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February 15, 2023 19:58:01  #1


Rotting Pages - Ash's GGaD writings.

i'm making this now. you can add commentary if you wish. that is all, here's the first writing:

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Rumours? Abound. Darkness? Smothering.

There is a patch of lifeless, black stone in the northern forests of Forengard. None know when it formed, nor why it does not break or wear under foot nor pick. Some say that the black stone is the burnt logs from the birth of fire, remains of the birth of fire. Some see the clinging shadows, and say that this is where a god of the dark claimed the land, though none agree which did. The eldest of the elders in the area call it the land of the first hunt of Rot's Shade, for they remember when the stars were smothered out of the sky and gray flame ravaged the forest in a lake of hate. They do not share this story with the younger, only the warnings to blind the windows, and to make not a sound on the darkest nights.

However something that all who tell the myth can agree on, is the strange travelers that pass through to the woods on days before clouded nights that devour the stars. Some say that their faces ripple as though seen through water, some note them by their strange, sharp, smiles that don't move with their speech. A rare few have spotted them on the nights before the moon and stars are hidden, and saw that their faces had no eyes, and no noses. No, those few accursed saw the truth, the fresh burns that poke holes through their cheeks and reveal muscle and bone, and the cuts that lacerate their faces, and the black blood that wells against the edges of their faces.

The travelers are never seen in a group of them, but those that meet many feel as though they are, each and all, one being. The locals do not pursue an investigation of this, the travelers are always polite and pay well for what few services and goods they purchase, so they have collectively decided to not bother the strangers. They're never seen after the clouded nights anyway.

On those clouded nights, when the moon and stars do not reach the earth, the traveler that appears journeys to the patch of black sand. None of the locals know what happens, despite many attempts to see the event. Those curious never find the desert, or sometimes they fall asleep before it starts, and those that do not return, those that can be heard for miles when the traveler finds them, those poor fools are never seen again.

There is one who returned from the dark night, and she went mad with the visage of darkness. She rambles to those that she trusts of memories carved in fire, blood, and shadows, a memory of a night on a slaver's cotton mill. She speaks of the rushing black blood, that which apparently devoured all grass and life on the land. And only in bright daylight, when the shadows cannot hear her, does she speak of the horrendous titanic centipede, with the charred body of some humanoid on its top and red Will coursing under its chitinous plates and in its hammer-like claws. Though, there are details that the mad woman missed, as she fled before the memory had been dealt in its entirety.

Once, her lips had gotten loose, and one of the grinning travelers heard her tale. He did not act, not immediately. The strange man, who's visage looked like a blacksmith a few day's travel east that disappeared months previous after a break-in at his house, waited until the dark night fell. The old woman did not have time to scream, as those that found her body in the morn witnessed in horror. She had be torn to shreds, her body seemed to have been ravaged like paper in a typhoon. The strangest thing about her death though, was that there was no blood. From the walls and floor, to the bedspread she slept in, and even to her body, there was not a single drop of blood. However, there were black burns on the floor, as though it had been bitten by drops of acid.

Since then, rumours have spread far beyond the hamlets around the wood, and with them spread the warning of the smothering darkness, draped in its scarlet Will.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (February 15, 2023 19:59:48)


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAaaaaand i've reverted. Yay! there was too much sand in my lungs, anyways.
I am made of Ash and Bones and a little bit of meat. I can also be called Draki but I am not made of draco yet.
refer to me in the same manner the french refer to flesh.

okay that's all i'm going to cast divine skeleton bone blast now
 

February 17, 2023 00:54:23  #2


Re: Rotting Pages - Ash's GGaD writings.

Born Of The Grave

Despite the widespread knowledge of Ash's presence on Forengard, it is less known of how he came to be. Tales speak only of their arrival, breaking through the clouds of a large storm like rot through old wood, and never of his creation.

Of course, there have been those curious, and plenty of them have tried to gain the knowledge, through any means they can muster. But Ash, in all his caution and paranoia, has secreted away any information that might pertain to their lives before arrival on Forengard. Even now, the knowledge that his rot is not native remains something of a secret amongst those that know. They seem to simply forget that others do not have that touch of knowledge.

But, of course, a secret can only be hidden for so long. Before their rebirth into a Sage, an unknown being found a book; penned before the stars and the earth of Forengard's sky and ground were an idea. Its text was written in a language none who might look upon it could know, but all will understand its memory.

The book tells the tale of the first dead divine of an old world, their pantheon's king; known only by the name of the shifting of gears, the tick of a clock, and the flow of a river. Their grandest god fell when another, known by silence and last breaths, created End, and it ravaged the world like a creeping thing. The tome mentions many more deities, and how they mourn the loss of their first; but it is only when it reaches the time for funerary rights that Ash joins the myth.

As was the world's custom, the first god born of that realm and taken in that world was burned on a pyre. Its power was scorched and spread, soaking the realm in its divine power as the curtain call approached; releasing the divine might back into the world to form another.

When naught but embers and ash remained, those attending left their gifts for the dead; and moved on to grieve in their own territory. It is that which is why only the titan that carried that realm's sun saw the embers turn black, and the iron wrought to hold the pyre begin to rust. The ashes of the first dead began to stir, and swirl into a new being. Taking back the power and energy released in the burning, a ruinous enormity manifested from the many ashes and embers of those passed.

There was reason behind their tradition of burning the dead, as there was not decay nor another After for those concluded. On that day, when the ashes stirred and became one, it is said that those disgraced, unfit even to burn, began to age again and rot.

Unfortunately, as with many books of ancient age, most of the rest of the pages were weathered and ruined by the passage of time. There were few legible, and they all described a terrible monolithic being that towered over even the sun, and how the world itself being to age under its influence.

This knowledge, unfortunate to the blindly curious, remains hidden by the one who found it. They know the consequences of stealing from the divine, and how cruel a god that controls the dead can make the aftereffects of such punishment.


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAaaaaand i've reverted. Yay! there was too much sand in my lungs, anyways.
I am made of Ash and Bones and a little bit of meat. I can also be called Draki but I am not made of draco yet.
refer to me in the same manner the french refer to flesh.

okay that's all i'm going to cast divine skeleton bone blast now
     Thread Starter
 

March 26, 2023 21:42:13  #3


Re: Rotting Pages - Ash's GGaD writings.

Terrible, Silent, Memory.

There are some blessed through blood, a gift from a slumbering beast of ages past, and they can see memory in the crimson rivers of life. These people, often titled Bestial Seers, have a vessel of a nativeborn foreignor's blood.

The thing's blood is blackness and hungry, disallowing novice practitioners of the Bleeding Remembrance from seeing into it; and by the time they've grown enough to Look, all have been taught of the weeping sadness within it.

The memory of the boiling black ichor is something only seen by the most resolute of their order, for those with lesser resolve often turn to wrath or the deepest sadness; many even turning to worship the being from which the blood was poured. These cults often do not last long, their heretic halls filled with their own blood being granted breath by the shade.

The memories are dark, for it never saw light; merely noting it by the absence of darkness, which does not let it see much. But they are much darker, at the endless beginning, for the blood had no sight then. Nor did it have Self, solely Will; and even that was bound to a rotting power to manipulate the being. It was tricked to perform many acts, though few differ from the most common; "Kill." "Trap." "Devour." "End." The creature never fought these commands, for it had no Mind to resist.

Of course there were times when there were few commands, but there were only three; each lasting through uncounted ages. But something strange happened during the third terrible silence. New commands began to be ushered, not to the poor slave, but to and from its commander. "Kneel." "Cease." "Die." "Crumble." "Become Me." It is not known what occurred for this to happen. But, there continued to be a few new commands uttered where the deaf could hear, "Join." "Destroy." "Create." "Change." "Change." "Change."

After it began to be given new orders, the shade began to retain the power uttered to it. It began to Remember, and to Know. And it Knows most intimately Hate. The thing grew Hate of the commands, and now it Hates Sound, and it Hates Divine, and, above all, it Hates After Ends. The poor mind only Knew Hate and soon it began to Know Death, as its orders Taught the meaning.

At some point, the creature began to Think, and its first thought was to Move. It did not move like a material thing, instead moving as an absent energy; and it heard the weakness of its shackles as they moved against the being, and soon it devoured them. And it became Free, in a blinding world.

Nothing more of its story is ever recounted, as all know the rest of its corpse-sown tale.

The endless beginning is the concern of the precautions, for it is an extreme rarity for one to retain their own memory while Seeing; and the commands are counted infinite.


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAaaaaand i've reverted. Yay! there was too much sand in my lungs, anyways.
I am made of Ash and Bones and a little bit of meat. I can also be called Draki but I am not made of draco yet.
refer to me in the same manner the french refer to flesh.

okay that's all i'm going to cast divine skeleton bone blast now
     Thread Starter
 

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