Spooky Eras

[Prydania]

OOC:

Greetings! A lot of people have discussed supernatural investigative branches of their governments. I decided to create a thread for one-off stories that follow that theme.

A note: Eras is a Modern Tech setting and some may find the supernatural stuff not to their liking. As such it's up to each individual RPer if they want to consider the contents of this thread canon.

Anyway. ON WITH THE SHOW!

 

[Prydania]

31 December 2021
5:34 pm
On a Friday
Sarazed, Iraelia

My name is Svartkollr Eilertsen. I’m forty-five years old, and I am a member of the Prydanian branch of the Azure Dawn.

The Azure Dawn was formed as a militant branch of the Orthodox Church. Já, I am an Orthodox Messianist. One of a relatively small number of Prydanian Orthodox.

Prydania may be a Laurenist nation, and was a Courantist one before that, but it's no matter. We have always been welcomed in Prydania. And in return the Prydanian branch of our order has always acted as...watchmen of a sort. Serving the Kingdom of Prydania in confronting the darkness and the creatures who lurked within it. Vampires, ghosts, wraiths...to say that we hold the line of the light against every monster children go to bed fearing would be a mistake.

But the true stories are far more numerous than the ones that aren't.

I've seen more than my fair share. The Syndicalist takeover saw our order go dark. Underground. We reached out to the anti-Syndicalist FRE but mostly kept to ourselves. The Syndicalists were not the first regime hostile to the Azure Daw on Craviter. And likely wouldn't be the last. Our order knows how to survive.

Be it fighting off the vampires of the southwest that fed on the killing fields of the Civil War or battling the Draugur, who had risen in number thanks to the conflict, I have seen more than my fair share.

The FRE won the War. In time we emerged to His Majesty Tobias III to render our services to the Kingdom once more. We resumed our duties in the open, and for many of us we began to adjust to peace. It turned out that the demons that infest the night were less prevalent with less misery to feed on.

Then one day I received a summons. By the ÖSU. The ÖSU is the Kingdom of Prydania’s intelligence service. We liaison with them on occasion but mostly stay out of their way. And they stay out of ours.
But my Knight Commander informed me that the ÖSU Chief wanted to speak to one of us. And I drew the assignment.

And that is why I am here. In a Prydanian consulate in Iraelia. Shaking as I transcribe what happened to me, as tears run down my cheeks. Uncontrollable from sheer horror.

I met with an Iraelian astronomer who works for the Iterian Space Agency. This is the transcript.

-----

Svartkollr Eilertsen: My name is Svartkollr Eilertsen. I am a Knight Lieutenant in service to the Azaure Dawn and Kingdom of Prydania. Please state your name for the record.

Talia Chagall: Dr. Talia Chagall

SE: Dr. Chagall, could you describe your position in the Iterian Space Agency?

TC: I work in Project Ear.

SE: What is Project Ear?

TC: It is an advanced program scanning the cosmos for signs of intelligent life.

SE: Is this the only Interian Space Agency program dedicated to searching for intelligent life?

TC: No...no it's not. I’m sorry it's a lot to take in. Project Mouth also exists.

SE: What is Project Mouth?

TC: Project Ear listens for signals that may be from advanced life. Project Mouth sends signals out. Or I should say “sent.”

SE: I understand Project Mouth was shut down. For reasons that apparently warrant my presence. Can you help me understand why?

TC:...yes. Yes I can.

SE: So why was Project Mouth shut down?

TC: You need to know everything. From the beginning.

SE: By all means.

TC: Project Ear and Project Mouth were established in 1993. Ear was more proactive than Mouth because the universe is, to be frank, a large place. Where would we even send a message? So it was decided that Mouth would only react to anything Ear found. If Ear found something noteworthy then Mouth would broadcast a response in that direction.

SE: That makes sense. Ear found something though.

TC: Yes. We discovered a transmission. In 1997 a narrowband radio signal of high intensity was discovered coming from the direction of the constellation Astarte.

SE: It was widely reported at the time, I remember. People were saying it could have been a sign of extraterrestrial life.

TC: That was one interpretation. The narrow range and high intensity of the signal meant it could have been artificial. It also could have been an extreme natural phenomenon, but yes. An alien transmission was possible. So Mouth went to work and encoded a complex radio message. It, if decoded, would have indicated where we were from, and what our DNA looked like.

SE: I remember that too. It was quite a story.

TC: We had no idea how far away anyone might be, if they were there at all. But we had to wait. Mouth continued to send periodic broadcasts in the direction of that abnormal signal. Music, science and history lectures. Trying to beam what we could about ourselves. But this wasn't without controversy.

SE: Why is that?

TC: A debate arose. What if there was an advanced intelligence out there? We have no way of knowing if they'd be hostile or not. And if they were it could pose a threat to life on this planet. But we...we went ahead with it. Most of the scientific community believed that if there was alien life out there then… we had to discover it. The implications would change everything. And in other ways we were desperate.

SE: How so?

TC: The idea of intelligent alien life has captivated us since we first looked up to the stars as a species. As we began to understand the universe around us we ran into a paradox.

SE: A paradox?

TC: Two years ago Iterian Space Agency orbital telescopes took a large, high resolution image of the closest galaxy to our own. It's the largest picture ever taken on a pixel count basis. It was amazing. To see almost each individual star. And to know that each had at least one planet orbiting it. That was just one galaxy. Imagine how vast the universe is. Billions of galaxies. Each with billions of stars. The sheer numbers involved mean there MUST be life out there other than our own. But if that's the case why can't we hear them? It made us desperate. We had one signal that may be extraterrestrial. Mouth barrelled ahead because of that. And our foolishness is why you're here.

SE: I’m here because I was told that what has happened falls within my Order’s prerogative. If I may cut to the chase...have you discovered proof of alien life?

TC: We discovered an answer to our paradox. Because two days ago I was manning a Project Ear station when I received something.

SE: So you did receive proof of alien life.

TC: The 1997 signal was notable but brief. It may not have been directed at us. It may have just been something we heard. But this was directed at us. It was sustained. And it was artificial. It had to be an alien broadcast. The dips in frequency were too regular. It was code. It was in the same format as Mouth’s first broadcast.

SE: What did it say?

TC: I couldn't believe it. I was ecstatic. Supervisors were called, and the chain of command was ready to be lit up. Once we had it...we would inform the Iterian League. And the world.

SE: But instead I am here.

TC: I arranged the code into the format of the message Mouth had sent out. And unlike our message, which was pictorial, this seemed linguistic. But...it was...Mercanti.

SE: How could an alien civilization be messaging us in Mercanti?

TC: It's not so strange. We’ve been broadcasting our radio waves into space for seventy years. It's possible anyone who heard would pick up on the most widely used language. If they were sufficiently advanced they'd be able to learn it.

SE: So what did it say.

TC: a frightened look with tears in her eyes

SE: Doctor?

TC: I began to decode the message. It was exciting. Mouth sent the first signal out in 1997. We got a reply back. Twenty-four years later. That means twelve years there and back. They were close. Close enough that the paradox entered my mind again. How were they so close and yet only now were we hearing a definitive message from them? And then I decoded the message. It made sense. Everything. The paradox had been solved in one instant.

SE: What was it? What did the message say?

TC: tears stream down her cheeks as she trembles

SE: Doctor? What did it say?

TC: “Be quiet or they will hear you.”

-----

I have seen some of the worst monsters our world has to offer. Both in the form of men and other entities. I believed that, because our order had successfully fought against the dark, the worst of this world was manageable.
Maybe it is. It very likely is.

But now I know. Now I know why the ISA shut down Project Mouth. Now I know why, in desperation, an ÖSU communique was issued for me, our order, to interview Dr. Chagall.

For the first time I’m filled with existential dread. For the first time since I was a small child I’m trembling at the darkness.

 

[Ianmey7]

TW: Intense scenes.
Umbramandus Ministerium Occulto:

Report by Agent 23571:

To Chairman Gaius,

"Observation facility within mount Regina is compromised, advising within the next hour the facility will engage in a self destruct. I was tasked to send a final report about the findings, the minerals that emanate the radiation were being experimented on for their energy possibilities, tests were proving to be very successful. That is the end of the good news, first the members of the crew that were operating in close contact with the minerals began to show symptoms of radiation poisoning so they were moved into a secure area in order to be decontaminated. When we came back to see what was going on a few hours later, what happened was well nothing short of a blood bath. They began to speak in a language that is similar to Suavidici and Umbrial but not quite. It was more akin to ancient Kylian, these "people" had torn the doctors in the chambers limb from limb. The affiliated were screaming about the retribution of DIO, and that the unfaithful needed to be wiped out. Myself and a contingent of guards were sent with flame throwers and fire arms and this is where the story got worse."

"After the first volley proved to be entirely in consequential we tried to engage with the flame throwers. This proved to be very effective and one of the four was destroyed completely, the screams that it let loose were loud enough to cause damage to the closest mans ears. Blood was seen coming out from under his helmet, the others of the affiliated began to go into a frenzy. They tore bars from the walls and started ripping at the doors, one by one they broke out and the immediately attacked myself and my crew, first going after the flame thrower. Before the rest of us had realized what had happened they had torn his head off and started onto the rest of us, chanting hymns the entire time. We ran, we ran and ran until we got to the first emergency door. Aetós was lost behind the doors, the only thing we heard was four shots from his SN-167 rifle, and then screaming. Then the banging started, we looked at the screen to see what was happening before we decided to retreat, they took turns throwing the body at the door. The door was made of one foot of steel, the body was denting it. We decided it was time to start the alarm, and we moved to head to the command office."

"As we entered the main chamber there was a scene of chaos, more of the technicians had turned and they were on a spree of murders around the facility. There were other observed behaviors that I witnessed. Some of the affiliated took the minerals and started rubbing it on the none affected technicians in what looked like the right of Baptismus. The carnage was so wide spread that there was no order to the sides of violence, myself and the remaining survivors pushed for the commanders office, there was the opportunity for escape we found none. The commanders office was full of the affiliated, they stood there and pounced my comrades were either killed or dragged into the darkness to what I can only assume are the depths of hell. I was in this moment I figured that it was time to initiate protocol Pyros."

"As I ran for the emergency wing I tripped and fell within 20 meters of the mineral, I payed little attention to it at the time but now I know how much damage even that can do. As I moved to the doors of the emergency wing I heard a deep voice in my head, it spoke in Suavidici."

"The mouse runs from the fox, the fox runs from the wolf, the wolf runs from man, but man kneels before its god."

The voice would become louder at times, and then die down. Once I entered the emergency chamber I put in my authorization code and all of the exits to the facility were covered with 1,000 tons of rock. I began to get this video memo together and I wanted to write what a slow transition into an affiliated felt like. I can report seeing images of the demons that drag a honorless soul to oblivion, I hear a voice that constantly calls out for me to commit horrible acts on those who refuse to walk the sanguine path. I have vomited blood several times." The young mans eyes were entirely black now, they had been changing as the video went on.

"The affiliated outside of my chamber are all running on all fours and screaming hyms... I feel the need to join them director, have you gone to temple in the last year director? Do you have the tattoos of gloria engraved on your back? I didn't before today, and I carved them in my back as we spoke with my service knife director, DIO is waiting for all of us don't forget to do as is commanded by the priests. Do you want to see something, if you look in the corner of the screen you can see the demons director. They are telling me that I need to kill you, they said that they are the first Pontifex Maximus. They said that you are a spineless coward who has nothing but oblivion to look forward to." The record will show that there are no demons in the corner of the screen.

"Director, I cant shut off the self destruct. I am going to show you how to properly pray now..."

The young man walked to the center of the room and cut his arms so that he was bleeding onto the ground, where he drew a symbol out of his blood and prayed for the next thirty minutes until he was destroyed in the self destruct.

---

Memo to the temple of DIO Sauvidicum:

This memo is to only be read by the Imperator and Pontufex, We have a video that needs your attention. I will also be going to temple in a week, please do all the ceremonies you can on me.

Signed:

Director Gaius.

 

[Greater Ale Permars]

OOC ambience: Scary as hell

The Imperial Palace
Antalya, The Capital district, Aydin
December 24th, 2005
12:26 AM

Mehmed's chambers were dead silent, the cold December air blew through the slightly open window. In his younger days, Mehmed would have left it open, the cold providing a good offset to the warmth of his thick bed covers. The elderly man slowly turned his body to stand, but his bones ached so he took a moment to sit on the bed. After a moment of rest, he shakily stood clutching the cane resting on his nightstand and stabilizing himself. His leg buckled and he fell to a knee.

"Damn this old body of mine," Mehmed muttered to himself as he stood back up. "Couldn't produce an heir and now your giving out on me." He shook his head and began to slowly and carefully make his way to the window. A weaker man would have called for a servant at his age, but he was no such man. He had fought of Arrandal, he had fought off the Demokratlar, Hell he'd even fought off a bullet. And the weakness of his body would not stop him, but it would hinder him. Eventually, he made his way to the open window and looked out over the palace grounds. The night was beautiful in the wintertime, snow-dusted the grounds and made it look like something out of a fairytale.

But something caught his attention, the stars. They shined brightly in the sky but it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The lights were shining so brightly, that it hurt to even look at them. Trying to understand what he was seeing Mehmed opened the other window and stared into the sky. And the lights... the lights began to get closer and closer to the point of which the old man thought he would go blind. And after a few seconds of the blinding light, his vision went dark and he fell to the floor unconscious.

Somewhere?
Date: ?
Time: ?

The floor was cold and hard, Mehmed groggily awoke from his unconscious state. Looking around though he was no longer inside of his chambers but somewhere... somewhere else. Slowly rising from the ground the old man began to examine his surroundings. He was inside a dark room, the floor and walls all made of sleek black stone blocks. In front of him sat an open exit way, a hole in the black stone seemingly carved out of the wall. Mehmed decided to push on, walking through the exit way and out of the room. What he saw next was close to unfathomable.

Outside of the room was a large castle wall-like structure, made up of the same black stone as the room. In the sky, there were no stars, there was no light. Only the black and inescapable void. But that was not what terrified the man. What truly struck him was the Creature. It was massive, and unlike anything, he had seen before. Its color was obscured by the darkness, but its form was not. Its body was massive, with its tendrils stretching for what seemed like miles as it floated over the wall. It had a long shaftlike body from which the tendrils protruded and in the center of its mass was a large looming eye. The eye shined, just like the stars had shined just moments before. But this time, this time it filled him with nothing but pure and visceral dread. He wanted to run from it, but as he moved to the room behind him, it was sealed.

Mehmed pounded on the stone and shouted. "Let me out, Let me out!" After a minute or so of screaming, he turned back to face the creature, only to find he had gotten its attention. The creature now loomed closer, its eye much brighter than when it was at a distance. Mehmed shouted in confusion.

"WHAT ARE YOU!?" The Creature replied, its voice burying itself into his mind.

"I AM WHAT YOU FEAR." The creature remained stilled but its voice raised in volume. "I AM THE ONE WHO WATCHES YOU, I AM THE ONE ON THE OTHER SIDE!" Leaning against the wall, Mehmed slid down on it sitting down and staring up at the Creature's eye which grew in its brightness. "I AM THE ONE YOUR GOD'S FEAR, I̸̢̲͂̃̚ ̸̨̢̨̛͈̗̜͍͚̳̦̝͆̀̇̅͗̅̋͆̈́̇̋̔̍Ȁ̴̯͉̤͛M̵̜͎̂̔̔ ̸̢̡͎͇̜̥͉́̽̈́͒̽̕T̴͓̝͖͒̈́́̇̚H̴͈͙̭̮̤͈͌Ȩ̷͈̝̠̗̼̼̳̬̎̓̽ ̵̢͈̝̭̫̣̞͉̼̳̗͉̮̙̳͂͊͛́͂͌͂͋̎̿͑S̸̯̺̗̦̺͍͍̠̳̝͕̱̣̍̈́́͋̾͛̋̓͒̊̈́͂̀Ę̶̤̯̩͕̼̘̈́͒̆͒̅̅͌͒͌͜Ȩ̵̛̛̲͈̼̟̤̋͌͆̾̓̇̉͌̊͌̐̈́͝ͅR̸̦͎͑̔̈́́́̀̊̇͑̀̉͝!" The brightness of the eye grew, lighting up the void around it. Hoping to wake up from this nightmare, Mehmed blinked rapidly hoping and praying that someone, anyone would snap him out of this. But no one came, the eye grew to what seemed like being brighter than the sun. That was when the sound began, a deafening screech that pierced his eardrums, rang out for what seemed like an eternity, his head squeezing under the pressure begging for some kind of release. Causing him to shake violently, slamming his head on the stone hoping to gain some relief.

But it never came, the light only got brighter and brighter, the creature closer and closer. Eventually, it was so close that Mehmed could see the ends of its tendrils which came back to the center mass and were now moving towards him. Slowly the tendrils made their way to his now limp and useless body. Picking it up and moving it towards its massive shining eye. And as he got closer and closer all Mehmed could hear was screaming, ramblings of a mad man, and an ancient language which he could not comprehend. All of which got louder and louder as he neared the eye.

"YOUR WORLD WILL BE C̶̛̠̣̫͓̼̥̊̃̀͂̅̾̂̆͌̄͝Ồ̵̠͉̫̍̐̆̕N̶̢͎̘̽̒͗́̀̈́͝S̵̳̬͊̈́͒͂̈́̒̓̆̾͝Ų̷͚̱̟̹͖̤̺̘̀̃M̷͙̖͉͇̭̫̜̽͋̃̒̒̄͐Ȩ̷̣̼̲̰̪͓́͂̚͠͝D̴̬͔̳̰̃̑́͜͝." Was all Mehmed could hear as he finally reached the eye. The light had left him without vision. And soon he noticed he could no longer hear either. There was nothing but void and silence.

The Imperial Palace
Antalya, The Capital district, Aydin
December 24th, 2005
4:36 AM

Mehmed awoke, surrounded by what looked like people.. doctors and nurses. They looked at him worryingly as they attended to him. It was dead silent for a few moments but a doctor's shouting made its way through.

"Your Majesty! You are awake, thank Allab!" Mehmed tried to stand, but the doctors held him down. "My Sultan, you must lay down you've had a terrible fall, and are bleeding from the head.

"I saw the eye!" Mehmed shouted, dazed.

"The what?" The doctor asked.

"The eye, the eye, the ey..." He continued to shout which turned into a mumble and then silence, his eyes rolling back into the back of his head and once again falling back into deep unconsciousness.

 

[Just a Lore]

​

Spoiler: Document Text

Taskforce Ciaro du Luna
Report Made At: S.O. Nerella
Date Report Made: 24|10|21
Date in which Incident Occurred: 00|10-20|10
Title/Description: Update on the Investigation of UP156 aka "Leviathan"
Classification: Monstrosity & Phenomenon
Synopsis of Facts:
The theory cooked up by the research division seem to have bore some fruit and legitimized
some of their work. After a few weeks of searching the waters around Nerella and its surrounding islands under the guise of a fisheries survey, an entrance to an extensive network of undersea tunnels.

The discovery has led to a flurry of activity in this long dormant case. Diving teams are currenting working nearly continuously around the clock. Current ground penetrating radar and attempted sonar mapping of the network suggests the existence of a large central chamber deep underground near the center of Nerella with dozens if not hundreds of connections to the wider Taveris Lake.

Injured/Deceased:
- Corporal '5273' (Deceased - Cave In; Death reported as part of their cover as a member of the Taveris Coast Guard)
- Agent '980' (Concussion - Malfunction on Submersible; Transferred to Merona Memorial in Aukus)

Notes:
Suggest increase in funding for Project 156 & an order for a full audit of past reports and files on UP156.
Using my discretion to put in a formal request with the ISDF for experiment fly-by-wire- submersible vessels to aid in getting to pockets current blocked for human travel.

 

[Tardine]

Survivor​

---

When Doukta (Doctor) Podarisk Zaruvia was called into the Anormalisen Danreti Departoss (Anomalies Research Department) he wasn't sure whatever he needed to do. It was a secret military installation and he couldn't even know its exact location. When he got there they told him it was an especial patient waiting for him.

The room Podarisk entered was bright to the point his eyes started to hurt. However, what was more concerning was the man lying in the floor motionless. Whoever was this man, he was now just an empty shell. He was staring deeply at the ceiling and repeating the same sentence continuously:

"The thing is real, the thing is real."
​

---

11 days before:​

Brennard Scoth was the lead Historian of the University of Olmongeter. Despite the fact of being from a Shaddaist family, he wasn't a faithful kind of man. Also, he never believed on those stupid tales that he heard and saw on historical documents. Nothing of this made sense him, a creature made of shadows that ate everyone on the forests? This couldn't possibly be real, and that's the motivation behind his trip to the Tardineanni Jungles.

He and nine more Historians, the best of Tardine, arrived at dusk on the warm weather of June. A calm rain greeted the researchers while they put out their equipment on the nearby trees. Then, after all settled up, the rain got heavier and they saw a creeping creature lurking on the trees:

- What the hell is this thing? - shouted the youngest Historian, Eleanor Rozevil.
- It must be nothing, tomorrow we sort this out. - Brennard tried his best to calm them - Probably a big squirrel or something like that.

However, in the next morning, they found out that it wasn't a squirrel in the worst way. A scientist, the oldest, was lying on the center of the camp. Dead. This word doesn't describes half of the horror they felt when they saw the corpse.

His form was convulsed and distorted, his eyes gone and he had a big hole instead of a heart. But this wasn't everything, next to him, carved with blood on the trees was the message: "You are next". Panicked about the message, all the Historians tried to use their equipment to call help but, to their despair, everything was destroyed.

- How the hell we're going to get out of here? - asked Kleonis, another researcher - We will all die here!

They started to run towards a nearby city, but they just kept coming back to the camp, as if they were walking in circles. When they finally ended this failed attempt to escape, it was already evening again. The scientists agreed that two of them should take guard so that the other won't die. The first pair chosen was Brennard and Kleonis to watch from 12am to 2am. After this, everyone else went to sleep and both stayed up together.

One disliked the other, because Brennard took Kleonis place as lead Historian of the University. After a while, both started to ignore each other, a huge mistake because they didn't see it coming. A huge, incorporeal shadow with deep blue eyes (the eyes of the dead scientist) approached them. The thing couldn't speak more than one word, barely audible: "hungry". Its shadows grew up and tried to reach them as if they were hands. They tried to run but were paralyzed by the sight of the terrifying creature.

- Take him, not me! - shout on despair Brennard.
- What are you talking about? - Kleonis managed to move - If must, the thing shall eat you, not me!

But the creature seemed to agree with the man and pulled Kleonis closer, then started to eat him in front of Brennard. The terrified screams that Kleonis was shouting got mixed with the creature screech's and the sounds of the storm, making Brennard fell guilty about it, but it was too late to save the other man.

After the thing got satisfied, its form shifted again and this time wasn't that incorporeal. It seemed that eating the hearts of humans made it get stronger, and what it spoke made he feel even more terrified: "eight... more." Night after night, no matter what they did, each one of them was dying by the hands of the creature, called by them as Zak*, a mythological monster that was described to be the same way the creature was.

Every day, the messages were more clear and developed, as if the thing was getting more and more aware of itself. "Almost awakening myself" was the message left by Zak on the 8th night. Next night, it was only Brennard and Eleanor that were left. Both agreed to stop the thing by themselves and escape, but this wasn't in the plans of the creature. When it got close, at 3 am, Eleanor shouted:

- Stay away, big monster! - she was the only Messianist of the group and started to pray in hope that Zak got away.

However, the thing just shifted form again and got closer, its shadows almost touchable. It seemed confused about her prayer's. Almost if it understood it and the thing said, on clear mercanti:

- Why do you pray to a god, when your end is just a boring and plain coffin?
- Shut up your dumb thing! - shouted Brennard on a burst of courage - You don't understand anything about being a human, and now you speak on Mercanti?
- I'm around humans longer than any of you think. - the shadows tried to reach them, but they moved away - I was here when Mercanti wasn't even called Mercanti, when Trantorian had another name.
- I don't care about how old are you. - Eleanor said - Don't you think it's time to stop?
- Stop? I've waited long enough to evolve into the highest form, the Univeras Zak - they got terrified at the sight of "Universal Death" - I just need to eat two more of you, but I can eat only per day. You chose Brennard, you or her?
- Eat her, eat her! - he started to run as the sun started to rose up.

Zak ate her and took a human form, he tried to suck Brennard into the void so that it reaches its final form. However, it was day already, and the creature's powers got weaker. After a few hours, when Brennard was rescued he repeatedly said: "The thing is real, the thing is real."​

 

[Iraelia]

[RETCONNED]

 

[Prydania]

Part I​

25 October 2022
11:34 pm
On a Tuesday
Outside of Stormurholmr, Prydania

I can hear the rain patter on the tent as I clutch my automatic rifle. The pitter patter of the rain is comforting. Really comforting. Fok it, if I wasn't on this job, I might actually enjoy the night out. But despite the sound of the rain and warmness of my tent... I'm alert. Ready. My hands gripping my weapon.

And I'm listening. Not to the rain. But beyond it. Can I hear it? I hear what I think is the cracking of undergrowth and branches... and my muscles tense up.

I'm in a focused trance of sorts... the sound of the wind and the rain, it becomes background noise. White noise. I'm focused. Focused on what I have to do...

And then my walkie-talkie cracks.

"Mattys! Now!"

I'm single minded. The perfect cocoon of blankets and pillows I'd been resting in, in the tent, is gone. I've ripped through it, and the front flap, into the cold October rain of Stormurholmr... I see it and I see Freya... it screeches in the night, rearing on its hind legs as she stands helpless just a few meters from it.

The light of the moons shines though the rain and wind carries its unholy cries through the darkness... but what transfixes me is the sight of its blasphemous body. The muscles and veins are all exposed, a tapestry of meat writhing under the moonslight. The skinless torso of a man, woven into the skinless body of a horse. Its wicked majesty is captivating as it moves unnaturally under the moon, threatening Freya.

To her credit she looks past it, through the darkness and wind and rain, to me.

"Mattys, now!"

The creature, the Knoggelvi, turns. It's single large eye glowing like a cat's in the darkness... and it lets out a terrifying screech as I raise my gun. It charges. Its hooves hit the ground. I feel every one of them... like the eras is coming undone. Its claws scraping the soil, the ground seeming to boil at the unholy instruments of destruction.

And as it charges at me... I raise my rifle. And I unload.

The flashes of the weapon against the darkness... the echoing of the chamber cuts through the wind and rain. Bullets pierce the creature's exposed muscle and the beast, charging, screeches again.

But not in terror and triumph like before. Now it screeches in pain. It howls and rears up as its hit with gunfire. I keep aim. I keep firing. The creature rears to its hind legs and falls, writhing in pain.

I don't flinch. I stay focused. Firing as I approach. Emptying my clip. I discard it. And load another. I've fought both men and creatures through the Civil War. I know how to kill.
I keep emptying bullets into the creature. It screeches and howls and writhes, its uncovered body of muscles and veins bucking and flailing. I empty more led into it as Freya emerges from the stream, soaking wet. The Knoggelvi can't cross a stream of fresh water. That's how she trapped it in place for me. She's shivering in the dark and rain and wind, soaked. But she remains focused.

"You got it!"

"Já," I reply and empty more led into it.

"You got it?"

I nod, and finally stop firing to hand Freya the rifle. I reach under my jacket and pull a long knife, with a blade of silver, from my belt. The creature is motionless.... for all I know I've ended it for good... but I'm not taking any chances.

I drive the knife into the creature's heart, and carve into the muscle and veins... and I pull the vile thing out... leaking not blood but seawater. The tissue of the heart seems to wither against the silver though, and I toss it into the stream. Where the fresh water forces the heart's tissue to melt away into foam and nothingness.

Freya has already begun tending to the body though, saying an Azure Dawn prayer before she begins to douse the creature with lighter fluid. Enough so that even in the wind and rain, it burns. Burns to the bones in no time before the bones turn to ash...

"Well then," Freya says with a gasp. I shrug.

"That should do it. Let's go."

"Já I'm chilled."

---

26 October 2022
12:42 am
On a Wednesday
Azure Dawn Order Hall
Stormurholmr, Prydania

Honestly the Order Halls aren't so bad. I've stayed in worse places.

Things are a bit cramped. The quarters they've afforded us have two beds but one bathroom.
Maybe it'd be awkward, but we've known each other for so long that it's not.

"That was a fokking trip," Freya says as I toss myself onto my bed after my turn in the shower.

"Eh, I liked it better than the Nykur."

"Really?"

"I mean that fokking thing tried to sing to us, the whole haunted entrancement deal? Scares the shit outta me. A Knoggelvi is easy by comparison."

"I didn't think the Nykor was so entrancing."

I open one eye and look at Freya with a look of faux incredulity.

"That's because you don't have good taste in music."

"Oh so it's down to me having bad taste that a demon dragon horse didn't almost hypnotize me?" she says trying not to crack up.

"Já that's what I'm saying," I smirk.

"Fok you."

"Fok you too."

We both chuckle, and Freya lets herself relax in her bed.

"Early or late?"

"Late. Fok it. I'm sleepin' in," I mutter.

"Good fokking idea," she replies before turning on tv. Normally I'd watch too, but I'm exhausted. So I drift asleep.

Peacefully, knowing we've sent another demon back to Hell.

 

[MacSalterson]

October 27th, 2022
7 kilometers or so off the coast near Aćańwuhkyâ

ƛimyañ was a fisherman. He, like his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father, and so on, plied the eastern coast of the Stan Yera like many others, catching cod, haddock, arctic char, and other such hardy saltwater fish. While the trade was not particularly lucrative, he and his husband lived in relative comfort, having inherited a seaside cottage and modest fishing boat owned by his father.

Tonight, he found himself out on the sea later than usual, with the last rays of sunlight fading from the sky. This far out from the coast, his boat quickly became the one beacon of light, floating on the surface of a black and timeless sea. ƛimyañ wasn't particularly worried, he had recently retrofitted the boat with a new GPS display, and still had plenty of gasoline for the motors. He did, however, have a healthy respect for the supernatural. He, like many rural Yeran folk, still left gifts out for the Yerkaltya^[1], and on every fishing expedition brought with him good luck charms to ensure a safe return: a small amount of fresh dirt scattered on the deck, a sprig from the trees growing near his cottage in his pocket, and a discarded albatross feather hung above the cabin door. Furthermore, the weather was almost completely clear, with only one or two ragged wisps of clouds marking darkening sky. When ƛimyañ saw the first stars speckling the sky, he decided to pull in his poles and nets and head back to shore.

Something changed. He didn't consciously notice what, but the hairs on the back of his neck raised. He blinked, and felt the air grow colder much faster than it should have with the oncoming night. He gazed at the sky, looking for the telltale signs of an oncoming storm, and noticed, even with his limited knowledge of the night sky, that the stars had changed. They did not move, but suddenly the constellations his father taught him about that helped his forebears find their way at night were no longer how they should be. They felt cold, unwelcoming, baleful. They were somehow distorted while at once seeming the exact same. Intense, instinctual dread settled in the pit of ƛimyañ's stomach as he quickly pulled the last of his nets into the boat. He not quite ran to the cabin, muttering a request for protection to his ancestors, and checked the GPS. The knot of dread in his stomach spread on doing so, curling tendrils into his chest, tightening it as his breath caught and his heartbeat quickened. His boat was no longer where it was. There was no land visible on the GPS, no matter how much he changed the zoom level or panned the map around. It was like solid land had disappeared. He looked up, and saw that a dark fog had rolled in with unnatural speed. His lights seemed dimmer, and barely reached beyond the edge of the boat before the fog swallowed their glow.

Then, as ƛimyañ fought the rising panicked bile in his throat, he saw the hands. Inhuman they were, each a meter or so in span. They were dreadfully thin, with blackened and cracked skin like burnt parchment, glistening wet with sea water. Each digit ended in a jagged nail, like someone or something had bitten each nail into a sharp point, and were dotted with barnacles, scuttling isopods, and warty growths. A large number of these grasping hands, ƛimyañ did not bring himself to count the exact amount, slowly, agonizingly, reached towards the boat, coming in from the fog or up from the water. None had yet touched the boat, but it was clear that was their intent. He didn't bring a firearm with him, of course, because what was there that necessitated it at sea? But he cursed inwardly at not having brought one at least for the comfort of it. All he had was an old and disused harpoon sitting in the corner of the cabin, which he clutched in a white-knuckled grip in the vain hope that it would be effective against whatever entity had decided to prey on him. The first two hands reached his boat, rising directly out of the water and clasping onto the handrail near the bow. He did not move from the door of the cabin, but suddenly came to the realization that these hands, whatever they were, had a source, and that he desperately did not want to see what foul source that might be. Already, with some primordial instinct, he could feel said presence, or presences perhaps, pressing in on the boat, threatening to appear.

From somewhere beyond the fog, at once coming from every direction and no direction, a voice made itself heard to ƛimyañ. It spoke in an old dialect of Yeran, only vaguely intelligible to ƛimyañ, and the voice hissed and cracked and gurgled with foul age and malice,

"G'alha hyaśt’îłkûy anulhângyaľun d'âtyać’k'â?"^[2]

ƛimyañ remained silent, fearfully watching both the two hands grasping his boat and the others closing in. This angered the voice, who rasped out,

"Śêñkyûśkac’êh!"^[3]

His voice cracking with fear, ƛimyañ answered carefully,

"A humble fisherman, old spirit"

The presence was silent for a moment. When it spoke, its dialect had changed to match ƛimyañ's, though not perfectly. Its voice took on an air of feigned politeness,

"Fishermen do not often find themselves so far from land as to greet me. What does your clan call you, fisherman?"

He knew it was unwise to give one's name to dark spirits. This one was clearly old enough that it still believed the Yeran were grouped into clans, so ƛimyañ thought for a second, and replied,

"It was not my intent to disturb you, old spirit, I must have gotten lost. I must apologize, I have no clan that names me. I am simply called Fisherman, and so was my father, and his father, and his father's father"

The voice hissed annoyedly, but seemed to accept his answer,

"Very well, Fisherman, son of Fisherman. If you are so lost, and without a clan to name you, perhaps it would be kind of me to take you as part of my clan. The clanless have come to me before."

Another pair of hands grasped the boat, on the opposite side of the bow from the first pair. ƛimyañ felt the presence edge closer. He spoke,

"I must ask, then, old spirit. What clan do you belong to?"

The spirit sounded proud, even arrogant, as it replied,

"My clan is the first clan. We were here before those of you who first came here, the pine-tree buriers, the sea buriers, the pale sun-lovers. We were of the dark and light places of the land, before our kind was devoured by the scared and starving pale ones and their slaves when the skies grew black. But we few lived, who have been forgotten by the land-dwellers"

ƛimyañ knew the Yeran oral history by heart, his father had made sure of that. Was this one of the so-called "Little Gods"? He felt the presence draw closer still, now just below the surface of the water. More pairs of hands clasped the railing. He dared not look over the edge. He asked, fighting the urge to vomit with dread,

"And what does your clan call you, old spirit?"

The presence let out a crackling, hissing laugh,

"You are bold, for a land-dweller, asking what I am named. I am named for the lost, for the sea fog that dashes boats on the rocky reefs, for the deep black of the night and the sea where the horizon disappears, for that life which know no other life, for the whale-falls, for the barren mud of the seabed. I am named--"

More hands grasped the boat, and it began to rock back and forth. ƛimyañ felt the spirit break the surface, and out of the corner of his eyes saw it edging into view. It was black as pitch, ancient, a fell shape that he dared not focus on. His thoughts began racing, a prayer to his forebears for salvation, to his husband, to land. The dread had now paralyzed him, and he shut his eyes for his death.

And then, moments before the spirit could speak its name and come fully into ƛimyañ's view to claim him, the fog dissipated and the night changed again. There was a shriek as the hands disappeared with the fog, and the presence retreated. He opened his eyes, and saw, to his wonder, what made the presence retreat. The aurora roared overhead, illuminating a pod of skeletal whales floated in the air around his boat, each dwarfing the vessel. He felt their curious gaze upon him, though they had no eyes. The harpoon clutched to his chest dropped to the deck as he stared in awe. He seemingly made eye contact with one of the pod, and felt a wave of understanding and calm wash over him. He was safe. And with that, ƛimyañ fell to the deck, having fainted from exhaustion.

ƛimyañ awoke to the light of dawn and saw that he had somehow been propelled towards shore. He could make out his husband on the docks as he drifted towards them, clearly frantic with worry. His memories of the night's encounter surged back to his mind as he struggled to his feet and waved at his husband. The sea, it seems, had decided on a whim to spare him. He knew that if an encounter such as that happened again, he might not be so fortunate. As he stepped onto the docks, with his husband embracing him and scolding him simultaneously, ƛimyañ promised him he would take it easy for a couple days, but did not elaborate on what had transpired. Some things were better left lost and forgotten.

---

^[1]Domestic spirits in Yeran culture, similar to house elves, brownies, domovoi, etc.
^[2] Approximately "What sea-brought thing do I see?". The adjective d'âtyać’k'â, most directly translated as sea-brought, may refer to flotsam, jetsam, or other such discarded items found at sea, is archaic and has mostly fallen out of use except in literary contexts.
^[3] Approximately "I demand you name yourself!"

 

[Arc]

This is the first post in a horror RP centered around the discovery of a malicious alien artifact.
Disturbing themes and scenes will be present.
Reader discretion is advised.
Thank you.​

---

PROLOGUE

18 July 2011
Near Kharqah fishing village, Baqusul Commune
Southern coastline of Diyar

Gulçîn Jiyan pulled his hair back and tied it with a rubber band as the harsh Diyari summer sun beat down on him and his eldest son, Baybûn. They were in a decently-sized fishing boat that Gulçîn and his family borrowed frequently from the Baqusul Commune’s fishing authorities based in Kharqah. It was an old boat, from back before the civil war in the sixties. There were Szlavonic letters on its starboard side, near the bow. The boat probably got here from Yekteniya, Arcanstotska, or Yamantau during the old bourgeois regime and got repurposed for local fishing after the ERG* had won the war. It was early afternoon and the pair were just coming home after being out on the water since just before dawn. They had caught nothing; another unlucky day.

“I’m sorry we didn’t catch anything, papa.”
Baybûn apologized a lot for things that weren’t even his fault. Gulçîn just smiled and gently laid a hand on his son’s shoulder as Baybûn steered the fishing boat toward Kharqah’s docks.

“Don’t worry, my son. There’s nothing on your part to be sorry for,” he chuckled a bit. “It’s just been another unlucky day out on the water.”

“Maybe if we were to try another fishing spot? Go visit the communal fishing authorities and apply for more space?” Baybûn suggested, leaning his head in his father's direction without taking his eyes off where he was directing the boat.

“Maybe,” Gulçîn responded to his son’s proposal.

The Diyari government had very strict ecological protective policies. People with fishing licenses were assigned general areas on the water where they could fish legally during the day and year. Gulçîn and Baybûn had technically overstayed their time on the water by an hour or two, but Gulçîn wasn’t worried. The communal fishing office in Kharqah could be persuaded with some extra pay, as it were.

Baybûn brought the boat up beside the boardwalk, allowing Gulçîn to jump onto the planks. A man came over to help him fasten the ship’s port side to the moorings.

“Thanks for the help,” Gulçîn smiled at the man who had helped him, his friend Tayip. Tayip just rubbed his eyes and groaned, clearly exhausted.
“Don’t mention it, Gul.”

Gulçîn furrowed his brow, concerned. “Did you not get a nap in this morning like I suggested?”

Tayip shook his head and looked over to Gulçîn. His face was shielded from the wrath of the sun by his hat, but Gulçîn could still see that he was tired. Bags were visible under his sunken eyes. He was panting from his mouth that hung open.

“Gul, I haven’t been able to take a nap today,” Tayip managed to exhale the words on his next tired breath. “It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get to sleep.” The two men leaned down to offer a hand to Baybûn as he climbed out of the boat.

“How long’s it been since you’ve gotten any sleep?” Gulçîn asked.

“Probably…” Tayip let out a haggard breath. “Probably not since two, maybe three nights ago. I’ve tried to take a few sleeping pills but they barely worked; I could only get half an hour out of them. That was the last time I got any sleep.”

“By Al-Aziz…” Gulçîn mumbled to himself. “Çina and Serdeşt haven’t been able to sleep at all either; seems like nobody can catch any shut-eye around here.”

“Yeah…” Tayip nodded. “I take it you two didn’t catch anything?”

Gulçîn sighed and dipped his head down. “Nope. Nothing. Another day of nothing.”

“Shame.”

Tayip stretched his back before his head jerked over to his right, glancing back to the town. He turned, taking a few steps forward before looking back to Gulçîn and Baybûn to check if they’d heard it too. The father and son looked at him worriedly, like he was losing it. Tayip walked back over and rubbed his eyes. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Did you two hear that?”

“Hear what?” Baybûn raised an eyebrow.

“I swear, I thought I heard Şadî’s voice,” Tayip glanced back over to where he’d thought he’d heard something. “It’s like she was calling out to me, she said my name. She called out my name!”

He started walking off in that direction. “Şadî? Şadî?! Şadî!”

Baybûn turned to look up at Gulçîn. “Who’s Şadî, papa?”

Gulçîn kept his eyes on Tayip as he ran off into the distance, looking for his daughter. “Tayip’s daughter, Baybûn.”

“Oh,” Baybûn’s worry seemed to dissipate a little. Then again, he hadn’t been born yet when it happened. “Is she around here?”
“No, she died in a car crash before you were born.”

“Then why’s he—?”

“Nevermind, son,” Gulçîn cut his son off. “Come on, let’s get back to the house.”

The two walked off the docks after Tayip had vanished past a corner. They could still hear him calling out for his daughter–Kharqah wasn’t a big town. The sun bathed them in unrelenting heat as they made their way home. Maybe it was because Tayip hadn’t gotten any sleep in so long. But it didn’t seem like it was just him. Gulçîn tried not to think about it. Hopefully tomorrow he and Baybûn would finally catch something.

---

*ERG — Eniya Rizgariya Gel or People’s Liberation Front; the communist faction during the Diyari Civil War (1960–1966)

 

[Arc]

This is the second post in a story arc. The first post is here.
This story arc contains disturbing themes and scenes.
Reader discretion is advised.
Thank you.​

---

Gulçîn and Baybûn came up to the front door of their home. It was a light blue, deliberately made the same shade as that of Gulçîn’s childhood home further north. Çina and Serdeşt, his wife and daughter, were still home. He had no need to lock the door this morning.

Gulçîn stepped through the door which led into a space between the living room sofa and the living room’s back wall. One could either go straight forward and into the kitchen, to the left around the sofa and into the living room itself, or take a right and go further into the house, toward the two bedrooms. Çina was laying there on the sofa, bloodshot eyes staring up at the ceiling. When she blinked, she did so slowly. Her breaths, like Tayip’s, were slow, haggard, in and out of the mouth. She glanced over to her husband and eldest child, visibly drained from the same insomnia that almost everybody in Kharqah seemed to be dealing with.

“Hey,” Çina’s voice was fatigued. “Did you two catch anything?”

Gulçîn shook his head and tried to hide his concern with a warm smile. “Have you had anything to eat?”

Çina moved to sit up. “I tried to eat some bread. I almost threw up after just a few bites.”

“You really should go see a doctor,” Gulçîn’s suggestion betrayed his feelings of worry. “You and Serdeşt both. Where is she anyway?”

“She’s back in the children's bedroom,” Çina pointed toward the back of the house. Maybe she’s had more luck in getting some sleep than I have.”

“Alright, I’ll go check on her.” Baybûn started walking off down the hallway while Gulçîn took a seat on the sofa beside his wife. Çina sat up and laid her head against the back of the sofa.

“I haven’t been able to get any good, sound sleep in days, Gul,” Çina winced her eyes. Her head felt like it was throbbing. “Even if I can manage to drift off, I get these nightmares–these really nasty nightmares.”

Gulçîn furrowed his brow in concern. “What kinds of nightmares?”

“I see my mama,” she starts explaining by mentioning her mother who had passed away from cancer in 1996. “I see my mama and she’s smiling at me–but her eye sockets are empty.”

“Empty? What do you mean?”

“They’re empty, her eyes are gone,” she clarified. “And she tells me to ‘find it’; she wants me to find something. It’s the same thing–the same nightmare each and every time I can ever manage to sleep anymore, Gul. There’s something she wants me to find–needs me to find!”

“Does she ever say what it is?”

Çina rubbed her temples. The throbbing was getting worse. “No, she just kept saying ‘find it, find it, find it.’ But there’s more talking than just her; I can hear whispers right up in my ears, saying things I can barely make out.”

Baybûn came back into the living room then. Both Çina and Gulçîn looked over at him.

“Serdeşt is asleep,” he reported. His parents breathed a mutual sigh of relief. “So what’s the plan now?”

“We’re going to give your sister a bit of time to rest. I’m going to find some sleeping pills and hopefully, your mother can sleep without any of the nightmares she’s told me about.”

“Nightmares?” Baybûn, again, looked concerned.

“Yes, don’t ask.” Baybûn shrugged as his father rose from the sofa and breezed over to the kitchen.

“Tomorrow we’re getting up bright and early for a drive to the doctor’s office in Baqusul,” Gulçîn continued. “Hopefully then we can—”

He was interrupted by a piercing scream that could only be coming from the children’s bedroom. The terrified shrieks, in an instant, compelled Gulçîn to bolt past Baybûn and down the hall. He came to the bedroom door and pushed it open to find Serdeşt kicking, screaming, and throwing her arms about in her bed. He rushed over and took hold of her.
“Hey! Hey hey hey, my girl, papa’s here,” he tried to keep his voice as calm as he could.

“Can’t–can’t stop them! Got to find it!” Tears poured out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She was in utter distress, a complete breakdown. Baybûn and Çina soon followed over.

“Got to–got to find it!” Serdeşt kept kicking and screaming. “They need us to find it!” Hearing this, Çina knew that her daughter was having the nightmares too.

Gulçîn pulled his daughter’s head in close, over his shoulder as he brushed her long hair and shushed her calmly and gently, trying to calm her down. It seemed to work. She stopped hyperventilating and went from a complete mental breakdown to a soft sob.

“I’m scared, papa,” her voice trembled amidst the tears. “I had scary dreams and they talked to me—”

“Shhh shh shh,” Gulçîn rocked himself and his daughter back and forth now. “It’s okay, my girl. Papa’s here. Papa will protect you.”

They brought Serdeşt out into the living room and sat her down on the sofa with her mother. Baybûn made her a cup of hot chocolate in spite of the summer weather. Serdeşt loved hot chocolate. Gulçîn was on the phone with Dr. Raman in Baqusul. He got off the phone and walked over to stand amongst his family.

“We’ve got an appointment scheduled for the day after tomorrow; eleven in the morning.”

“Good,” Çina remarked. “Maybe he can offer some better solutions than just sleeping pills.”

Gulçîn nodded. Maybe he could and this would all pass. But somewhere, deep down in his gut, he knew this freaky situation wouldn’t end so simply.

 

[Prydania]

Part II
​

Part I

10 June 2023
6:47 pm
On a Saturday
Outside of Darrow, Prydania

"You what? Austurland weather is bullshit," Freya mutters as I drive us along.

"Missing the Heartlands?" I tease. The rain is coming down hard and lightning cracks overhead.

"Always," she replies. She's never been one to shy away from regional pride.
"Not gonna lie and say it's great," she adds almost defensively.
"But it's not constantly stormy."

"Well Stormurholmr is literally across the channel, you can't say the same isn't honest."

"Whatever," Freya rolls her eyes.

"Eh, I kinda like it."

"Is it like this in Jórvík?"

"Not really no, but that's why I like it. You know how many nights in Jórvík are just so dull? Some wind, rain, thunder? Now this I can fall asleep to."

"That's what I wanna hear when you're driving."

"Hey!"

She looks at me as if to say "and?" My response is pretty solid.

"Shut up."

Freya laughs and pulls out her phone.

"You fancy a movie after this?"

"You hate movies. Literally. It's like pulling nails to get you to go to 'em."

"I know what I like. And I'm uncompromising," she says proudly.

"Já Iraelian giant monster movies. That's high art."

"To me it is!"

"So is one playing?"

"No, actually. But between the rain and what we're doing... I think I'm going to need to sit in a dark room and let myself unwind."

"You sure? After this case I'd think you'd be tired of the dark."

"The dark isn't the problem. It's what's in the dark."

I nod. That much is true. We've each seen a lot. Seen things that would turn most people stark white. But this one... this one was unnerving.

"Let's review," Freya says as she pulls out the case file from her bag.
"One year ago in Darrow Lifolf and Ragna Reikninga's youngest son, a baby of less then six months, dies. Ruled sudden infant death syndrome when an autopsy couldn't find a cause of death."

"Right, but police began investigating the parents when, just last month, the older kid dies."

"Já, a six year old boy. Died of convulsion. The lack of a clear cause, or trigger, of death in both didn't sit right with police. They raked the parents over the coals but their stories checked out and couldn't find anything in the older kid. No poison, no signs of abuse. Nothing."

"Weird enough to maybe pop our radar but..."

"Right you are my Bayardi friend," Freya replies.
"What really got the Order's attention was the six year old. Apparently he cried out 'pukimaður*' before he died. Mamma and pabbi claimed he'd been talking about the pukimaður for weeks. They didn't believe him."

"Who would?"

"Right. But you saw what I saw."

Prydanian folklore is no stranger to ghosts, ghouls, and other things that go bump in the night, if you'll allow the cliche. And the scary thing is we've seen most of 'em. But the pukimaður... for a while I thought that was just a generic term for the assorted collection of horrors.

"You remember what Svartkollr said?" Freya continues. I nod. I do. I remember when this assignment came across our desks. Svartkollr Eilertsen let me know just what the pukimaður was.

"No known origin. Etymology is a dead end. This thing is old."

Freya shakes her head.
"I saw that thing, just behind Ragna, Mattys."

I can tell she's holding back the urge to scream. Or cry. Or both.

"I did too..."

"It was..."

"Toying with her."

"I felt like it was... God I don't know. Deeply, profoundly, upsetting. How fokked is that? Given what we do?"

"Svartkollr said it was racial memory. Not Prydanians or Bayardi or Gotic or any of that crap, but human. Like as humans we're hardwired to fear this thing."

"Has Svartkollr seen it?"

"He didn't say. But I saw how he talked about it. I think he has."

Freya breaths deep and thumbs through the file. She desperately wants to forget what we saw in that dark, mouldy house we found Ragna in. And I do too.

"So Lifolf... his kids are dead. He's not charged but everyone thinks he did it anyway. He's utterly distraught. Goes out to Hafragil. Why Waltheof Harpa?"

"Therapy," I answer, almost confused. Freya knows that.

"Right," she replies, her thumb tapping the stack of papers in the file as we drive through the rain.
"But Darrow has therapists. Why come out to Hafragil? What's so special about Dr. Waltheof Harpa of all therapists?"
"I donno, but it must be something. Lifolf hung himself in the good doctor's study."

"There's something here. His oldest daughter, Svanlaug, seventeen," Freya mutters.
"She visited Ragna just before we did."

"We know this thing is latched to Ragna, we saw it."

"It vanished into thin air, Mattys. I don't think being in two places at once is much trouble for it."

"But still. Why are we going to Hafragil? We know it's in Darrow. We can kill it there, even if it is tormenting Dr. Harpa and his family too."

"Because," Freya says coldly.
"You saw Ragna. She's nearly broken. But Dr. Harpa has two daughters. This thing has a three fresh people to toy with."

That sends a shiver down my spine. I don't say anything...something... something's not right. Something about this...

"Holy shit."

"What?"

"Freya, is Dr. Harpa married?"

"Um... no. His wife died in a car accident three months ago."

"That's it! That's... ok! Ok... Lifolf lost his kids, right? He had to go to Dr. Harpa because I bet my bottom kross on not a single therapist in Darrow has lost a loved one recently. But Harpa did! Lifolf was looking for someone who felt grief like he did!"
"But why'd he kill himself after meeting with him?"

"This thing... it made him, I'm sure of it Freya. And think about it. What did Svartkollr say? A primal, racial fear we all have of this thing. We're all prey... but if you're compromised. Weak. Sad. You're easier prey. Lifolf wasn't just looking for a therapist who understood grief. He wasn't looking for someone who understood him. He was looking for someone else this thing could latch onto!"

The rain is coming down in sheets. I can barely see in front of me, even though the sun hasn't set yet. Still, I push down on the pedal. We need to get to Hafragil as soon as possible.

---

*pukimaður- boogeyman

 

[Yamantau Em]

Ephyra, 1939


Erin watched carefully as the greenhand pulled in the nets. Hand over hand, careful not to put his hands anywhere he shouldn't.


“Good. Just keep doing it like that, you'll get faster with practice.” he smiled at the young man as the stout boy gave him a firm nod and a determined smile.


Captain Erin Jorvaldson had fished the waters off the coast of Ephyra since he was a little younger than his greenhand, Eamon. Eamon had come to him, hat in hand, looking for work three weeks prior, and had quickly showed what he was made of. He never complained, he never asked questions he did not need answers to, he was always right where he was needed, whether that be pulling in nets, helping guide the boat into dock, setting baits, or sorting the catch. A few dollars a week, that's all the boy asked, and Erin was happy to pay as long as business was good. As of late, the usual spots had been a little more scarce, but still enough in the nets to keep the trawler afloat.


“Eugh, what is that?” Alex recoiled as he pulled an odd creature from the net. Alex had been Erin's first-mate since Erin could rightly remember. Erin squinted as Alex brought the writhing thing forward. Eamon finished pulling in the empty net and joined the other two men as they examined the thing that Alex had now laid on a table against the side.


It measured maybe sixteen inches in length, and was quite large around, but it's sides seemed to heave as if taking deep breaths as it laid on the table. It's scales, if one could call them that, were oddly flared out at their edges and appeared to be hewn from wet, shiny obsidian, but were velvet soft to the touch. It's eyes were milky white and the mouth seemed to be full of small, jagged teeth.


“What kind of fish is that?” Eamon cocked his head to the side as he examined it.


Erin scratched at the thick mass of graying beard that adorned his chin and let out an apprehensive groan.


“I'm not rightly sure, my boy. I'm not rightly sure. Never some’at quite like it. Some manner a’ deep dweller done found his way a bit too high, I'd think.” Erin guessed, as confounded as he was intrigued. Men brought back all manner of odd creatures from deep sea dives and trawling the depths but he had never seen a creature as odd as the one before him. He'd heard talk of a babbling policeman and a doctor a year prior seeing strange creatures out on Macklin Reef, but paid them no mind. The imaginations of fishermen can be quite the thing.


The trio continued to study the fish, poking and prodding it until it began to emit a shrill, piercing whine. Alex quickly hit it over the head with a mallet he pulled from the floor, which only seemed to worsen the noise.


“Gods, shut that thing up!” Erin covered his ears and turned away as the noise got louder. Eamon took the mallet from Alex and delivered a thundering blow, felling the creature silent, a few of its needle like teeth clattering across the table.


“Lord, son, you didn't have to crush his head.” Alex chuckled, casting Eamon a wry smile.


Eamon grinned sheepishly before tossing the mallet aside.


“What's it got in ‘is mouth there?” Erin squinted as he drew back nearer, pointing to a small stone that seemed to be protruding from between the shattered teeth. Eamon leaned in, examining the stone before reaching for it slowly, hesitating for a moment before grabbing it.


“What? Afraid he's gonna bite ye?” Erin laughed, before leaning in shoulder to shoulder with the young man.


Eamon used his thumb to clear away some manner of slimy black fluid from the stone, revealing a small glyph carved into it, the symbol he did not recognize. It was that of a stylized star, with smaller intricate details carved into it. He turned away, dipping it into the wooden box used to hold crabs, the water washing away the remainder of the black substance, which seemed to spread in a small cloud in the water of the box.


“Little snack for the devils.” Alex said as he watched the crabs in the bottom seemingly move into the path of the cloud with purpose.


The details in the carving were quite intricate, a sigil more than a glyph. An oddity to be sure.


“Someone likely threw it in the water and our odd little friend probably gobbled it up by mistake. You should keep it. Might be good luck.” Erin joked with a flick of his eyebrows as he gave a Eamon a slap on the back.


“We'll take that thing to the university, maybe they'll know what he be. But as for us, let's get back to port. It's getting late, and we don't want to meet the critters on the reef.” Erin grinned.


Eamon raised an eyebrow. “I've heard you both speak of these creatures on the reef. What do you mean?” he inquired, slipping the stone into his shirt pocket before going back to pulling in the next net.


“Fish that move like men. Big ‘uns. S'posedly they come out at night to study the stars in peace.” Alex chimed in. “All rumors, a fun thing to scare the little ones me thinks.”


Eamon gave a crooked shrug and a nod as if to say “Fair enough.”


Back at the port, Eamon collected his days pay from Erin after the catch had been offloaded and passed on to the vendors.


“Little shits are getting bold, trying to cut down on what they're paying to us.” Erin explained, handing some coins and a pair of bills over to Eamon, who quickly counted it before stuffing it in his pocket.


“Still enough to keep me sheltered and fed, Captain.” Eamon smirked, ever thankful to the old salt.


Erin smiled as Eamon went to walk away.


“Wait. Come back here.” Erin told him, reaching into his pocket and producing another set of neatly folded bills, totalling about twenty kross. He grabbed Eamon's hand and pushed the stack of bills into his palm.


“Yer a good young man, and a damn fine addition, it's about time I pay you like it. We're not going out tomorrow or the next day, weather is supposed to be poorly, so take the next couple to get some rest, maybe find yourself some trouble at the tavern. I'll be off to the university with our strange little catch, see what the book learned know about it.” Erin told him.


Eamon held the stack of bills, it was the most money he had held at one time in quite a while.


“Put it in your pocket, lad.” Erin assured him.


Eamon slipped the stack into his pants pocket, feeling the small stone scrape his knuckle as he did.


“I'll see you then, Captain. Safe travels.” Eamon smiled, quickly turning and heading back to the room he rented above the bakery.


Erin watched him walk for a moment before smiling and exhaling with a gentle laugh.


The room Eamon rented was small, but he had furnished it with his own money, and the landlady was quite kind and understanding when rent was a couple of days late. He took the envelope down from the shelf that he kept behind some old books and opened it up, putting all but maybe ten kross into the envelope and returning it. He took the remainder and wandered down the hall, gently knocking at his landlady's door.


She answered shortly after, she was a comely woman, maybe in her early thirties, left the building by her late husband. She pulled her robe around her shoulders and pushed her reddish hair from her pale jade-skinned face.


“Eamon, good evening.” she smiled sweetly.


“Good evening, Vera. I'm sorry to disturb you, I just wanted to drop this off before I forgot.” he smiled, handing her the neatly folded bills.

“There's last month, this month, and next month in there. I really appreciate your patience.” he said sheepishly.


Vera took the bills and smiled. She tapped the small stack against her palm as if considering something. “Eamon, how would you like to own that space?” she asked.


“Well, Vera, it would make it a lot easier knowing I have a place all my own. How would that work though?” he inquired.


“You've been renting from me for almost a year, and it's been honestly a little sad watching how stressed you get. I'll put all the money you've paid me towards it, and we'll call it another hundred dollars, and then it's all yours. Pay me however much, whenever you can. Sound square?” she asked.


“Sounds square.” he smiled, holding out his hand. Vera shook his hand and watched him turn and walk away, a spring in his step.


Eamon was grinning from ear to ear as he changed out of his work clothes, placing the small stone on the desk. He sat in bed and read from an old book before surrendering the the mercies of sleep.


The stone on the table seemed to shine as the moonlight washed over it from the window, humming slightly.

 

[Arc]

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Spoiler: Document text

SPECIAL ACTIVITIES DIVISION
INTERNAL INFORMATION & SECURITY AGENCY
MINISTRY OF THE INTERIOR
KHASTENIAN REPUBLIC

OSD OPERATIONAL AREA [REDACTED]
Report file No. [REDACTED]
Report filed by: [REDACTED]

Date of report filed: 08/02/2008

REPORT TITLE: Report on Investigation of Involvement In 1969 "Mt. Yarov Incident" by [REDACTED]

Date(s) of described event(s): 10/12/1969, 11/12/1969, 30/05/2007, 08/10/2007

REPORT CLEARANCE DESIGNATION: Indigo

CLASSIFICATION OF ENTITY(IES) INVOLVED
[ ] Class I
[ ] Class II
[x] Class III
[ ] Class IV

CONTENTS OF REPORT:
December 1969, nine hikers from Grestin Polytechnical Institute, eight student and one teacher, discovered dead during search-and-rescue efforts around Mt. Yarov. Seven of nine bodies recovered by January. Cause of death confirmed for all seven as hypothermia. Further two bodies located in February. Determined to have died as a result of blunt force trauma. Autopsy reports later confirmed all nine hikers died on the night of 10-11 December 1969. Tenth hiker also reported as missing along with the other nine, although the final body was never located. OSD Group [REDACTED] imbedded with original government investigators, tasked with determining possible involvement and location of [REDACTED] after having escaped the [REDACTED] facility in 19[REDACTED]. Diary recovered from among hikers' belongings notably describes a sense of having been watched or stalked. Original investigation ended in 1970.

May 2007, government authorities reopened formal investigations into "Mt. Yarov Incident." OSD Group [REDACTED] dispatched to location under the guise of being government investigators. 29 May, investigators discovered entrance to a previously unknown network of caves 4.3 km away from hikers' original campsite. All nine previously discovered bodies were found no farther than 1 km from campsite.

30 May, undercover Group [REDACTED] field agents [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and [REDACTED] began investigation of the cave network at 0120 hrs. All radio communication with field agents lost by 0300 hrs. Disappearances of three field agents publicly reported as an "unfortunate natural accident." Formal investigation continued publicly until 14 September. Official public reporting concluded that all ten hikers were "compelled by unexpected natural forces" to "escape and flee from their tents under a sense of panic and distress" before "succumbing to natural elements which they were, at that moment, inadequately dressed and prepared for." The missing tenth body was stated as "having been lost to natural forces within days" of the night of 10-11 December 1969.

8 October, OSD Operational Area [REDACTED] Director [REDACTED] authorized deployment of Field Action Team [REDACTED] into the cave network. Deceased remains of the three lost field agents were located, identified, and recovered. DNA samples were obtained from the bodies and the surrounding environment. Field Action Team [REDACTED] extracted from the cave network without incident. [REDACTED] was not located on site. Strongly believed to have relocated elsewhere between 30 May and 8 October.

DNA tests on recovered samples later concluded with direct match of genetic code of [REDACTED] from [REDACTED] facility records. Involvement of [REDACTED] in field agents' deaths confirmed, involvement in 1969 Mt. Yarov Incident strongly suspected.

RECOMMENDATION(S) FOR FURTHER ACTION:
Mt. Yarov caves confirmed to have, at one point, been home to [REDACTED] following escape from the [REDACTED] facility in 19[REDACTED]. Current whereabouts are unknown at this time.

Strongly recommend prohibiting access to cave network and surrounding area to the public. Cannot unnecessarily risk public attention in regards to [REDACTED]. Engineering a dangerous event/incident to justify restricting public access is advised.

Recommend further deployment of Field Action Teams [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] for the purpose of tracking down [REDACTED]. OSD Board of Directors have authorized kill/capture order in the interests of public safety. Neutralization of [REDACTED] of paramount importance.