Dolor house, is where it began. My
nightmares all turn to that melancholic place hidden in the woods. I
cannot sleep in my old age without dreaming of its fantasies and its
terrors. The eldritch dreams are still easy to recollect after all
these years, let alone the actual recollections of the events in that
mansion. I however cannot remember the location or the placement of
it's geography. If it's due to the mind at an old age, or rather that
the place never existed within this plane of reality, I'm not sure if
I will ever or want to find out.
As a youth I lived in a family estate on a small island inside of a lake. It was often referred to as a moat. The waters were more than fairly muddy, the fish plentiful in both variety and sheer amount. There was a very thick forest to the east of the lake, which I was prohibited from wandering into. Father often told me there was dragons lurking about while having a hearty chuckle. I obeyed mother's strict commands for not going into those very thick woods. Yet after some years it's mystery and adventuring invitations became to great to dismiss out of fear of my parents wrath. I grabbed a boat on the dock and paddled east.
Upon docking my boat, the air had a noticeable heft. Petrichor danced around the trees. It was mid day, yet a dimming of light seemed to fall along the ground. It was like dusk at lunchtime. I shook it off as cloud cover and pressed onward. Weaving through the foliage and trees in a wanderlust, I traveled deeper into the forbidden wood. For several hours I trekked into the thick until I came upon a cliff.
It was a deep, steep, ragged drop. A rocky verge leading to a bed of dead vegetation with rotting roots protruding through it's layers. I sat down at the cliff, enjoying the wonder of the environment; With a deep breath I let my imagination process those dragons father spoke of in this fantastical place. I couldn't figure out if I was pulled by my ankle, or rather the ground below me gave way. I began to slip and descend to the ground below. A great pain shot across my anatomy followed by nothingness.
As a youth I lived in a family estate on a small island inside of a lake. It was often referred to as a moat. The waters were more than fairly muddy, the fish plentiful in both variety and sheer amount. There was a very thick forest to the east of the lake, which I was prohibited from wandering into. Father often told me there was dragons lurking about while having a hearty chuckle. I obeyed mother's strict commands for not going into those very thick woods. Yet after some years it's mystery and adventuring invitations became to great to dismiss out of fear of my parents wrath. I grabbed a boat on the dock and paddled east.
Upon docking my boat, the air had a noticeable heft. Petrichor danced around the trees. It was mid day, yet a dimming of light seemed to fall along the ground. It was like dusk at lunchtime. I shook it off as cloud cover and pressed onward. Weaving through the foliage and trees in a wanderlust, I traveled deeper into the forbidden wood. For several hours I trekked into the thick until I came upon a cliff.
It was a deep, steep, ragged drop. A rocky verge leading to a bed of dead vegetation with rotting roots protruding through it's layers. I sat down at the cliff, enjoying the wonder of the environment; With a deep breath I let my imagination process those dragons father spoke of in this fantastical place. I couldn't figure out if I was pulled by my ankle, or rather the ground below me gave way. I began to slip and descend to the ground below. A great pain shot across my anatomy followed by nothingness.
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