Creative Corner

[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: OCTOBER 31, 2022 [/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] TO THE VICTOR [/b][/size][/center] [columns] [i][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “To the Victor”. It is the account of one Margaret Lacrosse regarding two strange rings found at an estate sale. [/i] -------- [font=Garamond][size=4]I am in the business of procuring antiques. I’m a dealer in anything rare and unique that I can purchase and turn a profit on in auction. I work with an archeologist named Sally Clark who helps with appraisals on some of the objects that I find and we sell them together at auctions out of a small warehouse on the outskirts of the Blacksand Annex. I am writing this because a few months back I came into possession of a pair of rather strange objects. They were rings comprised of a solid gold band inlaid with a series of sparkling red rubies. I thought them rather pretty when I first stumbled upon them. I found them at a sale of belongings from an old estate, the previous owner of which had recently passed away. Still I found it unusual that they had not been amongst the other jewelry. Instead, I found them in a dusty wooden box that looked as if it had not been opened in years. Still more peculiar was that the seller, a grandson of the late owner, frowned when he saw them. I inquired if something were the matter, but he only said that he simply did not recognize the rings nor the box from among his grandmothers possessions. I purchased both rings for a rather fair price along with several other items from the sale. Sally was enthusiastic as always to review the new acquisitions. It was a good haul of old jewelry and trinkets, many of which were worth far more than I’d picked them up for. Still, Sally seemed puzzled as she inspected the rings. “The design is unlike anything I’ve seen before” she muttered as she turned one of the golden bands in her fingers while staring at it through the magnification of a jewelry loupe. The rubies sparkled gently under the bright lights. “I’m really not sure how much these would be worth” she said suddenly. “Certainly the materials are genuine, but they don’t quite fit the craftsmanship of any particular era so they are difficult to date. I’ll look into the inscription and see if that gives us any clues” The writing on the inside of each band was so extravagant I had overlooked it as a design at first. I now saw Sally’s notes, several words jotted down under the item number for each of the rings. “To the victor” “Go the spoils”. -------[font=garamond][size=4] Sally’s search for more information on the rings turned up fruitless and the following week I placed the rings up for sale at a price just above what I had paid initially. They were purchased rather quickly by an older gentleman by the name of Henry Reever and his partner, Anne. I recall them each slipping a ring onto their finger and admiring the sparkle of the rubies before they set off. It was a few days later that I heard the news. A horrible story that Anne Reever had suddenly passed away. I was shocked at the time, but even more so when Henry slammed the door to the warehouse open despite the closed sign hanging out front. “You have to take them back” he was panicked as he threw the rings towards me. I noted for a moment that one of Henry’s hands was tightly bandaged, but I didn’t have time to reply or inquire before he fled the shop. I inspected the rings once more, noting that they both were flecked with a dried substance that I immediately suspected was blood. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I was rather hesitant to sell those rings again after that, so I decided to keep them instead. It was a few months later that I had a date over who happened upon the rings and commented on how lovely they were. Her name was Bianca Lemoine, a Spiral who worked as an actress and singer. I was hesitant when she asked if she might try one on and perhaps I should have been more insistent that she not at the time. I remember her smiling as she slipped the golden band onto her finger… then frowning as she tried to remove it and found the thing stuck tightly in place. “I’m so sorry” she stammered, “I didn’t think it was this tight going on”. I sighed, “it’s alright, I have a ring cutter in the basement, we can remove it”. -------[font=garamond][size=4] When I returned a few minutes later, I found that my date had disappeared along with the ring. The second ring was missing as well. I know you think this is probably another conn story and the thought that Bianca had simply stolen the rings did cross my mind numerous times. I suppose it’s still possible, but something in my gut tells me that it was more so the the rings that stole her. I started having strange dreams too. Dreams about a lone knight standing in an area, ready to face something lurking in the shadows. Those words from the rings echo in my mind then. “To the victor… go the spoils”. Though I imagine in a challenge between a mortal and a monster, the victor is always rather obvious. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i][font=Garamond][size=6][/size]We were able to get in touch with Margaret regarding her statement, but found that she had nothing more to add at the time save that she had not seen Bianca or the rings since the incident described in her account. The same strange dream still plagued her as well. We did verify that a singer by the name of Bianca Lemoine had gone missing from the Blacksand Annex several months prior with no sign of any rings found amidst her belongings. Interestingly, we were able to speak briefly with Henry Reever as well. He seemed nervous when asked about the rings, noting that it was best to stay away from them as they caused bad dreams. We couldn't help but notice that Henry was also missing the fourth finger on his left hand. [/i] [right][font=calibri][size=2][color=#bcbcbc]Layout and artwork by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=149080]awaicu[/url][/font][/color][/size] [right][font=calibri][size=2][color=#bcbcbc]Banners by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2257922]PoisonedPaper[/url][/font][/color][/size][right][/columns] ----------- [center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/81772720][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/817728/81772720.png[/img][/url][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/81772721][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/817728/81772721.png[/img][/url][/center]

[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: NOVEMBER 8, 2022 [/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] A LABYRINTH BENEATH THE WORLD [/b][/size][/center] [columns][i] [font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “A Labyrinth Beneath the World”. It is the account of one Boris Weston regarding a recent mining expedition in Dragonhome.[/i] ------- [font=garamond][size=4] I'm used to stumbling upon the unexpected. I work in the mining industry as an excavator; planning and digging new tunnels into the earth beneath Dragonhome. It’s hard work, with many days spent shifting stone in the darkness beneath the world, staring down those endless tunnels where the flicker of our lanterns is like a dim star in an otherwise black void. For the most part, we search for reserves of coal and precious gemstones that we can excavate for profit. Still, we’ve found a good number of unexpected discoveries as well. Caverns that open up with buried lakes, remains of drakes long lost to the world, and the occasional buried treasure. It was not long ago that we came across such a space as we dug. It was what appeared to be a shrine of some kind. As we cut through the stone, a crack of light appeared that shone brighter as we continued to dig. Finally, the rock fell away to reveal an enormous room buried deep below the earth. It was lined with pale tile and though it was fully sealed away from any sunlight, the room still glowed as brightly as midday. Several streams of water fell from the mouths of fountains, and upon a great rectangular pedestal in the center of the room were three stone statues. They were carved to resemble great Imperial-like beasts, all of which had their eyes covered with tattered pieces of cloth. It was such an eerie room, and I recall our team investigating the space with caution before we decided that it most closely resembled an ancient shrine or tomb and was best left alone. We re-sealed the room, although I do recall that prior to leaving, we had lifted away those tattered shreds of cloth that obscured the statues' faces, but all three had their eyes closed. -------[font=garamond][size=4] After finding that room, I began to have the strangest dreams. Always, I ended up wandering those dark tunnels and stumbling across that brightly lit room with its trio of statues. Sometimes, I could swear that they were in slightly different positions from the time I had visited before. Nothing else happened, for a time, but then came the disappearances. Now, I will preface this by saying that our line of work is prone to accidents - cave-ins of the tunnels or accumulations of toxic gases in such a confined space have always been risks, occasionally resulting in the loss of a team mate. But this was much more. . . peculiar. It started with our cartographer, Abigail Rinehart. We had set up several tents for the night in a way station established in an old underground cavern. I recall that Abigail had been complaining of a headache most of the day and that it was making her see strange things. I remember looking over her shoulder at a map she was drawing and finding that the series of tunnels was nothing at all similar to what we had excavated that day. Abigail retired early for the evening and I recall her climbing into her tent to sleep. The next morning, she was nowhere to be found. We thought perhaps she had risen early to continue mapping, but her supplies were still neatly tucked away and even her lantern rested unused at the door to her tent. -------[font=garamond][size=4] We never found Abigail, but in the nights following her disappearance, I continued to have those dreams and I recall distinctly that one of the statues had opened its eyes. Its form was strangely now draped in familiar strips of tattered cloth that bore a resemblance to what Abigail had been wearing when she disappeared. I thought that these dreams must have been my own way of coping with the sudden loss of a team mate, but I began to question them more as time went on. -------[font=garamond][size=4] Henry Dane was the next to begin complaining of a headache. He had a history of migraines, so it was not such an unusual event. Still, I remember several times noticing him sweating and commenting on how it felt different this time. “Can’t shake that feeling that I’m being watched” he voiced. By the time we pitched our camp for the evening, Henry had struck a fever and was mad with delirium. “Those eyes in the stone” he muttered as we wiped his brow with a dampened bandana. “Those eyes are watching us”. Just like Abigail, Henry was gone by the next morning. His lantern and other digging supplies were still amidst his belongings and no one had heard him venture from the camp. By this time, we were a month into our expedition and almost at an end of our supplies. The time to return to the surface was nearing and though we searched the tunnels for an additional day, there were no traces of Abigail or Henry to be found. -------[font=garamond][size=4] What happened next was quite peculiar. There were still five of us remaining, and we picked up one of Abigail’s maps, attempting to navigate our way back to the surface. Strangely, the primary map was inaccurate. We followed it and found ourselves moving in circles, always coming back to the out-post. We ran out of food during that time. . . and I remember several of my remaining team mates slowly succumbing to madness, two more of them racing away down the tunnels, desperate to find an escape. Finally, it was only myself left. I thought surely, I too would be lost to the tunnels and I began sifting nostalgically through our supplies. I came across Abigail’s mapping journal, sifting through the various pages that mapped out our previous adventures. . . until I came across the map she had drawn the day she disappeared. I remember at the time, I couldn’t make sense of the strange tunnels she had sketched, but now, they seemed wholly accurate of the labyrinth we had been trapped in. I will say that without those maps, I wouldn’t be here now. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I’ve decided I will retire from my work now. After losing so many close friends, I won’t venture back underground for the rest of my life. Still, I've been having dreams of wandering those tunnels. In some of them, I still stumble across that strange room at the heart of that elaborate underground labyrinth. Sometimes the room is empty, and other times, I still see those statues. They are always adorned in scraps of cloth, pieces of identity stolen from victims they’ve claimed. Their faces are obscured once more, but I can still hear Henry’s last words echoing. “Those eyes are watching us”. ------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]We attempted to follow up with Boris regarding his account. He is still living in Dragonhome, but has not ventured into the tunnels since giving the statement above. He still had Abigail Rinehart’s mapping journal and was able to show us the last entry. It was a crudely drawn map of impossibly twisted tunnels. As we stared down at the paper, we noted that some of those lines seemed to shift slightly, as if mapping an ever-changing labyrinth somewhere deep beneath the earth. 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[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: DECEMBER 7, 2022 [/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] THE FATES [/b][/size][/center] [columns] [i][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “The Fates”. It is the account of one Primrose Adelaide regarding her brother's disappearance.[/i] ------------- [font=Garamond][size=4] I used to live in a small village at the far south of the Frigid Floes. Travelers called it the edge of the world for it was the last civilization dotting the south most border of maps. Even in the midst of summer the days were short and sunless. On the opposite end of the year, as the winter solstice approached, there were times when there was no light at all. It was dark and cold and we called that period the endless night. There were legends too. Rumors that on those dark days, spirits of our ancestors wandered in the forms of beasts and left their tracks in the snow. As a child, I used to venture out on those long winter nights, searching for prints. Often, I found the footprints of small creatures; the winding trails of snowshoe hares or foxes. Occasionally, the indentations were larger. Perhaps the occasional elk or even a great bear. It was on one such night that I came across prints the likes of which I had not seen before. They were like those of a wolf yet the size of them put even the bear prints to shame. They were massive things and the snow around the edges of each print had melted and refrozen into a glistening surface of ice that shimmered like glass. I remember staring at my reflection in those prints and feeling quite startled. It certainly looked as if someone else entirely were staring back. ------------- [font=Garamond][size=4] It was not long after those prints appeared that villagers started to go missing. My brother was one such individual. I recall him acting strangely in the days before his disappearance. At first it was a series of headaches that progressed to complaints about his vision. “Feels like I’m not seeing things right” he admitted. “Like the mirrors are all broken”. On multiple occasions, i caught him thrashing in his sleep, feverish as he muttered something about the tracks in the snow. Then he was gone. I went out with our parents to search for him the night after he vanished only to find that his footprints trailed off into the woods. There was no trace of him. Only the fading prints of his boots in the snow and several more of those bestial claws that shimmered like glass. I thought for a brief moment that I saw my brother in one of those reflections, but perhaps it was only a trick in the faint lantern light. ------------- [font=Garamond][size=4] Since the night that my brother disappeared I’ve had the strangest dream. Every night I dream of him walking out through the snow to the edge of the woods. He stands and waits until three great white beasts seem to materialize before him. I can never tell if they are real or simply a reflection of torch light against the wind and snow. They speak on turns each making an offer. The first talks of the past, of any regrets that could be undone. “My gift is that to rewrite a moment of the past that you wish to erase or alter”. The second beast offers gifts of the future. “Anything you wish to can come to pass”. Finally, the third speaks of the present. “Is there anything that you currently desire?” Each of them offer a promise in exchange for an unspoken price. I’ll never know which of those three fates my brother chose, but I wish he had never chosen at all. The dream ends each night and I awaken without him again. I’ve been left to wonder of my brothers last words, but I will say that ever since he disappeared I have been incredibly lucky. It is as if some guardian angel is watching over me and protecting me from harm. I still see those tracks in the snow from time to time. I wonder how many have traded a life to one of those beasts in exchange for a promise. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]We attempted to follow up regarding Primrose's report. Since her previous statement, she had been admitted to a local hospital on account of an accident. We spoke with her as well as her doctor who noted that it was a miracle she was still alive and had somehow recovered from an injury that should have been fatal. When asked how she was recovering, Primrose simply smiled bitterly. "I seem to have a guardian angel watching over me. Protecting me from any harm". 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[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: DECEMBER 21, 2022 [/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] A DANCE IN THE SNOW [/b][/size][/center] [columns][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he statement that follows is in regards to a journal recovered from high amidst the peaks of the Cloudscape Craigs. It came back amidst the belongings of a scouting group who claim to have found it dropped along one of the winding trails leading up the mountainside. The pages are weathered and damaged from the cold, ink writing faded or illegibly smeared in places that make it difficult to read. It appears to be the diary of one Irene Hale regarding a series of strange dreams. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]I’ve been having the strangest dream as of late, always the same. They begin with a memory of the first snow fall of the year. I find myself standing amidst a forest of birch; dark burls staring, eye-like against the paper-white bark. Despite the cold, I hold a hand up to the sky, feeling the sting of snowflakes against my skin as they melt into droplets of water. The world becomes silent. It is a deafening silence where the pounding of my own heartbeat is audible, a constant reminder of mortality that ticks like a metronome. Here, time moves slowly and if I listen carefully, there are moments when I can hear the faintest sound of a voice. It calls out in a whisper, beckoning me forward. I don’t know whether it is real or simply a figment of my imagination; words from some long forgotten memory replaying in my mind. The snow falls heavier, blanketing the world. My tracks are swallowed behind me and the path ahead is shrouded from sight. I see only the flurry, and sometimes I dream that there are shapes forming from the gusts and snow. They whip around me, dancing like the limbs of a great white beast. I fear that such a creature has come to spirit me away somewhere beyond this world. Then the strangest compulsion comes and I close my eyes, entranced as I take a step forward, my breath a swirl of fog upon the air as I begin to dance. When I wake from this dream, I find myself still dancing, looming in a pirouette over the side of my bed. My skin is cold, fingers and toes ice-white and numb. I fear the frost bite will set in and begin to claim those extremities that turn dark and painful as I attempt to warm them by the fire. [/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]The dream came again last night. I never know how long it lasts, but it feels as if an eternity passes while I am trapped endlessly dancing in the snow. With each step, those shapes linger closer, streaks of white hair flowing past me, each strand encased in frost. Sometimes,I think I see faces with eyes gleaming like pale lights in the snow and below them, jagged ice aligned like rows of teeth. Those creatures’ breath is a gust of winter wind, their voice the crescendo of a raging storm. Mouths open wide in a threat to swallow me whole. I awake with a start. I barely felt it last night, but I finally lost a finger to that dream. It must have succumbed to the frostbite, but when I searched my bedroom, there was no trace that a decapitated extremity had fallen. I’ve decided to seek the aid of a dream walker in town who goes by the name of Dahlia Thorne. After all, none of the doctors have been much help in their declarations that I should keep warm and try to stay out of the snow. [/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]I met with Dahlia today, but my memory has been slipping as of late. She runs the Shoppe of Oddities, a strange place when you step inside. It’s filled with all sorts of enchantments and I found myself inspecting an assortment of crystals and other polished stones by the doorway when I arrived. Dahlia herself was a strange woman who seemed to know right away about the dreams that plagued me and asked if she might do a reading. She shuffled a deck of tarot cards. Strangely, things are. . . unclear after that. I remember snippets and whispers, fragments of coherency, but the more I attempt to focus on what happened during those hours in the Shoppe, the more jumbled those memories become. I do recall leaving very late. I must have been inside for several hours, for It was dark when I finally exited the Shoppe. I was holding a small candle, although the memory of its acquisition had already slipped my mind. Looking at the candle now, it is composed of off-white wax engraved with a series of runes. There is a small paper tag attached to the base that reads “for warmth and illumination”. [/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]For several days, the candle kept those dreams ay bay, but I fear the stump of a wick has burnt out. I attempted to return to Dahlia’s shop, but found the place boarded shut. These past few days it has been hard to say when the dreams end. . . my awakening has become more and more unclear. I find myself wandering sometimes, closer to the edge of town and towards the woods full of snow. I’m writing this down to make sense of it all, but I fear that soon my mind will slip away entirely for even now, I cannot seem to stop dancing. [/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] The reminder of the journal appears to be filled with scraps and pieces of semi-coherent sentences. [i]I am so. . . cold. How long have- At times the hunger is so great- but if I stop dancing, then surely I will be devoured- I am lost now- They draw near and I grow so tired- Surely, this dance will soon come to an end. [/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] We attempted to track down the owner of the journal, but were unable to find any traces of an Irene Hale in any of the nearby towns that dot the Snowsquall Tundra. Interestingly, we were able to find the Shoppe of Oddities run by Dahlia Thorne. The Pearlcatcher inside likewise did not recall of any customers by the name of Irene Hale. We did question her about the candle, to which she replied that she had many customers who suffered from nightmares and that these candles were enchanted such that they would never burn out. She likewise denied that her store had ever been boarded closed. Several customers overheard the latter question and laughed, noting that in the last thirty years the Shoppe of Oddities had not once closed its doors. One customer smiled, “this shop? Closed? Hah! Only in your wildest dreams. . .” --------- [center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/82873084][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/828731/82873084.png[/img][/url][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/82873085][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/828731/82873085.png[/img][/url][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/82873086][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/828731/82873086.png[/img][/url][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/82873087][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/828731/82873087.png[/img][/url]

[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: DECEMBER 25, 2022 [/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] COSTUMES [/b][/size][/center] [columns] [i][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “Costumes”. It the account of one Amy Porter regarding a set of costumes she created following a strange dream.[/I] -------[font=garamond][size=4] It all started a few weeks back. I hail from the Reefcleft Ascent, a place well known for the twisting gusts of wind along with the festivities of its people. It is not unusual to see those who come to sell their wares here dressed in all manner of extravagant costumery. Even so, I crossed paths with someone who stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/56952320]pallid Coatl[/url] who stood out from the crowd of those adorned in costumes of brightly colored feathers and golden bangles. Instead, he wore pale articles of apparel, transparent silks and a satin white top hat. Few others seemed to notice him moving through the crowd and when he caught me staring, he simply met my gaze with piercing blue eyes and a courteous smile. I lost him amidst the crowd a moment later, only to be startled by a soft voice that came from beside me. “Amy, isn’t it?” I certainly can’t tell you how a complete stranger knew my name, but I returned a worried smile and reply. “Oh, um. . . yes. And who-“ Before I could ask more regarding the stranger’s identity, he pushed something into my hand. I looked down to find a rolled paper and when I glanced back up, the Coatl had disappeared. What was left in my hand was a rolled flyer for a circus. Still, though it clearly advertised an event, there were no dates or location where this circus might be held. I shrugged and discarded the thing in a nearby recycling receptacle. -------[font=garamond][size=4] Ever since that day, I began to have the strangest dream. I’m not the type who typically dreams very often, but the dreams I began to have were vivid. In them, I always find myself standing amidst a series of tents that radiate light against a dusky sky. They are unmistakably the tents of a great circus with stripes of red and black painting the stretched canvas. From within, the sounds of a grand performance echo and despite the hairs that stand up along the back of my neck, I still find myself compelled to step forward. The entrance to the largest tent looms like the great maw of a beast and it is dark and warm within. I see the faint flicker of fire light and hear the cheering of a crowd before the final barrier of cloth lifts away and a great circus ring spreads out before me. I am sure there are many acts, but the one I always arrive to is that of a great beast jumping through a ring of fire. It is contained within a cage of wrought iron and it seems to circle round and round, leaping through the flames. I couldn’t tell you what kind of beast it is, for it appears to be some kind of chimera. At times, its flowing fur comes so close to the crowd, that one might simply extend their hand to reach through the bars and grasp it. I am always struck with the thought that perhaps the creature is not truly contained by the cage it is dancing in. Sometimes, for just a moment, its eyes lock upon mine and I think that it might be smiling. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I awaken each morning thinking that during these dreams, I must be sleep walking. Sometimes, my bare feet are covered in soot and dust, my nightgown singed where embers from a fire may have landed upon it. More recently, I’ve begun to awaken to find mementos from the night tucked away around my home. They are always what appear to be scraps of cloth. . . tattered pieces of costumery or occasionally striped portions of canvas that appear similar to the material comprising those tents in my dreams. I’ve begun to consider that perhaps, I am not always dreaming. You know, I design costumes for a living and I’ve recently begun to wonder what would occur if I used these souvenirs to create a new set of costumes. I have three that I’ve started working on, inspired by that beast who leaps through fire. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i] We visited the Reedcleft Ascent to follow up with Amy Porter, who noted that since her completion of the trio of outfits, she had stopped having dreams of the circus. All three of the outfits had sold, although Amy noted that the three customers who purchased them had replied complaining of bad dreams. . . prior to their sudden disappearance. None of the costumes were recaimed from the belongings of those who went missing. [/i] ------- [center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/83002697][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/830027/83002697.png[/img][/url][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/83002696][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/830027/83002696.png[/img][/url][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/83002695][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/830027/83002695.png[/img][/url][/center]

[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: JUNE 21, 2023 [/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] MIRAGES [/b][/size][/center] [columns] [columns] [font=Garamond][i][size=5]T[/size]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “Mirages”. It is the account of one Jason Blackwell regarding a recent trip across the Carrion Canyon. [/i] “I’ve been traversing the desert for a long while now, more than 40 years if I had to put a number on it. I take the occasional job guiding travelers across the sands, but more often than not I’m out there alone. Lots of folks get lost and while it might seem a bit morbid, I go out searching for anyone who doesn’t return. I suppose most often it’s because they were carrying something of value. I’m allowed to keep whatever I find that doesn’t pertain to the person or item I’ve been tasked to recover. Usually, it’s just rubbish, but occasionally I’ll find something a little more interesting. Anyways, the most recent job I took on was to find a lost caravan that’d been crossing the Carrion Canyon. I’d say most caravans go around the Canyon given how perilous the crossing is, but this group had taken a gamble. It was a typical job and I set off in the early summer, following a crude map of the route the caravan had taken. The first few days it was just dunes; the familiar expanse of sand stretching out in a vast ocean as far as the eye can see. A few storms rolled by and I remember it was raining as I finally came to the edge of the great Canyon. Many who haven’t seen the place in person imagine that it’s a dark trench carved into the land, but it’s actually surprisingly bright in some areas. Despite the depth, it’s as if the sunlight concentrates and beams down, reflecting off the rocks with a radiant intensity. It seems contradictory, but these parts of the Canyon are safest to cross during a storm when the clouds block some of the light. I found traces of several recent camp fires at the edge of the canyon and a trail leading down into its depths. It matched the route the caravan had taken, so I was encouraged they’d made it this far. I waited for the storm to intensify and I set off on foot down the trail. An entire caravan is pretty easy to track and I followed the stampede of footprints and wagon wheel skid marks down into the depths of the Canyon. Now this is where it got a bit strange because the tracks began to diverge from the map. There was a marked trail around a two days journey from where the group descended, but they had passed this by, venturing instead further into the depths of the Canyon. The strangest thing was that the trail leading up out of the ravine was clearly visible, yet the entire group had seemingly missed its presence. I followed the tracks onwards. After three days, I noticed that the tracks began to dwindle. I never passed any discarded goods or missing persons, but the number of tracks I was following was certainly decreasing. I fully expected the deep gouges from the wagons to remain longest and yet, by the fifth day in the ravine, there were no wagon marks at all. Only five sets of footprints remained out of the initial thirty. It was then that I found something laying across the trail. It was a small leather-bound book. A journal. I picked it up and dusted off the cover. Several of the pages were waterlogged from the recent storm, but many of the entries were at least partially legible. I skimmed through a few recent pages, gleaning that it indeed belonged to a member of the caravan. The journey down to the Carrion Canyon had gone accordingly, but the later entries were certainly. . . Strange. [i]“It seems that our maps must be incorrect. The path up out of the Canyon was not where it should have been and though we continued for several days, there was only a treacherous and steep incline. Our rations are now dwindling. . . And the mirages are getting worse. We were warned about the Canyon’s intense heat and with little water remaining it seems that many are succumbing to madness.” [/i] That entry confirmed my suspicions that the caravan had missed the trail. The entries after were written more frantically, scrawled in barely legible print. [i]“The mirages have taken another. They say they see such fantastical places and I thought surely they were going mad. I believed they just ran away out of delusion, but there were never any tracks and now I understand! Those mirages are real! Real worlds awaiting! My time is coming. Soon I too will be saved.” [/i] Ultimately the journal was the only trace of the caravan I could find. After another day, the remaining footprints stopped abruptly without a trace. There was simply nothing else to recover - no remains or treasures to be found. Perhaps, however, my own mind had become a bit unhinged traveling in the trench for so long. As I stood over the last of the prints and at the end of the great ravine, there was a ripple in the distant air before me. I wouldn’t say that I saw another world, but for a moment the mirage took on the form of some great beast. It looked like one of the coyotes that sometimes scavenge the desert with a gaunt form made of heat rippling on the air. I can tell you with certainty that it was real. ——————————————————————————————————————————————[font=Garamond] [i]We attempted to follow up regarding Jason’s report. We did indeed find records of a thirty person caravan scheduled to carry several valuable treasures across the Carrion Canyon. The caravan never reached their destination, although all reports of their whereabouts are inconclusive. We inspected the journal as well and it did indeed belong to a member of the caravan, one Isaac Lee. Interestingly on further review of the journal, there was one additional entry after the written log. On two random pages midway through the diary was a crude ink sketch of a coyote. [/i] ------ [center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/87015551][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/870156/87015551_350.png[/img][/url][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: AUGUST 27, 2023[/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONES [/b][/size][/center] [columns] [i][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “The Philosopher’s Stones”. It is the account of one Charles Roswell regarding a collection of unusual stone statues unearthed in the desert.[/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] I’ve been uncovering the secrets of Dragonhome for many years. As an archeologist, I’ve always been curious about artifacts retrieved from lost civilizations and excavation sites are in abundance throughout the Earthshaker’s domain. Still, the most recent site that I worked was rather unusual. It was a miner who initially found the city while searching for precious metals in Terraclae. In their work extending an old mine shaft, they reported light shining through a crack in the stone. As it widened, a great underground city opened before them. -------[font=garamond][size=4] When I was called to investigate this city, the miner who had initially discovered it had gone missing. I gathered a small team of close friends to explore and I remember that it took nearly a full day to descend down the mine shaft and another three days following the underground tunnels of the mine before finally, a light bright as day illuminated the darkness before us. We found ourselves in a room of white marble inlaid with veins of gold. It was a simple, but elegant room filled with furnishings that were surprisingly intact for how long we suspected this place had been buried. A stone door at the far side of the room led us to a labyrinthine series of tunnels made of the same brilliant marble and luminescent gold. -------[font=garamond][size=4] As we explored, we found several of the walls carved with writing, although even the most skilled linguist in our party could not identify the language. Still more of those unusual characters filled the pages of books that we uncovered in an immense library. The city appeared completely contained and sealed underground. More tunnels delved deeper into the earth, but we could not find any trace of an exit that extended upwards towards the surface. Still more unusual, was that the city was filled with statues in the shape of dragons. They were positioned throughout the tunnels, some of them running or carrying items and all of them made from precious metals cast into forms so life-like it was hard to believe they weren’t once real people. It was as if the residents of this place had been frozen into these metallic forms. -------[font=garamond][size=4] What we found at the center of this labyrinthine city was a circular chamber with four stone statues at its center. Each was in the form of a great dog-like beast, carved from the same white marble and glowing metal as the city walls. Each of them carried a luminescent stone rested gently within its jaws. We took notes and collected several of the books from the library, along with those four stones to bring back to the surface for further analysis. -------[font=garamond][size=4] It took us three days to find that exit back to the mine shaft and another four days of travel to get back to the surface. In that span of time, my colleagues began to have unusual dreams. Marylin, our linguist, was first to complain of poor sleep saying that she kept having dreams that she was back inside the city’s labyrinth. I remember her telling me the most unusual thing, that the writing on the walls had begun to make sense. “Formulas” she said, “the secrets of transmutation”. -------[font=garamond][size=4] By the time we reached the exit, I feared that my colleagues had gone entirely mad. All of them seemed to be in a stupor and had begun to speak nonsensically. The miners helped me bring them to the infirmary, but over the subsequent nights, they all went missing. All three of them seemed to disappear without a trace. . . And three of the four stones we had uncovered had gone missing along with them. I too have started to have unusual dreams. I wander through those bright halls, passing by statues with that glowing stone in my hand. As I walk my limbs grow heavy as I approach that circular room in the center of the labyrinth and I could swear that those stone beasts have turned to greet me. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]We attempted to follow up regarding Charles Roswell’s report, but found that he had disappeared following his statement. We were able to recover several of the books that his team reportedly returned with, although all of the pages were completely blank. We also attempted to find the entrance to the reported city, but the mining team reported that it had somehow closed on its own. Even when they attempted to extend the tunnel, there was nothing but dark stone beyond. [/i] [center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88667725][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/886678/88667725.png[/img][/url] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88667726][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/886678/88667726.png[/img][/url] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88667727][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/886678/88667727.png[/img][/url] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88667728][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/886678/88667728.png[/img][/url]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/3LncM4A.png[/img][/center] [center][size=6] [b][font=sylfaen]JOURNAL: SEPTEMBER 5, 2023[/b][/size][/center] [center][size=4] [b][font=sylfaen] THE GROUNDSKEEPER’S WARNING [/b][/size][/center] [i][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “The Groundskeeper’s Warning”. It is the account of one [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/56431074] Albus Montagu[/url] regarding an investigation of the Ravenswood Cemetery.[/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] Do you believe in spirits? I can tell you for a fact that they exist, in fact I’ve tracked them for a long time now. I am a traveler, most often out at sea where I work to calm the countless restless souls that have perished beneath the waves. I don’t typically investigate supernatural reports involving land-based hauntings. Especially cemeteries. These are typically a waste of time since most who are buried in a cemetery have already found peace and rumors of such haunting are usually falsified. In any case, after my most recent voyage, I received some rather troubling news. A member of our coalition had recently gone missing after investigating reports of a haunted cemetery in the Sunbeam Ruins. This happened to be a rather close friend of mine, so I agreed to look into their disappearance. This was how I found myself at the Ravenswood Monastery. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I’ve looked into the history of the monastery itself. It sits on the outskirts of a small town in the Hewn City and it has been abandoned and sealed closed for many years after an accident. I wasn’t able to find much more information on the nature of the monastery’s closure, but there is an expansive cemetery on the grounds that is still being used. Interestingly, my friend was not the only one to have gone missing shortly after visiting the cemetery. I visited the nearby town first and most of the citizens seemed on edge when I inquired about Ravenswood. Many of them warned me to stay away before scurrying away fearfully. So I thought perhaps the rumors were true and the cemetery was indeed haunted. -------[font=garamond][size=4] There was a narrow dirt road that stretched several miles between the small town and Ravenswood and it was late afternoon when I arrived. The monastery was an imposing black visage settled upon a hill of brittle golden grass. Behind it, several twisted oak trees lined the chaparral and the cemetery stretched beyond. I approached the wrought iron gates that stretched between two crumbling stone columns. It was closed but unlocked and it made an unsettling creak when I pushed it open. -------[font=garamond][size=4] The cemetery was surprisingly well-maintained and full of flowering roses and trees. In some places it seemed more like a garden filled with graves than a cemetery. Seeing it in the afternoon light, I admit that it seemed almost peaceful and it was not the sort of place that one might expect to be haunted by spirits. In fact, I can usually hear the whispers of restless souls, but as I walked through Ravenswood’s cemetery, all was silent. The majority of the cemetery seemed at peace, although I did find one odd mausoleum that appeared rather worse for ware. The stone around it was crumbled and blackened, as if it had been burned. There was a broken urn inside and perhaps a faint flicker of supernatural essence. . . Although the presence that left it was long gone. I finally came across the groundskeeper’s cottage and found a dark-scaled Imperial chiseling away at a large block of stone. He appeared to be shaping it into a gravestone, though he set his tools down when he saw me. I suppose he tried to tell me something, but I couldn’t say what it was. My ears have never been any good for the sounds of the mortal world. Instead, he pointed to a nearby sign carved with the words “no visitors past sundown”. I smiled and acknowledged him before taking out the photo I carried of my friend and handing it to him with a scrawled note asking whether he had been seen. The [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/80001023] groundskeeper[/url] only frowned and shook his head before going back to chipping away at the stone. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I never found any traces of my friend, but I believe that whatever haunts Ravenswood is far worse than a restless soul. As the sun set, I lingered beside the gates and waited for the groundskeeper to finish making his rounds before slipping back inside. Despite how peaceful the cemetery looked during the day, it became cold and eerie at night. The statues and gravestones seemed almost to shift in the periphery of my vision and while I found no traces of my friend I did stumble once more upon the block of stone that the groundskeeper carved. In a few short hours it had taken the shape of a pair of large silver beasts, the stone shining nearly metallic under the moonlight. They were engraved with roses that seemed almost to glow in hues of white and pink. And for a moment, I could swear that they turned their gaze towards me. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I am not certain why I was allowed so easily to leave the cemetery, but I found this attached to the gates upon my departure. I know you probably think it reasonable that the gates should be chained closed, but I assure you that there were no such links upon them during my arrival. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i] During zir report, Albus Montagu left behind several broken links of silver chain. The fragments were engraved with a distinctive pattern upon their outer surface - the unmistakable marks of a Gaoler’s chain. We have reason to believe that there is more amiss at Ravenswood. We attempted to follow up regarding this statement, but found that Albus had already departed on another voyage out to the sea. [/i] ------- [center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88873575][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/888736/88873575.png[/img][/url] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88873576][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/888736/88873576.png[/img][/url]

[center][size=7] [b][font=sylfaen]A MOMENT BEFORE DAWN[/b][/size][/center] [center][size=5] [b][font=sylfaen]A TALE FOR ALICE [/b][/size][/center] [center][/center] [center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88884407][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/888845/88884407_350.png[/img][/url][size=3][i][font=sylfaen] Plagued by nightmares an orphaned child seeks to escape the monster that lurks in the darkness. [/i][/center] ------ [columns] [font=Garamond][size=6]N[/size][size=4]ight after night, she found herself staring at the door. “We’ll leave it open, just a crack” her parents always said, “so you can see the light from the hall”. It was meant to bring her comfort as she fell asleep and while the light itself was a soft, gentle glow, it cast long shadows upon the ground. At some point in the night, the candle would burn out and Alice found something waking her once more. She was never truly awake so much as she was [i]aware[/i]. Her mind raced as she stared at the dark crack in the doorway, but her body was frozen. Movement and speech evaded her and she could only watch in silence as the shadows ebbed ever closer. Alice loathed bedtime. She ran and hid and screeched to avoid it. Her family brought gifts to comfort her, filling her bedroom with stuffed animals and empty promises. “They’ll watch over you at night” her parents said, “they’ll keep you safe”. She clutched a stuffed rabbit tightly, but still the shadows swept through the door and something made of darkness loomed at the foot of her bed. “Tell us what’s wrong?” Her parents pleaded, but Alice only gripped her stuffed rabbit tighter and hid her face in its soft fur. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] Next, the doctors came. A stout Snapper physician by the name of Boris Erwood was the first of many to visit the young Imperial, pressing the cold metal bell of a stethoscope to her chest and instructing her to inhale. “She’s completely healthy” he announced, “at least in the physical sense. Im afraid that this condition is out of my realm of expertise, though perhaps one of my colleagues would be of better assistance”. He offered a small white card from the pocket of his coat before tipping his hat and being on his way. The next visitor was a psychiatrist, a Skydancer called Aaron Broadsworth whose eyes always looked bigger than they should have through the magnifying lenses of his glasses. Alice remembered him because he had the nervous habit of excessively clicking his pen. “So tell me, Alice” [i]click[/i] “what seems to be bothering you?”. She was too afraid at first and chose not to speak, but Aaron was patient. “Perhaps you would find it easier” [i]click click[/i] “to write? Or perhaps even to draw?” He offered her a small leather bound book with blank pages. “This can be a dream journal” he said with a smile, clicking his pen one final time before handing it to the young Imperial. “All you have to do is describe what you see”. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] It was a few weeks later that Aaron returned and asked Alice to share what she had written. Alice watched him as he read. She wasn’t very good at writing and the text was scribbled in her childish hand. Still Aaron grew troubled as he read, his brow furrowing in contemplation. [i] I shouldn’t be awake, but from time to time, I find myself stirring in the moments just before dawn. It is quiet at this hour, for the creatures of the day have not yet woken and those of the night have just tucked themselves to sleep. That’s when I see it. Something from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare comes to me. It paces silently towards where I sleep, its form as sleek and black as night. It sits at the foot of my bed. I know it stares, though no eyes adorn its face. Instead a bleach-white skull points towards me, protruding from beneath a mass of skittering limbs and shining chitin. I hear it make a clicking noise, as if welcoming the impending dawn. Then, I see light. It comes as the beast’s head opens, the luminous golden wings of a scarab casting away the darkness as they spread around it like a crown. It glows softly as the first light of dawn peeks above the horizon. It never moves as the dawn breaks, but when the sunlight hits its form, it fades like a dream. It seems to disintegrate into a thousand glowing orbs before disappearing completely. Until the next dawn. [/i] The pages of the journal turned with a faint flutter and Aaron grew still, staring at a drawing sketched in dark ink. “Alice” he spoke slowly, though his eyes never left the paper, “did you draw this?” The Imperial nodded her head slowly. “I see.” Came Aaron’s quiet reply. It was not the crude sketch of a child that adorned the page, but a beast drawn in fine ink that seemed almost to stare from the paper. . . Though just as in the story no eyes adorned its form. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] Aaron Broadsworth stopped visiting after that. Alice overheard her parents discussing the matter in hushed whispers and she pressed her ear to the door to listen. “Such a shame, he was really the only one who ever could get Alice to begin to open up. Don’t you think it’s unusual? They said they could find no trace of him, only sand strewn upon his bed”. “Sand? How peculiar. . . Although perhaps it is all for the best. Did you hear the rumors that he actually murdered someone?” The disappearance of Mr. Broadsworth cycled through the news for a few weeks, but his case eventually grew cold and gossip shifted its focus to other topics. Alice decided it best to stop talking about the creature that visited her at night. Her parents thought that perhaps she was cured, but each night the beast still came and rested its skull like a begging dog upon the foot of her bed. Sometimes it made a familiar noise, like the incessant clicking of a pen. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] [font=Garamond][size=6]”L[/size]adies and gentlemen, join me in welcoming miss Alice Underwood to the stage!” The crowd cheered as Alice stepped onto the wooden platform, her form a glamour of sparkling scarlet under the lights. “Lady Alice will be singing for us this evening! Don’t let those light eyes fool you, she’s a real fire-starter at heart! Don’t forget to thank your hosts here at the Golden Cockatrice too! The bar will be open alllll night!” There was a loud cheer as Alice stepped up to the microphone. The stage overlooked a series of red velvet tables occupied by numerous guests that sat amidst dim light and smoke-laden air. She gripped the microphone in one gloved hand, “thank you for the warm welcome, Charlie. Any requests from the audience tonight?” Her voice was met with a series of shouts and cheers, several of the guests even going so far as to throw coins and flowers onto the stage. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] Alice’s shows were always a great success, and of course a good way to pass most of the night without sleeping. She often left the lounge only a few hours before dawn and slept during the day when the dark nightmares were kept at bay by the light. It was one such evening after a show that Alice spotted a lone Skydancer lingering in the lounge. It was late in the night and the other guests had already left. The Skydancer spun a drink in one hand, several cubes of ice hitting the glass with a soft chime. “Join me for a moment?” She called, though her eyes were still affixed on the swirling contents within her glass. “Me?” Alice called back and the Skydancer finally lifted her gaze towards the Imperial. “There’s no one else around is there?” Alice approached the table, pulling back a chair to take a seat. Her foot collided with something soft and warm that moved away from her with a low growl. She looked down to find a dog sitting under the table at the Skydancer’s feet, a large black poodle connected to its master by a diamond-studded lead. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there”. The dog glared at her for a moment, but the Skydancer seemed to pay him no mind. “Don’t worry about [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60531835]Rochester[/url], dear. Now, I must say you’re quite the talented singer! Just what I’ve been searching for. You see, I run my own private lounge. I can pay you quite well for a night or two of your time.” Alice blushed, “oh, I’m sorry but I’ve already signed a contract with the Cockatrice I’m afraid”. The Skydancer suddenly placed a rolled paper onto the table between them, “you mean this one?” Indeed, as it unfurled, Alice noted her signature adorning the bottom of the page. “How did you-“ she barely had a chance to question before the Skydancer smiled, holding the contract over the flame of the candle that sat between them. It ignited with a sizzle, deteriorating into a pile of light ash. “I have my ways. No contract required for your new position. You can call me mistress [url= https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/35221516]Denebola[/url] and if you’re interested, you’ll come tomorrow night”. She set a black card on the table before standing up and lightly tugging the leash. Her beast stretched and yawned as he rose to stand by her side. Somehow, he now dwarfed the Skydancer despite how easily he had fit beneath the table only moments before. “Eleven-o-clock sharp dear”. Denebola said as she walked away, passing casually by the sign that clearly stated ‘no pets allowed’. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] Faint golden letters gleamed from where they were printed on the matte black card that Denebola had left behind. Alice arrived at the address a few minutes before the designated time. It was the opening to an alley between two unassuming shops in the bazaar of the Cinderslag. She wondered for a moment if she was in the right place and checked the address several times before sighing and leaning against a sooty brick wall to wait. She nearly dozed off when the nearby bell tower chimed and a familiar voice echoed from the darkness of the alley. “I see you decided to show up after all”. Denebola emerged from the shadows, Rochester’s gargantuan form trailing behind. The dog-like beast seemed even larger than before and for a moment Alice wondered how he even fit within the confines of the narrow alley. . . And furthermore just where the two of them had come from. “Well, follow me then” Denebola had already turned towards an open door that Alice was entirely certain had not been present only moments before. She had seen too many strange things already to question it and she humbly followed the Skydancer into the warm glow of firelight that emanated from the open doorway. It closed behind her as Alice stepped into a lounge. [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] The Velvet Lounge it was called and it was an unusual place indeed. It was the same as any other lounge in some ways - a scarlett-curtained stage positioned before a series of candle-lit mahogany tables and red velvet chairs. There was a bar backed by alcohol-lined shelves, and halls leading to several private rooms that clients could rent. It was the occupants of the lounge that truly made it unusual. Alice could tell right away that many of them were not human. “Well, this is it” Denebola commented when she noticed Alice staring at an [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/28030806]unusually small[/url] creature that appeared to be sipping at a chalice of dark liquid resting on one of the tables. “Now, before we begin, you’re welcome to take the exit back to the Cinderslag, though I’ve also procured a room key if you choose to stay at the Cathedral of Eyes”. Denebola tossed a small golden key that Alice barely managed to catch. “Oh and I’d like to give you a gift”. She led Alice to a wall lined with what appeared to be a selection collars. “Oh sorry” Alice murmured sheepishly when she saw them, “I’m afraid I won’t have much of a use”. Denebola laughed, “of course you do - it’s for your beast, same as the one on Rochester. I can tell by the way he’s been following you that he’s quite fond. Seems that he’s been protecting you for quite a long time now”. “How-how could you know about that?” Alice stammered in disbelief, “And how could you say such a thing about a monster”. Denebola shrugged, “We’re all monsters in one way or another, dear. Tell me, has this one ever caused you harm aside from your own fear?” [center] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/05hJJVWJ/Middle.png[/img] [/center] [font=Garamond][size=4] Alice selected a leather martingale collar engraved with symbols of the sun and moon and adorned with a series of tassels that hung from its base. The next time she slept, that beast once again appeared and rested its head upon the foot of her bed. She kept Denebola’s words in mind and though her hands still shook with fear, she found herself able to move. She held the collar out and to her surprise the creature leaned forward, folding back its ears and pressing its head through the circle of leather. “I will call you [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/87015549]Khepri[/url]” Alice whispered and to her surprise she could understand the soft voice that echoed through her mind in acknowledgement. “Master”. ————- Hello! I’ve decided to re-start posting some additional Barghest-associated tales over here in the lore thread. First up is a story for Alice and her bound Barghest, Khepri. Khepri’s inter-connected story will also be posted below. Pinglist (Lore): @awaicu @TextbookHumor @SuperNinjaDragon @Disillusionist @Doxiunoia @Lilyraven @Haftlinger @Koffein @angsthound @WolfandCrow @CalliopeVale @Jaspernoir @Dragonfire546 @Stringbat @WolfTrickster @Bayhound @Kalorin @theboywholived @KrazKitCat @Impavid @137 @mercurialwings @girlinthechair @itsrainningtacos @harpyja @Glaucous @Stormfly @makyroll @ClockworkEclipse @lastghostling @Nixpix @Scarecrows @Starwindrider @Salazia @honeybeas @Mondschatten @WolfByte @StarlightDragon7 @Dragongem23 @Fantivity @Scintillia @After @MineralTownNPC @Dinosaurlil12 @WitheredFox @Kuroda @enceladust @cinderrain @Meanderlin @RhysandTheRaptor

[center][size=7] [b][font=sylfaen]A JOURNAL FILLED WITH DREAMS[/b][/size][/center] [center][size=5] [b][font=sylfaen]A TALE FOR KHEPRI[/b][/size][/center] [center] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/87015549][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/870156/87015549_350.png[/img][/url][/center] [i][font=Garamond][size=6]T[/size][size=4]he entry is written in faded ink, a date scrawled at the top of the page next to a short title that reads “A Journal Filled With Dreams”. It is the account of one Aaron Broadsworth regarding visits with one of his patients by the name of [url= https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/88884407]Alice Underwood[/url]. [/i]------ [columns] I am a psychiatrist by trade and it was a few months ago that I received a referral from a colleague regarding a young girl by the name of Alice Underwood. Her parents had reached out due to the child’s propensity for nightmares and since I had a few openings for new patients at the time, I agreed to take her case. Nightmares are not entirely uncommon, most often manifestations of unprocessed traumatic events. Still, Alice’s family had already tried many techniques before I arrived. They sat while she fell asleep to read her stories, tried leaving a night light on, and had purchased numerous stuffed animals and dolls in an attempt to comfort her while she slept. Still, the nightmares persisted and the child became stubborn, often hiding and fighting her parents each night when it was time for bed. By the time I arrived at their home in Laternalia Port, her parents answered the door with dark bags under their eyes. They welcomed me inside and introduced me to Alice. -------[font=garamond][size=4] She was a shy child and often refused to talk, which made understanding her a challenge. I visited her once a week, meeting in a parlor within the family’s home. She always carried a stuffed animal with her as she was ushered into the room and her favorite was a black and white rabbit that she often used to hide her face. I tried everything to get Alice to talk, even bringing gifts in the form of sweets and teas. Eventually she calmed in my presence. She began to mutter short replies, though when I tried to inquire about her dreams, she would fall entirely silent and refuse to speak a word on the subject. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I figured that if Alice wouldn’t talk, then perhaps I could resort to having her share her dreams in writing or pictures. That’s when I brought her a journal. It was meant to be a dream journal and I instructed her to write or draw on the blank pages any time she felt afraid. “All you have to do is describe what you see”. -------[font=garamond][size=4] A few weeks passed before I came back to visit Alice. She clutched both the leather journal and her rabbit as she entered the room. She seemed hesitant at first to let me see the book, but eventually she extended it towards me shyly and peered at me from behind the stuffed rabbit that shielded most of her face. I opened the first few pages and found them covered in the scrawling handwriting expected of a child Alice’s age. It was a bit difficult to read, but eventually I pieced together the words. Despite the nature of the handwriting, the story itself sounded as if it were written by someone much older and I found myself rather disturbed. “[i]I shouldn’t be awake, but from time to time, I find myself stirring in the moments just before dawn. It is quiet at this hour, for the creatures of the day have not yet woken and those of the night have just tucked themselves to sleep. That’s when I see it. Something from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare comes to me. It paces silently towards where I sleep, its form as sleek and black as night. It sits at the foot of my bed. I know it stares, though no eyes adorn its face. Instead a bleach-white skull points towards me, protruding from beneath a mass of skittering limbs and shining chitin. I hear it make a clicking noise, as if welcoming the impending dawn. Then, I see light. It comes as the beast’s head opens, the luminous golden wings of a scarab casting away the darkness. It glows softly as the first light of dawn peeks above the horizon. It never moves as the dawn breaks, but when the sunlight hits its form, it fades like a dream. It seems to disintegrate into a thousand glowing orbs before disappearing completely. Until the next dawn”. [/i] When I turned the page, I found something even more unsettling. There were several drawings of some unspeakable thing that could only come from a disturbed mind. What’s more is that the artwork seemed far too immaculate to have been drawn by a child’s hand. I expected scribbles and crude shapes, but the pen sketches were detailed, as if they had been printed onto the page. Though when I asked Alice if she had drawn them, she nodded that indeed she had. -------[font=garamond][size=4] I have not been back to visit Alice again, but I believe that child is cursed. I cannot sleep without waking up in the wee hours just before dawn and every night, just as Alice described, something comes to sit beside my bed. It must be a dream, but every night it creeps closer. I’ve tried to drown it from my mind by taking sleeping tinctures, but still it comes. It sits and waits, for what I don’t know. I can’t share this with my colleagues, of course, for they’ll think I’ve gone mad. . . And perhaps I have. -------[font=garamond][size=4] [i]We attempted to follow up regarding Dr. Broadsworth’s report. We found that he had mysteriously disappeared several days after this statement was given. The only peculiarity of his case was the piles of sand found strewn upon his bed. Among the doctor’s belongings, the journal of Alice Underwood was recovered from the fireplace where it appears to have been intentionally burned. Most of the writing and drawings were destroyed. As for Alice herself, it appears that the child was sent to another foster home in the Cinderslag though attempts to make contact proved unfruitful. [/i] -------[font=garamond][size=4] Lore Notes: - Takes the form of an emaciated obsidian beast with a bleach-white skull half covered by the form of a beetle upon its head. - When it opens its scarab, the wings emit a soft golden light like a firefly. - Appears to those caught half way between sleep and waking. - If those it visits have a guilty conscious, they will be devoured. Otherwise, the beast disintegrates with the rising sun and allows its prey to fully awaken. - Those who are devoured turn into piles of sand. [right][font=calibri][size=2][color=#bcbcbc]Layout and artwork by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=149080]awaicu[/url][/font][/color][/size] [right][font=calibri][size=2][color=#bcbcbc]Banners by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2257922]PoisonedPaper[/url][/font][/color][/size][right][/columns] [center][font=garamond][size=4]A series of recovered sketches from the journal of Alice Underwood depicting the beast Khepri. [/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/dM4Gjaq.png[/img][/center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/IEoXXmZ.png[/img]