Strange Aeons

Trying to make sense....

 

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Life is the bitch, and death is her sister, sleep is the cousin, what a fucking family picture

I have I no idea what is what anymore or who is who or when is when.  Nothing makes sense

All I have are my thoughts but I am having trouble differentiating between my thoughts and reality.  

Bodies everywhere

Piles of decomposing corpses

They could have been innocent or evil either way it wears on one's conscious.

Who are the guards?

How are they so calm?

Are they even good?

How can people just stand on the other side of “safety” and watch while we struggle with every fiber in our bones just to continue living…no…just surviving, living implies something more something we lack.

Are we even surviving or just not dying?

What’s the difference?

Why me?

Question everything!

Trust no one!

Is this a nightmare or reality?

We sleep and experience something totally different.  

Sleep provides no rest no retreat no reprieve just more torment more mystery.

Of everything we’ve encountered death seems to be the most welcoming.

Any principles or morals one may have had before are all but gone because of this place.

Humans were hanging on butcher hooks starving to the point one was eating the others and we did nothing to stop it or help them.

Are we bad?

Maybe this is why we were put here, to suffer.

Why us?

Why me?

People fear the unknown, those people have never been here.

What happens if we succeed in our task what horrifying things are to follow after?

The bodies they’re everywhere.  All dead.

Bodies.

The argus grows but doesn't know

Nothing makes sense.

How come those creatures don’t come and kill us.

We are their playthings.

Why don’t they just kill us all?

Why have they not attacked the guards?

What are they looking for?

What do they want?

How do I get out of here?

Why me?

Why do the guards stay what is wrong with them?

How can they survive in such proximity to to to all this!?

Why are we not dead yet?

How are we not dead yet?

I guess I get live another day…or night.   I don't know.

Nobody knows!

Nobody knows anything!

Why us?

WHY ME!!!

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Crystal Clear
Sometimes Dead is Better

//Starting Sanity Damage 0; Ending 2

This journal, nameless and singularly empty, lurks in my mind. She can feel that it was not always so. Its time-worn binding betrays a frequent usage. But the pages have told all their secrets and whatever remains was stripped clean. She will recount her thoughts here in a naive hope that once written cannot be erased. Some never learn.


It was at the Briarstone Asylum in Ustalav that everything began. Perhaps a furtive hope more than a truth. For it is unclear how much time has passed since I was committed. My possessions, could ownership be implied in my current condition, remained more or less intact. The same could not be said of my memories. Whether the start of my incarceration was of a larger, daemoniac plot or something on the whole mundane I did not know yet, and would not discover for some time.


She found that her condition was maddening. They had likely been only recently transplanted to their quarters. The foetid remains of the prior inhabitants was poor comfort for the newly awakened. A later reflection would deem those in the third cell and the furnace were the most fortunate few they encountered that day.

She was not alone in her plight. Five others seemed to share her fate.

There was the loud one. They called him The Mountain for his protruding personality cast a shadow far longer than his stature would permit. He proclaimed himself the leader and named this band of unfortunates The Rising Stars. Despite his odd countenance his words proved uplifting.

Gray, the one who smelled of niter, was a practitioner of the alchemical arts. That he should remember the nuance and ingredients for the assemblage of explosive tinctures was of undeniable important. He was a talented archer as well. But his alacrity was too easily aimed towards his improbable compatriots. When its shadow appeared around her, Gray was quick to offer a fatal solution to a problem she could not explain.

Edgar possesses the power of effulgence. Whether he generates this himself or bends the dimensions to transfer it from time and place is unknown. What is clear is that without such radiance they would have ended up much the same as the man strapped to that table, hasselbacked or flayed. It's possible the repeated use of these abilities have altered his biological essence. The tinge of it marks his hair.

Kit was a man who seemed to have spent his years traveling to get here. He may be the most recent addition to this group. He formed a fast bond with a panther that was chained up in an adjoining room. Maybe he was a trainer in another life.

Mask. There's not much to say and he would seem to agree.


When we finally escaped the basement cells we found ourselves in the asylum proper. The asylum itself was overrun and partially collapsed in some areas. Eldritch mists clung to the courtyard. The flower beds were beaten down slowly by a humid, misty rain. Lurking in the halls of this time-forgotten campus were dopplegangers; abominations that took the faces of their victims and delighted in charnel pleasures.

Inside one of the more complete structures was a barricaded area. The way was barred. Three women guarded their improvised wall but a man spoke for them with authority. None could pass save they could prove they were not themselves face-shifters. The former keepers of the asylum were now the prisoners of a many-faced horror, barricade or not.

I could not convince those at the barricades that we meant no harm. The face-shifters had taken my face, if it is my face at all. We turned the other way down a dank passage in the shadows. Kit's illumination revealed an aberrant shadow. It sprung from me and danced on the wall, seemingly mocking the frightful contortion of my expression. I could not explain such an indescribable thing.

The dreadful truth was that I wasn't afeared of the tenebrous aberration dancing on the walls. It was the creeping familiarity. The shadow on the wall wasn't a trick of light or magic. It was the shadow that stained my mind and insulated me from going mad in the darkness. And now others could see it too.

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