That’s sounds like that also belongs in a Warhammer style writing. Great story calling chill to the senses. I always recommend a peak at Warhammer story, though some find it too dark for their tastes, it really has lots of unique style. They even also have undead factions, I believe about 3-4. Your haunted forests remind me of Warhammers forests of Sylvania. A dark cursed forest land of undead of every kind and vampiric masters who rule it.
3 Likes
“That is a real compliment. Thank you.”
/shy blush
/smile
“Here’s a story you will like. A 14 years old goth emo dude challenged me. He said he didn’t think a girl could wrote a scary poem. He dared me to write a poem that would scare him. I wrote this…”
“Dracula’s Rising”
‘By Me’
“Raising to flight, a way to begin,
Fanning wings of fire, so cold.
Oh, Mystic Demon, of Hades and sin,
A terror, a dealer, never is old.”
“Oh, King of Blackness, drink the blood,
Drain the innocent, the child.
Turn passion into a painful bud,
With your crazy laugh, so desolate and wild.”
“Behold a world, mad by your rot,
Now calling to feel your kiss.
They glow, your eyes, amber hot.
Destruction, your reward, their bliss.”
“Come forth, stone bird, cold and dead.
Your master has need for thee.
Alone and cold in a hellish red.
Circles, only darkness to see.”
“Humans give forth a fearful scream,
For blood on their pillow you laid.
They awaken to a nightmare, from a dream,
For you came, and a soul they paid.”
“…He didn’t sleep for a week. I won.”
/wicked grin
/giggle
Not bad, I too wrote quite a few dark stories in my younger days. Dark stories of crawling beasts and empty homes, but hey the teachers liked that I was writing at all.
I definitely prefer dark beastmen style horror. The primal fear is one I think many people forget exists unless they experience it.
1 Like
“Oh, I can get darker. Enjoy.”
/evil laugh
“The Trail”
‘By Me’
"Mom warned me long ago, she warned me well. But I was just a child back then. I had more important things to do, than ponder the reality of old myths and fables. I would sit and listen to the old folks and their tales, trying my best not to squirm, pretending I was listening. When all the while my thoughts were a million miles away, swimming in the lake, or racing my best friend up the tallest tree we could find.
Once a month, on the full moon, the whole village would gather around a huge fire. Sharing the stories of stolen souls and lingering spirits. I was always bored, and as soon as the tale weaving was done I would run off. To dream of adventures beyond the tall wooden wall, that surrounds our little village. Year after year, as the stories grew darker, I grew more and more restless. Soon I was no longer a child, and no longer able to cope with the limits of my condensed existence. To step beyond the great barrier became my only dream. To see, with my own eyes, the wonders the elders spoke of. I didn’t understand the fear in their eyes, when they spoke of the wandering madness. I thought them foolish and feeble. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
One night, about mid-summer, I stayed back when the rest of the village gathered by the fire. I had secretly filled an old wheat sack full of dried foods and extra clothes. Along with some small personal items I couldn’t bare to leave behind. I had spent the last year systematically searching the outer wall for any weak spots. Last month had I found a small hole, just big enough for me, and that’s when I started planning my ‘journey’. At last I was gonna know the truth. I made my way to my private exit, unhindered, as I knew I would be. Once there I pushed my bag through, and then myself, wiggling slowly as not to make too much noise.
As I stood up, and beheld the world outside, I was weak with the realization I had finally made it. Freedom was mine, and all the treasures that came with it. I brushed myself off, picked up my bag, chose a direction, and headed towards my future. The real world was huge, but I was ready for whatever it had to offer, or so I thought.
The outskirts ringing the village were surrounded by a dense, lust, forest whose trails were thick with shadows, and laced with over-grown brush. With my sack flung across my shoulder, I turned down the widest path, that seemed the most traveled. Before long the way grew denser, and I began to wonder if I had chosen poorly. As a darkness crept over me, filled with a strange chill, a hidden fear slowly rose to the surface. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, I turned around to make my way back, only to discover that the return path was no longer there. Panic set in, as I tried to claw my way through the growth that blocked my escape, my bag lay forgotten on the ground. But it proved to be a useless effort, and finally I dropped to the ground in tears. I sat there, lost and cold, for a long time, until I fell asleep from exhaustion.
I awoke to the sound of a voice calling out my name. At first I believed it was my Mom, or a village elder who had come to search for me. I looked up to find it was nothing of the kind. A slender woman, dressed in a long translucent gown, was standing over me. Her hair was long, fine, and ghostly white, as was her skin. She held out a hand to help me up. Hesitantly I took it and allowed her to assist me to my feet. I asked if she could help me find the trail again. She just smiled, and gestured to a small break in the trees that I hadn’t noticed before. Retrieving my bag, I followed her trustingly.
She led me to a tiny clearing, where a giant tree grew by a small pond. Once there she gestured for me to sit, which I did obediently. She walked over to the tree and disappeared for a moment, coming back with a tray laden with fresh fruits and breads. As I ate she stared at me intently, as if she had never seen my likes before. After I finished the food offered, she pulled a small flask from some where and placed it in my hand. I drank deeply of the cool sweet liquid within, feeling it’s strange warmth surge all through me.
I never questioned why she would be here, in the middle of all this. I never asked myself how she knew my name, or knew where to find me. I should have. Instead I just laid back on the cool grass, closed my eyes, and slipped into a magic dream, in which I was enveloped in a soft wispy veil of silk. My arms and legs fused with the veil, taking on the feeling of fine spidery threads, stretching out into the universe. I drifted there, sedated and delirious, allowing myself to dissolve, to become the veil. A forbidding sensation took over my senses, and I suddenly longed to be home, listening to the stories. As the dream faded away, I began to feel the real world again. But for some reason, that I couldn’t place, it felt different. When I opened my eyes it all became too apparent why.
Terror filled my soul on the realization that it was never a dream. The slender lady was gone. And in her place was a demon witch, a mutated mixture of spider and crone, her fangs were dripping with black venom. I knew I would never see the familiar faces of home again. As she leaned, ever closer, to my web-bound form, my sanity left me and I screamed until the blackness of oblivion claimed me."
/grin
Good usage of spiders, a good horror aspect indeed. It has been a long while since I last wrote a horror story and the exhaustion of daily life prohibits such creation and thought for now. I do find if you imply but do not tell what exists it usually messes with and scares the minds much more. Kind of a thing where someone’s own imagination will make the scariest version of your creation for them.
2 Likes
“Build the terror, and hit them with the real horror at the end. Just my style…”
“Enjoy.”
“The Tree of Souls”
“By Me”
"A lightening flash splits the sky, high-lighting a lone figure, standing on a tall crag. Her name is Black Rose, but the world of the Fey know her as ‘The Soul Stealer’. Her long raven hair dances on the wind, like a living black veil. Only the tops of her peaked, tapered, ears show above her dark hair. Like two small white horns. Her skin is ghostly white in contrast to the long, wispy, black dress that drapes her body. Lithe and tall, she stands there, like a statue. Her large elven eyes shine darkly, as she searches the valley below.
Beside her towers an old, twisted, tree. It’s branches barren. It’s form twines toward the sky like a serpent. The grass that grows around it is gnarled and dry. It’s bark is riddled with knots and burls, like a hundred trapped faces staring out. She reaches out to caress a large knot in the trunk of the tree. She picks up the blood red cloak, lying on the ground at her feet, and drapes it around her shoulders. Grinning evilly, she then turns and starts down the hill.
The clouds break, to show a full moon, as she enters the village below. It’s a quiet night. The streets are bare of traffic. The Inns and Shops are locked and boarded for the night. Here and there a shuttered window shines, with candle light, around it’s edges. She turns down a side street and follows it to the docks. As she approaches she can hear the sounds of people. She smiles. Here the streets are ill lit and twisted, as are most of those who live among them. She dons the hood of her cloak, pulling it forward, to hide her features and continues.
Down at the end of an alleyway she finds what she seeks. A small pub, barely lit with just a handful of drunks, half passed-out at their tables. She enters and strolls up to the bar. She places a single silver coin on the bar top.
“A pint of Ale.”
The Barkeep pours her a stein and picks up the coin. She takes the drink and crosses to a table, in a shadowed corner. She sits with her back to the wall, studying the faces around her. One sits alone. This catches her attention. As time wears on, one by one, the patrons leave, till only the one lone drinker remains. Soon he leaves as well and she follows him out into the night.
"Outside the Pub she follows him down the street. His staggering walk reflects the level of his intoxication. A few blocks later he turns down a side alley. She silently keeps pace with him. He stumbles around the clutter, in the path, left by the days crowds. Near the end he turns into a dark foyer and starts digging for his key.
She approaches him without a sound. Just as he is about to slide his key into the lock, she steps into the foyer. She blocks what little is left of light. He turns suddenly, dropping his key into the darkness at their feet. She grins at the look of fear on his face. She gestures for him to continue inside. As if entranced, he leans down to pick up his keys and continues unlocking his door. She follows him into the blackness of the room inside.
She bids him light the lamp. He blindly obeys. He looks up to find her standing a shadows width away from him. Her dark eyes lock with his. He cannot turn away from her gaze. He stutters a question at her.
“W-w-who are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Why are you here?”
She does not answer. She, instead, leans in and kisses him. That is the last thing he remembers. He trails her out the door, void of all self-will. She leads him along the outskirts of town, towards her home by the twisted tree."
"As they reach the grassy trail, that leads towards the crag, the storm clouds start to build. He feels no cold, as the chilled winds blow around his form. He does not blink when a bright flash of lightening blazes across the sky. He is unaware of the wet grass soaking his leather boots. He walks, one foot in front of the other, his only conscience thought is of her. As they approach the crag, she leads him to a cave entrance at it’s base. The narrow tunnel inside is dark and twisted. She navigates it with ease, for this is her home.
She turns down a smaller tunnel that soon ends in a stone door. She whispers a word under her breath and it opens. As they walk into the huge cavern within, torches spring to life. The ceiling is laced with the root tips of the huge tree above. Creatures stir in the shadowed nooks all along the rocky walls. Scattered, here and there, are huge webs, homes of the guardians of the cave. In the center is a tall dais, draped with black satin and covered with strange symbols.
She saunters towards this and he follows her, as he has done since that first kiss. She steps up onto the dais and beckons for him to join her. He does as asked, like a string-less puppet obeying an invisible master. In the center of the platform lays a large black pillow, void of markings, and nothing else. She bids him lay down. As he does, four gnarled roots climb up the sides of the dais to bind his wrists and ankles.
She stands at his feet and drops her cloak to the ground. As she raises her hands high over her head thunder roars outside the cavern walls. She begins the chant and all the torches go out, except the four around the base of the dais. Still chanting, she circles to his side and kneels. She places one hand over his heart and the other on his temple. As his mind clears he becomes aware of his surroundings. The next thing he sees is her smile and the two sharp fangs that glisten within it. This is the moment she needs, that instant of pure fear. She leans in and sinks her fangs into his warm neck before he can react farther. The shadowed shape of a monstrous spider grows on the far wall.
High above his writhing body the twisted tree howls. The vibration is felt down the roots and all through the cavern. As his body slumps into death the very rocks moan. She leans back and licks a single drop of blood from the corner of her mouth, grinning in evil ecstasy. His fear was indeed delicious. What is left of him slowly falls to dust as a tremor shakes the tree above.
She leave the dais and cavern and follows a dark tunnel that winds ever upward. The other end opens under a large root at the base of the tree. The storm rages as she walks to the front of the tree. There she reaches out and caresses a new large knot, right next to the other.
“See, sweet sister, I do keep my promises. I said I’d keep you both safe, together, forever, and here you are.”
Her evil laugh shakes the heavens, as she swirls around and heads back into her dark cavern home.
~Finis~
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I beat up on another mean boss in Elden Ring tonight. This time I somehow one shot it.
3 Likes
“Well done!”
/cheers
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Next boss stat seems kind of funny. You sit on horseback, shot arrows at him from time to time and just summon your allies to do your dirty work for you while avoding attacks lol
3 Likes
“Sounds like fun.”
/lol
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Well can’t mess anything up as every attack is either one hit death or two hit deaths with getting knocked off your horse and your horse can die.
2 Likes
Interesting Theory
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I say it needs Trees resembling the Emerald Nightmare’s Ancients with Glowing Red Eyes and Black Bark with Red Glowing Cracks and a Glowing Red Mouth.
Of course the Witches of Drustvar can have their Haunted Forest brought into the Lounge as well.
And Duskwood too.
Let’s throw in Tirisfal Glades, Western Plaguelands, Eastern Plaguelands and Felwood for good measure:
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pokes his head out from under his blankie on Surfy’s lap
Happy Holy-Smokes-We-Survived-Another-One Day!
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“You really should come have fun with us on Classic.”
/grin
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It’s Fri-Yay!!!
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Sooooo… kind of an epic dodge ball? 
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I feel like having a rice meal today.
Spanish rrice with chicken fajita meat, shredded xheese, peppers, onions, avocado, black olives and sour cream.
I mix it all together and than eat it with tortilla chips
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Today needs to take a flying leap. Seriously. Can someone hack my clock forward to six pm?
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Well, in a single day we lost:
Our branch manager
2, possibly 3 techs
And our regional manager (who is at fault for for us losing our mgr and techs)
This is gonna be interesting
3 Likes