Praxiteles
Friendly POKéMON.
No, I'm not dead...
Anyways, I managed to type up something in the lingo I was in for the past few months, getting an idea, and I've made some progress in it. Just warning you beforehand, this fiction was inspired by seeing an overturned manhole cover and an ad for the Motorola PEBL.
Early Earth
Somewhere in Modern-Day Florida (Keeping in Account Tectonic Shifts)
The skies erupted in full, terrifying wrath.
A tumult of confused mists obscured the troubled heavens, sending out ragged, ephemeral white threads that lead great rumblings out of a Greek epic. Noxious gases ascended like fleeing devils, byproduct of life’s stunted attempts to exist in the maimed earth. The faint sun gave little relief to the parched microbes, reduced to the simplest form in an attempt to coexist with their environment. Today, genesis was chaos.
A faint speck blasted its way through the hazes, coming from the distant horizon. It was no newcomer; many like it had made their titanic graves here, tribute to their fiery ends. The speck gradually expanded, coming closer and closer, until a flaming leviathan from the heavens was zooming almost parallel to the ground, scattering the low-lying shrubbery like an arrow on water.
All of a sudden, the very light surrounding it refracted, warped, and the meteor vanished, leaving but fey dust devils to fade themselves out. Sentience would have allowed the event more attention, but the only interest any had in these primordial times was to live, and all traces of the bizarre occurrence evaporated like snowflakes in a flame.
Life went on.
79 AD
Pompeii
There is nothing wrong today; this is not a first, Gratis tried to tell himself, as minor quakes rocked the painter’s instruments lying on his work table. It was a particularly violent one that day, but it was no cause for worry; the city of Pompeii had seen worse days. Yet he could feel it in his bones that there was something profoundly wrong this time.
Trying to shrug it off, he went over the mural his most recent customer had demanded. It was obvious the type this one was; Gratis would have to render a stunning image of… some god… and… Oh, it was no use! He couldn’t concentrate at all as the rocking earth nurtured his doubts and fears.
He calmed himself. What was over him today? Sighing, he packed his tools.
Little did he know how gruesomely his hunches would prove to materialize.
That day, Mt. Vesuvius revealed his identity in full, wrathful glory. Choking torrents of ash blew across the land, suffocating all in its way as it layered everything uncovered. Black hail showered the panic-stricken multitudes with enough size and speed to kill. Out into the distance, a dark, unforgiving leviathan vomited glowing red fluid and coughed out demons of poisonous gases. Yet, there was one instrument of his wrath more terrible than all.
Titanic walls of blazing smoke and ash ravaged the already obliterated land, converting earth and flesh and bone alike to black dust. If any could reach their other side alive, they would see a darkling landscape, with everything that once gave testament to life and color reduced to that accursed ash. If luck would be particularly uncooperative, they might stumble upon a less subtle reminder: an actual human skeleton, sometimes still holding clinging pieces of scorched flesh, and with very visible markings of actual organs melting – evaporating - from the heat.
Sanity, of course, would be the first to flee. But that would only be if there was a snowball’s chance in hell for a survivor.
Which, to be precise, was nonexistent.
1256 AD
Same Location
The King of Articasia was a noticeably odd fellow. Prone to fits of eccentricity, he spent his days pursuing nonexistent, fantastic trophies, none of which he would ever find, and all of which would cost him a large number of troops and gold. Though analyzing the varying follies of an obvious madman is no enthralling task, one particular of his expeditions could commandeer the interests of a few.
It began as another of his antics: apparently, the Orb of Fire, one of four that could control various forces of nature, rested within a secret, complex tunnel system underneath a certain mountain in Greece. As always, he rushed to his ‘masterfully discerned’ spot with a large, expensive army, eager to gain his prize, and upon reaching the place, straight into the heart of Mt. Vesuvius, he began digging, of all things. His brilliance was unsurpassed. Perhaps this was the reason for the utter astonishment of most when the following events unfolded.
“We’ve found it!” were the words rebounding across the encampment clinging to the eastern side of Mt. Vesuvius. A herald ran across the tiny settlement, bound for the king’s tent in the center of the panoply of assembled canvas buildings. An instant later, the king pulled aside the flaps. Sweet, sweet victory was his.
Pushing through the confusion of celebrating human mass, he headed straight towards the tunnel that had been the root of his toil for the past month. A sentry awaited him at the entrance.
“We have found a cavern in the middle of the mountain, a few fathoms below it, Your Highness. Exploration was held off in wait of your orders.”
“Lead me to it,” was his reply.
A long, uneventful tunnel led the forefront of the answer, whose duration was prolonged by the guide’s less than tactful attempts to effect the exact opposite. Finally, despite Einstein’s theory holding true an eon before its actual discovery, they were there.
“Where are we?” was the first to come out of the breathless king, less accustomed to the oddly thick air than many.
The imposing tunnel walls had given way to empty space, and they seemed to have entered a large, perfectly hewed dome of a cavern. There seemed to be absolutely nothing for what must have been at least a few miles, save an indistinct source of light far off into the distance. Something extraordinary, no doubt. The king’s unbridled glee was less than subtle, but what matter was that? Soon all those who laughed at him would see. He had the Orb of Fire! Insults would be paid with sweet vengeance. No more would he be the crackpot, the blemish of the line.
They journeyed farther in. And yet, the king began to worry. The path was absolutely clear. He had been prepared for a long struggle, a steady flow of resistance over which he would finally prevail. Not through all his machinations had he ever found a solution for a quick and sudden blow; a booby-trap or a sudden precipice, perhaps.
The very doubt seemed to be the king’s excuse when a hurdle did shadow his path.
After about a half-hour of hurried walking, they encountered the curved walls of what seemed to be a translucent dome enclosing their destination. It yielded, to an extent, but never allowed them further entry, and never broke. It seemed that only living flesh and blood could bend it to their will, for when the king tried his broadsword at the dome, it was as hard as rock, contrary to when he used his hands against it. Still, even when the two used the efforts of all their sinew, the dome retained the better part of its shape. It seemed impossible to make even a small incision into it.
It was then that the guide seemed to recall something he had heard.
“According to the lore of the local folk, Your Majesty, there is a legend of four barriers that, once crossed, would give the fortunate one unending power. The first barrier, I believe, is one only crossed by “he whose heart beats with the very rhythm of the mountain,” or a multitude of such creatures. They say it is an actual species, and not an individual person. What do you think, Your Highness?”
“You wish to know what I think? I think it is a dead end, and that we will only waste time and effort using it. But let us try, for there is no other way.”
He paused.
“Send in the cavalry!”
Within a matter of minutes, every rider in the camp was sent flying into the narrow tunnel. It was an amusing sight: hosts of (usually) tall, proud cavalry, egging each other into the long, dark channel, while the king bristled with impatience on the other side. Finally, however, all of them were lined up at one end of the cavern, waiting for their mark.
Soon enough, a large, brazen-throated war-horn did its work, and a thunderous storm of confused bodies roared down the cavern. They met the barrier; it bent under its immense load, and, with a rebounding, metallic screech, it tore asunder and shriveled into nothingness.
The first barrier was broken.
So proceeded the rest of the king’s expedition. The guide knowing suspiciously much about Roman lore, the rest of the barriers were easy, requiring sufficient amounts of water, fire, and wind. At last, they came to their goal.
Before the king was a spherical, rippling ball of molten metal which glowed with an odd black light; it was impossible to place the colour, yet, somehow, the viewer knew without doubt that the had never been a brighter light in all of creation.
Before triumphantly claiming his prize, as he had always planned, the king sent for all his men to assemble around him. Then, clearing his throat, the king started a lengthy speech he had been practicing since his teenage years.
“We meet again, my dear subjects. I express my gratitude towards your humble service; it is not easy following the darker path. We have seen the loss of much wealth, respect, and some very good men. I would like to declare that their sacrifices have not been in vain. It is – “
“Err… Your Highness?”
“Not now, Christopher. As I was saying, it is imperative that we take a moment of reminiscence to our hard work. So, with – “
“Your Majesty?”
”I told you, not now! All right…
“While mourning the death of our fellow comrades, we must also look to the future and what lies ahead. The tides are changing – “
“Your Highness!”
“Christopher! Do you require a demerit, or – “
In an instant, a blinding flash of radiance arced across the cavern, ever growing, feeding on everything living it could find.
The king knew no more.
I strode amongst the ruin of felled trees and woodland refuse, enshrouded in a grey, dreary mist which seemed to obscure the secrets of the ruined forest from prying eyes. Any other would have succumbed to its will, but I was the forest itself, and had all of its fallen yet still mighty life, and power along with it. The land was in a brew of unusually chaotic turmoil, and it was my duty to inspect and deliver.
Or so was the counsel of my heart. In any case, investigation was inevitable.
As I approached the centre of the chaos, a small clearing from which odd lights had been roaring out, I sensed the remnants of another presence. It was a metallic drone, speaking of power and veins of steel, and of cold-hearted dispassion. There usually was only the quick, joyful hearts of the animals and the slow, steady beat of the trees. What new, freakish entity was this? I could not suffer myself not to look further.
The wreckage gave way to a circular hall of ash and singed grass. Embers ran thick in the scorched air, as wrecked plant-life with the occasional singed remains of some small, unwary creatures cracked beneath my feet. I could hear the lamentation of the very life all around, deprived of its beauty. There was nothing of consequence (though every lost life pained my heart like a thousand barbs), save something contrasting white in the very middle. I walked up to it.
Before me was a dazzling white human skeleton, deformed horribly by some abominable procedure. The entire torso was fused together in the shape of a thick disc, though some bones seemed hastily arranged, as if the very forest, all of Creation, God, if you will, had made a terrible mistake. Four limbs spread out from the main shape, but even they had been misshapen, stubby and conical, and spread out like a turtle. As I stood gazing at this abomination in all its wretchedness and horror, the most prominent part came before my eyes.
It had a skull, or, at the least, the pitiful shadow of one, and on what seemed to be the forehead, a most disturbing mark could be seen.
A metallic red shape in the form of a cross was embedded into the very bone. I could bear the sight no further.
Anyways, I managed to type up something in the lingo I was in for the past few months, getting an idea, and I've made some progress in it. Just warning you beforehand, this fiction was inspired by seeing an overturned manhole cover and an ad for the Motorola PEBL.
Gray Fear
Prologue: Dominoes
Prologue: Dominoes
Early Earth
Somewhere in Modern-Day Florida (Keeping in Account Tectonic Shifts)
The skies erupted in full, terrifying wrath.
A tumult of confused mists obscured the troubled heavens, sending out ragged, ephemeral white threads that lead great rumblings out of a Greek epic. Noxious gases ascended like fleeing devils, byproduct of life’s stunted attempts to exist in the maimed earth. The faint sun gave little relief to the parched microbes, reduced to the simplest form in an attempt to coexist with their environment. Today, genesis was chaos.
A faint speck blasted its way through the hazes, coming from the distant horizon. It was no newcomer; many like it had made their titanic graves here, tribute to their fiery ends. The speck gradually expanded, coming closer and closer, until a flaming leviathan from the heavens was zooming almost parallel to the ground, scattering the low-lying shrubbery like an arrow on water.
All of a sudden, the very light surrounding it refracted, warped, and the meteor vanished, leaving but fey dust devils to fade themselves out. Sentience would have allowed the event more attention, but the only interest any had in these primordial times was to live, and all traces of the bizarre occurrence evaporated like snowflakes in a flame.
Life went on.
+////////\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\-
79 AD
Pompeii
There is nothing wrong today; this is not a first, Gratis tried to tell himself, as minor quakes rocked the painter’s instruments lying on his work table. It was a particularly violent one that day, but it was no cause for worry; the city of Pompeii had seen worse days. Yet he could feel it in his bones that there was something profoundly wrong this time.
Trying to shrug it off, he went over the mural his most recent customer had demanded. It was obvious the type this one was; Gratis would have to render a stunning image of… some god… and… Oh, it was no use! He couldn’t concentrate at all as the rocking earth nurtured his doubts and fears.
He calmed himself. What was over him today? Sighing, he packed his tools.
Little did he know how gruesomely his hunches would prove to materialize.
That day, Mt. Vesuvius revealed his identity in full, wrathful glory. Choking torrents of ash blew across the land, suffocating all in its way as it layered everything uncovered. Black hail showered the panic-stricken multitudes with enough size and speed to kill. Out into the distance, a dark, unforgiving leviathan vomited glowing red fluid and coughed out demons of poisonous gases. Yet, there was one instrument of his wrath more terrible than all.
Titanic walls of blazing smoke and ash ravaged the already obliterated land, converting earth and flesh and bone alike to black dust. If any could reach their other side alive, they would see a darkling landscape, with everything that once gave testament to life and color reduced to that accursed ash. If luck would be particularly uncooperative, they might stumble upon a less subtle reminder: an actual human skeleton, sometimes still holding clinging pieces of scorched flesh, and with very visible markings of actual organs melting – evaporating - from the heat.
Sanity, of course, would be the first to flee. But that would only be if there was a snowball’s chance in hell for a survivor.
Which, to be precise, was nonexistent.
+////////\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\-
1256 AD
Same Location
The King of Articasia was a noticeably odd fellow. Prone to fits of eccentricity, he spent his days pursuing nonexistent, fantastic trophies, none of which he would ever find, and all of which would cost him a large number of troops and gold. Though analyzing the varying follies of an obvious madman is no enthralling task, one particular of his expeditions could commandeer the interests of a few.
It began as another of his antics: apparently, the Orb of Fire, one of four that could control various forces of nature, rested within a secret, complex tunnel system underneath a certain mountain in Greece. As always, he rushed to his ‘masterfully discerned’ spot with a large, expensive army, eager to gain his prize, and upon reaching the place, straight into the heart of Mt. Vesuvius, he began digging, of all things. His brilliance was unsurpassed. Perhaps this was the reason for the utter astonishment of most when the following events unfolded.
“We’ve found it!” were the words rebounding across the encampment clinging to the eastern side of Mt. Vesuvius. A herald ran across the tiny settlement, bound for the king’s tent in the center of the panoply of assembled canvas buildings. An instant later, the king pulled aside the flaps. Sweet, sweet victory was his.
Pushing through the confusion of celebrating human mass, he headed straight towards the tunnel that had been the root of his toil for the past month. A sentry awaited him at the entrance.
“We have found a cavern in the middle of the mountain, a few fathoms below it, Your Highness. Exploration was held off in wait of your orders.”
“Lead me to it,” was his reply.
A long, uneventful tunnel led the forefront of the answer, whose duration was prolonged by the guide’s less than tactful attempts to effect the exact opposite. Finally, despite Einstein’s theory holding true an eon before its actual discovery, they were there.
“Where are we?” was the first to come out of the breathless king, less accustomed to the oddly thick air than many.
The imposing tunnel walls had given way to empty space, and they seemed to have entered a large, perfectly hewed dome of a cavern. There seemed to be absolutely nothing for what must have been at least a few miles, save an indistinct source of light far off into the distance. Something extraordinary, no doubt. The king’s unbridled glee was less than subtle, but what matter was that? Soon all those who laughed at him would see. He had the Orb of Fire! Insults would be paid with sweet vengeance. No more would he be the crackpot, the blemish of the line.
They journeyed farther in. And yet, the king began to worry. The path was absolutely clear. He had been prepared for a long struggle, a steady flow of resistance over which he would finally prevail. Not through all his machinations had he ever found a solution for a quick and sudden blow; a booby-trap or a sudden precipice, perhaps.
The very doubt seemed to be the king’s excuse when a hurdle did shadow his path.
After about a half-hour of hurried walking, they encountered the curved walls of what seemed to be a translucent dome enclosing their destination. It yielded, to an extent, but never allowed them further entry, and never broke. It seemed that only living flesh and blood could bend it to their will, for when the king tried his broadsword at the dome, it was as hard as rock, contrary to when he used his hands against it. Still, even when the two used the efforts of all their sinew, the dome retained the better part of its shape. It seemed impossible to make even a small incision into it.
It was then that the guide seemed to recall something he had heard.
“According to the lore of the local folk, Your Majesty, there is a legend of four barriers that, once crossed, would give the fortunate one unending power. The first barrier, I believe, is one only crossed by “he whose heart beats with the very rhythm of the mountain,” or a multitude of such creatures. They say it is an actual species, and not an individual person. What do you think, Your Highness?”
“You wish to know what I think? I think it is a dead end, and that we will only waste time and effort using it. But let us try, for there is no other way.”
He paused.
“Send in the cavalry!”
Within a matter of minutes, every rider in the camp was sent flying into the narrow tunnel. It was an amusing sight: hosts of (usually) tall, proud cavalry, egging each other into the long, dark channel, while the king bristled with impatience on the other side. Finally, however, all of them were lined up at one end of the cavern, waiting for their mark.
Soon enough, a large, brazen-throated war-horn did its work, and a thunderous storm of confused bodies roared down the cavern. They met the barrier; it bent under its immense load, and, with a rebounding, metallic screech, it tore asunder and shriveled into nothingness.
The first barrier was broken.
So proceeded the rest of the king’s expedition. The guide knowing suspiciously much about Roman lore, the rest of the barriers were easy, requiring sufficient amounts of water, fire, and wind. At last, they came to their goal.
Before the king was a spherical, rippling ball of molten metal which glowed with an odd black light; it was impossible to place the colour, yet, somehow, the viewer knew without doubt that the had never been a brighter light in all of creation.
Before triumphantly claiming his prize, as he had always planned, the king sent for all his men to assemble around him. Then, clearing his throat, the king started a lengthy speech he had been practicing since his teenage years.
“We meet again, my dear subjects. I express my gratitude towards your humble service; it is not easy following the darker path. We have seen the loss of much wealth, respect, and some very good men. I would like to declare that their sacrifices have not been in vain. It is – “
“Err… Your Highness?”
“Not now, Christopher. As I was saying, it is imperative that we take a moment of reminiscence to our hard work. So, with – “
“Your Majesty?”
”I told you, not now! All right…
“While mourning the death of our fellow comrades, we must also look to the future and what lies ahead. The tides are changing – “
“Your Highness!”
“Christopher! Do you require a demerit, or – “
In an instant, a blinding flash of radiance arced across the cavern, ever growing, feeding on everything living it could find.
The king knew no more.
+////////\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\-
I strode amongst the ruin of felled trees and woodland refuse, enshrouded in a grey, dreary mist which seemed to obscure the secrets of the ruined forest from prying eyes. Any other would have succumbed to its will, but I was the forest itself, and had all of its fallen yet still mighty life, and power along with it. The land was in a brew of unusually chaotic turmoil, and it was my duty to inspect and deliver.
Or so was the counsel of my heart. In any case, investigation was inevitable.
As I approached the centre of the chaos, a small clearing from which odd lights had been roaring out, I sensed the remnants of another presence. It was a metallic drone, speaking of power and veins of steel, and of cold-hearted dispassion. There usually was only the quick, joyful hearts of the animals and the slow, steady beat of the trees. What new, freakish entity was this? I could not suffer myself not to look further.
The wreckage gave way to a circular hall of ash and singed grass. Embers ran thick in the scorched air, as wrecked plant-life with the occasional singed remains of some small, unwary creatures cracked beneath my feet. I could hear the lamentation of the very life all around, deprived of its beauty. There was nothing of consequence (though every lost life pained my heart like a thousand barbs), save something contrasting white in the very middle. I walked up to it.
Before me was a dazzling white human skeleton, deformed horribly by some abominable procedure. The entire torso was fused together in the shape of a thick disc, though some bones seemed hastily arranged, as if the very forest, all of Creation, God, if you will, had made a terrible mistake. Four limbs spread out from the main shape, but even they had been misshapen, stubby and conical, and spread out like a turtle. As I stood gazing at this abomination in all its wretchedness and horror, the most prominent part came before my eyes.
It had a skull, or, at the least, the pitiful shadow of one, and on what seemed to be the forehead, a most disturbing mark could be seen.
A metallic red shape in the form of a cross was embedded into the very bone. I could bear the sight no further.
Last edited: