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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the continuation of this fantastic story from Akandriel, entitled

The howling wind of spindleskog

Background music by Smartsound

As darkness arrived Twistar prepared his party with a final lecture and hand gestures to ensure everyone was briefed on this adventure they sought.

He led them to the darkened forest

The mighty adventurers traversed through hills and rough terrain, passing through dense shrubs on the plains.

Twistar,s keen eye found roaming creatures under the glow of moonlight.

As his party drew near they hid and numbed their fear with a puff of psilocybin smoke and a final swig of beer.

Mentored by Alphaine six plus three, he used barding skills to gather creatures near the trees.

Song and fire with shooting flames, the eight legged creature is attracted by loud taunts and screaming shouts, with stagnating movement thereabouts.

Twistar sneaked past the slow-moving bodies of creepy eyes and long legs near his side; the battle started in the dead of night.

He performed a magical ritual to surround himself in fire; a flame with intense heat capable of burning flesh if anything came close to his position, leaving bodies burned beyond recognition.

The fire illuminated the area and revealed a creature hiding near a tree; the adventurers followed Twistar’s lead.

A magical cold strike surrounded the creature in ice spikes, trapping its movement to a slow crawl, making it easier to target for a violent brawl.

A loud thundering sound emitted from a hammers ground pound; a sensation of vibrations caused blurred vision to anything around, delaying their actions in a momentary pause, giving the adventurers a few more seconds to avoid the creature’s claws.

 The magic dissipated and the creature escaped with only a few scars on its face.

The adventurers scrambled in an unorganised manner, trying to find some light that is hiding in the darkness of night.

It was a chaotic pace with weapons swinging wildly during the creature chase.

A sword swung fast and freely in mid-air, but it was unable to hit the fast moving creature as it ran in circles, the speed blurring its shadow features.

A polearm patiently waited to attack as the weapon is slow to move when trying to slice, but it missed the creature with each attempted strike.

A bow shot arrows from afar, but the arrows were unable to find the target in darkened space as the creature was camouflaged by its colour and shape.

Twistar moved fast with his skills of haste, delaying his perception of actual events; a fierce battle with rage that took place; attacking the creature with eight legs with a storm of fire and a finishing melee stab.

He paused his actions for a second to assess the battle; the cacophony’s inception rumbling crashing and çrackling noises from close proximity.

It was a tumultuous event confused by haste due to darkness and a scary place.

When his eyes blinked to focus his vision, he saw a large hammer swinging above him with rising and downward motion towards his position. He squinted in fear as a hammer strike came near but it landed near his feet where the creature was last seen; he continued to move fast to avoid another melee bash.

Twistar’s mind draws a blank as he is unable to remember the next event that led to his party’s horrific ending fate, leaving four people dead and without a trace.

The solace of the forest deepened as if the ghost of their corpses found relief, but he did not. He reeled from the loss of blood which he suffered and felt his eyelids twinkle of their own accord.

He holds the Fang still and digs it into his chest for a faster exit.

The light of the moon went out as soon as the Fang broke through the Bony cage of his ribs and touched his heart.

The afterlife wasn’t all it seemed as Twistar’s eyes fluttered open.

His burning headaches are from the nightmares which he suffered. The violent intensity of the dreams seemed to drain his own body of energy.

His heart paced when he sensed he recognised the forest space from the dream he had just awoken from.

Something about the dream dragged within him. It flutters in the region within his reach like a butterfly but these details elude his stretching grasp.

Twistar jerks from his position into a standing one. His heart sinks when he finally realises the events of the night.

He throws the fang on the ground, pinching his skin and slapping his face for effect.

He feels the sting of each action. He has to be awake.

The thoughts of the battle enter his mind and panic sets in.

There was no exit.

The entire forest space is an enclosure of dull grey matter covering every side of the mountain.

The air reaches his nostrils in jagged breaths.

“Hello” he cried out “Hello!”

The voice that returned was not an echo of his yelling; it came from a particular section of his mind.

He swallows a hard bowl of air when the realisation of what happened trickles into his memory, like a small pool of water sluicing into the corridors of his thoughts.

“Welcome to the world you have made for yourself Twistar”

The voices followed the travelling wind that came in through a crack in which the rays of moonlight flickered in.

After a moment he recognises all the voices. It’s the same voices that begged for life when Twistar attacked his party, a party of four adventurers; the eight legged creatures he saw that night. He had burned them all with his fire, and a final stab with his handheld weapon – a poisonous fang that dug deep in their chests rendering their bodies dormant and dead as the venom settled in. One by one he killed them all.

When it was all over, he stared at the bloody fang and threw it on the ground.

“What have I done?” he thought.

A voice in his head offered a solution –  run.

The details of his actions recorded in a flashback.

Twistar searched for the source of the voice.

A man of violent disposition even he was forced into cowardice by the situation.

“Now, let’s play a little game shall we?”

The voice turns sinister and the chills come back.

Twistar couldn’t plead for escape from what should be the 15th loop of the vicious circle.

He reaches instinctively for the Fang and goes about his business with fluid acuity.

For the first time in days he has all the yearnings for an escape and no willingness to run.

He’s a man insane.

From the troubles of life in a circle which he did not understand .

He didn’t flinch when the Fang dug into his flesh and tore into his chest .

He didn’t hesitate to shield his eyes when his eyelids closed.

Twistar’s eyes would open once more to the agony of an unending night.

The hallucinations continue until the bartender in the Tavern shakes his body.

“Twistar, wake up!

Your friends are ready to go on the adventure.”

Twistar the howling wind of Spindleskog!

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the first chapter of a wonderful story from Akandriel, entitled

The howling wind of Spindleskog

Background music by Smartsound

The sound of the unseen entity manifested like fire and scorching judgement and punishment all in one.

It was a simple screech that broke the silence in the dark forest with a chilly gutterance.

The chill started from Twistar’s spine, searing it’s way too his arms and leaving his hands cold as soon as the piercing cry hit his ears.

Through his entire being was the agony of a painful panic gnawing into the depths of his consciousness and finding no resting place.

There was no escape from his tormenting desires, desires that had brought this on him; vengeance.

“I know you’re here!” he yelled.

The signs had been there etched in his mind from when the fang struck deep into the chests, injecting its venom into its prey, and incapacitating the victims with poison that flowed through their bodily tissue, capillaries, and veins.

The poison accelerated decay, liquefying the victims’ internals into a mush, leaving behind a burned and empty carcass husk.

All his companions lay dead

Twistar wasn’t able to prevent these traumatic events. His brain is swollen from reccurring thoughts of the disaster.

Continuous use of inhaling smoke from burning stimulants and drinking ale did little to calm his shaky nerves

The ray of light passes through a crack in the forest trees, unveiling a moon hung from the sky by an ancient orb. It’s this specific light that only reveals the entity during the night; the creature that made him angry and full of spite.

Twister’s revenge is buried deep inside, but its strength resurfaces from time to time sparking his desire to find the creature that slaughtered everyone during the fight.

The area is partially illuminated by fragmentations of light hindering Twistar’s sight, but he sees a peculiar shadow that isn’t completely concealed by the darkness of night; it may reveal the creature nearby

He navigates through cobwebs, twigs, and leaves using his stealthy expertise, sneaking closer to the shadow’s form, preparing himself to unleash his raging storm.

Twistar feels an odd sensation when he arrives at the battleground, feeling the essence of the horror; not forgetting just how he felt when the creature handed its strike without making a sound nor revealing any identifiable presence at night.

He remembers the silence, then the attack that surprised them when the creature displayed its form, a faint shadow exposing a familiar size, and a blurring screech that echoed off the mountainside.

“Please make it stop!” Twistar pleaded.

Twistar’ s head points down as he cries when recalling images from that night. His eyes watering and his mouth fills with saliva while the liquid in his throat dries. He shivers in his own perspiration, and his subtle vibrations shake the stains of sweat off his skin.

“I know you’re here!” he yelled.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Womby, entitled

The Strange Case of Thaddeus Mange

Background music by Smartsound

It was around a year ago that Thaddeus Mange, long term resident of Kingsport, disappeared with nary a trace. Nobody thought too much of it at the time. What with the rise of bandits, the newly encroaching undead, and the loss of shipping contact with Novia, residents of Kingsport had other things on their minds.

What did attract their attention, however, was the gradual disappearance of his house. Piece by piece, item by item, parts of his dwelling have been mysteriously disappearing. Naturally thieves were blamed, and the local guard Douglas kept watch. To his disbelief and horror, items appeared to walk off and vanish before his very eyes, resulting in him locking himself securely in the watchtower at night.

Soon these strange disappearances became public knowledge, and as is often the case when the ignorant are confronted with the inexplicable, his neighbor formed a cult. Naturally, this cult interpreted the disappearances as a message, although the exact nature of the message was the cause of much argument within the cult. A split formed between those who believed that the disappearance foretold a final cataclysmic end to the world (the Enders), and those who interpreted the disappearance as a sign that all Avatars would one day suddenly vanish (the Avatarians).

Disagreement between these two factions has recently turned violent, with both sides fighting for possession of the site.

Meanwhile, Thaddeus Mange has almost completed the transfer of his house from the Hidden Vale to Novia by row boat, and hopes to move the last few items any day now. He uses an invisibility spell and works at night so as to avoid having to talk with his neighbors, whom he cannot stand.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another wonderful story from Womby.  It is entitled

The Graveyard

Background music by Smartsound

In a quiet corner of Ardoris, mostly unnoticed by the residents, a tiny graveyard can be found.

Apart from the occasional small child acting on a dare it is rarely visited, and it is a complete mystery who or what may be buried there. Rumor has it that the graveyard pre-dates Ardoris.

In any case, the inscriptions became illegible a long time ago, and all that remains in the way of information is a strange tale that has been passed down for generations.

Nobody believes it to be true, but it is nevertheless retold on stormy nights whenever strangers seek shelter in the local inn.

According to the tale, the oldest grave is the resting place of an ancient and powerful creature.

Many centuries ago after a prolonged and bloody battle, the creature was finally trapped and bound there by a powerful spell.

It was not possible to kill the creature due to its immense power, however it was hoped that over the centuries its power would gradually drain away.

A long time later when the battle was on the cusp of being forgotten from history, a mage was told of the creature and the nature of its entrapment.

The mage gave it some thought, and decided that he could take advantage of the creature’s predicament.

The grave that housed the creature was still in an open field at that time, and after travelling for two days accompanied by his faithful servant of many years, the mage arrived.

After his servant had set up camp, the mage offered him a mug of ale that had been infused with a powerful drug.

The servant fell asleep instantly, and the mage quickly positioned various artifacts and uttered numerous incantations.

Finally the moment arrived and the ritual was completed. At first nothing appeared to happen, but then suddenly a deep and powerful voice was heard.

“For what purpose do you disturb me, mortal?”

Cautiously the mage replied, “Oh great and powerful one, I seek the gift of true wisdom. In exchange I offer you the life energy of a human.”

The creature replied:

“I shall grant you the gift of true wisdom, but only if you offer me the person that you hold most dear.”

The mage could not think of anyone that he held dear, but his servant was the single person in the entire world that he despised the least, so he replied “Agreed. You may take the life energy of the person that I hold most dear, in exchange for great wisdom.”

“Very well. The deal is done,” replied the creature.

And indeed, it was at that moment that the mage acquired true wisdom as he felt the life energy drain from him. He had been wrong in thinking that he held no one dear.

In his last conscious thought he realized that in fact he held himself dear, and cared naught for anyone else.

Eventually his servant awoke and found a desiccated corpse wearing his master’s robes. He assumed that whatever ritual his master had set out to perform had gone horribly wrong, and decided to bury him next to the existing grave where, unknown to him, the freshly nourished creature had resumed its slumber.

Later, as the dutiful servant that he was, he procured a small headstone that he erected next to the creature’s resting place.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another wonderful story from Womby.  It is entitled

Interview with a Ghost

Background music by Smartsound

Recently the rather spoiled son of a local duke announced that he was going to be my apprentice. This came as a surprise to me, as was his announcement that his initial outing would be to interview a ghost, thus making history with his first story.

Here is the complete transcript of his interview.

“Greetings, ghost. How are you?”

“I’m dead. And it’s Sir Ghost to you. I am – or was – a knight.”

“Indeed. Of course. How insensitive of me. Tell me Sir Ghost, what did you do before you became a ghost?”

“I used to be a writer.”

“So now you’re a ghost writer?”

For some reason the interview appears to have been discontinued at this point. The interview notes were sent to me by a person or persons unknown, and the reporter who conducted the interview has disappeared without trace.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another wonderful story from Fetid SirDidy. It is entitled

“Bluster”

Background music by Smartsound

It began with a low hum.

The schoolmasters head shook so fast that it appeared to be vibrating. Because the area in which he reverberated was so confined, the violence with which he shook lent to an affect that appeared like slow-motion. Beads of sweat shimmered as they filled the air around him like tiny frozen stars. Veins arose and protruded in thick spidery webs across his face and forehead and blood oozed like sludge from eyes, nose, mouth and ears. He was a tuning fork made of flesh.

A stench like death and vomit emanated from him as his bowels and bladder emptied. Their contents streamed from underneath his robes and fanned out creating a Rorschach of human waste. A noise that had started as a low hum was now deafening as bolts of energy cracked and whipped about and upon the man.

In a sudden crescendo the schoolmasters head bulged and then popped. Chunks of flesh and brain and bowel sprayed out in a 360-degree ark spackling everything around; ceiling, walls, floor, and the twenty or so students still frozen in shock as they looked upon the madness with a mixture of horror, bewilderment and disgust. The tendrils of energy subsided and their accompanying wailing ceased.

In the back of the room a young man looked down at his hand, admiring the Suutaks bluster as it dimmed and then went dark. Pocketing the artifact, he pushed open the door at the far end of the room, and left.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another scary tale from Fetid SirDidy.  It is entitled

Creepy Dolly

Background music by Smartsound

Small fingers tugged at thread.
The first stitch always fought the most. This she knew.
She tugged a little harder and the knot cleared so that she was able to complete the stitch. Her hands trembled and her knuckles felt large and dull.

She spent most of her days sewing. All her days really, she thought, pausing for a moment although that wasn’t quite right. It’s as if she’d been sewing for one day. One long day.
She wasn’t even sure when she had begun to sew or where she had learned. Perhaps her mother had taught her. Perhaps she had learned on her own.

Her mother.
She tilted her head for a moment while completing another stitch. She could no longer remember her mother. Come to think of it, she could no longer remember herself.

Small fingers tugged at thread.
Most of her days were spent sewing because that is what she did. This she knew.
She completed another set of stitches.

Just then a black door opened and out of that door something emerged. First the points of horns appeared. Swirling spears of bone that curled and reached high slowly revealed themselves. Next to materialize out of the dark void was a hoofed foot which stepped forward and clapped down on the floor. Another few seconds and He emerged completely. He who was ancient came forth carrying a squalling infant no more than a few hours old. He placed the newborn on a pile of coal next to the girl.

Tying off the final knot she held out her dolly so that He could take it.
She threaded a new needle and grabbed the child he had brought.

Small fingers tugged at thread.
The first stitch always fought the most. This she knew.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another scary tale from Fetid SirDidy.  It is entitled

Supper

Background music by Smartsound

The butcher’s massive knife descended with a grace that would rival even the best swordsman. The blade gleamed while it made its descent, reflecting pearls of sunlight that sparkled off the iron cookware that lay scattered about his worktable. It cut through scale and bone with ease and made a thwack sound as it came to rest on the wood before him where a monstrous fish lay. With a flick of his wrist, the butcher flung aside a large plated head which landed on the ground a few feet away from him. Two mangy dogs who had been soundlessly watching pounced on the head instantly and began tearing at it with tooth and nail.

Placing the large knife down, the butcher reached into the belt at his side, unsheathed another one that had a long slender blade, and proceeded to deftly fillet the ancient looking behemoth. When finished, he gently placed the thick strips of meat into a leather sack and held it, along with his other hand, out. A man with a pointed and lordish looking face grabbed the sack and tossed a few coins on the table. The butcher only nodded and wiped the blade off on his blood-stained apron.

Throughout the rest of the day the butcher received all manner of creatures which he cut, quartered and divided up skillfully. The coins piled up ever so slowly and the blood on the table increasingly pooled along with them.

At last the sun began to dip toward the horizon and the butcher made his way home. Before entering, he removed his blood-soaked apron and dipped it into a barrel of water beside the door. The clear water in the barrel darkened, creating a pool of radiant hues of pink that matched the sky as the sun set. The butcher stood for a moment and watched as the sky brightened for a moment in a dazzling flash of brilliance and then went dark. With a few strong twists he wrung out the apron and went inside, closing the door behind him.

A large steaming cauldron hung above the fireplace hearth, and the butcher’s stomach rumbled as he stirred the pot with a long-handled spoon. The fire crackled and cast shadows that danced on wood and stone. Aside from a polished dark table that sat in the opposite corner and a cage on the floor next to it, the room was mostly bare.

Filling a bowl, he shuffled to the table and sat down. As he ate, he glanced at the cage on the floor beside the table. In it, a gagged man with eyes wide, murmured softly. His left arm had been removed at the elbow and had stitches caked with dried blood. His right hand, with wounds far more fresh, was missing all of its fingers.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another wonderful tale from Womby.  It is entitled

Souvenir

Background music by Smartsound

The badly mutilated body revealed a tale both silent and eloquent. The shattered sword in its hand told of a fierce battle, while the head resting some distance away spoke of a particularly brutal end to what must have been a terrifying struggle for survival. A battle that was lost, unwitnessed, in this impossibly convoluted series of underground passages.

Something caught Womby’s eye and he bent down and retrieved a note lying next to the body.

“To the person reading this note: I guess if you are seeing this then I must have been killed. Shed no tears for a reckless adventurer. It was bound to happen one day. However, should you ever find yourself in Ardoris, I beseech you to inform the guards of a criminal who goes by the name Fluffington. Glib of tongue he is, for he managed to extract my life savings in return for a worthless map that has resulted in my death. May he suffer eternal torment!”

Womby Fluffington pocketed the note before returning to the exit. Another souvenir for his collection.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another wonderful tale from Womby.  It is entitled

Journey to Kingsport

Background music by Smartsound

According to his hastily scribbled map the tavern was located in Kingsport.
It had taken hours of torture to extract that information from Lord Xychra. Not much of a result after investing all that valuable time.
Still, Lord Xychra had mentioned an associate who ran a tavern in Kingsport. Perhaps he could be fooled into leading him to the stash.

After locating the tavern nestled by the Kingsport docks, Dhank stepped inside to discover a small, dimly lit bar that had obviously seen better days.
The only occupant was the bartender, who paused what he was doing to glance up. A slightly raised eyebrow demanded an explanation for this intrusion.

“Lord Xychra sent me” said Dhank. “He has directed me to collect some items from his stash, and asked me to show you this as proof”.
With that he dropped Lord Xychra’s ring on the bar. The same ring that less than 24 hours earlier he had removed from his Lordship’s lifeless body.
Slowly the bartender picked up the ring and examined it carefully. “Very well. Wait here while I fetch the key and write down some directions.”

With that the barman left the room, and Dhank replaced the ring on his finger.
The barman eventually returned with a rough parchment and a large iron key.
“Follow these directions and they’ll take you where you need to go.”

Following the directions was straightforward, as the location was only a short walk away, beneath the docks.
The key opened a door into the town sewer and Dhank slowly made his way forward, cursing his oversight in not bringing a torch.
He could no longer see the map and inched forward, first following the wall on his left, then the wall on his right before becoming hopelessly disoriented.

Eventually the passage he was in led to a small platform overlooking a large channel filled with a dark and menacing liquid.
It might have been water, but Dhank wasn’t about to bet his life on it.
Suddenly he found himself rooted to the spot as he was struck by a spell cast from somewhere behind him.
Dhank heard footsteps circle around him, then a torch flickered to life revealing the bartender who had sent him here.

“Lord Xychra would never have parted with that ring. It’s a shame that you killed him. He used to send me the ingredients for my special meals.”
The bartender came closer as he spoke, and Dhank could see that he wore a butcher’s apron and carried a large set of knives hanging from a leather belt around his waist.
On the opposite side of the platform, visible for the first time in the light of the torch, Dhank could see a butcher’s station.

“I guess you’re the last.”

Echoes From the Caverns