wvlf's wierd fiction
 

Another crash, another iteration of this thread.

This time I'm going to give y'all two of my nightmare landscape pieces: Truth and Barren. Going back over some of my stuff, it's become clear that there's a definite mythology behind some of the stories that I've written/worked on, so much so that I'm finally going back and writing a story about the Blooming.

now if only I could figure out exactly what the Blooming does.

I'm also making a Changling character for a local campaign here (yes, I'm a dork, but I'm fun) who will be, essentially, responsible for what happens in Barren. Possibly, there's some hope at the end of the tunnel for the characters within it, but I don't know. If anything happens interestingly, it'll get written in (in a less-dorky context.)

I must say, I'd expect more homoeroticism.

For those of you who don't read journals (or just ignore) I finished my first nightmare landscape in a while recently.

Crossposting begins.... NOW.


Teardrops. Raindrops. Leaky faucets. All of these endlessly echoing in the dark.

An ever-blossoming limpet pool. I wait on its shores, listening to the droplets creating ripples on its surface.

I could wade out into it and be save, but small as it is
it is deeper than it seems, and it's getting deeper and wider every day
and I cannot chance

I sometimes wonder if the noises and ripples are caused, not by something falling into the pool from a great height, but by something bubbling up from endless depths.


Something had to kill off the fish.

Their corpses continually wash ashore, stinking of rot and filth. Sometimes, the strangely large-toothed creatures are moving even in their decay. Maybe it's a trick of the unlight down here, maybe it's wriggling parasites, maybe rot has its own strange life, I'm unsure.

And still, just the one sound repeats out in the dark.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Echoes forever in unending night, while the creatures continue to wash ashore.

Drip dripdrip

Dripdrip

Drip






Hands