, I am impressed. I kneel down, gently placing the rope inside the bucket. You were right, I think. You ARE better.

I sigh in relaxation, pulling the covers up to my chin. I cannot help but smile as I think about the bucket and the rope, and how well they did. I feel proud. And I am tired, so tired.

I can feel sleep coming at last. Still smiling, I begin to fall…

Drip.

 

Written on the train ride in to work this morning... (Yes, it is THAT long (the train ride, that is ) )

-Tachys

__________________________________________________________________

The Windows are Open

He knelt down near the small, still form, allowing himself a few minutes to examine it. Emaciated limbs, atrophied from lack of use, extended at odd angles from a small torso wrapped in tattered, unwashed rags. The body was topped with a head that was unusually large by comparison, even for a child so small. Pulling a rag out of one of the many pockets secreted about his robe, he dabbed the thin line of drool from the corner of her slack-jawed mouth, examining her teeth as he did so. Yes, she was young, but not quite as young her wasted body suggested.

Then his gaze moved up to the eyes, those unfocused, empty eyes.

Anyone looking at those eyes would have thought her a soulless husk. This man knew better… the power pulled him to the soul trapped within.

“Do not worry, child… all have their place in the order of things. All have a purpose,” he whispered to her, gently brushing the stringy, dirty hair away from her face, “and I think I may have discovered yours.”

Scooping her up easily, he rose to his feet, and strode towards the Shard.

________________________

She ran, as she always had. Something was after her, she knew… vile and terrible. She had seen it once, long ago, but could not recall it clearly. All that remained was the overwhelming horror, and the need to be far, far away.

It had not always been so. She could still remember Mother, who had protected her and made the world bright and beautiful and safe. But something happened, and Mother wouldn’t play anymore. She wouldn’t play or move. She wouldn’t do anything, then she disappeared.

That was when the Thing appeared. Its arrival turned her bright and happy world into a maze of halls and doors and windows. Windows were especially bad, and needed to be shuttered always, for that was what had let it in. The doors needed to be open, Mother always had the door open, the girl needed to open the right one to find her.

And so she had run, opening so many doors to find Mother, only to find so many empty rooms. There were other rooms, with things she didn’t understand… happy moments where she thought she had finally found Mother, but instead had found only paintings of things that didn’t seem right.

A girl yelling…

…pushing…

Mother falling.

Then came the Quaking.

The halls shook and twisted about her. The doors wouldn’t open now. None of them would budge, no matter how hard she pulled. And the windows…

The Windows were OPEN!

IT would find her!

Through the windows came a voice saying words she couldn’t understand. Terrified, she ran. All the while, the halls continued to shake and rattle. She had to hide, find a place where the Thing could not reach her. She could hear it, smell it nearby. A door nearby opened and she dashed through, desperate to escape.

She was in a room… with a window, an OPEN window! Turning in a panic, she tried to escape, only to bounce off a solid wall. She cast about, but there was only the window, and…

Mother!

It was her! She was finally here! But…

Something was wrong! Mother was yelling, scolding, denying her wish to do something, but what? She found she didn’t care, anger surged inside the girl, white and burning. Suddenly she was upright with a denial of her own, one that pushed her arms out and up. She stood, horrified, as her mother stumbled back, her face a mirror of the girl’s own. She stumbled back, and then out, through the open window. Before the girl could reach her, Mother had fallen, landing with a sickening thud on the ground below.

The girl stood there, tears streaming down her face, emotions boiling within her: blinding rage, shock, shame and then a soul-crushing sorrow finally wrenching an agonized howl from her.
She looked up, the Daedalian light giving her eyes a red, feral cast, to see a dark, slender man standing before her, hand extended…

________________________


The creature’s leathery wings unfurled to reveal a small, scaly face with deep, burning red eyes that regarded him with something akin to wonder. The echoes of its transformational howling finally subsiding, the homunculus tentatively climbed up his outstretched hand, to perch on his arm, dutifully awaiting the grinning man’s orders.

 

WoW, amazing stories from everyone. We truly have one of the most creative communities I have ever had the pleasure to be a part of! Keep them coming, please. I hunger for more to read

 

Well, I figured all the cool kids are doing it (and I haven't written a substance entry in my journal since dec 2013... ouch), so probably not my finest of work but =p

Twilight Air
By Joviex

You're peaceful. You're living what you barely dreamed of and it’s okay. It's real. If you die here you'll have this moment - your body wants this as much as your spirit does.

Stay here - it's safe with the dead in the cool dark. You remain lying on the surface, their restless thrashing a lullaby that keeps you afloat. Death is a word used by people who haven't been through it.

Time flows onwards, lost.

Two hands reach down, falling through the dark like heavy stones. Her voice doesn't disturb you. It's brisk and firm and her and you're glad to hear it after the dead’s whispers.

The eerie light of a distant tower burns low, its soft, blue glow embracing her silhouette. You don't have a proper name for it, the void between where you are and where she sits. You stare at her, and at the dead all around you: what have you done?

Before the dead began to speak to you, you had dreams of what your life might be like. Toiling under the warm sun, working the fields like your parents did, with a wife and a son – a strong boy skipping happily into the future like all children.

Your chest hurts. Your lungs grasp each breath from the arid air like rain beating upon the sun. Your aching hands, a mass of scrapes and scratches, sting from inactivity. The dead lay strewn about, unrepentant about what they'd done. The dead don't much care for the stones that mark them; they only care about their legacies.

You feel hot with the rush of your heart, beating so hard it's pounding your dreams into dust. This isn't what was meant to be. Not this empty, starlit place where you're going to die.

Framing your face with her hands, they smell of oil and dry earth. This is the verge. You either stop here forever or dive into the vastness beyond.

Her eyes glance towards the firmament, unblinking. You look up. It’s all beautiful. Minutes pass before you say what you're thinking. “You're not afraid?”

Her voice is soft. “I’m not afraid.”

It's not death; you've felt its grip upon your soul all too often. That's not the terror. The terror is unnamed, yet exhilarating - an undiscovered country beyond.

Most who are about to die are hypocrites. You watch them meet that new frontier with heavy sobs, mourning the loss of something that was never owned. You see them start that journey screaming and flailing and tearing at their clothes.

The dead don't lie. They continue their solemn march toward that land. You are never forced to bid your farewells. You know it to be more insidious. Death’s touch grows warmer with each moment you dwell.

“There's much left undone." Your words are inadequate. Like a stone – colorless and cold, twisting, descending into the shadowy, airless abyss of a river.

The stars can't hear you and won't, but she does. Everyone struggles. You see her somber smile. You hear her heavy heart. You know the battle raging behind her eyes.

You know, you understand, you reassure, “We will be alright.”

She places some flowers on the fresh earth; the smell is warm and full of life.

You watch her take up your son. The dream is done.

You're no longer peaceful, just at peace.

 

The Grim Sisters' Found Letter: A Warning, Transcribed

It bears no name and no title. Its canvas is black and liquid, as though soaked in oil and tar, with foreign symbols writ in dim, luminescent silver. The smudging of the words tends toward the bottom of the page, as though the shapes themselves cry in agony. These qualities are unimportant. You will know it if you find it; you will feel the darkness reaching into you.

Tal sharak. The Shadows will not live much longer. I come from a place called Merdia, a land far removed from your own. I am sorry, reader, if you have the wit to read these words. If your people can know evil, I have done you a great wrong.

You will know it if you find it, reader. You will know because it has found you. The feeling is unmistakeable. It is lust, fear, anger, hatred. It is all that is evil in every world, removed but palpable, as though you stand before the most vile creature ever made in any place. As though you belong to it. When you feel this, you will want to die.

Know, reader, that it cannot be destroyed. As we burn it, it is born again somewhere new. Nine men lost their lives attempting to destroy it by tearing, piercing, slashing, pounding. Do not try these, reader. If you find it, run.

Do not approach it. Do not touch it. Most of all do not attempt to read it. You will not recognize the symbols thereupon writ; nevertheless I compel you: do not read it. When you feel its claws digging at your mind, do all you can to shut those thoughts off from all that you know and do. It will rail against you. It will flay at your soul and burn its brand into every part of your mind. Even so, you must try in every way your strength allows to remember this only and above the corruption: that you must not read the page. All that you love depends on it.

I am sorry, reader. This act will weigh on my soul eternally. The Shadows are dying now. I pray this letter falls to a world uninhabited, where it can threaten no one. If you find this, make it known. Your people must know [...]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
END OF TRANSCRIPT

The original copy of this message is written on a fine canvas page, ripped across at the bottom with a purple tint and burn marks along the line, and its letters are sloppy and hastily written. Most peculiar of the note's properties is that the canvas is elaborately made and quite delicate while the ink is clumpy and a very dark, almost black, red--the blood of a Necromancer, the Grim Sisters say. To date all attempts to validate that claim, or even the claim that the ink is blood at all, have failed, as have professional attempts out of Brittany and Aerie to determine the origin or maker of either the canvas or the ink.

Some rumors suggest that the Sisters simply made it all up to sell copies. Of course the two maintain a certain ignorance of the letter's origin, though they have never told where or how they acquired the letter. Only one thing about it is known: that nothing about it is known, except maybe by the Crones. And they simply will not say.

 

Camping Tales
by: Earl Iazon Paragon, Bardic Minstrel of Novia

The Labyrinth

Rising up from a pleasant afternoon nap, Ichi gazed anxiously toward a luxurious home in the distance. Stretching the sleep from his bones, he recognized the gilded iron gates and manicured garden surrounding the local lord's residence. Scanning further south, he spotted the shape of Ryna's shop. Positively smitten by images of her inviting glances and faint smiles, he decided that tonight would be the night he finally revealed his feelings for her.

“Ho eyo he hum!” Ichi sang merrily as the road took him into town. Daylight dwindled to dusk when he rounded the walls of the Lord's manor. Suddenly Ryna's voice hummed the same playful tune from behind the wall. “Ryna?” he called to her. Peering through a small gap in the bricks, he caught a glimpse of her enchanting smile as she disappeared into the garden with a soft giggle.

Stealing a moment to ensure no one was watching, Ichi deftly scaled the slick stones, swung his legs over, and gracefully leaped down in between two hedgerows. Huh, apparently the manicured garden was shaped into a vast... maze?

Ichi looked above the large hedges at the towering keep in the distance, and wondered where Ryna had run off to. For just a split second, through the foliage he thought he heard a strange rattle among the rustling leaves. “Ryna?” he called again into the darkness. A stiff silence was the only reply.

To the right, a path lead west along the wall before turning in, winding who knows where. To the left the path continued in much the same way, as the hedge maze appeared to wind forever, fully encompassing the large central keep. Remembering the direction Ryna had headed moments before, Ichi shook off his uncertainty, determined to find the beautiful maiden and confess his feelings for her.

Stepping further into the maze, the walls quickly disappeared around the corner behind him, and a thick misty fog began to permeate the air. It was a cold night, he realized and pulled his cloak tight around him. Left, right, straight, left, left, right. Surely he was catching up to Ryna. When the hedgerows opened to an intersection, he caught a glimpse of her up ahead, just turning the corner.

“Ryna!” he shouted so she would hear him. But she didn't turn around or call back, and he decided to sprint after her in pursuit. Ichi convinced himself he was running, not out of fear, but to catch up to Ryna. Straight, right, right, straight, left. Wait, was this the same intersection as before? All the foliage looked identical in all directions. In the growing fog, the keep was no longer visible beyond, and Ichi began to lose all sense of direction. Stopping for a breath after several minutes, he realized that he had become hopelessly lost.

<step>, <swish>, <step> <rattle>

What was that? Ichi turned toward the sound, panting, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

<step>, <swish>, <step> <step> Louder now, much closer this time.

“Who's there? I should warn you, I'm armed!” Ichi said, obviously spooked, as he bent down to pick up a reasonably sized stone from the ground.

This time, his calls were answered with a low, guttural moan – the unmistakable sound of forsaken torment. Bony apparitions emerged from the dense fog, a mere arm's reach from his face. Bewildered yet terrified, Ichi froze in panic, sweat pooling from every orifice, the stone fallen and forgotten. Three skeletons stood, facing him as he staggered back flat against a wall of hedges. They were waiting for something.

Thoughts of a pleasant night's encounter were dashed into impending doom. Cornered like a fox, Ichi began to wonder if he could over-power a being made only of bones and make a run for it. But before he could put any plan into action the skeleton to his right dropped to a bony knee. Following its empty stare, Ichi saw a cloaked figure alight in powerful dark magic swoop down from the swirling mist above!

“I've waited so very long,” it spoke with a decrepit, yet powerful voice, eyes transfixed on Ichi. Clenching his throat with its steely blue claws, the lich drained his life with a single drawn breath, careful not to harm the precious flesh that after hundreds of years in misery, it would finally inhabit.
________________________________________________________________
I have been invited to join Scholars of Novia.
As a contestant, in order to keep the integrity of this contest,
I have elected not to involve myself in any SoN duties until after this contest has concluded.
I look forward to reading & writing many more tales within the SotA community.
Thank you SoN, for this opportunity!

 

Chronicles about the Death
by: Riya



This gate is huge. It is a double-winged iron gate more than twelve arm-spans wide and higher than my eyes can see. I’m not sure if it just meets the obsidian sky or pierces right through it. I was here once before. If my memory doesn’t deceive me, this gate was only two men tall the last time I saw it. Then, I pushed it open with ease to release the creature lurking beyond. This time, over 3 years have passed while I made this fateful decision to return to this doomed scene, the Inner Hell. I’m not sure how others call it, but for me this abyss is how I imagine my hell. It can be reached neither by land, nor by sea. Even on wings it remains undiscovered. Only closing my eyes and concentrating wholly on this spot, guide me the way there. Opening my eyes again, this place engulfs my consciousness - dark as a starless night. The only object in sight is this solid, plain iron edifice, massive from the bottom to the top, too heavy for a normal human being to budge.

Even I will struggle to push this gate open. It was a hard decision to free this monster so long ago, but with all the involved people this time, it could cause a cataclysm. Okay, it is not fair to call it a monster. This is not a beast with 3 heads or a demon with thousand eyes on his body. I’m not sure it even has a certain shape. This horror can be found in everything and everybody. That is what the people fear the most. Especially the ones, whom are to blame for my current this situation, these avatars, are scared of the Chaos.

They try to chain up this part of themselves behind a door, locked with 8 different seals. They call it virtues, I call it a plague. Obliged to follow those rules, all humans aim for the same goal in their short lives, binding them to a uniform future for eternity. Everyone is sentenced to repeat this tragedy over and over again. Known as a time of peace, I call it stagnation, which not only harm them, it also hurts the one I love, the ever changing Future. She lost the brightness in her once sparkling eyes and her colorful diversity. Thanks to the avatars she now looks the same every day, every week and every month without the opportunity to break free on her own.
Those invaders entered our world decades ago, an alien element, and still try to impose their ways. They can’t even die and move to the next world like everyone else. I remained quiet, just keeping an eye on them, hoping the people would awake from their stupor and change the world on their own, but nothing happened. The egotistical avatars interfere and rule over a world which they don’t belong to. Now it is time to stand up for my own need - selfish, I am aware - to rescue the one true love I have in this world.

My hand slides over the smooth surface of the gate. It is cold like me and represents the burden I have to shoulder once the gathered Chaos behind is released. Many will lose their lives. It could possibly devour every living soul including mine and the soul I mean to save, but I can no longer sit by and watch her suffering in silence. The consequences of not acting outweigh the risk. Even if I have to put my life on the line, it has to be done. Now. I press both my hands against the gate and begin to push.

Any doubts washed away. With no hesitation in my heart anymore I lean forward. Through the opening gap I can feel the raging heat as a harbinger of the uncontrollable Chaos. Gathering all my strength, I push even harder. Finally opened wide enough, I step beyond the ominous portal.
The Chaos hidden here in me over the years, decades and centuries has grown immense, too much to release only parts of it. However, that was never my intention. I step aside and let it free. I, the Death, won’t regret what I have done and I would do it again shouldthe circumstances require it.

 

The clock is... tick... tock... ticking down.
The darkness approaches in but three moons
I stand at the ready looking out the window
Who more shall come forth to please the sisters?
I watch. I wait. As the clock .. tick.. tock... ticks down.

-------
The Deadline is soon upon us! Remember October 6, 2014 (at midnight, GMT) all entries must be in if you wish to be entered into the contest.

 

The Paean Bards: Excerpts
By Xan

-----
The Treachery of Baram-Kul
By Xan

Where bloodied roses and dry bones lie,
Virtues forsake this unholy ground.
Within the shadows shrieks a voice high,
Take heed good folk, for death is abound.

Why forth have you come, oh foolish one!
To feed the maggots with your corpse?
The gods of mercy shall spare you none,
This darkness swallows with no remorse.

Baram-Kul the Lich will welcome you warmly,
He yearns to feast on your blood red flesh.
From your skull a cup he shall drink deeply,
Your eyes and your teeth, a garland most fresh.

Baram-Kul the Lich is most forgiving he says,
Ghastly flames burn bright in his eyes,
His voice echoes in his kingdom of decay:
"Perform for me and freedom's your prize".

Where bloodied roses and dry bones lie,
A dancing skeleton mocks the sunlight,
The stretched skin of a face in the wind does sigh,
As your scream is drowned out, by the still of the night.

-End-

Of Curses Betwixt
By Anonymous

Poisoned shroom and spiders' silk,
I cast a curse on thee,
Thine precious wit and foolish ilk
Rue the day thou camest to be!

Blackened pearl and mandrake root,
I bind my will to ye,
Do my bidding mine faithful brute
So fall upon thine knees!

Red moss and pinch of ash,
I trap thy heart once free,
Twist thine soul and hopes be dash
This crone doth laugh with glee!

-End-

Dread Beasts' Puzzle
By Parnaxis

A crown I wear, a jewelled arc,
Gems that shine, in light and dark.

Through air I crawl, a dreadful grace,
Wings I have not, I leave no trace.

My weapons sheathed, a dagger pair,
Your blood it drinks, your flesh it tears.

Wanderer of the abyss, you draw near,
What am I, the one you'll fear?

-End-

Edit: (As of 05 Oct) - 3 part series submitted, had a blast!

 

Field Observations for Thad Trowall, Tower Electrical field Apparitions Part 1

I begin my studies researching the rare phenomenon of ghostly apparitions which seem to have increased in frequency. It appears they are some how linked to the towers that are prominent in many of our cities and towns. I preface these comments with the knowledge that to date these stories have not been validated by any in the science community and is considered as fringe science at best.

I have taken the liberties to gather a few posts from reports filed with the town guard, which you can find in appendix A. (writers note: this will remain open to allow future mini entries.)

Suffice it to say, the one defining feature found within all the reports is that the apparitions only appears in the darkness of night. The guise they take is of an electrical “ghost”, for lack of a better term, of a figure walking to or from the tower. The electrical static of the apparition could possibly be linked to recent storms in the area which may require further study. It usually last no more than a few seconds before disappearing, leaving behind a few glowing foot prints that soon disappear as well, leaving no evidence. Due to their elusive nature, it is difficult to draw any definitive conclusions.

Now, as for the actual description of the apparitions, they are said to be a light blue, shimmering humanoid. The race is unknown although some have reported they believed that they were human. The odd thing is that the reports vary in the actual gender of the apparition, which could possibly be due to the projection of the viewer’s psyche. As too what they were wearing or what length of their hair, these too vary on the reports. This of course will require further analysis which should lead to some conclusions on the origin of said apparitions.

In order to increase the likelihood of observing one of these apparitions I will need to ensure to find the common occurrences of said sightings. Many report of a crackling static sound emanating from the tower and the ghost itself. Also as previously mentioned, areas of more frequent sightings had reported increased lightning storms at the time of the incidents. These have both been verified by others in the town of Owl’s Head, which I believe warrants further study.

I am currently en route to Owl’s Head to do some first-hand investigation of the tower. This appears to be the strongest lead I have and would like to take the time to actually do some field observations. More information to follow as the investigation continues.


Thad Trowall

 

Ok, I obviously miss understood the rules so I will submit this part of the story at a later time. The first part stands on it's own however.​

​

Field Observations for Thad Trowall, Tower Electrical field Apparitions Part 2​

​

​

I regret to report that I have spent two miserable weeks in Owl’s head, with no sign of the apparitions or anything of that ilk. It has been a miserable rain soaked experience, which I hope will eventually lead to some findings of significance.​

​

Although the weather has been bad, it hasn’t been as electrical as I believe it needs to be in order to trigger the phenomenon. As previously reported, the majority of the sightings have been during significant electrical storms. Perhaps this means that something in the storms reacts with the towers in some significant way.​

​

My time in Owl’s head hasn’t all been for naught however, as I have had the chance to purvey some historical ledgers for the town. These ledgers discuss the construction of the towers as well as certain mishaps during their creation. The mishaps could very well be the cause of these apparitions; one such thought occurred to me that perhaps what people have observed is nothing more then echoes left from something that happened in the past. If that is the case, then what exactly befell the towers that caused something as mundane as people walking too and from the towers to be of significance?​

​

Since all the reports were detailed and dated even, it allows me to create a historical timeline of events leading up to today. Now, how that will enhance my findings has yet to be determined, however it will allow me to sort information analytically. This at least made the last two weeks worthwhile, and not just because I have paid the inn keeper handsomely to accommodate me.​

​

On that note, I realize now that I have not made it clear how my research is being funded and it is not my intent to obscure this detail. The benefactor has chosen to act through a beneficiary and provide me with enough funds to comfortably finance my research. He has made it clear however that he does not want to be personally involved in the operation or for me to even know who he is. This does concern me in the fact that I do not know his motivations in my research, though his hands-off approach helps to ease these concerns.​

​

Tonight I will be sitting vigil in the rain, hoping for some sign that my trip here has not been in vain. I have high hopes since there is to be a storm tonight, the strongest since I have arrived. I hope to provide you with some observations soon.​

​

Thad Trowall​

 

A Tale of Braemar
By royalsexy

“Whiiiiiiizzzzz” is the best word to describe the sound the boy’s sling made as he spun it over his head. He loosed the stone and startled a lizard basking on the side of the mountain, part of the range known as the Bone Spires.

“I’m so bored! Nothing ever happens here!” The boy complained to his friend.

“Well, let’s go explore the beach down South, Damon” the older boy replied. “If we catch some clams and crabs the inn will pay well for them.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Alby, I’ll tell my folks and grab a few supplies.” Damon replied. The two boys were as close as brothers, having grown up together in the sleepy forest village of Braemar.

Around midday they set off, backpacks full of camping supplies, and an optimistic quantity of nets and sacks for their catch. They arrived late the next day and set up their camp at the base of the cliffs. A cold wind was picking up. The sun was setting, so they decided to wait until morning to go hunting for shellfish. Tired from the hike, they slept easily, though a little uncomfortably with the wind rising as night fell.

A booming crack of thunder directly overhead awoke both boys, disoriented and startled, moments before the rain came pelting down, driven straight into their meager shelter by the wind. Both boys scrambled to pack up their gear, as they knew the beach wasn’t a safe place in a heavy storm. Damon stumbled outside first, looking around and seeing that the tide had risen to their left where they had entered the beach. To the right the wet cliffs rose straight up from the sea to the ruin-covered bluffs, and would be impossible to scale.

“Damon, the cave!” shouted Alby over the thunder and screaming wind. Damon, heart pounding, looked to where Alby was pointing and made out the hollow just above them during a bright flash of lightning. They scrambled up the terraced stones into the cave mouth, but were still being pelted by rain. Alby muttered the spell he’d learned from a wandering wizard recently (the only spell a boy of his age was trusted with) and a soft glowing orb appeared over his head. He’d been quietly proud to learn he had a natural talent for summoning magic. They could see that the cave extended deeper under the cliffs and moved further inside. The rock passage gave way to a larger room, and they could see a rectangular shape on the flat floor on the cavern. The boys glanced at each other, and started laughing giddily.

“We’ve been coming to this beach for years and never knew this was here!” exclaimed Damon. Alby nodded and bent to examine the intricately rune-carved surface of the granite block.
“Look, there’s a join here, I bet this is a lid. Maybe some pirate’s treasure stash…” Alby said, running a finger over the strangely warm stone. “Give me a hand.” Both boys pushed hard and managed to shift the lid with a grating of stone on stone. One hand-span, then another it shifted, and an eldritch blue glow started emanating from within. They both jumped as a metal gate slammed shut with a deafening crash, cutting them off from the passage they’d entered through.

Alby’s light spell ran out.

In the dark Damon began to sob raggedly, his heart again pumping fit to burst through his chest. A voice came from the sarcophagus they had unwittingly opened.

“WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY SLUMBER?” The vast voice boomed.

“We’re so sorry, sir!” Alby gabbled, but Damon had had too many frights for one day and took off running deeper under the cliffs, assuming Alby was right behind him, but when he found sunlight he realized he was alone.

Several days later, the townsfolk of Braemar found Damon hiding in a stand of trees halfway back to town. Alby was never seen again, and Damon could never be coaxed to speak of it. In fact, he never spoke much again after that day. On windy summer nights, blue lights can be seen in the distance by someone standing on the southern slopes of the Bone Spires, moving around on the beach and through the ruins of Ravensmoor. No one knows what became of Alby, but strong warriors fear to open the two stone coffins in the cave.

(Re-opened my submission by request)