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[News] Spooky Stories in Siege's Shire

Discussion in 'UO Siege Perilous' started by Guest, Nov 1, 2006.

  1. Guest

    Guest Guest

    <table width="100%"> <tr> <td> <table width="100%"> <tr> <td valign="top" align="middle">
    <table width="100%" border="0"> <tr> <td><font color="#a90720" size="5">Tonight's Tales</font></td></tr> <tr> <td>Forgotten</td></tr> <tr> <td>The Raven</td></tr> <tr> <td>Hobgoblins know the proper way to dance</td></tr> <tr> <td>TheTerror of Trinsic</td></tr></table> </td> <td> [​IMG] </td> </tr> </table>
    [​IMG]ar too much time had passed since I'd last felt the familiar creak of the floorboards of the Golden Unicorn beneath my feet, but last night, I stood there once again.  We were few in number, as most were too terrified to venture out of their houses on such a dark and mystical night, but a few brave souls gathered round to share tales and other works, this All Hallows Eve.
    Strangely, many had come disguised as grim reapers, much to the horror of Hoffs.

    <table width="10%" align="center" border="1"> <tr> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>

    Here, to start with, is one of mine.

    <table border="1" width="50%" bgcolor="#ccffff" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font size="5">"Forgotten"</font></td></tr> <tr> <td align="middle"> Crafted
    Blind Otto
    </td> </tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#ccffff"> <tr> <td>

    [​IMG] ook with fear, you great warrior,
    Gaze upon this quiet, grassy field.
    Let not the flowers or the lark song,
    Forbid it past secrets to yield.
    For twas here, in times not long gone,
    That men and women here fought and bled,
    That sounds of battle rang all about,
    And friends fought to avenge the dead.

    Though all is now hushed and flowers bloom,
    You stand where a multitude once stood,
    And the rocks may soon be the entire memorial
    That recalls thy very own lifes blood.
    But think on this, with fear in mind,
    That though the battles were long and fierce,
    None now stand here to recant the names,
    Of those whom hardened steel did pierce.

    What were their names? Who were their kin?
    What was the cause for which they fought?
    Did they win? Did they celebrate victory?
    Or did they give up their lives for naught?
    Were they good, or were they vile,
    Were they merely men amidst men?
    We cannot know, for they are all forgot,
    Likewise, you will escape historys pen.

    No single mind, no written word,
    Recalls the least warriors last word.
    For though the battle may once seem glorious,
    Glory fades with the funeral dirge.
    So sheath thy blade in caution,
    And know for what you fight and die.
    For if it is glory and fame you seek,
    I fear thoseare but a lie.

    For on this dark and dreadful night,
    when the undead walk the land,
    Many a fear, many a woe,
    Fills the heart and mind of man.
    Yet for all those fears,all the dread we know,
    Some may say the worst that chills their heart,
    is to be a lost and forgotten name,
    meaningless and unknown when they depart.
    </td> </tr> </table>
    Next, Angharad took to the stage, bringing us a timeless masterpiece, in just the right tone for the eve.

    <table width="10%" align="center" border="1"> <tr> <td>[​IMG]</td></tr></table>

    <table border="1" width="50%" bgcolor="#dddddd" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" colspan="2"><font size="6">The Raven</font></td></tr> <tr> <td align="middle" colspan="2">Crafted by Edgar Allan Poe
    Receited by Angharad
    </td></tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#dddddd"> <tr> <td>  [​IMG] nce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,[​IMG]
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
    Only this, and nothing more.'

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
    This it is, and nothing more,'

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
    But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
    Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
    Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
    'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
    Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as `Nevermore.'

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
    Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
    On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
    Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
    Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of "Never-nevermore."'

    But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
    What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
    Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `<a target="_blank" href=http://uo.stratics.com/content/interviews/prophet.shtml>Prophet</a>!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
    On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
    Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `<a target="_blank" href=http://uo.stratics.com/content/interviews/prophet.shtml>Prophet</a>!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
    `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted - nevermore! </td> </tr> </table>
    A jolly chap that Poe! And what better to follow such a jolly fellow than some dancing goblins?
    This ditty is not one of mine, but rather one that some halflings that I know seem to find amusing.
    There is nothing amusing about Hobgoblins. NOTHING.

    <table border="1" width="50%" bgcolor="#ffff80" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle" colspan="2"><font size="6">Hobgoblins Know The Proper Way To Dance</font></td></tr> <tr> <td align="middle" colspan="2"><font size="4">Crafted by Anon.
    Receited by Blind Otto</font>
    </td></tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#ffff80"> <tr> <td>

    [​IMG] obgoblins know the proper way to dance:
    Arms akimbo, loopy legs askew,
    Leaping into darkness with delight,
    Lusting for the ecstasy of fright,
    Open to the charm of horrors new.

    Well may you start your screaming in advance,
    Even as you give a ghoul a chance,
    Each creepy creature craving to say, "Boo!",
    Near heaven in its netherworld of night.
    </td> </tr> </table>
    As I said, we were thin on the ground, but still, this tale was enough to end the evening on...

    <table border="1" width="50%" bgcolor="#a4a4ff" align="center"> <tr> <td align="middle"><font size="5">The Terror Of Trinsic</font></td></tr> <tr> <td align="middle"> <font size="5"><font size="4">crafted</font>
    </font> by
    Blind Otto
    </td> </tr> </table>
    <table border="1" width="100%" bgcolor="#a4a4ff"> <tr> <td> [​IMG] he streets of Trinsic were filled with little more than silence that night.
    Occasionally, the rhythmic tramp of the guards, always patrolling as a quartet
    these days would break the deathly silence, but other than that, there was nothing to 
    disturb the silence that weighed upon the great city like a shroud of death.

    The people were too terrified to venture out after dark.
    There had been twelve murders in the past week.
    Each victim gruesomely displayed to the city the following morning, lashed to one or another of
    the statues or landmarks of Trinsic with jungle vines, and indecipherable writings in their blood scrawled
    all about the place.

    But worse than this, were the prints found nearby.
    Huge, clawed prints, like nothing any had ever seen before.
    The weight of the creature must have been tremendous, for the prints were pressed deep into the cobblestones of the streets,
    and yet could still be clearly seen. How so huge a creature could travel the town at night, slay so many,
    display its preys remains so brazenly, and yet still evade the eyes and ears of the townsfolk,
    was a mystery.

    Kane, Trinsics Master of Arms, and the newly appointed Sheriff of Trinsic, were in danger
    of being run out of town by the frightened, angry, townspeople. But, despite the increased
    patrols, door-to-door searches, and even the desperate measure of sending for one of the
    few remaining detectives in the lands (the detective was the 9th victim, found
    lashed to a statue of Dupre), no one had found a trace of the beast.

    In desperation, the Sheriff himself joined the patrols, hoping to find, and destroy the
    beast. But, none even knew what manner of beast it was. Of course, something that
    huge would prove hard to miss! Then, in the dead of the night, the Sheriffs luck turned.
    Whether for better or worse was beside the point, but he got what he had hoped for.

    As he and his men walked past the eastern stables, there came a scrabbling, a rustling, from the nearby rooftop.
    A torch was thrust upwards, but in the light of the flames, nothing could be seen but the sandstone architecture, and the
    great, carved gargoyles that had so long been a part of the buildings. Sitting there, moss growing on their stone forms,
    waiting for the next rain shower, to help the water on its way below.

    As the torch was lowered, however, there came movement from above.

    A huge form thudded to the ground beside the patrol, its clawed feet gouging deeply into the
    cobbled paving. Foam sprayed from its mouth, and its huge fangs gleamed in the light of the moon and the torches.
    This, was a savage gargoyle.

    Not an enslaved one, bent to the controllers will.
    Not a free one, from the desert city in Ilshnear.
    No, this was a wild one, who had shunned its own society, and existed only for the hunt.
    There, amongst the statues of the city, it had lurked, preying on the townsfolk.
    The Sheriff was amazed at the thoughts that filled his mind. He knew he should have been thinking things like "AAARGH "
    and "RUN YOU FOOLS!" or even "MUMMY!!!! " but he found thoughts along the lines of "Of course! It thought the statues were its kin, so it killed us and tied us to our own statues." going through his head.

    Grabbing his sword, he swung at the beast, only to see his blade shatter on its stone-like hide.
    It glared at him, and raised a huge arm, ready to end his life.
    But, just as he saw his relatively boring life flash before his eyes, the sheriff caught another movement out the corner of his eye.
    And then the gargoyle lay dead.

    One of the stone gargoyles from the rooftop had fallen, and hit the beast squarely, shattering into pieces, and killing it instantly.
    But why?

    Had the monster knocked it loose when it pounced?
    Or had the shock of it hitting the ground done the same?

    The sheriff, and his one surviving patrolman, were just starting to relax a little, and celebrate their
    incredible luck, when the fallen statues arm reached for its head, and re-attached it to its neck.

    Grinning a stony smile at the two men, it climbed back up the wall, and in a moment, none could tell
    which were the statues, and which had only just fallen.

    Or were there truly any statues there at all?

    The sheriff resigned the next morning.
    </td> </tr> </table>

    Imagine my surprise when I found Trinsic, on the Shard of the Dead, infested with all manner of vile beasts when I awoke this morn! I am no prophet, but twas unsettling! Those who have not yet been there, I suggest ye pay it a small visit. Not the peaceful facet, but rather their land whose trees resemble our own.

    And that, I fear, is that - at least for the moment!

    Happy Trick or Treating to ye all!

    </td> </tr> </table>
  2. eeleye

    eeleye Adventurer
    Stratics Veteran

    May 24, 2004
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