Nightmare Sky

[aisu]

A few nights previous, there had been a sudden darkening of the night by an ominious arrival-- tonight there is something similar. There is no terrifying presence to announce it, but rather a twist of the sky and a strange lighting of the heavens. There is-- where there should not be-- twin moons glowing suddenly from the darkness.

Both full, both enormous and slowly turning around one another in the darkness. The entire sky-- all of Myrken!-- lights up as if it were daytime. Clouds expand from the twin spheres, spirals in great gouts of purple and black that ripple and flow over the lightened sky-- as if smoke had spouted from the very shadows on their faces.

Just as fast as the sky had lit up, it now begins to darken rapidly. The two coins above shatter and fly to pieces-- like miniature stars. The metoers fall with a tremendous roar, splashing into the lake with hisses and sizzles, crashing through the trees with great screams and squeals. The smoke solidifies suddenly, pitch black now in a great, glassy wall over the sky. The stars are gone, the moons, the light-- all of it gone! And so the world falls into darkness, as if there'd been none to begin with. As the sky falls into pitch darkness, so the world falls into dead silence.

No night animals calls, no gentle stirs of noctural beasts ring through the air-- there is only dead silence-- there is only a void surrounding the forest and town and tavern now. And why? Who knows! But soon, specs of light begin to appear, closer to the earth.

Some twisted new form of life now rises from the trees, glowing in the fashion of lightning bugs deformed into hideous monsters. The size of a human fist, these new beasts are, with great, membranous wings that stretch from hunched backs. Each has three spines with glowing globes of...something at the ends. They rattle and hiss, spinning facetted and glowing eyes in their skulls. The noises get louder, other strange things coming to light-- as it were.

There are faces in the trees, moaning dryads and crying nymphs-- they writhe and twist in the grasp of their cages-- so often called home. They scream with silent voices, fingers clawing out as branches only to be lashed in again by the bark. Faeries flit, goblin faced, through the trees for there are no longer those lovely, delicate creatures from myth and lore. They've been consumed by the lizard-bugs with their glowing spines and spat out again as imps with wings.

All through this nightmarish land is a heavy shadow-- some tragedy is turning itself unto Myrken. The only safety, and tenuous it is, remains within the tavern walls.

[aisu]

A horde of dryads now haunts the forest in addition to the light-monsters glowing amonst the branches. Their footprints are everywhere in the snow and the bodies of at least a dozen-- at least more than thirteen-- lay burnt or burning in the forest. A tree smoulders, red-hot, from a lantern thrown by a terrified Sill-- its base surrounded by even more twisted, wooden bodies.

[Treadwell]

Treadwell's note copied and sent out to the other councilors is brief and most certainly urgent.

= = = =
To my esteemed peers on the Myrken Wood Council

Greetings,

Look up. It's rather dark, gentlemen, and there are rumors of new monstrosities crawling about in the Wood. I'd dare say this isn't natural. We need to do something, don't you think?

From my house by the lake this fourth day of December,
Aloisius H. Treadwell
= = = =

So, after handing a lad quite a nice handful of shillings to deliver the messages, Treadwell stands there outside his front door, full of breakfast (his stomach is, as always, a good measure of time even if clocks and sundials are almost meaningless), surrounded by his usual smokey haze, and wearing a white, fur-lined robe. No, this isn't natural at all, and here things are a week from Sylimburn. Something needs to happen, and it needs to happen before the night of the eleventh, morning of the twelfth. Of course, Father Winter can most likely go about in this darkness just fine, but usually, the elderly force of nature is afforded his own form of magical protection from the wildlife. This life, though, is considerably wilder than what he's used to. He would hate to spend such a sacred night fighting unholy creatures while on his consecrated errands.

[aisu]

The tavern is the only place that is safe, it seems. Or perhaps no longer that is the case, for with the dryads lurking along the treeline, there are now other silhouettes. They have the great bodies of sleek felines, bony spikes jutting from shoulders and spines-- horns from their brows and eyes that glow in violent hues of greens and blue.

Their tails lash, tassled and equally decorated with the bones that jut so sharply from the vertebrae. They prowl in pairs, maned about the jaws and down the fronts of their throats, but bare along the back and shoulders-- but for the spikes. They have massive paws, the size almost of dinner-plates, and their shoulders raise to the height of the dryad's waists.

Their tracks and trails are everywhere, some of them no longer so timid as the others-- the venture away from the trees now and again, heading in the direction of the tavern. The span of a few feet, at best, beyond the line of forest-- and they they chicken out. Ten paces, at most, and they turn again to weave between saplings and the like.

Now and again, those disgusting dragonlings are caught by the massive felines and torn to shreds as impromptu meals-- hardly delicious, but at least plentiful. Their ears are long, tassled in the fashion of smaller lynx-creatures, though their tails are long and curving in the fashion of a lion.

[Carnath-Emory]

I, Giscard Guillaume, Lord of Lothbury Estate, Councilor of the Myrken Wood Judiciary In Regards To Commerce and Trade Etc.,to His Honour Aloisius Treadwell, the Councilor for Administrative Sanctions: Greetings. We are in agreement. Expect announcement forthwith.

Done by my hand at the Estate of Lothbury, this 4th day of December.

Giscard Guillaume.

[aisu]

The towers and walls begin their slow rise amongst the trees of Myrken in spite of the protest of those disgusting lifeforms now inhabiting it. The dryads are the most common of enemies that those workers do face as they cut the timber needed for their work-- as the trees are cut, those that they spawn die, and more rise from other regions to avenge their fallen cousins.

Those cats with their fiercesome saber-teeth and spined bodies as well join in the frays along the roadways-- fires seem all that keep them at bay. Corpses from both sides of these battles lay in the lights cast by feeding dragon-bugs, as they are even consumed by those same menaces.

Some of the towers rapidly rise and are secured-- surrounded by rings of posted torches that are never let to burn out. Some of the beacon-like towers now stand tall among the forests of the land-- but others have fallen. One, half-completed, is surrounded by a burning wall of flames to keep the monstrous beings at bay while it is constructed.

Other laboring groups-- seeing that display of leaping flame-- try similar tactics to better success. Soon, a network of safe-points (haha... safe points, almost a save point! Eh. Ahem.) rise up, leading travellers along the road. The areas of darkness between these points, however, are hardly to be considered safe-- the cats grow bolder than before, attacking wayfarers on the road even as another, unrelated villain comes to light.

The dead body of a horse is found-- bones crushed, body destroyed and half-eaten, but the bite marks far different from that of the beasts seen thus far-- a new monster? Or one just taking advantage of the crisis domed over Myrken?

[Jirai]

The darkness, while unnatural, was much less of an irritation to some than to others. This particular cloaked figure seemed to be enjoying it, moving with impunity, regardless of the time of day. No longer having to wait for the sun to set, she spent the day wandering. A trip to the tavern and a brief conversation with Councillor Treadwell found no answers to the cause for this lack of light that she so enjoyed. Tracks and such she could see with her own eyes, and these lead her to the conclusion that, as usual, if answers were to be found, they would be found in the woods.

So, into the woods she went, to those paths and trees that she was so familiar with from her long hours spent skulking within their shadows. Yet she was cautious, too, more cautious than was her norm. She did not know what new creatures were making the woods their home, and despite being well-armed, one arm was immobilized with bandages. So she would be careful, and probably choose to flee rather than fight if the need came. It was information she was looking for, not carnage for once.

[Madel_H]

Well, it was for certain that attempting to protect Myrken Wood was no sinecure. Since the arrival of this darkness, the Ranger has been spending all day combating the monstrosities roaming the shadowy forests. His blade as well as his body has been covered in blood as of late, and for the past few days his hours of sleep have totalled to two. Clothes and skin are constantly torn in fierce battle against wickedly spiked creatures. With his hand-and-a-half length sword constantly in his grip, its sheath has been forgotten and discarded.

One of the sleepless nights, Madel fought continuously as workers hacked and sawed, hammered and built. The construct was supposed to be a beacon tower, used to light the darkness and offer harbor. Unfortunately, one swordsman was not enough to defend against the host of creatures that swarmed through the night. Within hours of his arrival, half of the builders lay dead, and half the remainder was fleeing. The tower amounted to nothing more than the sihluoette of a broken tooth peircing the blackened sky.

Another day was spent with the family of Jex Du'orben, a middle-class farmer with a plot of land too far from town to help. Jex had already lost two sons fighting, and the creatures had trapped the rest of his family in their home. Madel had found the farmer fighting for his life with a pitchfork and a barrel lid, and had quickly stepped in. From there, it was a thirty minute battle across the fields and through the gate, up the walk, onto the roof, and in through a second story window. It was in this home battling for its existence that the Ranger had gotten his precious little sleep. It had been the sound of splintering wood and the screams of a small girl that awoke him; the front door had finally collapsed inwards. The soft glow of candlelight in the hall had seemed to hold the abominations at bay for a short while, long enough to get the children into a sideroom. But when the things became daring enought to dart across the circles of orange light, it came down once again to good ol' fashion fighting. Several bloody hours later, Jex and his wife, along with four of their nine children, managed to get out of the house. Madel led them across the unimaginably long distance into town, where they were relavitvely safe in the room of a tavern. Then, it was back out into the fray.

Time and again he found himself relying on his sword to protect trapped woodsmen, lonely homesteads, cornered messengers, even an abandoned horse. And he would keep at it, too, until there was either no more threat, or worse: nothing left to protect.

[Rahlaer]

Death and suffering. Deceit and despair. Sorrow and defeat.

Anger and vengeance. Greed and lust. Malice and coldness.

All of these vile emotions, these hateful feelings and acts--they fill the land now, feed it and sate it with the pain of those who suffer. With each death, each terrified scream, each tear shed and fist clenched--the land grew darker, the creatures that plagued the wood became more fierce. More willing to kill, to drain, and to snuff all things.

Traffic has fallen from the roads--save for the brave few--swords held firm, spells upon lips. Fear and sorrow seemed a matter within the air--and it could almost choke all who breathed. Things dreadful had come with the night.

As blackness encompassed the land--and the terror of shadow clutched at each heart--something deep within Myrken stirred. Within the darkest pool, within the bowels of the wood, a rift opened--unseen amoungst the black. But, it could be felt--by all things pure, all things lovely, and though the world already weeped, the soil around this particular hole became far more perverted, far more unholy. A dark pulse from this empty pit on the side of a large tree--and it extended outward in unseen waves of evil. This terrible feeling, this horrible growth upon the earth--waves of black, negative energy was devoured by it--and the more it sucked from the earth, the soil around it, the life around it, began to love the pain.


A machine of darkness has started.

And with it forces of darkness are called.

And collect.




____________________________________

-- Rahlaer Shadowfyre

[channe]

As the forces of darkness converge, Lady Charlotte Arryngton, naturally, has a dinner-party. For what else do the nobility of Myrken do when faced with hardship like this but put on a brave face -- and a few lush, expensive shindigs?

Over a menu of imported greens and roast duck, the Arryngtons and their guests, well-known anti-Council nobles, discuss the current situation. Their conversation is not favorable towards those distinguished gentlemen; after all, it's been over a full week since the events began and what has the Council done? Hasn't even met one single time! Unfortunately, for the guests, this is only the most recent manifestation of a corruption that has seemingly been going on for years.

Arryngton stands at her door, later, and watches her guests drive off in heavily-guarded carriages, her look worried and spare.

[aisu]

A body has been found among the trees-- it hangs from its ankles with ropes about the legs and arms dangling above the head. The skin has vanished in many places, the clothes of this person shredded as well.

There had been, the night before-- or was it night now? It's hard to tell with the eternal shroud of pitch over the land-- a terrific scuffle that had broken out. The cats had let themselves loose after some small group of travellers-- two children from which are now missing-- and soon after the dryads had roused to join the chase. Spears lay broken, splintered and cut, beneath the dangling corpse-- be it male or female, it's hard to tell, but long, lank hair hangs from a skull that no longer has eyes. One lid, even, is torn away from the socket and the other hangs open, empty. Fingers are missing-- the whole left hand, in fact. It had been mauled. Destroyed.

The skewed hours of the day-- or -is- it really night?!-- tick past, the body left to drip what little blood remains within its veins. The lizard-bugs have stripped free what they can-- their grotesque bellies are gorged to near popping what with how much some of them have consumed in the past ten or so hours-- and now rest with glowing eyes and spines among the branches of the trees. Had they ears like those felines that had started the massacre, they would now be flickering in contentment. Lacking such appendages, their tails instead begin to sway and their facetted eyes to flash and flicker with unnatural lights. A man stands with mouth gaping, a torch in his hands as he stares up at the rent body-- another horrifying find, to be sure!

So many of Myrken have been found dead in this fashion or similar, bound or strung up by rope-vines left by the dryad-monsters that shriek from within the heart of the trees. Even now they lurk, watching this man with his fire, eyes glowing-- watching everyone who passes through their domain warily and angrily. This is their revenge on both the trees that still harbor their souls and the humans that have for so long tormented them-- or rather, their mistress' revenge.

The monsters have now become bolder-- the night before, Channe had been attacked by some unseen force with whips, and now the dryads and cats have left a body hung at the edge of the Dagger's clearing. A few others soon join that lone man, and the hideous body is removed in order to be identified. There was little left, and no family likely to claim what was there as some member of their family-- but they would try and find kin. It was all they could do. Those spears and vines left are lit aflame and watched as they burn-- the men will remain until that circle of fire dies.

The murders had been daily, nightly events since the coming of the black dome over head. There was a mass of monsters spreading everywhere-- it was impossible to escape them even in the tavern now, it seems. The shadows, even, have come to life-- they writhe and hiss and grab. Those men are wary, waiting for the fire to dwindle to nothing before returning to their beacon towers.

[Biske]

The General had not been training a small militia for nothing. Even as others fought to make the farmsteads and outlying settlements safe, Eriks gathered the townsfolk, guiding them as they entrenched themselves firmly; the town was looking more like a bristling fortress, sharpened pikes levered outwards, archers on constant watch.

The lone road to the Dagger was not safe; though some might find it safer than others. The General took his patrol to that single road, riding back and forth for more than a day. He did his best to protect those he could; and exhaustion and frsutration showed as victims fell. But the lone rider continued his self-imposed duty, despite it all.

[Rattrap]

Doctor David D'Rael sat quietly in a large, majestically decorated hall in a nation miles north of Myrken Wood. It was his home nation of Bolgardia, for the longest time a warring nation - the doctor himself had been swept up by the last bloody war during his teenage years, which had prompted him to his current occupation some years later - with all the killing he'd done, it seemed like a necessary balance on his soul.

David was seated at a table with other doctors and healers, a few of them discussing something in loud, but controlled voices. He came there at least once a year with the others as they compared experiences on what treatments worked for what, how to explain certain ailments, etc.

The northern nation was cold and snowcapped, yet the sun gleamed brightly off the plains of white. The doc had no idea what was happening down in Myrken Wood.

* * *

Some of the townsfolk had had enough; the forest was attacking them, sheltering odd beasts and stranger creatures. Many fled, many hid; some, the angrier of the bunch, decided to strike back - towers of flame would start appearing, not in established torch towers but of the outlaying trees as angry townsfolk began lighting the forest on fire. Others tried to stop them; clear-headed individuals who realized the danger a burning forest put on the town. The guards certainly tried, and many blazes would be avoided - many would appear anyway, striking back at the shadows and monsters hiding in them.

Myrken Wood had not survived by sitting idly or running.

[Madel_H]

Scott Marrun put his arms around his wife, holding her for quite possibly the last time. The pair were stuck between a sheer rock wall, rising from the bottom of a ravine to a height well above their heads, and what seemed to be a pack of ravenous felines. Scott's brother, Kaleb, and his two best friends, Jon and Matt, already lay dead upon the ground, bodies torn to peices beyond recognition. The encircling feline creatures skirted about the edge of the light given off from Mr. Marrun's torch, the last of three the group had brought with them on their attempted run for safety. At first he wasn't sure, but the closer the lynx-like creatures came, the more he decided that they didn't quite fit. Shoulders and spine appeared to jut out of the body like spikes; eyes seemed to reflect the torch with green and blue light.

One of the things put a paw forward into the light, a vicious hiss sliding forth with the baring of wickedly sharp teeth. Muscles coiled and tensed, body crouched lower to the leaf-strewn ground. Scott hugged his wife tighter- this was it: the thing was preparing to lunge. And then like the snap of a bowstring, it had. The creature soared through the night like an arrow loosed, paws outstretched, razor-edged claws beading for Marrun's chest.

And then, something miraculous. A blur of grey and brown, moving twice as fast as the cat-hybrid, collided with the creature, knocking it from the air. The evil beast landed on its feet, head snapping around to see what had hit it. In the next instant, it's throat was gone, torn out by the muzzle of what Scott could later only describe as "the bigges' damn wolf I e'er did lay mine eyes on."

Attention stolen from the helpless pair, the dark twisted shapes moved in on the "big wolf." The lycanthrope, for that was what it truly was, caught the first one by the head, spun around quickly and used the momentum to slam the thing's head into the rock face. Sharp pain in his shoulder, as another had leaped forth to get a hold on his back. This one was grabbed by the scruff of its neck, ripped off- along with a good bit of skin and fur- and spun around in the opposite direction. Like a club, the back-biting creature was swung at the remaining two, knocking one aside and tripping up the other. A last good squeeze on its neck, and the spine was broken. Then the were-wolf dropped to all fours, letting loose a deep, angry growl of his own. The two surviving beasts hissed and ran for the darkness, but didn't make it very far. The lycanthrope bounded after them, disappearing into the night as quickly as he had come. From just a short ways off, Scott heard the final, desperate squeals of the demented feline pack. With a silent prayer to whatever higher power had sent thier salvation, Mr. and Mrs. Marrun ran the last quarter-mile into town, where they would be relatively safe.

Kayne Banter, savior of the Marrun family, let loose a victorious howl, accompanied by the rest of his pack.

[Una]

Curin hasn't done much in the who-knew-how-many days since the sky had turned black and nightmare creatures appeared in the sky, strove free of trees and gods knew what else. She watched, she drank whiskey, she amused herself idly with the knife game "His Highness" had show her, but more than these things, she thought. To be sure, Curin didn't care much what exactly was happening, certainly not why, but how--that made her curious. Often enough the swordswoman found herself staring out the window of her room, bottle held against her side, forgotten, with arms folded. She could tell the patrols by their torches, the dragon-fly creatures by thier sickly glow and the unwarry travelers by the streams of lights that followed them. She watched people kill and be killed with the same impasiveness, never a thought that she should help. Well, it wasn't like she would be paid to, and things were doing just fine without her help. Fine for who? For herself, of course. The longer she watched, the more she wanted to find who was doing this--there was always a who in these things--just to see them, maybe understand them. And as things would have it, the longer she waited, the more likely she was to find this person, devil, whatever they were. She might even thank them, perhaps try to kill them, it would all depend. But until then, she would continue to find herself watching, waiting to feel the pull that would lead her to the source. All chaos had a source, even if it was simply the twitch of the wing of a butterfly lands away. There was always a source, and given enough time she could find it.