Scare the Storyteller: Difference between revisions

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ENTRIES 2023
#REDIRECT [[Scare_The_Storytellers]
 
Picram - Decheeran - The Lys
 
Author: Picram
Horror: The Lys, the much less popular counterpart of the Tal
Summary: The Lys is, in a sense, the opposite of the Tal. It is said to make Decheerans leave their groves, often causing as much suffering as possible in the process, to pull them towards the dark side of Atria, where their bodies and their sanity will wither under the perpetual darkness.
Story:
Most Decheerans know of the Tal, the force that allows them to bond and form groves. However, just like any other force in the universe has an equal counterpart, the opposite force of the Tal is the Lys, a force that breaks down groves and social structures by subtly altering the mind of an affected Decheeran, causing them to sow strife wherever they go, first subtly, then more and more pronounced, until they eventually leave society and move towards the dark side of Atria, where they will feel inexorably drawn towards. While brief excursions into the perpetual darkness cause a Decheeran to feel something between light discomfort and elevated levels of distress, those getting lost there will eventually wither in both body and mind. Should they not have severed their connection to their grove, the extremely unpleasant sensation of withering will be inflicted upon their grove mates, either driving them into madness or forcing them to sever their connection, eventually breaking up the grove. According to some mostly forgotten tales, the naxel are either the descendants of Decheerans lost on the dark side of Atria, or in some versions even the very same.
Much like the Decheerans chose to revere the idea of the Tal, they chose to collectively avoid exposure to the idea of the Lys, both physically by staying away from the dark side of Atria, and mentally by refusing to discuss it until it mostly faded from knowledge, for the ancients feared that merely knowing of the Lys could expose one to it's detrimental effects. While the ancient Decheerans were apparently successful back in the day, it remains to be seen if truly every item depicting or discussing the Lys was destroyed, or if some unlucky excavation team might find what was intentionally lost for ages, and irrevocably upload their find to the commsphere...
 
 
 
 
Author: Poet
 
Horror: Arrick the Everdying
 
Summary: A Jin in a very small box
 
Story:
Still stuck on the “what scares a race that worships death?” thing. So have a Cask of Amontillado-esqe horror.
“So my children, you have heard the story of the Engineer. Squelching his way through the Ark. Years and years, and yet he continues. Some of him.” The old storyteller looks around at his young audience. “Have you though, heard the tale of Arrick the Everdying?”
“No? Well. Let me see. Where to start?”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Flacking coffin. If I can hear it I must be awake. Again. I struggle to find mental focus and open my eyes. They are sticky from being closed for so long. I feel along the seat next to my right hand and count the pin pricks in the plastic. …thirty-eight, thirty-nine… I reach the end and then I poke one needle sharp claw into the seat. Forty. This is the fortieth time this damn thing has awakened me. Forty thousand years since I was abandoned by the Ark. What must I have done? I’m sure I should remember. I blink slowly and look out the porthole in front of me. The view hasn’t changed much. A star directly before me, about which I must be orbiting. Much too far for warmth, but just enough photons to tickle the panels, charge the systems, and keep this coffin running for another thousand years. Right on time. The system perks up. A voice in my ear. “Have you atoned?” “Atoned? I don’t even know what I’ve done!” “No then,” it continues. “Sleep. Dream. Find atonement if you can.” “I will awaken you in another thousand years.”
“No! Wait!” My voice echoes off the bulkheads and my ears ring, used to the long silence the same way my eyes are used to the long dark. “What did I do?” There is no reply. I SHOULD KNOW what I’ve done. Shouldn’t I? My breath catches slightly as the chill enters my veins once again. Chemicals dragging me back down to sleep even as the coffin chills. Preserving me for another long sleep. My eyes close once more and my thoughts slow. So slow. So hard to think. What did you do Arrick? Can you remember? If you do remember, will this thing let you die?
“He knows.” The storyteller says. “He KNOWS what he did.” “I’m sure in the long dark between stars he’ll find atonement.” “But he won’t achieve death.” His voice chills. “Death is too good for him.”
“Run along now. I’ll take your parents’ complaints tomorrow.”
 
 
Author: Adazay - Nusriza
 
Horror: Stern Emmaliare
 
Summary: Stern Emmaliare is a modern folk-tale told to Nusriza as they approach the Seventeen Mirrors ceremony.
 
Story:
Though the specifics vary between retellings, she is said to be some sort of authority figure in life, who was so betrayed by her charges that she became a vengeful kith-spirit who fixates on bad children.
 
[My entry is in the form of a clip from a Nusrizan soap opera, perhaps entitled ‘On Wings of Moonlight’]
Moonlight falls upon a serene cloudscape outside Minaccia’s bedroom as the camera draws inwards, following silver shadows across walls covered in band posters, past a desk covered with presents, to view a beautiful young Nusriza sitting cross-legged on her bed. As she taps a message to someone at a frenetic pace despite the late hour, our perspective shifts, and we see a set of sleek hand-mirrors resting upright in a stand, reflecting partial glimpses of her glossy feathers for just a moment until we move past them, shifting until we can peek over her shoulder.
 
A video plays on the screen - a child, bawling loudly as he struggles to snatch his datapad back from Minaccia whispers; “-little daka, you’re the one who flakking snitched that me and Perez were smoking. She took my pad for a flakking month, so now you lose yours too”. The faint reflection of her face is an expression of amusement.
 
Another message pops up; “But Mina please, let’s talk. You don’t have to do this”.  In another mirror across the room, we see her face reflected again, impatient and dismissive. She shoots off a response; “You didn’t even join a combat squad. You’re pathetic. We’re done Patrucho”.
 
In the quiet of the night, one sound rings clear; the spine-tingling sound of talons on glass. She freezes, looking around for the source of the noise, bringing our perspective with her as she turns this way and that, seeing her own cautious face reflected in seventeen mirrors.
 
It is not alone.
 
Slowly and steadily, a frost-blackened hand reaches out -inside- the mirrors, tapping on the glass as if Minaccia was trapped inside an aquarium. Each of the hand-mirrors rattles and shifts in their stands as the hand tap-tap-tap-taps and then retreats into the reflected shadows. As the next mirror begins to tap-tap-tap, she stammers “W-who’s there?” but as if in response, the tapping simply becomes more urgent, the glass flexing as pressure is applied more firmly by something trying to get out… or to get in.
 
Breathing fast, Minaccia drops her datapad and tries to make a run for the door, but stumbles as she locks eyes with a gangrenous-looking Nusriza behind the glass of a standing mirror, dressed in the austere, anachronistic uniform of a military college headmistress. As they lock eyes, the woman continues to tap on the glass with a talon until finally, a crack forms – it is small at first, but quickly grows as a patina of frost creeps outwards even as air begins to be sucked in as if the crack were a faulty seam in an airlock.
 
[End of clip]
 
 
 
Author: Stelil - Jin
 
Horror: The Creeping Black
 
Summary: A void of absolute darkness, the epitome of absence and negation. It devours light, leaving in its wake an unfathomable blackness that swallows everything in its path. An amorphous entity, it defies comprehension, a shapeless horror that instilled an indescribable dread.
Story:
Where shadows whisper secrets and darkness swallows all, a malevolent lifeform is born, a terror known as the Creeping Black. It defies confrontation, a horror that thrived on devouring light, life, and energy.
On a research vessel adrift in the cosmos, a team of scientists sought to unravel the mysteries of a distant star. The ship was a beacon of knowledge, aglow with the hum of life-sustaining lights. Unbeknownst to them, they ventured too close to this unspeakable horror.
One ominous night, near a cosmic rift, ship sensors faltered, and the lights began to dim, swallowed by an encroaching darkness. The Creeping Black emerged, an unseen menace that consumed light and life.
Panic swept through the crew as lights extinguished, leaving only shrinking pockets of brightness. The ship's alarms blared, their shrill sounds echoing in empty corridors. The creeping terror slithered through the halls, leaving an unsettling chill.
Unable to fight or escape, the crew gathered remaining energy and created a flickering beacon. It defied the darkness momentarily, revealing the writhing mass of shadows, darker than space itself. The realization dawned—the Creeping Black couldn't be defeated, only delayed.
The beacon flickered and faded, the crew succumbing to the relentless doom. The ship fell into silence, swallowed by the abyss. The Creeping Black claimed victory, leaving only a lifeless vessel drifting through the void.
In the cosmic depths, the legend of the Creeping Black was born—a cautionary tale, a reminder that some horrors can't be faced, only endured by those who dare to explore the unknown.
In essence it is feared by the Jin because it cannot be fought, and dying to it is not a worthy death.

Revision as of 14:23, 27 August 2024

  1. REDIRECT [[Scare_The_Storytellers]
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