Innkeeper Renee looked around at the Gallows End Tavern, smiling at her decorations--what a fine Hallow's Even it will be, she thought, squinting at all the candles so they would blur in her vision. The pumpkins so finely carved, too.
Gathered around the hearth, a group of Grims sat, drinking slowly and looking weary, haggard and battle-torn. Their eyes were haunted. The Old God of Death was dead by their hands, but as Yichimet looked around at his companions, he saw a flat horror behind their eyes that he knew he shared. He remembered the things he had seen, the things that deadly Power had shown him in his own skull. He took a deep breath.
"Only by telling the words, friends, do we get the stone out of our bellies. Tell us all what you saw, and we will hope to clear our minds of his horror."
----
((
In honor of Hallow's Eve, and our defeat of Yogg-Saron with First Light, let's share our characters' visions that they were shown in the fight against him. It can be taken directly from the fight--visions of Deathwing or Arthas or what have you--or they can be totally made up, and reflect the inner fears of your characters.
It doesn't matter if your character was there for the defeat or not--all Grim are present at our guild victories. Start writing! Scariest story wins!
))
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
[Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
Last edited by Yichimet on Tue Oct 27, 2009 4:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
The three crones turned their attention to Khorshah, one of them reaching out to grip his forearm. This one has felt the master's touch. We could promise you power, Knight. Power such as you once lost... Khorshah stared into the fire, his face blank, and said nothing when Yichimet spoke. The Keeper's words brought the visions back to his mind, though. Memories... and something else.
If you stand in our way, if you show any signs of slipping, you will likely be murdered for that. Nymare's words on the night he first joined the Grim. If the Araun proves... unreliable... Separate his head from his shoulders. His own words to Faeriel, come full circle. The mad priest had surprised him, really, though part of him was glad Araun would see another sunrise.
What if I told you I was going to kill your family? Qabian, his tone lightly mocking as ever, and Khorshah reining back his anger, knowing that he needed the Grim if he was to get the vengeance he craved. That craving had dulled in the last few months, though, leaving behind only weariness. What was the point? They fought in the cities of the Alliance, and nothing changed. They faced Arthas' minions in Icecrown, and nothing changed. Arthas himself eluded them. Once-proud warriors had been driven to extremes - led into shameful traps - given up the fight entirely.
If you show any signs of slipping, you will likely be murdered for that. The Argent Crusade prepared to march on Icecrown even now; Anub'rekhan's defeat in the tunnels beneath the Coliseum had energized warriors of both factions. The final battle in the Citadel loomed. This one has felt the Master's touch... He still didn't know if he was strong enough.
He stood on the steps of Icecrown Citadel, before the final gate, at the vanguard of five full fists of Grim. Lythande stood at his side, the Blood Knight leaning on her sword, panting with exertion from the last fight against Arthas' guardians. His hands shifted on his rune-scribed axe; and then he swung, frost-rimed steel cleaving through the elf's helm in a spray of blood and gore. He heard Yichimet's bellow of surprise behind him as he whirled, choking the healer's invocations off with a gesture. The Lich King's voice thundered in his mind, and the power of the Scourge filled his body as the axe swung again and again, sending the blood of his sworn allies spraying in the chill air.
Khorshah let out his breath in a rush as the memory of Yogg-Saron's vision faded; he stared at the fire for a few moments before he realized the tavern had fallen silent. He looked up into Yichimet's face, and the realization that he'd spoken the vision aloud hit him like a blow. He stood quickly enough to send his chair falling back, and said nothing as he stalked out of the common room, ignoring the looks and questions that followed him.
If you stand in our way, if you show any signs of slipping, you will likely be murdered for that. Nymare's words on the night he first joined the Grim. If the Araun proves... unreliable... Separate his head from his shoulders. His own words to Faeriel, come full circle. The mad priest had surprised him, really, though part of him was glad Araun would see another sunrise.
What if I told you I was going to kill your family? Qabian, his tone lightly mocking as ever, and Khorshah reining back his anger, knowing that he needed the Grim if he was to get the vengeance he craved. That craving had dulled in the last few months, though, leaving behind only weariness. What was the point? They fought in the cities of the Alliance, and nothing changed. They faced Arthas' minions in Icecrown, and nothing changed. Arthas himself eluded them. Once-proud warriors had been driven to extremes - led into shameful traps - given up the fight entirely.
If you show any signs of slipping, you will likely be murdered for that. The Argent Crusade prepared to march on Icecrown even now; Anub'rekhan's defeat in the tunnels beneath the Coliseum had energized warriors of both factions. The final battle in the Citadel loomed. This one has felt the Master's touch... He still didn't know if he was strong enough.
He stood on the steps of Icecrown Citadel, before the final gate, at the vanguard of five full fists of Grim. Lythande stood at his side, the Blood Knight leaning on her sword, panting with exertion from the last fight against Arthas' guardians. His hands shifted on his rune-scribed axe; and then he swung, frost-rimed steel cleaving through the elf's helm in a spray of blood and gore. He heard Yichimet's bellow of surprise behind him as he whirled, choking the healer's invocations off with a gesture. The Lich King's voice thundered in his mind, and the power of the Scourge filled his body as the axe swung again and again, sending the blood of his sworn allies spraying in the chill air.
Khorshah let out his breath in a rush as the memory of Yogg-Saron's vision faded; he stared at the fire for a few moments before he realized the tavern had fallen silent. He looked up into Yichimet's face, and the realization that he'd spoken the vision aloud hit him like a blow. He stood quickly enough to send his chair falling back, and said nothing as he stalked out of the common room, ignoring the looks and questions that followed him.
Basic principle: Stay alive! When you die, your DPS is zero.
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
Araun sits wedged into a corner by an alley in the streets of Silvermoon, dressed in scraps and rags. Still too young to grow a proper beard, his face is covered in wispy hairs, many crusted with drool and bits of old food. When someone comes close to him, he screams and chases them off, hooting about rebel angels and the sixfold structure of the planet.
Then a cat comes by, and with an animal shriek Araun leaps up and runs away, dodging through the streets and alleys of the city - each corner presents something worse, some object imbued with a terrible purpose. A vampire street-sign. A small old lady who can read his mind. A tree in a planter box that is watching him. He screams and gibbers, running and running and -
Araun reaches into his vision and plucks the tiny running madman up by the back of his shirt, holding him up for a closer inspection. "Is this the best you can do?" he asks, one eyebrow arched, "I faced the fear of this particular future ages ago." He tosses the tiny vagrant Araun into the air and catches him easily, and then casually bites his own head off. He chews thoughtfully for a bit, then says, "It's a good start, though, I'll give you another shot."
A beast lurches across the frozen plains that were once Lordaeron, an insectile thing, covered in a banded carapace with a thousand thousand tiny scuttling feet. A million humanoid faces sprout from its head, tongues lolling back and forth, drooling as they babble or scream in strange, shifting choruses. And standing atop it, boots crushing a few faces, is Araun, clinging to one of its great horns.
Overhead is the dark sky, only a few stars left glimmering in its black expanse. One dims, flares for a moment, and then is gone - the world seems to get colder, darkness drawing in closer. Even the mountains in the distance are gone now - not just hidden in the darkness, but erased, washed away as a blanket of frozen night descends slowly over the world. And the beast lurches on, heading towards the last star, and the last moments of Azeroth.
Araun looks up into the sky and rolls his eyes, "What part of my mind are you reading? You think I fear the end of the world? I have been looking forward to this, the culmination of all my dreams. I will give you one last chance."
It is a warm day, and Araun is sitting under a willow tree, feet cooling in the edge of a big, still pond. The sun makes shifting patterns on the surface of the water as it shines through the leaves of the tree. A breeze rises up, bringing with it the scent of flowers from the meadow on the other side of the hill. Feeling drowsy, Araun shuts his eyes and starts to drift off - at least, until someone plants a foot against his shoulder and playfully shoves him over.
"Tag. You're it," says a voice, laughing. Araun scrambles to his feet and -
- Araun abruptly stops telling his story. Shadows rise up from under his chair and obscure him. He stares into the fire, scowling, and mutters something about the air being too smoky. He slouches back in his chair and falls silent, waiting for someone else to share.
Then a cat comes by, and with an animal shriek Araun leaps up and runs away, dodging through the streets and alleys of the city - each corner presents something worse, some object imbued with a terrible purpose. A vampire street-sign. A small old lady who can read his mind. A tree in a planter box that is watching him. He screams and gibbers, running and running and -
Araun reaches into his vision and plucks the tiny running madman up by the back of his shirt, holding him up for a closer inspection. "Is this the best you can do?" he asks, one eyebrow arched, "I faced the fear of this particular future ages ago." He tosses the tiny vagrant Araun into the air and catches him easily, and then casually bites his own head off. He chews thoughtfully for a bit, then says, "It's a good start, though, I'll give you another shot."
A beast lurches across the frozen plains that were once Lordaeron, an insectile thing, covered in a banded carapace with a thousand thousand tiny scuttling feet. A million humanoid faces sprout from its head, tongues lolling back and forth, drooling as they babble or scream in strange, shifting choruses. And standing atop it, boots crushing a few faces, is Araun, clinging to one of its great horns.
Overhead is the dark sky, only a few stars left glimmering in its black expanse. One dims, flares for a moment, and then is gone - the world seems to get colder, darkness drawing in closer. Even the mountains in the distance are gone now - not just hidden in the darkness, but erased, washed away as a blanket of frozen night descends slowly over the world. And the beast lurches on, heading towards the last star, and the last moments of Azeroth.
Araun looks up into the sky and rolls his eyes, "What part of my mind are you reading? You think I fear the end of the world? I have been looking forward to this, the culmination of all my dreams. I will give you one last chance."
It is a warm day, and Araun is sitting under a willow tree, feet cooling in the edge of a big, still pond. The sun makes shifting patterns on the surface of the water as it shines through the leaves of the tree. A breeze rises up, bringing with it the scent of flowers from the meadow on the other side of the hill. Feeling drowsy, Araun shuts his eyes and starts to drift off - at least, until someone plants a foot against his shoulder and playfully shoves him over.
"Tag. You're it," says a voice, laughing. Araun scrambles to his feet and -
- Araun abruptly stops telling his story. Shadows rise up from under his chair and obscure him. He stares into the fire, scowling, and mutters something about the air being too smoky. He slouches back in his chair and falls silent, waiting for someone else to share.
Last edited by Anonymous on Tue Oct 27, 2009 6:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
vbhh, m mkl, m k bni bng'vvvvc
AKA: Araun, the.
AKA: Araun, the.
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
Greebo leaned back and looked around the room. 'Faeriel has two necks to watch." The Shadowblade has not been there when the wittering madness had been quited and now it seemed that another conversation was due.Khorshah wrote: He stood quickly enough to send his chair falling back, and said nothing as he stalked out of the common room, ignoring the looks and questions that followed him.
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
(( Two stories--a good start. Let's see if I can drag some of you into it for this week, eh? ))
-
Eternalnight
- Posts: 20
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
Eternalnight sat quietly in the corner, her journal out, recording Khorshah's tale....her discovery about the nature of betrayal was proving fruitful, but was somewhat a post mordem. It would be very interesting to watch as the events unfold. Perhaps when done, she would present this to the council in Dalaran.....She wrote one final note "Subject seems to believe that the inevitable can be avoided, but at the same time unconvinced...is running from one's destiny the cause of it, or are we strapped to face our fate no matter our course of actions? This is a side study I must perform later..."
-
lascivious
- Posts: 552
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
((I am Grim. I am the nightmare.))Yichimet wrote: (( Two stories--a good start. Let's see if I can drag some of you into it for this week, eh? ))
[IMG]http://i234.photobucket.com/albums/ee115/alanatn/cd55b8fafedd540a.png[/IMG]
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
So very still. She could sit like that for hours, her intense green eyes barely flickering in their almond shaped sockets, languid form draped upon one of the common chairs in chilly rigidity. The invitation had been offered to speak and send forth to the communal air the writhing fears that had swept about them at the fall of the Old God of Death. To speak of terror.
"It began as a childish dare offered in the dead of winter. Homes were overly hot yet the weather outside just the opposite with a roguish gale freezing your breath in mid gasp and knifing its blades through your very soul." She looked about to see if any listened before letting her quiet gaze drift to the roaring fire in the hearth. Her cool and musical lilt of a voice continued.
----------------------------
"No guts. No guts." prattled the youth, "She's a scaredy human." while the elven youths huddled in the lee of a cheerfully painted building out of the worst of the blizzard that tore about them. There were about half a dozen elven children.
With a petulant pout to her pretty little lips the elven girl hissed back, "Take that back, Terel!" The icy winds whipped her hair about her face even with the heavy toque pulled down over her elvish ears.
He did not.
On the outskirts of the village the distant warmth of the huddled homes was an ice shrouded memory. The cold here killed. Squinting her green eyes the little elfling walked as far as she wanted to, always glancing back fretfully, then walked further still with the snow whipping her cloak about her body violently. Finally she stopped to look back. The village could not be seen. All that existed was the shadowy trail of her passage through the snow.
----------------------------
Offering an uncharacteristic shiver Frya looked up from the fire, "In the snowy countrysides there is a legend told of the ice that lives which feeds on the warm souls of bad little children and breathes dark ice into their hearts. But when you are a child the gravity of good or bad are formless words without any volume. Peer pressure has volume and it is always tauntingly loud.
----------------------------
Lifting a foot she felt the suction of it nearly frozen into the snowy ground. She braved the dare. She could go back now. A shivering of icy specks upon her cheeks reminded her that she had not quite finished the dare. No there was yet one more task that would need to be taken before the dare was done. Looking about furtively she took in a gaspingly cold lungful of air and raising her childish voice into the gale she shouted, "Not afraid of the ice monster." Nothing happened. Nervously exhaling a steaming breath she took in another deep lungful to shout, "Not AFRAID of the ICE monster!" and still nothing but the chilly wind whipped about her. Nothing but darkness and glaring ice to view. Practically giggling she shouted out with glee at her victory, the dare fulfilled and her bravery assured, "NOT AFRAID of the ICE ..."
The glass-like tinkling sound came from behind.
----------------------------
Halting in her story the mage unhurriedly set down her now cooled cup and exhaled slowly, the heated beverage luke warm in her telling, then she stood from the chair and turned for the door.
"What of the girl?" asked one of the gathered.
She paused at the entryway with her back to the room. Half turning the mage drew the door open wide to the snowy beyond allowing a cold gust into the warm room. The silvery snow outside glittered off her cool green eyes casting an icey blue sheen and then in a shivering of ice shards blown in from the cold outside she was gone, disappeared; the door left ajar.
"It began as a childish dare offered in the dead of winter. Homes were overly hot yet the weather outside just the opposite with a roguish gale freezing your breath in mid gasp and knifing its blades through your very soul." She looked about to see if any listened before letting her quiet gaze drift to the roaring fire in the hearth. Her cool and musical lilt of a voice continued.
----------------------------
"No guts. No guts." prattled the youth, "She's a scaredy human." while the elven youths huddled in the lee of a cheerfully painted building out of the worst of the blizzard that tore about them. There were about half a dozen elven children.
With a petulant pout to her pretty little lips the elven girl hissed back, "Take that back, Terel!" The icy winds whipped her hair about her face even with the heavy toque pulled down over her elvish ears.
He did not.
On the outskirts of the village the distant warmth of the huddled homes was an ice shrouded memory. The cold here killed. Squinting her green eyes the little elfling walked as far as she wanted to, always glancing back fretfully, then walked further still with the snow whipping her cloak about her body violently. Finally she stopped to look back. The village could not be seen. All that existed was the shadowy trail of her passage through the snow.
----------------------------
Offering an uncharacteristic shiver Frya looked up from the fire, "In the snowy countrysides there is a legend told of the ice that lives which feeds on the warm souls of bad little children and breathes dark ice into their hearts. But when you are a child the gravity of good or bad are formless words without any volume. Peer pressure has volume and it is always tauntingly loud.
----------------------------
Lifting a foot she felt the suction of it nearly frozen into the snowy ground. She braved the dare. She could go back now. A shivering of icy specks upon her cheeks reminded her that she had not quite finished the dare. No there was yet one more task that would need to be taken before the dare was done. Looking about furtively she took in a gaspingly cold lungful of air and raising her childish voice into the gale she shouted, "Not afraid of the ice monster." Nothing happened. Nervously exhaling a steaming breath she took in another deep lungful to shout, "Not AFRAID of the ICE monster!" and still nothing but the chilly wind whipped about her. Nothing but darkness and glaring ice to view. Practically giggling she shouted out with glee at her victory, the dare fulfilled and her bravery assured, "NOT AFRAID of the ICE ..."
The glass-like tinkling sound came from behind.
----------------------------
Halting in her story the mage unhurriedly set down her now cooled cup and exhaled slowly, the heated beverage luke warm in her telling, then she stood from the chair and turned for the door.
"What of the girl?" asked one of the gathered.
She paused at the entryway with her back to the room. Half turning the mage drew the door open wide to the snowy beyond allowing a cold gust into the warm room. The silvery snow outside glittered off her cool green eyes casting an icey blue sheen and then in a shivering of ice shards blown in from the cold outside she was gone, disappeared; the door left ajar.
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v483/ryayukou/frybanner2_finalcopy-1.jpg[/img]
How cold ... the Frygyd mage ...
How cold ... the Frygyd mage ...
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
(( Awesome, Frygyd. Glad to see this one still going! ))
Re: [Sharing the Fire] Visions from Yogg-Saron ((Scary Story Contest!))
Hush now darling. No need to cry. Safe and warm. Happy and dry. Truth. Playful fingers move and cast gaily dancing shadows on the smooth high white walls. A rabbit. A snake. A gull passing by. So clever little child. Intelligent and bright. So sleep now my dreamer and close your eyes tight. No need to watch. You can feel them in movement as I cast them on the wall so near your sweet head. The rabbit. The snake. The gull passing by. Wave your hands merrily and invite them to draw near. With such a happy smile they have nothing to fear. They dance now to music that only you hear but the manner of merriment is naturally clear. They giggle and cavort and spin around you in dance so happy to play with you given the chance. Yes animals can laugh you know this to be true and dance and make merry and happily too. You can feel it inside them that place all hold dear. Where the life of the moment is pounding so near. The rabbit. The snake. The gull passing by. So happy to be with you and here they will die. Their hearts thudding madly; these lives you drain dry.
Cold. They had found her in the morning half buried in snow. The elders said she had no right to be alive and the healers sternly commented that she certainly would not be with more dawdling words. Shuffling their feet guiltily the children who had offered the dare had, one or the other, finally broken down in worry and murmured fearful words to a parent. Then roused from their warm huts the adults had begun the search. After a night spent in the snow her toes were blackened in frostbite with hard patches of dark grey on her cheeks. Curled in upon herself her dainty fingers had received no harm and seemed unnaturally warm to the touch for a time before her body was slowly brought back to a normal temperature. Those who tended her muttered quietly amongst themselves about the girls hands while more concerned sorts swatted them about heads or shoulders to hurry them in their task to save the young elflings life. What a terrible thing. How horrid a jest. Children could be so cruel. Adults have years to see the results of bad behavior. Hurt feelings and friendships broken over the simplest misunderstandings. Every action has consequence and should be weighed with the wisdom of ones years to ensure that the reaction is the one sought. Some adults seek bad reactions. Let us not dwell on that oddity however. Let us instead ponder the disoveries in the snow about the young elven girl. The still corpse of a rabbit, a snow snake and a frozen white gull.
Cold. They had found her in the morning half buried in snow. The elders said she had no right to be alive and the healers sternly commented that she certainly would not be with more dawdling words. Shuffling their feet guiltily the children who had offered the dare had, one or the other, finally broken down in worry and murmured fearful words to a parent. Then roused from their warm huts the adults had begun the search. After a night spent in the snow her toes were blackened in frostbite with hard patches of dark grey on her cheeks. Curled in upon herself her dainty fingers had received no harm and seemed unnaturally warm to the touch for a time before her body was slowly brought back to a normal temperature. Those who tended her muttered quietly amongst themselves about the girls hands while more concerned sorts swatted them about heads or shoulders to hurry them in their task to save the young elflings life. What a terrible thing. How horrid a jest. Children could be so cruel. Adults have years to see the results of bad behavior. Hurt feelings and friendships broken over the simplest misunderstandings. Every action has consequence and should be weighed with the wisdom of ones years to ensure that the reaction is the one sought. Some adults seek bad reactions. Let us not dwell on that oddity however. Let us instead ponder the disoveries in the snow about the young elven girl. The still corpse of a rabbit, a snow snake and a frozen white gull.
[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v483/ryayukou/frybanner2_finalcopy-1.jpg[/img]
How cold ... the Frygyd mage ...
How cold ... the Frygyd mage ...