Ghost Stories at the WBL

This board contains announcements, discussion and planning for in-game events.
User avatar
Kailani of Admin
'Rifterian
Posts: 409
Joined: Wed Mar 06, 2019 3:23 pm

Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Kailani of Admin » Sun Oct 24, 2021 8:13 pm

We will have a session of ghost story telling around a camp fire.

Where: World Builders Lawn
When: Nov 7 3pm eastern time
What: Post your stories or poems here - 250 words or less in advance.

You have until Nov 6 at midnight eastern to post your stories. Feel free to bring other stories or longer editions to be shared at the camp fire.
You may use stories that were already submitted for other contests for the festival.

Post any questions below.



K.
Image

User avatar
Bifrost Janger
Experienced Adventurer
Posts: 412
Joined: Mon Jan 02, 2017 12:02 am

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Bifrost Janger » Sun Oct 31, 2021 12:45 pm

During my extensive studies into the humanoids of the lands, I stumbled across this tome. I think it must have been misplaced, you see. It had escaped my notice for so very long. I found it stored amongst the fairy tales. It was hidden away along with the brownies and fae.

But, upon studying it's pages, I am unsure of whether this is a work of fiction. Though, perhaps it will better suit the means of the beings described in this tome if you believe them so... For that, I will let you decide.

HSV Tome of Shadow People

Of all of the Humanoid races of the lands, by far the most widespread is the Shadow Person or Shade. Their reach expands to every known settlement of beast and man; every cave and woodland; every beach and cove. Hark, even intrepid seamen claim to have sighted such beings, far away from the bounds of any other living being.

The features of these beings appear as uniform. Indistinguishable from one or the other. Though, some have reported variants in height. Shadow People are unilaterally faceless - though, some witnesses have claimed to have sighted eyes, or a semblance; white, and void of pupil or iris. Their construct is invariably spindly. It is unclear to see how many digits they possess upon their hands.

Despite appearing as indisputably people-shaped, Shades appear to have no variant in regards to race or sex.

----

My word limit is reached! I may share the remainder of the Lost Tome by the campfire! :D
Fear is a strange soil. It grows obedience like corn, which grow in straight lines to make weeding easier. But sometimes it grows the potatoes of defiance, which flourish underground. - Terry Pratchett

User avatar
Pallas
Veteran
Posts: 597
Joined: Tue Dec 06, 2005 11:40 pm

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Pallas » Sat Nov 06, 2021 7:57 pm

Ellyana and Pallas stood atop the Twilight Tower, gazing over the lands, looking across to Dundee and Milltown as they watched FallFest events. Soon, their watch done, they would join the festivities.
From the darkness around came a fluttering. Not the soft flutter of birds nor the swoosh of an insect with soft membraneous wings. It was too harsh, more the creak of old leather dragging through the sky. A bat alighted, hanging upside-down from the farseeing scope, watching with bright red eyes, emitting a high-pitched call to summon its swarm-kin, who came thick and fast from all directions. Ellyana and Pallas fought, attempting to drive them off, calling to the guildkin for assistance, and then sending word across the lands. Adventurers spilled onto the top of the tower to fight off the strange invasion.
The bats scratched and bit– worse, they sucked at blood seeping from wounds. Fighters struck out with blades and torrents of ice or fire, tangled the creatures in nets. But still they came.
All night long battle raged as bats continued to attack. At long last the ‘rifter rose, to reveal a scene of carnage. Dead or netted bats were strewn around, soaked in pools of blood from adventurers who had paid the price of joining the defence. The remaining creatures rose into the sky and streamed away, fleeing the light.
Where they had come from, or why, we do not know. But until the next time, the Night of the Bats was over.
Image

The joke is on the bloke who never spoke a word at all
But whose dreams lay unrevealed 'til they were rotten ...

Lindisfarne 'The Things I Should Have Said'

User avatar
Kailani of Admin
'Rifterian
Posts: 409
Joined: Wed Mar 06, 2019 3:23 pm

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Kailani of Admin » Sun Nov 07, 2021 4:45 pm

Bring your impromptu tales. If you haven’t had a chance to write one formally, then improvise.
All stories and listeners welcome


K.
Image

Topaz
I talk WAY too much
Posts: 1716
Joined: Tue Jul 05, 2005 1:21 am

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Topaz » Sun Nov 07, 2021 8:59 pm

Red Hands

There was an adventurer called Lalage, with a voice like flowing water and skilled and gentle hands. She could heal those on the point of death, and sing the most fearful into courage. And she had a zither, greatly prized by her, with which she would make music in the evenings when she was not on the battlefields of Valorn.

But Lalage died, alas, and not on the battlefield, but beside her own hearth at midnight, secretly murdered by the hand of the adventurer Melanchthon -- who hoped that with Lalage gone he himself would gain renown in healing and in music (for he too was a musician).

Lalage's last will and testament specified that her potions and platinum should be given to the initiates of Valorn, and her equipment to those who were strong enough to use them. The zither was put up for auction, that the platinum gained should be used for the help and training of initiates, as was Lalage's custom when alive. Melancthon was at the auction, and, being very wealthy, was able to outbid all the others and claim the zither for his own. "Now," he thought, "I will be able to make music like that which Lalage made."

The very next week he invited everyone to a concert at which he would perform on his new zither. He scattered invitation scrolls all over Valorn and even made a trip to Ethucan so that the people there might hear of it as well. That evening, the Tower Theater was full as he stepped up to the dais and began to play.

Melancthon had planned to begin with a rousing Valornian battle song. But instead he found that as his fingers touched the strings, a sweet, sad melody filled the hall. And as he opened his mouth to sing, he was struck dumb, and the voice that sang was that of the dead adventurer, Lalage. And it sang:

Red are the hands that touch these strings;
The murderer's voice is his that sings.

And as Melancthon tried to throw the zither from him in horror, he found that he could not. His hands were rooted to the strings, and drops of blood dripped from his fingers as the music welled up loudly. He tried to cry out in protest, but what everyone heard was Lalage's voice singing:

Red are the hands and wet with gore,
that left me dead upon my floor.

By now the audience was on its feet, and not in applause. But as they started to rush the dais, they heard the sweet, dead voice sing:

Red are his hands, and in our sight
the murderer burns in Cory's light.

And Melancthon's hands began to burn and blacken, as if they were in the heart of a fire, and his voice, released from its silence, screamed as his robes caught fire, his hair burst into flame, and his staring eyeballs burst into steam. Within moments, all that was left on the dais was a pile of charred ash.

And a zither, untouched by blood, ash, or fire.

User avatar
Pallas
Veteran
Posts: 597
Joined: Tue Dec 06, 2005 11:40 pm

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Pallas » Mon Nov 08, 2021 1:19 am

( OOC for context. This is the story related by Pallas. It was too long to post here prior to the event. It was produced several years ago for a FallFest forum event, and written as though it was a spoken tale being committed to parchment. )


‘Evil 'midst the Trees’

Two brothers - I don't know the names, those are lost in time - roamed the lands for a while and eventually decided to settle in Verthedge. You should understand the forest then was even wilder than it now is. Wolves roamed, hunting other creatures to be found there, and vultures fed on the remains. Bushes and weeds grew all around, strangling the trees that tried to burst through to meet the light of the 'rifter. And everywhere, massive stands of thistles grew.
The brothers built themselves a cottage, and took to caring for the forest. They looked after the trees, thinning them so that some could grow straight and strong and tall, and they cleared the underbrush that tried to hinder the trees' growth.
Under their care the forest flourished. They worked with plants and flowers, breeding the best and most beautiful, experimenting with crossing different ones to produce ever more exotic blooms.
I can't say what happened to those two men. Over time their minds ... changed. They saw the forest, the trees they'd nurtured, the blooms they'd created, and it must have seemed they hadn't done enough. For cycle on cycle of the 'rifter they'd worked looking after, and experimenting with, strains of plants and flowers, but felt they had achieved nothing.
Maybe it was solitude. Maybe it was some influence from the Dead Zone, or the baleful effect of increasing numbers of demons infesting the forest. Whatever the reason, their thoughts and their work took a darker, more evil direction as they changed their experiments, turning their attention to other creatures that made a home among the trees.
You can maybe understand why they'd want the thistle banks to just move away of their own accord, to save the work of cutting them down and so on. But how can a plant walk unless you breed it to have legs? Or you might somehow join it with another being that already has legs ... and why, as the forest got busier with more adventurers exploring were there so many reports that some just disappeared? As for the wolves - they just got bigger and bigger. Smarter too. Almost as if they'd been given a better brain than a wolf should have. They hunted the forest more cunning than before, catching demons and dragging them back to the cottage to feed, once the brothers had taken what they needed. And the vultures grew too. Maybe because they had more to eat. And maybe for other reasons, who can tell?
Anyhow, what with the breeding, and the demons taken to the cottage, the disappearance of adventurers and the ever-wilder experiments, that part of the forest changed to a foul, blighted place.
The brothers rarely left their home, staying inside and working - always working. Their minds lost touch with the lands beyond their door, and the reality they made for themselves was dark and twisted and evil, full of blood and torment.

One day a traveller - scared half out of his wits he was - came to Dundee, telling wild tales of a cottage in the forest filled with rotting body parts, the walls spattered with blood, and the scattered remains of two bodies inside. A few brave souls went to investigate, admitting on their return that what they'd seen left them retching and trembling 'til they gathered the strength to run. Those crazed brothers must have tired of experimenting on animals and whatever adventurers passed by, and each seen the other as a good test subject - and during whatever confrontation had ensued, they'd hacked each other to pieces.
Since then the cottage seems to have faded from the sight of most, but from time to time people report that they've seen it, and tell of dark mists, and screams, and a crushing feeling of sheer dread.
A half-dozen people thought to find the cottage, burn it down and put an end to things. After a cycle of the 'rifter they'd not returned, and a second party set out to discover what had happened. They entered the cottage ... and of the first group all they found was just a hacked-off hand still clutching a quill, resting on a piece of blood-splattered parchment on which was scrawled 'gods help us ... they're here ... '
They say that those two brothers, whose work began so well and gave us the magnificent forest we now see, became turned and twisted somehow. They might, or might not, be the reason behind the creatures that prowl there now, hunting down each other and any adventurer who sets foot between the soaring trees. They're not remembered for the gift they left us - only for a cottage shrouded in darkness and doom, thankfully rarely seen.
It’s said that the good a man does dies with him - but evil acts, and their consequences, can remain with us.
Forever.
Image

The joke is on the bloke who never spoke a word at all
But whose dreams lay unrevealed 'til they were rotten ...

Lindisfarne 'The Things I Should Have Said'

User avatar
Lavender
Social Leech
Posts: 1398
Joined: Fri Sep 19, 2008 4:11 pm
Location: Within a shining portal.

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Lavender » Mon Nov 08, 2021 4:35 am

Might have changed it a little... as I made it up on the spot. Lol


Once long ago there was a group of enchanters who were exceedingly powerful in their own rights but they were not content with the spells they knew. So occasionally they would gather in the nexus, away from other adventurers so as not to be interrupted by those with no magic in their blood to create new spells and learn more magic. They started to experiment on themselves trying to boost their own powers. Thankfully for us, most of their trial spells were all for naught. Or who knows what kind of monstrous things could have come from that. For you see even after all these ages, those enchanters are not gone.. They did create a singular new spell. The first enchanter who used the spell vanished! The others couldn't believe it so they tried the spell as well.. but with each spell they cast those left didn't notice a wisp of fog around where the person had gone. That fog slipped away into the air until each enchanter was gone...Or are they?.... No, they are still out there. Looking for power, always more power to add to their collective magic, and they try to catch enchanters unaware, or even those who benefit from the magic of enchanters portals. To catch them in between, inside the magic, to strip them of magic and mortality, to add them to their own numbers. So if you ever hear of an enchanter go missing, they might have been the next added to the collective group. So a word to the wise, next time you use a portal be aware of the Portal Dwellers within the swirling mists.
Image
Lavender
Kindness is more important than wisdom, and the recognition of this
is the beginning of wisdom. –Theodore Issac Rubin.
It takes courage to be kind. - Maya Angelou.

User avatar
Kailani of Admin
'Rifterian
Posts: 409
Joined: Wed Mar 06, 2019 3:23 pm

Re: Ghost Stories at the WBL

Postby Kailani of Admin » Sat Nov 13, 2021 9:08 pm

Thank you for the tales.
If any of you have issues with your momentos, please send me a message in game.

I hope you all had as much fun as I did!


K.
Image


Return to “Contest and Event Planning”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 48 guests

cron