The tavern around you is quiet, as a single raconteur tells a story. "The song of the Black Diamond can only be sung by the Daughter of The Cursed Star, who hasn't been seen in many years. Legend has it that when sung, the song of the Black Diamond-" Another patron interrupts the first. "The song of the Black Diamond and the Daughter of The Cursed Star is just a legend, the song isn't even real, and neither is the Daughter!" The other patrons in the tavern murmur in agreement. "I can prove you otherwise." The first patron says. "Oh, let me guess, you know the song of the Black Diamond! Yeah, yeah, we've all heard it! People making up a song and saying it's the Black Diamond!" Says the second. "I've also heard the illegitimate Black Diamond songs, but I assure you, this song is the song of the Black Diamond." The first patron says in response. "Ah, what the hell, I haven't to be back for a dozen drinks or so." The second patron says as he orders yet another drink. As the tavern quiets down yet again, the first patron pulls out a lyre from a satchel sitting by his feet and begins to play a quick but eerie tune. As he begins to play, some people flee the tavern in fear of the tale. As things settle down, and it's clear that the remaining patrons intend to stay, something else is heard alongside the lyre.
A person humming along with the tune…
A few patrons shift uncomfortably, and a voice starts to sing. The remaining people in the tavern erupt into chaos as the doors to the exit slam shut, and as they do, you see a shadow envelop the few people who got away. You stay calm, knowing that if the legends are true, nothing you do can save you from the fate that awaits you now. The voice grows louder and the first patron is looking horrified, and yet, seems unable to stop playing his lyre. You notice a woman dressed in black attire, with a hood on her head. As she steps forward, past the few remaining patrons who have huddled in a corner, a black string made of shadow having sewn their lips closed, she removes the hood, and a crown with a black jewel is resting upon her head. It seems to vibrate as she nears the first patron. As she walks past the bodies laying on the ground, you see white mist emerge from their mouths and eyes, circling her crown before being consumed by the black jewel resting upon it. She now stands in front of the first patron and bends down to look him in the eyes. her lips move, but the words you hear don't match the shapes her mouth makes, it looks as if she is still singing the song. "Thank you for playing my song. I haven't heard it in so very long, and it makes Olive so very happy." "Who- Who are you?" The first patron asks. The woman is silent, before putting one hand on her waist, and the other on her nose. "Seriously, why is everyone this century so incredibly dull?!" The woman makes a swiping motion with the hand opposite of you, and the patrons on that side of the room go flying into a wall, crumpling into heaps on the ground as white mist leaves their eyes and mouths."I'm the daughter of the Cursed Star!! She screams. The woman collects herself and takes a deep breath before continuing. "Now, I would really like to take you with me, as you are the only one in the last two hundred years to have learned the song, and the fact that I was in this tavern at the same time you were, on the day which you were going to die, and that's only if the royal guards didn't get to you first" She pauses and takes a deep breath "Is astounding. But as that is against the rules, I guess I can't, and so, you have a number of options, three, to be exact." She pauses and closes her eyes before continuing. "Would you like me to kill you now, and let Olive take your soul to do as they want with you? Would you like to be turned over to Uullboouer, The Elemortal of Pain? Or would you like to be-" She pauses yet again? "You know what, you only have two choices, and if you don't decide, (gender-neutral pronoun) will." The Daughter of the Cursed Star gestures to you. Your eyes go wide, but you stay silent, not that you have a choice, with a thread of shadow having sewn your mouth shut. "Make your choice, patron…" The man has his eyes closed and is silently saying a prayer to himself. "Fine." The Daughter says and looks to you. "What is your choice?" As she says this, the thread unravels from your lips. "How can I possibly decide the fate of this man," You say to the Daughter. "Oh to hell with it, just give me an answer!" You pause before saying: "Uullboouer." The Daughter laughs and says: "Interesting choice." She closes her eyes and a shimmering circle appears on one wall. "Welcome to… what do they call it here? AD-32840." She says before lifting the patron from his chair and shoving him into the shimmering circle. When the man passes through, the music stops playing, the portal closes, and the ominous feeling in the room leaves. The woman walks to the door, puts up her hood, nods at you, and leaves the ruined tavern.
The man stands in the blackwater of the crumbling Old Library, the water cascading down from the empty shelves rushes towards a hole in the middle of the lobby, down to the Void. A glowing piece of parchment rushes by him and he manages to pick it out of the blackwater. Touching the parchment, it turns into a broken gold slab with an inscription in his hands. The water is cold, but he can't leave yet.
In the beginning, the Void made three
The Scarlet, The Archmage, The Broken King.
The rest of the golden slab is missing, it was scattered everywhere through space and time when it fell into the Void after the Archive started to decay. The man already knew this line of the poem, he heard a woman muttering it to herself within an alleyway in Orioik. When he finally found the woman, she thanked him and crumbled to dust. Because all knowledge was contained in The Wanderers' Archive, the man thought it would be worth the trip to see if a fragment of the prophecy might still be in its ruins. He raises his hands to the crumbling ceiling and the shadowy water rises in a corkscrew around him.
He was born with magic in his blood, and after years of fine-tuning his power, he had gained mastery over his abilities, able to control esoteric ideas, elements, and, monsters. A master of all schools of magic, even the ones long forgotten. The water swirls around him and his spirit spirals towards the Wanderers' Library. Blackwater splashes onto the marble floor as he appears and the corkscrew of water covers the white marble turning them to a dark grey. He sprints through the Library, the Docents following close behind. turning left at an intersection, he run towards the edge of a balcony, a precipice over a dark pit. Behind him, Docents descend from the colossal shelves, their lanterns glowing red reflecting the emotions of the hoard. The eyes of The Docents are blank, showing no emotion or concern, their lanterns convey all that the hoard feels and thinks. The sound of an enormous screech fills the Library and a giant centipede crawls down the shelves. mounting the railing, the man turns towards the oncoming mass of Librarians, twiddles his fingers, and falls backward into the abyss.
As he falls through the cold, uncaring darkness, Docents jump over the balcony. He looks at his wristwatch. "Seven more seconds… I hope I haven't miscalculated." The man had an anomalous wristwatch. He found it inside his bedside table one day, with a note from an organization called the Propheseekers' Agency. Because of his magical prowess, the man was offered a position as a Seeker… The man loses sight of the balcony above "Seven." The agency had a goal to collect and archive all prophecies and make predictions on the events they detail. The agency sells copies of these prophecies to gambling organizations that would place bets on the outcomes of the prophecies… Everything around the man was black as he continued falling, cold air rushing around his form. "Six." Seekers were tasked with piecing together broken prophecies and returning them to the agency… around the man are the lights of the falling Docents in the shadows all around him "Five." With the wristwatch was a short explanation written by the agency explaining its abilities. The watch could control the manifestation of Ways, to some extent. The watch was controlled by the wearer's thoughts and had different functions based on the needs of the wearer… Their lights that were once red… "Four." The face of the wristwatch always displays a countdown. What it is counting down to changes when the wearer twists the face of the watch and displays a countdown to what the wearer wants to know… Are now black "Three." The dials on the watch have the main function of controlling the exact location of where a Way will appear. On occasion, the dials can be used as buttons that force the Way to appear instantly. "That's weird," The man thinks, "the lanterns of The Docents should reflect the mood of the entire hive, not the singular workers… Odd…" "Two." In this case, the man wanted to know when a floor would appear at the bottom of this abyss. Normally, this pit doesn't have a bottom, but every so often, a floor appears for a time. Faintly, in the distance, the floor of the library accelerates towards the man. "That's good," he thinks, " it seems everything is happening as it should" "One." He hears the bodies of the Docents slamming into the hard floor and he falls through a Way.
The man is shot out of the way and slides down a clean, white, empty corridor. "Where-?" He gets up and brushes himself off. touching his lips, his hand comes away bloody. Behind him is a streak of blood from where he hit the tiles. With a flicking motion, the blood disappears from the floor and the man's face heals. Walking down the empty white hallways, he passes many locked chambers. Suddenly, the lights in the hallway flicker and turn off with a clunk. From the ceiling, a siren emerges and floods the hallway with red light. An automated voice comes over the PA system "Containment breach in hallway 5B, SCP-173 has escaped containment… Initiating experimental countermeasures… SCP-131 released." A blur of color rushes past the man and turns right at the end of the hallway. As the man continues walking, he aggressively gestures towards the siren which explodes in a shower of glass and casts the hallway into darkness. He floats up to the lights which turn on at his touch. As the first light comes alive again, the man comes face to face with a concrete statue and was completely oblivious to just how close to death he had been. On the ground were two colorful blobs with an eye in the center of their bodies, looking unblinkingly at the statue. He moves past the group of creatures and down the corridor where a group
"hands behind your head! Get on your knees" You comply with the demands of a figure dressed in combat armor. You have no idea where you are "Open containment cell 14 in section CA 31." More figures in combat armor grab your shoulders and heave you up from the ground. "Take him to an interview room, but keep that containment cell open." You feel yourself being dragged by the guards into a tiled white room "I can take it from here, gentlemen" You shrug off the guards and sit yourself down in the chair facing the two-way mirror. The door opens and an ordinary man in a suit walks in, you notice that he is wearing tanned leather shoes. // "You just used my line." //The figure sits down and laces his fingers together. //Let's start with a simple question, how did you materialize out of thin air in the middle of a secured facility?" //You readjust yourself in the chair. "I jumped off of a balcony in The Wanderers' Library, perhaps you've heard of it? I fell through a Way as I was about to hit the floor." he shifts in his seat and makes a confused face. "The Wanderers' Library has been mapped by this organization over millennia, there is no floor." he unlaces his fingers. "You would be correct under most circumstances. I just happened to have jumped in the right place, at the right time." You shift in your seat "And how did you know when to jump? What made you certain that you wouldn't keep falling forever?" You tap your wristwatch… "This tells me when and where something will be different… you turn a dial "and you'll see what this does." A Way appears behind you and you jump backward out of your chair through the way "Get them!" The way closes and severs the arm of an agent who was trying to grab you.
You fall into a dark room with the sound of crying in the corner… Shit… You check your watch and it reads 10:00:00 and starts to count down. "Ten hours with this thing." You curse under your breath. "(Find some onomatopoeia for whining)" You flinch at the sound of the creature's cries. It's dark… until a faint golden glow fills a corner of the room… Goddamn it. "(Find some onomatopoeia for crying noises)" A piece of the prophecy.. here… of all times… of all places. You decide to curl up in the corner for a while and think of how you should take the piece from the creature… You wake up and before you can open your eyes, you feel breathing in your face. It smells like rotting flesh and dried blood. "Fuck!" You scream and push the creature back with your eyes slammed tightly closed. The creature makes a confused moaning sound and you feel it return to the corner opposite you. You look at your watch and it reads 00:01:00 "Shit!" You curse again. You adjust a few dials on your watch and wait for the ten-second mark. You ready yourself and open your eyes, charging at the creature. You tackle it to the ground and rip the golden parchment from its mouth. You see its face… Oh Gods, its face. The monster starts to cry and shriek, filling the room with noise "Four…" It curls up in a ball "Three…" it starts to shake… "Two…" It starts to snarl "One…!" It gets up! You jump backward with all of your might and go flying through a Way just as its arm strikes outwards towards you. You let out a storm of curses as you fall into the Wanderers' Library. The creature's arm is severed, but still moving towards you with incredible agility. With acrobatic skill, you spring away from the arm and run once again through the library, the arm somehow keeping up with you. "Uhh… Right, left, left, left, right, left, right, right." You say as you follow your own directions to another banister overlooking an abyss. You know this abyss is the only one in the library that never has a floor. You turn around and duck as the arm of the creature flies over your head and into the abyss below. "That's right, you pale-faced son of a bitch!" You scream into the darkness. A loud 'Shhhh' fills your mind as the Carers scold you for your tone. "Sorry." You whisper. You check your watch, it reads 72:00:00. You take out the piece of parchment and watch it transfigure into a golden slab in your hands. You put the two slabs together and the crack which separates them begins to glow and heal from one side to the other.
In the beginning, the Void made three
The Scarlet, The Archmage, The Broken King.
The Scarlet Ozi̮rmok, greater than Ion.
More power than a diety, missing its ring.
With its two brothers, together make me.
You walk to the newly renovated Sector 9 OE13 lobby, scrubbed of all blackwater stains. You approach The Archivist who regards you silently. "Ah, Vesper, back to pay for the damages I see…" You grimace "Yeah… I'm a little delayed on my payments this month… I have been preoccupied, I haven't been able to collect any bounties. I had a peculiar limb, but I ended up losing it to the abyss in Sector 7 IL24…" The Archivist squirms in place "If you aren't able to pay for the damages you'll need to serve the library for a dozen millennia as a Page." Well at least you'll get the fun job. "Give me 72 hours to pay back the debt, I'll have it paid for within that limit." The Archivist turns its body towards you as much as it can. "72 hours" it repeats "Thanks Viv, I'll make sure to pay for it all by then." The Archivist makes an exasperated sound and goes back to its work. You make a lifting gesture with your hand and you begin to hover off the ground. With another gesture, wind swirls around you, transports you to another section of the Library. You turn the face of your watch and it reads 00:00:12. You run to a balcony and check your watch one more time before hurtling over the edge. Before long, you see the floor of the Library rushing up towards you. You nod your head upwards, slowing yourself to a halt before touching the ground. There has to be something of value down here. You look around you and see coins… lots of coins. It seems that people use these voids as wishing wells. You see watches, plastic bags, straws, swords, wands, staffs, but mostly trash. You walk around, picking up the more valuable items, wondering if Viv will let you off the hook if you pick up all this trash. Lifting your hand, you make a ball and the trash rises from the ground and compresses into a rough ball shape. You flick your wrist and the trash disappears, leaving the valuables on the ground. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open your eyes, some of the objects are bathed in light. "That'll do it." After collecting the objects, you plant your feet. "Ahsesh" You feel yourself becoming weightless and you accelerate into the air until you reach the balcony where you start to make your way towards the Sector 9 OE13 Lobby. "Caeursal" You drop a few inches onto the floor and brush yourself off, waving to Viv. "Does the library accept artifacts as payment?" You walk over to the Archivist's desk and bequeath the pile of valuables to it. "The Library appreciates your efforts of justice." The pile of valuables melts in front of you and purple mist rises from the heap, vaporized enchantment, which is bottled by the archivist. The molten gold forms into a bar and is absorbed by the desk.
Next step ideas: Breach in Matkauer, conjuring peanut or lizard, find termination attempt.
- The First Storms And Their Aftermath.
- Dr. Stele's Children.
- The Storm and The Storm Children. Chapter 1.
The first storm arrived seventeen years ago… No one thought much of it, just another large storm, the only thing that anyone found interesting was that the storm rained excessively, causing floods in smaller communities.
The first Storm. Water.
The storm ended up lasting for a year, covering all of North America in the process. After a year, the Storm dissipated, and in its wake, children started to show strange abilities surrounding water. Some of these children started to go missing, attributed in Canada to the children getting lost, In Florida it was attributed to spirits stealing the children away, and in the U.S.A, the missing children were blamed on the government. In the aftermath of the Storm, thirty-thousand children were believed to be affected, and around twenty casualties were reported as a result of the children.
A ten-year-old child was interviewed by the Canadian Press, and he was filled with a child-like wonder throughout the entire interview. After the interview concluded, the child was lost after rounding a corner and local law enforcement was unable to find the child.
Some of these children were deemed dangerous, and so, the area of land that had been recently discovered off the southern tip of Florida (around the size of Kouripe) was designated as the location where all of these children would be put: Sector X.
Sector X
One year after the first storm ended, another storm came, arriving on the same day as the first. The storm created a cold snap, killing tens of thousands of civilians, and resulting in five Storm Born children who possessed low-temperature related abilities, three of which went missing before they were exiled to Sector X.
Each year since then, there has been a one year gap between each storm, and multiple organizations have come out from the dark announcing themselves, one of which is the Global Occult Coalition, who have publicly stated that they would rather kill the children than exile them, the idea has been rejected multiple times by forty-two out of fifty global governments. Each storm appears on the same day and time as the storm prior to it. Each storm is different in terms of effects, ranging from causing plants to grow to causeing droughts that kill millions.
In the seventeen years of storms, around two billion people have been killed, and around one hundred and sixty-three thousand children were affected. Around a year after the Storms started, the number of missing children elevated drastically, and efforts to locate them have all failed.
Effects of the first Ice Storm. The image quality is degraded because of the extreme tempratures.
The third Storm caused excessive plant growth in all areas where it reached. Around four hundred people went missing as a result of overgrowth, presumed to have been trapped behind foliage. There were only three children who were affected by the storm, all of whom went missing only a week after its conclusion.
(The Storm; [The Storm Children; {Testing; <Test_Alpha>}])
Validating Request…
…
…
…
Request Validated.
[Storm: Frigid | Test_Scale: 10'000 | Ages: 4-13]
Processing Verification…
…
…
…
User Verified, Welcome Dr. ʋລ٢༏ᕪ𝝒.
The Storm arrived on schedule and killed 4'000 children within two hours. 4'500 children survived four more hours. The remaining 500 children remained to shiver for two days and the brain activity of 400 of these children was absent despite the shivering. Out of the 100 children who remained alive, 30 developed permanent frost patterns on their skin, 40 developed immunity to -250 degrees celsius, 20 developed water and ice manipulation abilities, 9 developed a condition in which the blood of whoever makes eye contact with them freezes, and 1 child developed the ability to change the temperature surrounding her to -273.15 degrees celsius in 2.5 seconds. The test lasted 100 days in total, and the surviving children were exiled to Sector X.
Dr. Stele requests a larger test group for the next Frigid Storm: "It seems that the larger the test group, the higher the likelihood for rarer abilities, I would like to see how far this theory progresses"
You come to a doorway that has: "The Storm and The Storm Children" chiseled into its wooden frame. Next to the doorway are two stacks of pamphlets, one labeled The First Storms And Their Aftermath. The other labeled "Dr. Stele's Children." Each stack of pamphlets has a message etched into the wood drawers where they sit: Please take only one! After reading both pamphlets, You step through the doorway and your vision blurs before returning to normal. You stand in the middle of a… Junkyard? You look down and see that you are standing on a dirt floor, and on your left, there is a row of storage lockers stretching in either direction for as far as you can see. To your right is a vast open field and in the distance, you can see buildings. There are children walking around, the youngest you guess are around 4, and the oldest, 15. You see a girl holding a boy's arm, there is a big scratch on the boy's arm, the boy is crying and everyone around him is also crying, although most of them look annoyed. The girl closes her eyes and your vision turns pink momentarily before clearing when you notice the girl holding a pink balloon. She holds the balloon to the boy's arm and pops it, which makes you blink, and you see that the scratch is completely healed, the little boy is no longer crying, and you notice that no one else is either. Your vision goes pink again, and the little girl gives the boy a pink balloon that she ties to his wrist, and the little boy runs into the field. As you are looking around you feel a tingling sensation and a group of four kids walks through you.
"Cmon, Rebbeca, you know we can't do that. Katie can't even swim! We've already talked to Mason about it and he said that the shore is way too far away for anyone to swim to! And don't you remember what Ben said!"
The kid that spoke looks about 12 or 13 years old. He was talking to a Rebbeca, who looked about 10 or 11. You assume that Katie is the little girl wearing noise canceling ear protection, around 7 or 8, who is holding the hand of a teenaged boy who you at first think is Mason, before deciding that Mason was probably the kid who has a booth set up in a storage locker with a sign that reads: "Maps!" with skulls and treasure chests drawn around it, and Ben was whos hand she was holding
"But I could do it! Cmon Noah, you know I can make it!"
As Noah is about to say something in response, Ben chimes in:
"No, Rebbeca, you can't. The bad people put up a barrier that stops any Storm Children from escaping the island, I've told you that before."
Ben looks to be around 16 or 17, and he has a grimacing expression on his face. Just as Rebbeca is about to retort, a car pulls up and two children, you guess 18 and 19 get out. All the children in the area stop playing and there is dead silence for a moment before a number of littles run into storage lockers, ushered in by the older children who slam the vertical doors shut. Two of the teenagers, twins, who you assume 14 or 15, put their hands on each storage locker and close their eyes as the container doors gain a shimmering texture before the twins move in opposite directions down the row of lockers.
"We are here representing humanity!" The 18-year old yells
"We have come to tell you good news!" The 19-year-old exclaims while smiling
"Humanity has collectively decided to bring 5 Storm Children back from Sector X!" Yells the 18 year old
The children who didn't run into the storage lockers murmur amongst themselves. The twins come back to the main group after sealing all of the lockers, you are astonished at how fast they managed to seal them. Then Katie yells.
"They are lying!! They wanna find the greatest of us to test on!! If you live after the tests, they kill you!!" She yells at the top of her lungs before running behind Ben, whose hand she is still holding. At this, the twins unseal 2 lockers and more children run into them before the twins reseal them. The twins are starting to look exhausted. The remaining children look to be between the ages of 14 and 17, except for Katie who runs behind the twins.
"You little bastard!" The 18-year-old screams before she starts running towards Katie and the twins
The twins close their eyes and make a swinging motion with their arms before thrusting their palms towards the oncoming attacker. As the twins thrust forward their arms, the air in front of them develops the same shimmering texture as the lockers and moves quickly towards the oncoming girl who gets thrown backward by the oncoming wall. When she hits the ground next to the car, she lets out a screech. Her eyes turn white and her hair falls out of its ponytail and moves as if she was underwater. The girl levitates off the ground and cracks her neck
"The Coalition is right, you rats need to be exterminated"
Your eyes go hazy once again and you stumble backward and fall onto your back. You look up once your vision clears and you see the same doorway as earlier, now with a device that looks like you could swipe your library card in… You decide that you've had enough time in the Wanderers Library for today… or… whatever time it isn't… And you turn around to leave the endless shelves upon shelves of books. "Until next time." You say to the Library.
- Cattails
- Grove
- The Black Diamond
- The Land of Veriil. (Prologue)
- The Pheonix Embassay
- Allusion to Stranger Things
- Should We Wander?
- To Kill a --Mockingbird-- Geologist
- A Crimson Dawn
- The King in Yellow
If you take a look down near water or in the marshes, down where the water is crystal clear, and the reeds brush your ankles, wherein the summer, the horseflies bite, and the water striders flick around, you might find the cattail; a reed like no other. Many believe that this thing is but a simple plant with a spongy, tail-like flower.
A cattail is a group of living creatures who live together in a community. A lot like coral, the creatures that make up the cattail work together to form a single flower, before becoming ripe and exploding at the slightest touch. Each individual organism that makes up a cattail is actually a prismatic butterfly egg. After hatching, the newborn butterflies dry their wings, this is why a cattail puffs up when it is ripe. Something interesting about the prismatic butterfly is that it skips its caterpillar stage, instead, they hatch straight from an egg to a butterfly. Prismatic butterfly eggs are laid on the stem of a Cattail as soon as the shoot emerges from the ground and more are laid as the plant matures. The eggs are held together by a sticky substance that covers the eggs after leaving the mother.
Oftentimes, people try to take a bite out of a ripe cattail, thinking of fresh oats when doing so, as its texture would suggest. However, this can prove fatal. When taking a bite out of a ripe cattail, a creature can suffocate when the hatchling prismatic butterflies let go of each other and expand within their lungs. On occasion, when the traveler survives taking a bite, the prismatic butterfly newborns can cause the person who bit them to lose interest in all things, as their full-grown equivalents do with complete efficiency. Now when you leave this place, take a closer look at a cattail, or maybe even pick up a ripe one and twirl it in your fingers, because when you do, you will be blessed to see the prismatic butterflies in all their glory.
This song which ancient fates foretold,
While it plays, the world will grow.
Grow and grow it will not stop.
Even when bodies start to drop.
Within the trees, in the grove,
A flower bloomed all but alone.
Grown with song,
Covered in earth.
The serpent's hand, the nine did birth.
A flower picked.
The soil screamed,
a vow of blood,
the scarlet ring.
Guardian of earth,
sing of rebirth.
Soul of stone,
a concrete tome.
floor of green, a secret keen
long ago, blood did flow.
A howling law lost in steam
the eldritch king, a golden sheen.
The rest of the poem is torn off, the library quakes around you.
the soul of a child
filled with resentment
trapped within its diamond prison
A song was sung,
long, long ago
which made the child stir
she opened her eyes
for the very first time
in some ten thousand years.
all who bore witness
fell to their knees
and the child took their breath
the song that was made
then faded away
and again the child slept
a doctor named
of ashen wood
went diving in the deep
Where forgotten songs
and prophets lie,
where monsters never sleep
he found the song,
of the diamond black
and rose up from the deep.
The doctor shared
what he had found
and shelved it far away.
Over the years,
with many tears,
thousands sang the tune.
The child appeared
(knocked over their beer)
and traped them and her song.
A small town in the middle of a forest called Veriil is struggling to survive amidst the creatures that roam the woods. In the day, flameweavers burn the walls of the village while fairies hex the inhabitants. During the night, shadewalkers move in the shadows and eldritch creatures prowl the edge of the woods, always just out of sight. On the horizon, a colossus rises from the earth itself … the forest made manifest and a constant reminder to the people of the land that the jungle they inhabit is alive…
break
break
In the land called Veriil, there was a village which the people called Kiashi, for the wind. The creatures of Veriil terrorized the villagers… In the day, they would set fire to their village and in the night the creatures of the darkness would take the people's children to feast upon in their caves. So it was for countless generations, day and night, fire and loss. This was the way things were and it was all people of the village knew, for years and years. This was until a boy was born to the people on the night of the black moon. His eyes were gold and his blood was magic. All of Veriil was silent that night, even the colossus on the horizon grew dim.
And there was a night of peace for the village.
On the next night, a shadewalker visited the town. It set its eyes on the boy named Haron, for hope. While the people of the town slept, the shadewalker filled the shadows and shifted apart from them. It looked over the child who laid on a bed of mythril, his town believing him to be the one who would calm the wild of Veriil. The sleeping Haron awoke and his eyes shone with the light of ten thousand stars. The shadewalker fell apart, for the light of day had touched its skin.
And there was a second night of peace for the village.
Then the dawn came and as the day grew long, flameweavers attacked Kiashi. They burned its walls to ashes and the forces of day came into the town. A fairy found the child named Haron and spoke to him. Chanting in an ancient tongue long forgotten to most in Veriil, she spoke a prophecy to the newborn. The ancient words which the fairy chanted contained a curse: the child would never be able to forget the words of the prophecy. Even though he heard it as a newborn, it would stick with him his whole life; the cryptic words haunting his every waking moment. The baby Haron began to wail and so then did the walls reform from the ash. All creatures of light that were left in Kiashi became without movement and were pulled by the wind Goddess Kyashai into the pit that resided in the west.
And there was a third night of peace for the village.
And so, the boy grew up defending his people from the creatures that roamed Veriil. The words of the prophecy spoken to him in his infancy repeated in his mind. One day, a young man knocked on the walls of Kiashi, bringing tidings from a neighboring village. Years ago, a baby was born on the night of the black moon, now a young woman with eyes of sapphire and blood of ivy. In the next year, a woman from a far-off village came knocking on the walls of Kiashi, telling of a boy who had eyes of onyx and blood which ran of steel born on the night of the black moon years ago. When Haron had grown, he left Kiashi to visit the other villages and find the children of the black moon.
On the 4th hour of the 7th day in December 1992, 13 women around the world gave birth. This was abnormal only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day had first started. Sir Richard Leonidus, idiosyncratic billionaire and opportunist, elected to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible. He miraculously was able to obtain all 13 of these children, named No.'s 1-13. This is the record of the children which he kept in the years of his adoptive parenthood.
No. 1, A.k.a: Lutheran Leonidus; Born with abnormal strength, stamina, agility, as well as armor-plated skin.
No. 2, A.k.a: Diega Leonidus; Born with the ability to manipulate air and the trajectory of any airborne object.
No. 3, A.k.a: Alacion Leonidus; Born with the ability to manipulate reality with the phrase, "I know a myth (that, where, etc.)" followed by a statement. Due to No. 3's inquisitive nature, he constantly uses his ability to discover the truth behind my decisions. I have attempted to administer medicine that limits No. 3's abilities, all of which I have been unable to deliver as No. 3 utilizes his ability to uncover my intentions and thus refuses to take the medication.
No. 4, A.k.a: Klara Leonidus; Born with the ability to commune with, summon, materialize, and control the deceased. No. 5 exhibits a fear of the dead despite her ability associated with them.
No. 5, A.k.a: Stephanie Leonidus; Born with the ability to translocate herself anywhere where she can see, has been, or knows exists. No. 5 has also proven that she has the ability to time travel, however inconsistent and dangerous that ability may be. I am currently in the process of developing a drug that will prohibit No. 5's ability to time travel.
No. 6, A.k.a: Benedictina Leonidus; Born with the ability to transfigure herself into an eldritch abomination. No. 6 exhibits a surprising amount of control while she is transfigured. While unable to fly, No. 6 shows great control over her eldritch body. She is able to propel herself across the ground and through the air by utilization of her tentacles.
No. 7, A.k.a: Ivan Leonidus; Born with the ability to convert music into destructive energy. I believe that this only scratches the surface of his true potential ability and that No. 7 has further abilities than what has been proven thus far. As I do fear No. 7's abilities, I have decided to keep him isolated from his sibling's outings. While I believe that his abilities should be continually tested, it's too much of a risk to allow him to participate in the missions which his siblings.
No. 8, A.k.a: Lylan Leonidus; Born with the ability to mimic the abilities of his siblings.
No. 9, A.k.a: Marca Leonidus; Born with the ability to manipulate the earth around him.
No. 10, A.k.a: Feiyo Leonidus; Born with the ability to inhibit his siblings from using their powers. No. 10 is primarily utilized as a peacemaker between his siblings during missions and family disputes. When not engaging in missions, No. 10 is No. 7's bodyguard, making sure that her power does not become dangerous.
No. 11, A.k.a: Alphonsa Leonidus; Born with the ability to cause accelerated plant growth in her vicinity. She also has the ability to manipulate said wildlife to do her bidding.
No. 12, A.k.a: Sean Leonidus; Born with telekinesis but without the ability to walk, No. 12 utilizes his ability as a form of travel.
No. 13, A.k.a: James Leonidus; Born with the ability to materialize any object he can think of. I have developed a medication that limits No. 12's powers to materializing only things which he understands the function of (how the object works).
No. 14, A.k.a: Christina Leonidus; I have not been able to label No. 14's abilities, though I am certain that she does have abilities far greater than any of her siblings, including No. 7. Further study on No. 14's abilities has proven futile, all stimuli have proven ineffective at triggering a response from her. Her abilities only seem to activate as a stress response; however, this only seems to be from stimuli that have not been engineered with the intent to trigger her abilities.
On the 1st of April, 2021, the Earth was consumed in a cataclysmic occasion. Billions of people were wiped out in a subject of moments. Ironically, the six survivors of the apocalypse were the very siblings who brought it on.
In November of 1984, an energy surge affected the entire globe, raising the luminosity of lights everywhere on Earth. The energy surge was traced to Hawkins Indiana. Specifically, the energy was traced to Hawkins Lab, which had gained international fame due to a death caused by a leak in an asphyxiant that the lab was engineering. While the source of the energy surge is still under investigation, multiple claims of a Russian girl with psionic abilities have piqued the interest of the national government and the FBI has since taken over the investigation. Reports of abducted children in the decades prior are also under investigation. In June of 1984, a fluctuation in Hume levels and multiple missing person reports attracted the curiosity of the SCP foundation, who then took over the investigation from the FBI. In that same month, a blackout that lasted 3 minutes was reported in Hawkins Indiana, the source of which was unable to be discovered. A full-time Foundation site has since been constructed in Hawkins, Indiana, near Hawkins Lab. Small Hume surges are constantly being detected all around Hawkins, originating normally within 4 households,
What a thing it is to wander,
wondering in endless wonder,
if the things we see are real,
or just something fake we feel.
Always wandering,
we start to wonder,
is it a good thing?
Should we wander?
We might get lost,
we might grow old,
we might fall down
and then grow cold.
We could slip and fall forever
through a bit of a dream fever.
We could accident'lly stumble,
into a cage of toil and trouble.
So this question alone remains,
if we wonder and then wander,
will we ever be the same?
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Tumblr user glumshoe.
Disclaimer: my hatred of geologists is purely theatrical, but if I did have to kill one for some reason, it would be very easy.
I’d brandish my obsidian knife at them and they’d be compelled to approach. “That’s very cool,” they’d say, confident in their superior strength and endurance from all the rocks they carry around at all times. They’d shower me with very interesting facts about obsidian and hover just out of range of the cutting edge, waiting for me to exhaust myself. “But as it is volcanic glass, it’s very fragile, you see, and isn’t well-suited for use as a weap—” and then I’d hit them with the wooden baseball bat in my other hand, which they would not have noticed because geologists can only see rocks and minerals.
As the Red Sun rises,
and sets into the east;
His kingdom come
His will be done
On earth and all shall sing.
The Faithful watchers watch the tide,
torn by the Black Moon.
R'lyeh is churning,
Old Gods are yearning,
Yhwh is finally doomed.
The Red sun splits in heaven
and angels fall to hell.
They see The King
surmount God's throne
and bode her a farewell.
Blood now pours from heaven
A true God hath been slain.
nothing under any sky
will ever stop the pain
The seventh bride has broken,
the last chain lay unbound.
Salvation has at last begun
The King now wears his crown.
The king in yellow, that hanged king,
A tragic figure, a mournful thing.
His throne, a noose, his crown, a rope,
His reign, a horror, a world without hope.
Your eyes open to light seeping slowly through burlap. You breathe and the air is stale with the age of egyptian parchment. You feel something around your neck, constricting, and wonder how you ever managed to breathe at all.
People once did him adore,
But now is seen, his true implore.
The yellow king, a symbol of dread,
A warning to all, a sign of the dead.
Your hands snake their way up your body and feel the ancient robes adorning it. They feel the frail and old frame of a corpse left to dry in the heat of the sun for thousands of years. They feel eachother and know the long and thin fingers of a god shaped hole.
They say he spoke of twisted dreams,
Of alien worlds and horrid schemes.
You realize you cannot breathe and your hands find their way to the rope around your neck. You claw furiously in an attempt to escape. The husk of your throat is clawed and dripping blood as red as safron despite its age.
His words, a poison, they say it brings,
Madness and death, such fearful things.
You gasp for breath and air does not come. What sins you made shall not be undone. Your eyes begin to close again as your vision fades to black.
The king in yellow, our hanged king,
His story echoes, and still does sing.
A tale of woe, a caution'ry tale,
Of the price of power, a deadly gale.
You open your eyes to a burlap sack.
And so we gaze upon his throne,
His dangling form, his deathly moan.
And we remember, with a solemn ring,
The king in yellow, our hanged king.
Patient Information:
Patient Name: Isaac Korin
Hospitalized: 10th of October, 1982
Emergency Contact:
E.C Name: Nancy Korin
Relation to Patient: Mother
E.C Telephone Number: 388-903-4298
Emergency Contact Deceased 2009. The patient is unable to provide alternative contact.
Details of Patient Acquisition:
Nancy Korin arrived at the hospital with Isaac Korin blindfolded and holding her hand. She believed that the institute would be better equiped to give Isaac a better quality of life than what she was able to provide at home. Following check-in, Isaac was brought to an inspection room along with his mother. Here, Ms. Korin explained his condition. After brief tests to confirm the validity of her statements, Isaac was brought into his room where he would talk to a nurse for the following hour and a half to better determine what would be needed to hospitalize him.
Region of Effect: Eyes
Disease Type: Transfiguration
Diagnosis: Medusai Ocularis.
Treatment Status: Almost cured. Symptoms reappear 10 hours after treatment.
Current Medical Plan: Extend symptom reappearance to 12 hours
Description of Disease: Named after the monster of Greecian Myth, Medusai Ocularis is an anomalous eye infection transmitted via bites from the Medusus species of snake.
Patient Information: Isaac was infected during a trip to a Wilsons Wildlife Solutions exhibit where he was bitten by a snake carrying the disease. His medical team helped him win a lawsuit against the company, completely covering his medical bills. Surprisingly, Nancy Korin, the patient's mother, was unaffected by Isaac's disease. Upon further examination, Nancy was found to possess a natural immunity, her family hailing from Medusus Snakes' natural habitat and having built up a tolerance to the disease. Anomalously, immunization against Medusa Ocularis functions identically to the process of amassing venom tolerance. Researchers believe that this is because the virus is dissolved within the liquid inside the alveoli (which is not venomous).
Anomalous Criteria (List Growing):
- The process of viral re-assembly within the carrier liquid
- How a virus causes a bacterial infection
The first thing I remember is touching an icy sphere held by a faceless figure. I touched it and fell in. Somehow, before I touched it, I knew that it held an entire world within. I remember being cold as I slid on my stomach down a ramp made of ice and into a crowd of children. What happened next is a blur but, at some point, I started walking with the Ice King. The gravity of that statement is absent now, but at the time, It was a supreme honor. He explained to me how the Icy Spheres acted as gateways between mortality and where I was now. The Ice King would lure children into the woods during the wintertime, out onto frozen lakes. The children would see him in the ice, holding one of the Spheres, and then, reach out to touch it. What happens to them next is what happened to me and what I am stating for the record. The endless icy labyrinth where I was held thousands of children, each strolling around as if nothing was amiss. On occasion, there would be a stretch of carpeted floor leading to a main room, where ramps of ice spewed forth more children into the labyrinth. The Ice King could be at many times and places at once, always luring children out onto the ice. They never were upset though… On the contrary, they all seemed rather unperturbed by the whole situation. The Ice King then took me below his labyrinth where the icy halls turned into lavish corridors which were interconnected and led to all the main rooms in the Labyrinth. The room in which I first arrived was the hub of all main rooms, all of the ramps came from an endless snowball fight, where curious children would touch them and become a new victim to the labyrinth. Despite the finality of their fates, all of the children seemed rather pleased with their circumstances.
The Wanderer's library, a place of lore,
Where knowledge flows forevermore.
But every hundred thousand years,
A luncheon comes, that brings no cheers.
The Wretched Luncheon, a dreaded feast,
A meal so foul, it cannot be eased.
The Wanderer's librarians all dread,
The day it arrives, their hearts fill with dread.
The food is rancid, the smell is vile,
And those who eat it, suffer a while.
It twists and turns, their insides churn,
A stomachache that will never adjourn.
The guests all shiver, as they take a seat,
Their appetite gone, they cannot eat.
But they must partake, it's tradition you see,
To honor the Wanderer's decree.
The Wretched Luncheon, a cursed affair,
A time of misery, for all who dare.
But they endure, and they persevere,
For the Wanderer's library, they hold dear.
So if you visit, and you're invited to dine,
Beware the Wretched Luncheon, it's no friend of mine.
But if you're brave, and your stomach is strong,
You might survive, and live to sing this song.
Echoes of Luncheon, a haunting sound,
That lingers long after it leaves the ground.
The Wanderer's library, now quiet and still,
A lingering reminder, of the meal that could kill.
The smell still lingers, a putrid scent,
That makes the librarians all repent.
Their stomachs still churn, their heads still ache,
A reminder of the Wretched Luncheon's wake.
The echoes of laughter, now replaced with moans,
As the guests all suffer, in their quiet zones.
The Wanderer's library, a place of peace,
Now filled with the echoes, that refuse to cease.
But even amidst the pain, and the sorrow it brings,
The Wanderer's librarians know, that it's a sacred thing.
For the Wretched Luncheon, a tradition so old,
Is a reminder of the Wanderer's power, so bold.
So they wait, for another hundred thousand years,
When the Wretched Luncheon, will bring its tears.
And they'll endure it, as they always have,
For the Wanderer's library, they will never abandon.
Longing for Luncheon, a peculiar thought,
As the memory of the Wretched Luncheon is still sought.
The Wanderer's librarians, a curious bunch,
Whose minds and stomachs still bear the mark of that lunch.
For even though the meal was a thing of dread,
There's a part of them that longs for it, instead.
The strange allure of the Wretched Luncheon's hold,
A fascination that cannot be controlled.
Perhaps it's the power of tradition, so old,
Or the fear that it instills, that makes them behold.
Or maybe it's the mystery of the meal,
That's kept them captivated, with a curious zeal.
But whatever the reason, they cannot deny,
That the Wretched Luncheon still holds a place in their eye.
And as they wait for the next hundred thousand years,
They long for the meal that brings both joy and tears.
For the Wanderer's library, is a place of wonder,
Where tradition and knowledge, forever thunder.
And even though the Wretched Luncheon is feared,
Its memory will always be revered.
Never forget Luncheon, a sacred vow,
For the Wanderer's librarians, it's a tradition now.
They wait and they prepare, for a hundred thousand years,
For the meal that brings both joy and tears.
For the Wretched Luncheon, though it brings much pain,
Is a reminder of the Wanderer's power, once again.
And as they endure it, they know that it's true,
That the knowledge they gain, is worth the trouble they go through.
For the secrets they uncover, and the tales they learn,
Are worth the stomachache, and the stomachs that churn.
And the memories they make, in the aftermath of the meal,
Are a testament to the power, that the Wanderer wields.
So they'll wait, patiently, for the next Wretched Luncheon,
For the knowledge it brings, and the tradition that's woven.
For the Wanderer's library, a place of wonder and awe,
Where the power of knowledge, is forever in thrall.
And as they partake, in the meal that brings both joy and pain,
They'll remember, always, that the knowledge they gain,
Is worth the wait, and the stomachache too,
For the Wanderer's library, and the Luncheon it imbues.
Rounderpede eaten, and reborn anew,
A curious tradition, for a meal so few.
For the Wanderer's librarians, it's a special treat,
A delicacy that's rare, and hard to beat.
The Rounderpede, a creature so strange,
Is a meal that's eaten, in a ceremonial range.
Its taste, some say, is like no other,
A flavor so unique, it can't be discovered.
But the most curious thing about the Rounderpede,
Is the transformation it undergoes, as it's consumed with glee.
For as the librarians eat, and their stomachs churn,
The Rounderpede is reborn, in a mystical turn.
It sheds its skin, and its body transforms,
Into a creature of knowledge, that's forever adorned.
Its legs become pages, its body a tome,
A living library, that's forever home.
And as the librarians marvel, at the creature so strange,
They know that the knowledge it brings, is truly a change.
For the Rounderpede, a symbol of transformation and growth,
Is a reminder of the Wanderer's power, that's both deep and both.
So they'll eat, and they'll savor, the Rounderpede's unique taste,
And they'll marvel, and they'll wonder, at the creature's new face.
For the Wanderer's library, a place of transformation and change,
Is a living testament, to the power of knowledge, and all that's strange.
The Rounderpede, once transformed,
Is a creature of knowledge, that's forever adorned.
Its legs become pages, its body a tome,
A living library, that's forever home.
But though its form has changed, its essence remains,
And it still longs to be, what it once became.
So as the librarians read, and the knowledge is gained,
The Rounderpede awaits, to be transformed again.
For the Wanderer's power, is both strange and profound,
And the Rounderpede knows, that its fate is bound.
To return to its original form, and roam once more,
As a creature of wonder, that's hard to ignore.
And so, in time, the Rounderpede sheds its pages,
As it transforms back, to its original stages.
And though its form is no longer a library,
Its legacy lives on, in the knowledge it carries.
For the Wanderer's librarians, the Rounderpede is a symbol,
Of transformation and growth, and all that is nimble.
And though it may change, and transform with time,
Its power of knowledge, is forever sublime.
Origins of The Wretched Luncheon, a tale so old,
A story of power, and secrets untold.
For the Wanderer's librarians, it's a tradition revered,
A meal of pain and knowledge, that's forever endeared.
Legend has it, that the Wanderer long ago,
Created the Luncheon, as a test of will and woe.
For those who dared to partake, in the meal so wretched,
Were granted knowledge untold, but at a cost so wretched.
The meal was made of the rarest of creatures,
Each ingredient chosen, with meticulous features.
Their properties combined, to form a dish so vile,
That even the bravest of souls, would need to reconcile.
But those who succeeded, were forever changed,
Their minds and their souls, with knowledge arranged.
For the power of the Wanderer, was forever revealed,
And their thirst for knowledge, forever sealed.
And so, the Wretched Luncheon, was born from this legend,
A tradition that's continued, from ages to the present.
For the Wanderer's librarians, it's a rite of passage,
A test of will and knowledge, that's forever savage.
So they wait, and they prepare, for the meal so rare,
For the secrets it holds, and the knowledge they'll bear.
For the Wretched Luncheon, a tradition so revered,
Is a reminder of the Wanderer's power, that's forever endeared.
The Curators: three separate but interwoven beings, each representing an aspect of the shelving process. Some believe them to be the Library's consciousness made manifest, while others believe them to be former Head Archivists who were 'promoted' by the Library itself; however, as is often the case when speaking of mysterious and powerful beings, the true nature of The Curators is far more insidious.
The Curators rose to power in the aftermath of the Great Searing, at a time when the Serpent, that is, that wretched brain worm, had gone quiet, and his new creation, if such a sin could be called that, the Wanderers' Library, was in the chaos that is brought about by warring factions. This was a time when the Library and Serpent were silent. This means that The Curator's rise to power was not prompted, nor was it endorsed, by either of them.
While I believe I have hitherto made clear my view of the Serpent and of the Library, as I pray the downfall of them both, and so should all who know the truth; for the sake of those reading who do not, I wish to convey the truthful point that, regardless as to what I, or any other, think of the nature of the Serpent or of the Library, if you who read hold the two in high regard, The Curators' rise to power was not endorsed by either, as can be seen in a multitude of other hidden works, and not just my own, and thus, the power which they now hold is not rightfully theirs.
As the serpent still is silent and the Library is still- [Much of the paragraph is scratched out] Many do not know of The Curator's existence; this is done purposefully, to maintain the belief in this many that the Serpent is indeed active. While I believe I have made clear my view of the Serpent and the Library,
When talking about the Library, the Wanderers' Library, and the Old Library, it is important to differentiate between them. The place you stand in now is the Old Library, a husk of what it once was, the Wonderers' Library. From your view, its name sounds rather cliché, but it was once a wonder of existence, far grander than the place from whence you came. The Wanderers' Library, which you are, I trust, at this point, familiar with, was created by the Serpent after the Great Searing. The primary intention was to restore the Old Library and while the damage done to it could be restored, it was too painful to remember for the Serpent to fix. The Library is a conscious being, the spirit if you will, of the concept of the Wonderers' Library. The nature of the relationship between it and the Serpent is unclear but connected.
As previously stated, the three Curators represent the shelving process: The Explorer, The Scribe, and The Librarian. In layman's terms, The Explorer experiences the literature, The Scribe writes down the experience, and The Librarian shelves it within the Wanderers' Library. The specifics are far more complex, delving into- [The remainder of the page has been torn off]]
In the beginning, the Void made three
The Scarlet, The Archmage, The Broken King.
The Scarlet Ozi̮rmok, greater than Ion.
More power than a diety, missing its ring.
With its two brothers, together make me.
Matkauer, also called The Knowing Tree, is the Elemortal of Knowledge. Often dismissed as mad writings, that which references Matkauer
My father is a preacher,
a baptist of the south;
in danger I stand
with these words in my mouth.
It's fine.
He doesn't know
I'm confessing and
after tonight-
I won't care.
Amos and I…
and our comfortable lie.
no one's caught on yet
and I'll be the first to say-
I'm surprised.
the night that we kissed
while above us sparks…
I'm getting ahead of myself.
a freshmen in highschool,
I was young; he was spry.
on the track team I'd watch
and admire the shift of his
"Just a little too young to know, you know?"
No, no, thats not right;
there's always that tie in of
"he's too young to know about Johnson and Jinny"
why do they play at lust
with us
when we all are just
asking the question of
"Do they like us?"
a