Halloween 2015

Hello dear readers,

I have decided to, in the spirit of all hallows eve, forego the usual rambling blog post in lieu of a story I wrote for the Witches festival in the Elder Scrolls Online. For those who do not know, the witches festival coincides with the summoning day of the daedric prince Mephala, lady of secrets, spiders, sex, and murder. On the witches festival, the 13th of the October equivalent Frostfall,  all manner of evil spirit, monster, and mage roam the lands in what is almost a paranoid magicalarms race to survive the evening. Mortals tend to dress in costumes to confuse and scare evil spirits. This story is intended to be a cautionary tale for the evening, to be told around the campfire and frighten the hatchlings. If you enjoy it, the story was heavily inspired by "The Outsider" by H. P. Lovecraft, and I recommend you check it out! 

A Cautionary Tale of the Witches Festival 

I am dissatisfied with my place

dark and grotesque halls of stone

vines grow in tangled weaves

And I find myself alone

I know not where I am from
But these dark halls winding ‘round
no lineage to claim except
the bones upon the ground

and in this decaying castle
with no servants to meet my need
I wandered through the dark
to find a way I might be freed

I see now in the distance
a place where the ceiling breaks
my starved form can just fit
I will see what path it takes

I must have found a tower
it ascends impossibly high
with not a stair to be seen
and filled bats that perch and fly

I am determined to see the light
at least one time before I die
so I dig my nails into the stone
and give this climb a try

As I make my way skywards
my fingers bleed against the rock
the tower seems to go forever
up block by moldy block

Surely I am so far now
above the castle floor
the tower grows dark as I go up
and I can see no more

But do I feel above me now
some sort of metal grate
no light shines from outside
but perhaps the night is late

my arms are too weak to move the bar
but as I push with my back
this heavy grate moves suddenly
and gives way with a crack

and as I climb above the bars
It is not the sky I see
but another floor of dusty stone
With a gate ahead of me

And as I walk through the gate
A light finally meets my eye
A waxing gibbous moon above
And the serpent dots the sky

And across the foggy moors
That roll murky in my sight
The windows of a distant manor
Shine a beacon in the night

So through the mire I trek
To find this distant keep
Some food to sate my hunger pain
And perhaps a place to sleep

As I approach the window
To see what lies behind
A scene unfolds before me
As wonder fills my mind

A grand ballroom I behold
Decked in shades of gold and red
The courtesans dance merrily
And the tables are well spread

I can wait no longer here
My hunger gnaws at me
I stumble my way to the door
Then knock excitedly

As the door is opened
I am greeted by alarm
The doorman runs in panic
As though something meant him harm

I decide to venture inward
Driven by starving pain
I care not for the coat check
But only the food to gain

Yet as I reach the banquet
the dancers stop to stare
A savage silence surrounds
Until a scream splits the air

The masses mob in terror
And outward try to flee
So I search the room to spy
What horrors there could be

My searching has found nothing
I stand in an empty room
The revelry traded for
the silence of a tomb

I make my way to the feast
The aroma strong and sweet
But there is only ash in my mouth
No matter what I eat

It was then that a mirror
Silver and set against the wall
Managed just to catch my eye
From within the dining hall

I creep over to see it
And gaze upon myself
But what I find before me
Is neither man nor elf

And in this depraved moment
My anger starts to grow
A wicked weed of hatred
Nurtured by what I know

It has been a century since
I learned the truth of me
Of the foul things inside the dark
And the night we are set free

And now by invocation
I call upon the names
Of Namira and her rot
Of Dagon and his flames

Of Peryite his sickness
Of Clavicus his greed
And by the name of Molag Bal
All manner of cruel deed

I call upon Mephala
And the secret silken weave
To trap the living flesh so

I eat well this witches eve!

-Ma1