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The nights on the Isles were usually dark and dreary, unnaturally so. There was no coalescent light of the rings beneath the starry sky, no twilight to illuminate the tall dark green grass and the roads paved into the dirt. Thin trails led into the dense woods of which a woman followed, donning armor that shone through the darkness through more than the alloys which reflected the tiny bits of light that allowed her to see.
Morene Fellon of Creedmoor walked into these thin dirt roads, knowing that it had been years since she had escaped from the Isles in the first place. She needed something from these blackened soils, she thought. She was looking for somebody. She knew that much.
Regardless, she couldn’t pull herself away. Creedmoor was a wretched place, the very spirit of the land locking her in limbo and mortal damnation for nearly a decade. She remembered this road.
The one of which she tried to escape to, after her militiamen had been cannibalized and torn to shreds. The evidence of this was completely gone; not a sign of their bodies, let alone the family that cut her comrades’ lives short. Still, the armored beast of a woman did not come here to reminisce of her time in the Gallowaich militia, though they trained her well. Cutting deep into the plains of the Auguard Isles, the huntress didn’t interact with human civilization beyond distant glimpses of the town she used to live ten years ago, not bothering to check how things have been since that awful incident.
It sucked. She didn’t have a reason to, she thought to herself, stopping before shaking her head. The woman figured that, if she wanted to check in on the town, she could do it on her way out.
Who was to say if she’d get out in the first place, though? No, she knew she would. Morene Fellon had conquered the land, gaining the title of Knochten. The word of her mother tongue, warriors of centuries old code trained and hand-picked exclusively to defend their home, typically a nation or state.
In this instance, it was Creedmoor itself, the very land of which tried to kill her many, many times. She knew this was ridiculous, and presenting herself as an armored errant warrior of the night was alien even to the people of her planet, Ter, no stranger to the arcane, the romantic, and the eldritch horror. To the effect of horror, Creedmoor had plenty.
Morene remembered very vividly of her first night in this accursed realm. Through the nearly pitch black cover of the trees that quickly surrounded her, Morene’s vision was assisted by her supernatural sight and helmet’s visor. It was strange to see her first night be put into perspective like this, given the context of her being chased by a disembodied, ghastly face all through the night and into the morning, losing her sanity in the month that followed. She rather cornily referred to the spirit as “The Face'' in her head from that point forward, briefly writing about it in her one journal that kept her company before its purpose transitioned to that of a bestiary.
The density of the wooded area further reaffirmed that the only reason she escaped the guardian spirit’s shrieks and bellowing cries was either luck, or that it wanted her alive for whatever reason. Despite this, the knochten found herself not too concerned with the immediate danger that lay ahead, her sabatons rather loudly stamping into the ground beneath her. In her feverish sleep, her own guardian spirit was nowhere to be found. Morene acknowledged to herself that she needed to revisit Creedmoor alone, for her own sake. She needed to find somebody.
It only occurred to her that she was dreaming at this point. The knight-errant was usually better at tapping into her lucidity. She knew these thoughts were hostile; she suppressed in a haze that it had been a while since she’s had something resembling a nightmare. Or, whatever was going on in her head could be called.
Morene continued to walk forward, seeming to run. She couldn’t feel it, however. She knew exactly what was coming, and slowly, the vision granted by her visor began to fade. Still, she could see clearly now.
So The Face did come. Between the twisted and sharp trees. Vibrantly white, contrasting negatively and hideously to the black woods behind it. It was far away, for now. Morene knew what it was, and for that reason, it did not come after her. Its twisted appearance seemed to smirk, for it had no other choice.
The huntress remembered then how she bested this beast, walking forwards. She knelt down for just a moment, letting her eyes off of it, knowing it would do her no harm now. Still, it was unnerving, and she felt upset in its presence. She couldn’t discern as to why that was, exactly.
Running her clawed, heavily fortified gauntlet gently through the dirt below her, Morene looked up. The Face had gotten closer to her, angrier in its visage. It moved towards her, without a sound. Not even the characteristic clicking of their hungry maws could be heard. She looked down again, finding the implant of her own boots, ten years ago. They got torn to shreds eventually, but she remembered this trail was here because she was running away from this thing.
Like once before, her mind was healed, tempered by the time of dealing with these beasts. Standing upright, The Face made no sound as it faded away. This was her own dream, one she’d wake up from soon, she felt. Morene felt control now. All of these beasts, with knowledge, were no more than animals. Whether parasite or part of an ecosystem, Creedmoor was a living and breathing place, even if it smelt of death at every corner. There was a reason and a story for all of these beings to be here, and why they do the things they do. It was never purely without reason. All it took for her to survive in such an ecosystem was to understand, to be patient.
She lost her way at one point, eventually surviving. As the skies cleared and dawn drew over the gloomy sky of Creedmoor, Morene looked down to find a face. The Face was stuck into the roots of the trees; the rest of this sickly cryptid’s body had been buried straight down into the dirt road, paved by years of hunting in these woods.
It looked to be in pain. It was breathing up at her, ultimately defeated, as it was once before. As she felt her consciousness shift, she knew exactly why her mind took her to this place, for evil had nearly devoured her once again.
Like last time, she’d make sure to show this evil that would be a costly mistake.
Morene Fellon of Creedmoor walked into these thin dirt roads, knowing that it had been years since she had escaped from the Isles in the first place. She needed something from these blackened soils, she thought. She was looking for somebody. She knew that much.
Regardless, she couldn’t pull herself away. Creedmoor was a wretched place, the very spirit of the land locking her in limbo and mortal damnation for nearly a decade. She remembered this road.
The one of which she tried to escape to, after her militiamen had been cannibalized and torn to shreds. The evidence of this was completely gone; not a sign of their bodies, let alone the family that cut her comrades’ lives short. Still, the armored beast of a woman did not come here to reminisce of her time in the Gallowaich militia, though they trained her well. Cutting deep into the plains of the Auguard Isles, the huntress didn’t interact with human civilization beyond distant glimpses of the town she used to live ten years ago, not bothering to check how things have been since that awful incident.
It sucked. She didn’t have a reason to, she thought to herself, stopping before shaking her head. The woman figured that, if she wanted to check in on the town, she could do it on her way out.
Who was to say if she’d get out in the first place, though? No, she knew she would. Morene Fellon had conquered the land, gaining the title of Knochten. The word of her mother tongue, warriors of centuries old code trained and hand-picked exclusively to defend their home, typically a nation or state.
In this instance, it was Creedmoor itself, the very land of which tried to kill her many, many times. She knew this was ridiculous, and presenting herself as an armored errant warrior of the night was alien even to the people of her planet, Ter, no stranger to the arcane, the romantic, and the eldritch horror. To the effect of horror, Creedmoor had plenty.
Morene remembered very vividly of her first night in this accursed realm. Through the nearly pitch black cover of the trees that quickly surrounded her, Morene’s vision was assisted by her supernatural sight and helmet’s visor. It was strange to see her first night be put into perspective like this, given the context of her being chased by a disembodied, ghastly face all through the night and into the morning, losing her sanity in the month that followed. She rather cornily referred to the spirit as “The Face'' in her head from that point forward, briefly writing about it in her one journal that kept her company before its purpose transitioned to that of a bestiary.
The density of the wooded area further reaffirmed that the only reason she escaped the guardian spirit’s shrieks and bellowing cries was either luck, or that it wanted her alive for whatever reason. Despite this, the knochten found herself not too concerned with the immediate danger that lay ahead, her sabatons rather loudly stamping into the ground beneath her. In her feverish sleep, her own guardian spirit was nowhere to be found. Morene acknowledged to herself that she needed to revisit Creedmoor alone, for her own sake. She needed to find somebody.
It only occurred to her that she was dreaming at this point. The knight-errant was usually better at tapping into her lucidity. She knew these thoughts were hostile; she suppressed in a haze that it had been a while since she’s had something resembling a nightmare. Or, whatever was going on in her head could be called.
Morene continued to walk forward, seeming to run. She couldn’t feel it, however. She knew exactly what was coming, and slowly, the vision granted by her visor began to fade. Still, she could see clearly now.
So The Face did come. Between the twisted and sharp trees. Vibrantly white, contrasting negatively and hideously to the black woods behind it. It was far away, for now. Morene knew what it was, and for that reason, it did not come after her. Its twisted appearance seemed to smirk, for it had no other choice.
The huntress remembered then how she bested this beast, walking forwards. She knelt down for just a moment, letting her eyes off of it, knowing it would do her no harm now. Still, it was unnerving, and she felt upset in its presence. She couldn’t discern as to why that was, exactly.
Running her clawed, heavily fortified gauntlet gently through the dirt below her, Morene looked up. The Face had gotten closer to her, angrier in its visage. It moved towards her, without a sound. Not even the characteristic clicking of their hungry maws could be heard. She looked down again, finding the implant of her own boots, ten years ago. They got torn to shreds eventually, but she remembered this trail was here because she was running away from this thing.
Like once before, her mind was healed, tempered by the time of dealing with these beasts. Standing upright, The Face made no sound as it faded away. This was her own dream, one she’d wake up from soon, she felt. Morene felt control now. All of these beasts, with knowledge, were no more than animals. Whether parasite or part of an ecosystem, Creedmoor was a living and breathing place, even if it smelt of death at every corner. There was a reason and a story for all of these beings to be here, and why they do the things they do. It was never purely without reason. All it took for her to survive in such an ecosystem was to understand, to be patient.
She lost her way at one point, eventually surviving. As the skies cleared and dawn drew over the gloomy sky of Creedmoor, Morene looked down to find a face. The Face was stuck into the roots of the trees; the rest of this sickly cryptid’s body had been buried straight down into the dirt road, paved by years of hunting in these woods.
It looked to be in pain. It was breathing up at her, ultimately defeated, as it was once before. As she felt her consciousness shift, she knew exactly why her mind took her to this place, for evil had nearly devoured her once again.
Like last time, she’d make sure to show this evil that would be a costly mistake.