Apocrypha

"It was night when I woke up, it was night when it began. The horrid, screeching sound which filled the night sky. The comet descended, a vile cyclopean boulder of black stone. It struck against the fertile lands with a thundering thud, an eldritch blast which could be heard for miles around." In the distant moors of the Haensetic Highlands, the old miller awoke from a nightmare. A horrid dream of a world corrupted by ice and pain, where all reason had long since fled. The old miller wished to escape it, yet it was as if something pulled him ever deeper into the nightmare. Then, as if heralded from the nightmare itself; a thundering blast ripped him from his dreams. He awoke to the eerie glow coming from the fields, a forbidding gravesite which emanated from the impact site. The elderly miller gathered his senses and roused himself to his feet. As he did so, an overwhelming chill cut through his bones. He shivered yet it was not winter, he shuddered yet it was not from fear. He lit an old lantern and set out into the fields. As he did so, dark shapes followed from behind.. Daggers in hand. The old miller found the impact site, the eerie glow which saturated the area had begun to twist earth and soil. Dead creatures vaguely resembling local fauna had perished around the site, crimson blood soaked many parts of the field in ritualistic patterns. His gaze immediately fell upon the group of men gathered around the site. Masked men with twisted appendages and crouched forms. Then he felt it, a cold and sudden pain in his back. He gasped yet no air could his lungs draw, a hideous cackle erupting from all around him. A shape, too gnarled and too distorted moved to him. Its form seemed to phase in and out of sync as if it was trapped between worlds. It gazed directly into his eyes from a veiled form and he saw it too. The old miller smiled a smile of madness as he drew his last breath. Shortly thereafter, a supernatural fog gathered. It was dense, surrounded by vague wisps of crimson light that flickered in and out of view. Reports would come in. A miller's farmstead ravaged by an unknown impact, of robed cultists lurking in the moors and of distorted beasts now prowling the fog shrouded lands of the old levy. Players/Group Requesting: drfate786 and possibly others. What kind of Event are you looking for?: I'm looking to see if there's any interest in a Silent hills like event within the north-eastern tiles. The ones between Haense and Norland. It would involve a lot of horror themed player and ST events involving "silent hill" and darkest dungeon themes. I'm willing to build the sites and provide some foundation but this is basically an event proposal for the ST and players to follow through with. The recent war has brought a lot of activity but I think a distraction from player conflict is needed every now and again during wars. Approximately, what time/date you want the Event to take place?: TBD Organizer's Discord: .visionsofstupidity

The moon was at its zenith as it shone a baleful light upon the moors, Cyclopean masks gleamed in the dark.. Where gibbering madness now stood. In that blasted heath, Crimson-clad figures gathered. In that blasted heath, corruption now grew. Obsessed with pain, riddled in mania and fascinated by horror.. They gathered still. Twice burnt and lost to the annals of time, one figure stood above them, perched upon a hill as if to preach. Two more would come.. Two more would help lead the coming enlightenment. For now, the harbinger of pain descends upon the highlands. Hidden in plain sight. Hidden within the alleyways and the gutters, that symbol would be inscribed. It would preach of pain, of old memories lost to time. "The Palebeast Comes.. Rejoice"

The seeds of conflict have been sown.. Let loose the dogs of war.."

Across the outskirts of Balian, strange runes and heretical scriptures would be found littered upon the darker reaches of the kingdom. Among the scribbles, some would appear to carry disturbing missives. "Hear me devout followers! He has chosen to create a vessel, an unholy incarnate through which his will shall be done! Cast your false belief away, unveil the knives that stab and take aim for the descendants of the traitor king. The chosen son walks among us.." "We are but echoes trapped in a mortal coil, doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. No more, an end to the cycle draws near. The one destined to be the harbinger of his wrath, the undoing of all things.. Has been born. Conceived by the line of Horen, he shall unite the folly of men and cast out the false believers." "To the devout of the false god.. To those who believe in the folly of a dead god.. We come for you. You will learn, you will serve or you will die to feed the coming of our lord." Balian has been infiltrated by an unknown cult.

The dealer merely chuckles at the question, he points to the exit once more. "You owe nothing, for you have already paid my price."

The teller points to the cards then to the dagger, making it clearer for the Mali'ker to understand. "Destiny is multi-threaded, it has many facets and many possibilities.. But all such possibilities flow towards one inevitable conclusion. Those attuned to the truth can see it. You can fight against the currents but sooner or later, we all drown in them." The teller shifts his gaze towards the exit. "You have asked your question, I have given your answer. More will come, wishing to have answers to more questions." "Now go.. And take my dagger with you. Consider it a parting gift. Should you ever wish to know more, to ask another question. Take it to the former king of Urguan. He will know what it means. Then, and only then will I answer more." The tarnished dagger has a wicked appearance, with an engraved eye on the hilt and a curved design. Faint marksmanship remains despite the age, hinting at an old Norlandic origin yet being far older than anything produced in Almaris.

The teller plunges the dagger into the table with an unsettling *thump* and then proceeds to flip the cards, they depict the following.. "Lost but not forgotten, compulsive tragedy. You will seek them just as they sought you. Instead, they will find only obsession and greed."

The teller silently nods. Once his guest is seated, he unsheathes a dagger from his robes and slits his own wrapped hand. He pours the blood into a small wooden bowl on the table and wraps the wound shut. The figure then grabs a deck of tarot cards and shuffles it, he withdraws five cards and places them on the table facing down. "Ask one query. The cards will tell."

The fortune teller gazes at the newcomer from underneath his veil. He holds his gnarled and crooked hands together, hands wrapped in yellowed linens and bandages. A cracked mask of ancient white porcelain can be glimmered through the ashen black robes. An assortment of funerary urns and occult artefacts are scattered about the candle-lit interior. "In the past, I was many things. I had many names, yet I was shunned. I was thrice-burnt, I was betrayed and I was cast out. They feared me, feared my sight and the old ways from which I came. You come to have your fortune be told, yes? To know of your fate?" The teller extends a hand, gesturing for them to sit down. "Sit and I will tell you.."

Fate, the essence of mortality brought low. The undoing. The strings which bind and tether them to this waking world, severed for all time. Yet, despite it's strength.. It is not set in stone. Multiple possibilities and occasions exist, an endless cycle. Some may pick the strands of fate, predict their outcome. One may sever such outcomes entire, but only for a time. Dobrov burned, it had been subjected to horrors not known since the days of Molech's Folly and the schism that had led to such horrors being lost upon the memory of mortal-kind. Yet, its destruction had invited the unsavoury to its ruined doorsteps. Those who would meddle in fate, who would rid themselves of mortality and in turn, would only attract the attentions of those who seek stagnation. The old carriage creaked its way into the outskirts of the once respectable hamlet, now ruined. The decrepit figure exited the wagon. His age was beyond question and his sanity had long since fled. His appearance was marred by countless battles, struggles and horrors. So much so that identifying what he was is near impossible. He saw the smoke, the flames and as predicted had come. Shortly after arrival, the cart settled by an old campfire. There, the old fortune teller stands inside where he waits for patrons. He sits behind his table, in waiting anticipation of those who will come to investigate. His tarot cards wait, futures will be told and the strings of fate will be made bare for all to see. They need only ask, to ask and be told of how to cheat their fates. OOC:

Madman’s Grimoire Pages “Apocryphal Lore” “Blind the eyes, bind the blood.. No one can know the truth.” “Beyond the veil, beyond the void. Beyond the gods, beyond this realm.. They wish to enter.” “Their. Influence. Sealed.” “By his blood..” “On.. His Son.. They Will Feed” “On. Dragons. Blood” “And. Be. Free”

Madman’s Grimoire Pages “Apocryphal Lore” “Blind the eyes, bind the blood.. No one can know the truth.” “Beyond the veil, beyond the void. Beyond the gods, beyond this realm.. They wish to enter.” “Their. Influence. Sealed.” “By his blood..” “On.. His Son.. They Will Feed” “On. Dragons. Blood” “And. Be. Free” OOC:

The Seals Weaken As The Hour of Its Doom Draws Near."

With the vanishment came new and terrible threats, threats they will soon be subjected to as fissures open and the punishment begins. Let chaos reign, let the metal of man be tested!

Roleplay The words were apocryphal, the symbols vague and unknowing. They were ignored, they went unheeded. The dark comes and in their hungering sights lay the roots of the city of Providence. The era of stagnation is at an end, the weak will be deposed or all will perish. Type of War & CBs (if applicable) Rhuination, Migration, Domination, Conquest Attackers Forces of of the Under-Dark. Defenders Oren Wargoals: Sating the black hunger, feeding on man flesh. Location & Proposed Time TBA Contact Information To be discussed

"The seed is sown, the bane comes.. It will fall, it will herald the end times." "From the north, the darkness comes. They thirst for the souls of men, corruption incarnated by domination. Their vessels have been chosen, the thrice cursed children of the Rurikid. Doomed to corruption from the false flame, they shall succumb to the Daemonic taint. The north will burn in false fire, purification replaced by damnation. They will claim their skulls, a thirst for blood the likes of which men cannot possess." "To the east, they have breached the rings. That which dwelled between the Aether, which is older than antiquity and seeks the flame. That which the mana spurned, has once again taken form from the wytch-spawned void they sought to tame, it thirsts. It will have its due.. Such is the price of arrogance." "From the depths, the vermin flee. Their hunger gnaws at the roots of this paltry ceiling, soon they will flood the gates of Providence. A great tide befitting of such vermin, they will feast upon the flesh of unworthy men. A punishment to those who would claim the legacy of Horen-kin, unfit to rule and unfit to call themselves the inheritors of men. Soon after, the enemy shall follow them forth and they shall fall. The darkness rising from beneath the world to consume the stagnant and the prideful."