Post by _ on Mar 28, 2019 21:03:45 GMT -6
I thought it could be fun to write a fantasy narrative, and to do so as a TBL collective would be very cool indeed. Those interested could write as little or as much as they want to as often as they feel fit, taking the story in whichever direction they want. I propose basing the writing on real life circumstances in our lives, but also eh, whatever bloats your moat. If no one wants to participate, I may write additional entries myself, or eh -- may not. And without further ado.
I.
I know not how many dusks and how many dawns it has been since the Wolves of Woe leapt upon us in lupine lechery and hate. From the shadowed crags afoot the mountains they found us: my watch had faltered and by the cold moonlight the vulnerability of our camp was laid bare. I need not recount the terror we faced for it recounts itself in my dreams, and my heart cannot take a retelling of how my error nearly costed us our lives as we fled to the relative safety of Umbra’s Root, perpetual shadow beneath the mountain.
Gúð-wine, my theroid companion and friend, has been greatly wounded and here we are, on my account, in the black underground. After we stepped out from under sky to beneath earth, some magic, luck, or Providence shut the way, barring entry from the great horde of Wolves pursuing us; and yet, some handful of the beasts leading the pack passed the threshold in time and disappeared from view, black hide lost in black dark. I daresay they shall attack as as soon as they regather their strength. I hear echoes of their snarls and laughter and careful, unyielding pursuit as we walk warily in the dark, hoping for a way out and peace from our Enemies.
II.
Walking within the Root of Umbra knows no time and offers no comfort. It has been cold since we walked into darkness (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-YDL2RjoBk). The Wolves do not abate more than is needed to mock us. Gúð-wine has not healed and cannot possibly recover strength against consistent ambuscade; if we do not find an escape or a defense soon, he will perish. My mind is clouded: I cannot heal him with art or magic.
A foul smell grows as we move forward; is it not presage of some malefic end? Danger ever at hand, I try to bend my thought towards some new hope.
III.
Were it weariness or negligence or even apathy, it matters not much: without foresight or slowing, my footsteps along the hard stone fell abruptly into a pool, easily hidden in the dark and by its immense, total silence. I stumbled forward, then caught myself. Gúð-wine, more gracefully and following my footsteps, entered quietly behind. We stopped, and the small noise we made in the water echoed tenfold in the dark, cold and empty underground. Empty, so we thought; we certainly did not expect a pool to fill the space before us. Indeed, was it a pool? The water seemed more viscous than the thin remains of our traveling stores from which we drink. In the dark the hue of the water is difficult to discern, but it did not appear clear, as one might expect from water undisturbed in a soilless cave. We moved into the water until it hugged my shins, almost my knees. Assuming through its unknown depths and purpose we must travel — assuming there is only this way — I took another few steps. That is when I felt beneath my feet and before my way the first of the bodies, cold, exanimate, and unmistakably human.
I.
I know not how many dusks and how many dawns it has been since the Wolves of Woe leapt upon us in lupine lechery and hate. From the shadowed crags afoot the mountains they found us: my watch had faltered and by the cold moonlight the vulnerability of our camp was laid bare. I need not recount the terror we faced for it recounts itself in my dreams, and my heart cannot take a retelling of how my error nearly costed us our lives as we fled to the relative safety of Umbra’s Root, perpetual shadow beneath the mountain.
Gúð-wine, my theroid companion and friend, has been greatly wounded and here we are, on my account, in the black underground. After we stepped out from under sky to beneath earth, some magic, luck, or Providence shut the way, barring entry from the great horde of Wolves pursuing us; and yet, some handful of the beasts leading the pack passed the threshold in time and disappeared from view, black hide lost in black dark. I daresay they shall attack as as soon as they regather their strength. I hear echoes of their snarls and laughter and careful, unyielding pursuit as we walk warily in the dark, hoping for a way out and peace from our Enemies.
II.
Walking within the Root of Umbra knows no time and offers no comfort. It has been cold since we walked into darkness (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-YDL2RjoBk). The Wolves do not abate more than is needed to mock us. Gúð-wine has not healed and cannot possibly recover strength against consistent ambuscade; if we do not find an escape or a defense soon, he will perish. My mind is clouded: I cannot heal him with art or magic.
A foul smell grows as we move forward; is it not presage of some malefic end? Danger ever at hand, I try to bend my thought towards some new hope.
III.
Were it weariness or negligence or even apathy, it matters not much: without foresight or slowing, my footsteps along the hard stone fell abruptly into a pool, easily hidden in the dark and by its immense, total silence. I stumbled forward, then caught myself. Gúð-wine, more gracefully and following my footsteps, entered quietly behind. We stopped, and the small noise we made in the water echoed tenfold in the dark, cold and empty underground. Empty, so we thought; we certainly did not expect a pool to fill the space before us. Indeed, was it a pool? The water seemed more viscous than the thin remains of our traveling stores from which we drink. In the dark the hue of the water is difficult to discern, but it did not appear clear, as one might expect from water undisturbed in a soilless cave. We moved into the water until it hugged my shins, almost my knees. Assuming through its unknown depths and purpose we must travel — assuming there is only this way — I took another few steps. That is when I felt beneath my feet and before my way the first of the bodies, cold, exanimate, and unmistakably human.