Nightmare Sky

[channe]

The one time Channe had ventured outside her tiny house on the outskirts of town was to go to the Dagger in hopes of hearing something about -- well, about what was going on.

Talk about firsthand experience.

It wasn't the first time she'd been attacked, but certainly the musician-turned-seamstress hoped it would have never happened again. And she was convinced that the only reason she'd not ended up as yet another corpse bleeding out onto the wooden floorboards of the Dagger was that woman -- that woman that had come down the stairs, stopped at the bar, and commanded the black flailing thing to stop.

Of course, when pressed by the shocked seamstress, the woman said that she'd done no such thing.

But Channe knew what she'd heard.

If there was someone at the Dagger with control over the situation, others deserved to know.

She went to find Aloisius Treadwell. He'd know who to tell.

[aisu]

The conditions under which Myrken now suffers continue to worsen-- for the night is dark yet, but for fires and the sick, green glow of dragon-lantern spines. There are new beasts, yet, roaming with the others. Monsters now have been joined by creatures that ought to have been gentle and good-- vile beasts that should have been unicorns now sprout spikes from spines and shoulders, jutting from manes as well.

A variety of colors exists among them-- from black to red to the deceiving bone-white that they ought to be. Their hooves are sharp, so viciously cleft as to be formed into dangerous weapons surrounded by dull feathering-- and the woman who has done all-- created this mess?-- she stands in a small clearing with head tilted back to the starless sky and eyes closed to the world. Those waves of soft black hair flutter down her back, released once again from the constricting knot at her neck. Her eyes are less heavy than before, still with that soft, lazy droop to lids, but without the heavy bags beneath them.

Still they are glassy, though that cannot be seen with the way they are closed. Relaxed, spine straight, surrounded by the monstrous lizard-lightning-bugs, she lets out a soft, breathy sigh of vapor...

[Biske]

And there were even those who would set torch to the forest - though those who had been organized by the General, and no-doubt any other rational thinker, would discourage them. Eriks himself seems to be missing, for the moment - whether he's finally taken to his bed, or disappeared into the Forest, no one seems to know.

________________________________________________________________

And as for the deziens of the Forest; monstrosities roamed the trees, who themselves seemed to take on their own life, their own forms. And in the darkness, a single light penetraits, offsetting the sickly green glow of the spiney bugs...

[aisu]

The world has become a horrible place of monsters and beasts. It is covered in darkness and the screams and wails of children-- and tonight it is to change. There is a shudder that ripples over the earth, the moan and screams of voices rising, only to be cut off as if by a sharp slap across the face.

The dryads slither into their trees with the coos of doves and the shrieks of eagles-- the felines have vanished into dens or the like, and the unicorns have left nothing but tracks behind. The night darkens even more than already it has-- the dragon-bugs with their glowing spinal swirls have since disappeared into the dark. No longer are there patches of sickly green glowing orbs, but rather pitch black again.

The roar of the fires from the towers, walls, town and tavern. There are no more attacks. All goes still, the evil sprawling over Myrken diving into a winter hibernation, it seems. The snow lays undisturbed and soon the tracks of animals are filled in by the newly lain snow.

The shadows writhe, yet, and the world has a twisted appearance. It's a nightmare land, yet, but without the horrendous fiends that had so recently stalked across it. The world is eeriely still and the normal creatures once again come out to play-- rabbits and pheasants, foxes and wolves and deer-- but those nightmare creatures no longer wander Myrken Woon, it seems.

There is one thing moving through the trees, however, clad in white furs that drag across the snow in an impressive train. She seems a wraith, this being, with hair of raven that flows nearly as far down as the warm garment she so wears. Her face is fair-- perfect to be sure, with fine bones and eyes that tilt at the corners. Exotic, beautiful. Perfectly framed with obsidian lashes and painted over the top lid with a thin oval of purest red.

Those blue eyes capture every hue of the color as she there wanders and looks about. They glitter bright and hot within their sockets, whispering darkly behind the feathered bangs that shadow and dance about her cheeks. She was nothing a bright patch of glowing ice on a background of tar on the road-- a star where no others now exist.

[Treadwell]

At home, Aloisius Treadwell shudders. Another magical presence--a fairly potent one--seems to be in town, and it seems to be having quite an impact on things already. It might just be something to investigate. . . but, of course, it will have to wait 'til after lunch.

[Altias_Bromn]

Altias Bromn sat at the window of the toy shop. As it happened he would have lost of frame of reference for time of day, had it not been for Treadwell bringing him meals every few hours, on the dot. The darkness outside was troubling, yet Aloisius had not mentioned it, nor what he and the other councilors intended to do about it. Most likely Treadwell was trying to keep him from worry. It wasn't working. When he was alone he could hear the creatures, or whatever they were, crashing through the brush. He could hear the screams of both creature and human alike. It had become too much to bear.

Dragging himself to his feet, very nearling toppling forward from the weight in his stomach that he had yet to grow used to, Altias searched the toy shop for ink, quill and parchment. With trembling hand did he pen this note:

Aloisius,
I have to see what is happening out there. People are dying, or at least it would seem so from where I sit. Where I sit, doing precious little but feeling sorry for myself. Let's face it, old friend, no one knows I have returned. Should something happen, no one will be any the wiser. Save for you.

If this hurts you my friend, then I am sorry, but I refuse to sit back and watch this happen around me, I have to do something. I have to at least learn what is happening. What kind of governor have I been? What have I done for these people since I ran away? Precious little, I'll tell you that much. I owe them this much.

I'm going to the inn...if I make it that far. From there I will see what I can find out from those present there. Maybe in my disguise, no one will know it is me. If they recognize me, then so be it. I have to do this, regardless.

IN the event that I do not return, please know that you have been my dearest friend. And if you see them, give my best regards to Lamai and to Ari.

Always,
Governor Altias Bromn

Folding the note, it was placed with care on the untouched tray of lunch that Treadwell had brought some hours earlier. Altias borrowed the large brown cloak that he found on the hook by the back door, and made his way out into the never ending darkness.

[EliziaTreadwell]

A single cadaverous hand was raised to wrap on the door of the toy shop. as a shadow was noticed standing near the window. Steely eyes narrowed as she slunk toward the window, ensured of her secrecy by the darkness that surrounded the toy shop.

Words flew to her mouth, but were stopped by the tightening in her throat. What in the name of all that was unholy!? She had found the governor. Not just found him mind you, but found him with a belly full of what looked like...well, it looked as if he was with child.

A mixture of horror, revulsion and sheer cruel joy filled her being. What would little brother have to say about this? The governor had not run away and he was certainly not dead as all the rumors had elduded to. No...instead Aloisius Treadwell was harboring him. Oh, the questions she had.

As the governor slunk out the backdoor, Elizia snuck in the front. The note left for Treadwell the first thing to catch her eye.

[aisu]

The night has been still for nearly the span of a moon. A full circle of the hidden body above has passed without silence from the woods. Or, rather, mostly silence. There have been strange things growing unnoticed for the most part. Once again, the raven-haired woman with her green eyes and ill-fitting clothes wanders again.

Over-sized boots drag in the snow with her steps, so slow as can be. Eyes wander around her, looking here and there among the trees. Each press of foot to earth, each time she moves forward again, the air trembles with the wretched feeling she embodies. It crawls and writhes, heavy and ominous like some death's shroud about her shoulders.

As she moves, a veritable wake has spread behind her among the trees. The roar of beasts fills the air of Myrken again. The cats, the malformed unicorns with their glowing weaponry and spikes from shoulders and spines-- the great and tiny, from the dragonlings with their fluttering wings and glowing spines. The dryads, too, now return. They slip from trees, from branches and roots and trunks. The noise fills the eternal night again, like before, of voices and foul things. It seems her energy has been gathering over that month, something flickers and shivers beneath the ice that covers the lake-- where it can be seen between the patches of snow settled atop it-- and new Things roam among the familiar among the trees.

New things fly, in the form of demented birds of prey with buldging eyes and glittering beaks. They seem more aggressive than their bug-lizard counterparts-- they now and again swoop from high above to grab and claw at those things they find below. Corbin stops, and the pollution spreads from her, just there on the side of the lake opposite where the tavern may be seen clearly.

[Rattrap]

Sergeant Hickensen stood in front of six other individuals, all matching in their Order of Straka uniforms. A small, diverse little group, including Private Williams and a new recruit, a bronze-skinned guardsman named Masaccio. They all sat at a simple table, three to a side, watching Sergeant Hickensen as he went over their plan of action.

"As you should all know, it would seem like the obvious place to look for the cause of all this current trouble is the forest. Which is exactly where we're going to look. People have reported sightings of oddities unlike the beasts we've already encountered at the edge of the forests in many places, especially around the far side of the lake. That's where we're headed."

"Just the seven of us?" asked a Private Wallace.

"You got it," answered Hickensen. "For retreat purposes, if something goes wrong. Any more wouldn't be able to move fluidly out of the forest. Wallace, Jenkins, you'll be carrying the torches - " The guardsmen groaned. " - sorry, but we need to keep our tracks well lit. The beasts certainly don't seem to like the light, so we might as well give ourselves an easy way out. We'll be heading in only for a few hours before waiting the next day to go in again; no overnights. Private Williams here is an expert with fire magics if anything goes awry."

Private Williams nodded, glancing briefly behind her to Guardsmen Jenkins and Massaccio, both relatively new recruits. Jenkins had been with them for a few months now, but Massaccio was fresh.

"We're leaving in two hours, folks. Be here in half an hour short of that." With that, Sergeant Hickensen dismissed the group to arm, feed, or otherwise equip themselves as they saw fit. The sergeant lingered for a while, watching out the dark window. Somewhere out in that forest there was something responsible for this damnable darkness, and unless something got to it first, they were going to remove it.

[Treadwell]

As the guards plan their assault on the forest, Aloisius Treadwell sits silently in his toy shop, rocking by the fireplace with a saddened look on his face and a plump baby boy pushing nine months sitting on his lap, hugged against Tready's belly by both of the old man's arms. The lamps and the fireplace glowing in the shop would usually be putting out more than enough light to suit Treadwell, but when everything in the world seems to be cast into darkness, sometimes a most magical man has to put forth his own light to help things out and soothe the soul. Thus, Tready shines, a glow radiating from his suit, hat, beard, and flesh that subtly shifts from a milky white into a frosty blue. At least it keeps Nicholas pacified, the infant merely sleepily cooing and rubbing against his unusual father.

Does it help the older Treadwell, though? Not very much. The effect is one of an overly large, modern-day night light, perhaps--enough to make a man feel mostly at ease in the dark but not enough to get rid of that one tingling, tickling, nervous fancy that there's someone behind you or waiting for you beyond the bathroom door.

So there he rocks, a beacon of light and sanity in the middle of a toy shop in a very muddled Myrken.

[Rattrap]

The two hours later, as planned, the assembly of Straka guardsfolk met where told to, Sergeant Hickensen arriving some half hour earlier than the rest to review the plan of action. The captain had put this task to him, as most of the Order of Straka was occupied with protection and watch for the beastly ghouls that swept in from the forest's edges far too often.

Once all other six had arrived, they each went over a brief inventory - three had crossbows, two backpacked almost a dozen extra torches apiece as well as holding the lit ones for the party as they moved, and everybody had their standard issue sabre, except Massaccio, who insisted on using his own rapier.

They left almost immediately, trekking from the Order of Straka HQ towards the lake and surrounding forest. On the way, they moved from fire-watch tower to fire-watch tower, but the area of forest they planned on searching was, unfortunately, too far on the outskirts to keep a convenient tower.

The troop did not take long to reach the forest, hesitating only to reissue the escape plan. The seven Order of Straka members began their search of the forest for whatever the cause of the darkness was for immediate removal.

[Jirai]

The small group of Straka guards had aquired a shadow.

She was taking care to remain well out of their light, for the sake of her own sensitive eyes. As well, she was being carefully silent, ghosting from tree to tree as she paced the Straka.

For now, the stalking was for her own amusement, a test of her skills, an escape from the confines of the town, a potential to learn something interesting.

For now.

[Khalika]

"And when you come...Will you remember me?" -Charles Delint


Mondream :Anglo-saxon- The dream of life amoungst men.



upon the edge of the Myrken Lands, a figure is perched upon a thick branch....a scragily creature wild as the brush that grows around her....Watches a Stag, giant and full. The beast is King, Forrest God.

"Old horns there you are....do you see?...Things are not right in this part of the wood...Its making my nose itch....never a good sign..."

Her voice is agless....old in words and knowledge, yet youthful in tone. she is as much a part of the forest as the trees...as the Stag below her...yet they are different beings...The stag bolts....and she frowns...Looking out across an scape. the Distance is Myrken.

"Damn the chase, and the Darkness younder...I was in need of his council, and those youngin's out there are delaying the end, and my company....

Still she talks perhaps to the tree she sits upon....till another voice...one that seems to hold a flicker of mischeif to it, something along the lines of the coyote myths and imp legends....perhaps the figure that now leaned against the tree was all of them and more for those who danced in the dream held many guises to be seen...

" I would think that for all your years, you would have learned patience by now"

the figure looked down to spy a human shaped figure but she knew better then that..and she smirked...swing down to hang before a man with what looked to be a wolf like face.....

"Hmm...guess I can't call you Coyote man anymore... What's your role in this?....Did you scare of Old Horns?... He's drawing to close to that sickness..It can't be allowed"

"Perhaps he feels the Guardians Presence?.. She a quick one...much control has she, perhaps to equal the Crone....As for your Lord of the Wild, your Goatfooted God, he comes and goes as he pleases..."

There is a trickle of smoke billowing from the figures lips....a rolling of tobacco and leaves...

"I'm in no position to guide him otherwise...But I am curious to why you worry? in matters that don't concern him....He has watched the world fall before...and has yet to lift a hand....it will be up to us..his Childern to see this most recent darkness through..."

She frowned and dropped to the ground....she was barly the size of a teenaged girl, though she movments had a definate feral nature to them... hands held fur upon them, and claws upon each digit...feet were bare, and the same as the hands...Her counter part in contrast was well dressed and near dapper save the face....

"Of course she's quick...Guardians are not picked foolishly, and her line is old....The Crone boarders close to my age...The dark ones out there are to young to see it....they think their infant beasties are enough...But we know better don't we?..."

He nodded as he exstinguished the smoke and placed it in a pocket...pulling from the tree...

"Yes... In this newest creation, they have gone so far as to anger the Manituo...Enough so that they have gathered..."

And with his words....the treeline on either side of them is suddenly full of all walks of animal life..both of the spiritual world and the present...as far as the eye could see, Gaia's Childern...For she is the earth and her body has been tainted, cut into in a most violent way...For she is the very ground they walk on...and she has been ripped and ravaged for the last time. There will be a reckoning....For each action, there must be an equal reaction...."

"These are dangerous magics walker....Is this you doing?.. You always seem to appear just in time to witness great Catacysims...Yet you Take no responsibility....First Old Horns, and now this?....I think I will burn the bones, the wildling Gifts has come to the world once more..and it Protector..has fire i will need."

The Wolf faced man looked to her with a shake of his head sending beaded braids to voice their own fears of such old workings.

"That is Dangerous Riddle....Do not mess with Bone magic, or the Manituo might turn their anger towards you...."

"You were not so causious as the Coyote...And the cresant moon will protect me if I can get it done Soon....It may not be seen in that land,but it is still there and it must be done...your knew face is just weary...you will see... this will keep Old Horn safe. He will not enter that land of death."


"Old horn cannot run from this chase...he must stand and face the darkness...Zaplakala egorato.....The forest Cries for it!.."

He words were like a yelp and a howl to a moon hiden.

"But Do what you must..I am just the planes walker."

The Riddle's face scrunches up as she knows he is far more then a planes walker...He, like she, and the manituo, and old Horn himself were all apart of the same beginnings....they were not a race, but some stories and legends have whispered that their makings were the birthings of races all....Gaia's first childern. For in them are pieces of everything.

"Yes well....you think your thoughts walker and talk you words...For all you do is such...It is me who does the deeds,who stands on the line and makes sure the chase does not pull Old Horn to far into the Mondream...."

No other words are said...as the Manituo begin to move...slowly they begin to file out of the forest, large creatures something a kin to Minitours, though they are not all warrior suited...they all do hold a humaniod frame with a animal head....of Boar, Baison, crow, hawk, Wolf, fox, Coyote, Badger, wolverine....It is an endless array of Gaia's flock....all coming to her aid....By the hundreds....flickering in that place just a step out of phase with the rest of the world...as if the spirt hold has opened up to answer its sister cry....and sneaking and weaving inbetween them the Riddle races...The speed is unnatural for a being her size...but soon she will step upon the land sick with darkness and death. and for once this creature taste the hints of fear.


"There are graves in the forest...in it moss, the bone of memories" -Wendelessen.

[aisu]

The air outside suddenly begins a slow vibration and hum. Had it been a windier night, the sound that accompanied the movement might have been taken for the rattle of tree branches against themselves as the wind caught them-- but no.

The wind is lacking, suddenly, in spite of the tremble to the air. Something moves slowly through the woods-- there is a groan of timber and the soft sifting sigh of falling snow tipped from the branches. The sounds merge into one gentle, suspicious symphony of night-time music. The eternal darkness seems to lower, to grow heavier on the invisible threads that hold the bell-shaped dome over Myrken's treelines.

The voice of the air turned from a gentle groan into the sounds of something more pasionate than even that. There was a whistling shriek, a raising pitch rising in an almost visible crescendo over the tavern roof. And when it died down, there was the makers of the sound-- an armed chorus of woodland spirits rising from the lake. Creatures of fin and scale, with sickly blue skin and fingers like the barbs on a lion-fish-- they stretch from the water and the ice they've broken to let loose their mournful cries as they cling to rock, tree and island.

They tremble, watched by the flashing, glowering lizard-bugs that flutter above their heads and their cousin-sisters that await along the shoreline with their matted hair of grass and willow branches. The sounds they make grow louder, warbling enticingly as the wood-beasts watch warily. What.. what are they doing? They merely writhe, as if nearly drowning-- sobbing and choking on the water in which they yet lie.

Around the lake, Her forces do gather once more.