Post by BadInfluence on May 11, 2016 5:02:26 GMT 9.5
The God’s were silent. Not that they were ever a batch much for talking with their creations, but even with the usual distance, the quiet was unnerving. Even Hanali, Goddess of the Realm of Arvandor, was utterly and completely still. Not a whisper… Not a single fragile, precious sound, not even a murmur of breath… Just the utter and complete existence that could only be called a Void… A perfect Lacking. Not an absence of something, but as though the something that had once been there, never existed at all.
All over the Realms, Elvish and Drow, Human and Dwarf…. There lay a Mist… A Fog… A dark and potent as the terror that stalks a child’s heart at night when ghost and ghouls rattle chains and bite at toes… It promised deep and forbidden things… Terrifying and delightful… As awful as it was arousing…
Some swore they could hear voices in the mist…
Voices of Lovers…
Friends…
Family…
Others were less fortunate… The sounds of blood curdling screams… The cries of pain so cold and sharp they would crack the very marrow of ones bones…
The scents were just as varied and intense as the sounds and feelings that came with it… Some the scent of favorite cakes or a much adored perfume… Others the stench of rotting flesh, coagulated blood with writhing, squirming, wriggling maggots infesting every inch…
When it came and from where, none could say, for while it seemed new there was an oldness about it that gave it the sense of… Belonging… A sort of… Contingency… As though it had been there as long as the sun or the very moon had been… A part of the earth itself, perhaps? A singular existence within the many waters and streams, only now free to do what it would?
Either way… It was not Idle…
It did not lay still upon the ground as a natural fog would, nor did it settle upon branch or leaf like mist upon the green, yet there was marking of it’s passing… Like a wave of ink, of tar, of the blackest sin it coated everything… Every little leaf and petal… Every pixie and fey… Every sweet doe and their fawn… The brave and triumphant stag and the mighty bear… Everything was blanketed in this blackness… Such was not unseen… Not entirely… For like a child peeking through their fingers, there were moments where the fog cleared, parting like a curtain…
A beast lay there… Not of natural creation, nor with any sort of form, for it was indeed formless… Yet it consumed… It feasted on the entirely of all it touched… For no little ladybird nor seed was spared it’s hunger…
Arvandor…
Was being Devoured.
All over the Realms, Elvish and Drow, Human and Dwarf…. There lay a Mist… A Fog… A dark and potent as the terror that stalks a child’s heart at night when ghost and ghouls rattle chains and bite at toes… It promised deep and forbidden things… Terrifying and delightful… As awful as it was arousing…
Some swore they could hear voices in the mist…
Voices of Lovers…
Friends…
Family…
Others were less fortunate… The sounds of blood curdling screams… The cries of pain so cold and sharp they would crack the very marrow of ones bones…
The scents were just as varied and intense as the sounds and feelings that came with it… Some the scent of favorite cakes or a much adored perfume… Others the stench of rotting flesh, coagulated blood with writhing, squirming, wriggling maggots infesting every inch…
When it came and from where, none could say, for while it seemed new there was an oldness about it that gave it the sense of… Belonging… A sort of… Contingency… As though it had been there as long as the sun or the very moon had been… A part of the earth itself, perhaps? A singular existence within the many waters and streams, only now free to do what it would?
Either way… It was not Idle…
It did not lay still upon the ground as a natural fog would, nor did it settle upon branch or leaf like mist upon the green, yet there was marking of it’s passing… Like a wave of ink, of tar, of the blackest sin it coated everything… Every little leaf and petal… Every pixie and fey… Every sweet doe and their fawn… The brave and triumphant stag and the mighty bear… Everything was blanketed in this blackness… Such was not unseen… Not entirely… For like a child peeking through their fingers, there were moments where the fog cleared, parting like a curtain…
A beast lay there… Not of natural creation, nor with any sort of form, for it was indeed formless… Yet it consumed… It feasted on the entirely of all it touched… For no little ladybird nor seed was spared it’s hunger…
Arvandor…
Was being Devoured.