12-15-2016, 01:11 AM
By comparison, werewolves were easy, a simple problem solved with simple violence. Kelly's haunt warned him almost half a second before the beast actually sprang. When it came for him, the traveler smashed his lantern over it's snarling head, shattering the glass and dousing the lupine monster's face and shoulders in blazing oil.
And that is at least one thing you can't do with a flashlight.
Howling and screaming in pain and confusion, burning merrily like a torch, the werewolf took off into the night.
Over the course of several minutes, lit by the soft, spectral, rainbow glow of Omnilium, Kelly repaired his lantern. As he worked, he pushed the thoughts and question raised by his encounter with the masked phantom in the fog to the back of his mind.
As always, the memories can wait.
The werewolf set the tone for the rest of the night. It seemed the traveler couldn't walk five hundred feet without something leaping, swooping, pouncing, or shambling out of the briars and overgrown fields that lined the muddy, wheel-worn road.
He was attacked by zombies, easily beaten but irritatingly persistent. He was swarmed by a trio of giant vampire bats, one of whom got the same fiery treatment as the wolf. He was beset by a pack of muscular hounds possessed of hideously grinning human faces. They speculated loudly about his mother's sexual habits, and about the taste of his flesh as he beat them back with kicks and psychokinetic force-bolts.
Eventually, the blood-moon seemed to grow brighter, and the sodden soil of the road itself rose up in a bizarre mockery of humanity, forcing Kelly to run for drier ground or be dragged down into the earth by a mob of reeking mud-men. Then, as he fled from that, he ran directly into the path of a nine-foot tall gray-skinned ogre. It had an impressive collection of matted black hair all over its body, five-inch fingernails, and a mouth full of bony needles so long that it couldn't quite close its jaws. The beast followed him, moaning hungrily.
Dealing with the ogre took a while. In the end, he killed it by setting on fire, breaking one of its knees with a force-bolt, then opening its jugular vein with a large shard of lantern-glass when it fell.
Another thing you can't do with a flashlight.
By the time the traveler came within a mile of Darkshire's walls, he was bruised, filthy, battered and tired - covered in his own blood, and the blood of a dozen different monsters. The entire right side of his face was swollen, and his lean, powerful body was a patchwork of bruises and cuts. The palms of his hands were lacerated, wrapped in make-shift bandages. His hair was unbound, full of mud and the viscera of giant bats, and his shirt was gone entirely, sacrificed to necessity.
He still had the lantern though, softly lighting his way. It had served him well, and he'd made sure to restore it every time it broke in the line of duty.
Kelly needed to rest. Not minding the pain and exhaustion didn't mean the warnings they presented were any less real. If he pushed himself too far, his body would fail, regardless of what his mind had to say about the subject.
Reaching a cross-roads ensconced within a stand of four tall oaks, the traveler stopped by a hollow in the trunk of the largest tree, taking the time to inspect it thoroughly for teeth and tentacles, and to make sure nothing was lurking in the branches. Satisfied, he sat on a bed of leaves among its gnarled roots, placing his lantern on the ground beside him. Crossing his legs, he straightened his back and inhaled deeply, filling his chest with air that smelled of wood, wet, and rot.
A cold wind blew, whistling and howling in the bare branches above.
Ten minutes, no longer. Breathe. Recover. Focus. Just because my lungs aren't necessary doesn't mean they don't help.
Just fifteen more minutes of travel, maximum. That means one, maybe two more examples of this fright-night bullshit.
I'm almost there.
And that is at least one thing you can't do with a flashlight.
Howling and screaming in pain and confusion, burning merrily like a torch, the werewolf took off into the night.
Over the course of several minutes, lit by the soft, spectral, rainbow glow of Omnilium, Kelly repaired his lantern. As he worked, he pushed the thoughts and question raised by his encounter with the masked phantom in the fog to the back of his mind.
As always, the memories can wait.
The werewolf set the tone for the rest of the night. It seemed the traveler couldn't walk five hundred feet without something leaping, swooping, pouncing, or shambling out of the briars and overgrown fields that lined the muddy, wheel-worn road.
He was attacked by zombies, easily beaten but irritatingly persistent. He was swarmed by a trio of giant vampire bats, one of whom got the same fiery treatment as the wolf. He was beset by a pack of muscular hounds possessed of hideously grinning human faces. They speculated loudly about his mother's sexual habits, and about the taste of his flesh as he beat them back with kicks and psychokinetic force-bolts.
Eventually, the blood-moon seemed to grow brighter, and the sodden soil of the road itself rose up in a bizarre mockery of humanity, forcing Kelly to run for drier ground or be dragged down into the earth by a mob of reeking mud-men. Then, as he fled from that, he ran directly into the path of a nine-foot tall gray-skinned ogre. It had an impressive collection of matted black hair all over its body, five-inch fingernails, and a mouth full of bony needles so long that it couldn't quite close its jaws. The beast followed him, moaning hungrily.
Dealing with the ogre took a while. In the end, he killed it by setting on fire, breaking one of its knees with a force-bolt, then opening its jugular vein with a large shard of lantern-glass when it fell.
Another thing you can't do with a flashlight.
By the time the traveler came within a mile of Darkshire's walls, he was bruised, filthy, battered and tired - covered in his own blood, and the blood of a dozen different monsters. The entire right side of his face was swollen, and his lean, powerful body was a patchwork of bruises and cuts. The palms of his hands were lacerated, wrapped in make-shift bandages. His hair was unbound, full of mud and the viscera of giant bats, and his shirt was gone entirely, sacrificed to necessity.
He still had the lantern though, softly lighting his way. It had served him well, and he'd made sure to restore it every time it broke in the line of duty.
Kelly needed to rest. Not minding the pain and exhaustion didn't mean the warnings they presented were any less real. If he pushed himself too far, his body would fail, regardless of what his mind had to say about the subject.
Reaching a cross-roads ensconced within a stand of four tall oaks, the traveler stopped by a hollow in the trunk of the largest tree, taking the time to inspect it thoroughly for teeth and tentacles, and to make sure nothing was lurking in the branches. Satisfied, he sat on a bed of leaves among its gnarled roots, placing his lantern on the ground beside him. Crossing his legs, he straightened his back and inhaled deeply, filling his chest with air that smelled of wood, wet, and rot.
A cold wind blew, whistling and howling in the bare branches above.
Ten minutes, no longer. Breathe. Recover. Focus. Just because my lungs aren't necessary doesn't mean they don't help.
Just fifteen more minutes of travel, maximum. That means one, maybe two more examples of this fright-night bullshit.
I'm almost there.