Red Dusk, A reboot

Ah. Ahem. The Stygian Dark has perished. But I have a reboot, somewhat based on William Hope Hodgson's genius book 'The Night Lands'.

---

A distant, howling wind had set in, heralding the coming of winter, and the coming of the snows. But here, in the most ancient of structures, in the most ancient of habitations, life was warm. Life was quiet. Here, in Man’s Final Home, with the Earth River running eight miles below, powering the massive redoubt, the massive human endeavor. And here I sit, the One of Tales, in the one thousand and thirty-first city of the Final Home, four miles above the earth’s crust, eight miles above the last city of the Home. I look out my window, the transparent glass tempered with organo-pscyho tech shielding me from the stifling, soul bending effects of the Night Lands beyond. All that keeps us safe, the Circle of Light, flickers and shudders against the evil of the Great Southern Thing That Watches, its monolithic face obscured by the perpetual darkness, it’s eyes casting a dim, weak glow. It has not moved in nearly twelve-hundred years, when it last blinked, and even the oldest records in the Great Library cannot say when it last took a step in its eternal march towards the Final Home, the Great Redoubt.

My spirit vibrates within me as I glance at the mountainous being, remembering that we are under siege, at war with the Eaters of the Night, and have been for nearly four million years. Man is indeed a tenacious creature, but even our fortitude will be brought down by the pneumovores, those Eaters of Souls that ate our sun and blackened our Earth. It is prophesized, even since the Third Age of Man, those cold thinkers that were almost all mind, that the Great Southern Watching Thing would in another two million years time, will have crushed our Great Gate and give access to the hordes of abhumans, of giants, of massive Night Hounds, and the Silent Ones. They will make an end to man, and some will live on only in the resonance of the specially crafted Ghost Cells. But, ah! That is a story of another time, as the chronomancers make their ways back and forth and construct a more full picture of the future, and of the past, when the legendary sun still did shine. Perhaps we may change our future.

But for now, I am a tired old man, and will see none of these things. I am a Teller of Tales, and so, I am the one upon whose lap young children sit, their large black eyes staring solemnly to me, as I delve into the past of Man, and pull stories of power, of victory, of savagery, and of our everlasting fortitude. Even now, as I sit in the study of my apartments, I hear the nervous knocking of the city’s young ones, eager for another tidbit.

---

“Come,” he calls from his chair, a fit old man with a head of white hair and eyes as black as the Night beyond. “You may enter.”

The door to the room slid into the wall silently, and the children, four in total, stepped inside with familiar steps. They grinned softly, and padded over to clasp the Elder’s hand in reverential greeting and respect. The aether around then shimmered with youth and energy, but with the subdued overtones of teachings and etiquette. These were children of the Cities, after all. It would not do to be giddy and jubilant all the time. The Night forever encroached on the mind, and there must be barriers, defenses, lest they become abhuman. Or worse. Lest they invite the Power That Be within the safety of the walls. But these children are good, and kind, and noble. And they are his elect, for they all can hear the Night Speak.

“Pleasant day-cycle” his mind spoke out into the void, and the children responded in like with their thoughts, their Night Speak. “Now,” he said with his tongue, “my students, we will speak of a time before the Great Night fell upon the earth, nigh twelve million years before.” He set a hand upon his desk, and the hidden psycho-circuitry sprang to life, and a hidden holo-projector hummed to life, casting a large red ball of fire into the air. The Sun. “What is this?”

The children smiled. “The star which was extinguished by the Eaters. The glow that gave us ‘day’.”

“Yes, that’s right. Now, this was long ago, and many of Man were not sure if this star did exist, until our sciences and spirits were honed as to travel through the eons, a science that the chronomancers practice at the expense of their own lives. We have been able to coast the collective minds of our ancestors and dredge up deeper, more complete pictures of times that were.” He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers before his nose. “But what benefit is the past to our future?”

The children fidgeted, and one little girl spoke softly. “So that we may perhaps seek a solution to the Seige? Perhaps to discover what the Eaters are?”

Nodding slowly, he strokes his bare chin, free of stubble. “Yes, that and so much more. But more than anything, the human mind is curious! We want to know what preceded us. We want to know what was before the Final Home, what the world was like in its dimmest hours, what it was like in its brightest. We want to know how many spoke and talked in those golden ages. We want to know what was before the Master Word.” He blinked slowly, pondering his own words with the gravity only a teacher can muster. “Kaim, what is the Master Word?”

“The Word that none but the pure human mind can understand and speak and feel.” The little boy sent out the Master Word with his Night Speak, and it pulsated in the air, in their throats, in the very aether. “It is something that distinquishes man from abhuman, man from giant, man from Night Hound, man from the Silent Ones. Man from the Eaters.”

He nodded once, again stroking his chin, before raising a brow contemplatively, and lifting a book from his desk. The metal pages rustled slightly, and he opened the cover slowly, the slight, quiet glow from the words etched on the metallic leaves illuminated his face oh-so-slightly in the darkness.

“We will speak today, of the time before the Sun’s final days. We will speak of the times of the Endless Dusk, where the Sun shone dull and red at the end of the Great Chasm upon which we built our Final Home, our Great Redoubt. We will speak of a time when Man had more than one Great Home, when the abhumans and the Silent Ones were just beginning to appear and were fewer in number. When the world was not as cold, not as dark, or not as dangerous for the eternal soul. We will speak of a time when Man was still conquering, still hoping for some benevolent miracle to save them from their dying world. And, there is an account where, perhaps, just perhaps, one has been found. But it is a legend, and the Historian Guild has found no true evidence, nor our chronomancers, for all their eon-tranversing, have not discovered any proof. But some say that even now, twelve million years later, the Monstruwacans, our grand Monster Watchers, still hope that this Legend may be valid. It could just be our salvation.”

His voice, the voice of a Teller of Tales, began, droning hypnotically, softly, like a feather on the wind, falling and rising imperceptibly to weave a picture of mind and soul. To hear a Tale was to have a spiritual experience, as well as a mental. And so, the Teller tells, and weaves his spirit-story. Outside, the Southern Watching Thing keeps its eternal vigilance, and the cold winds do blow as four children of Man are shown a world almost older than time.
---





Anyone interested?


-Raz

I am.


Rather confusing even if an elder is speaking amongst children. They sure must be bright some.

I am intrigued to learn more.

Hah! After a couple of million years, I hope our IQ's would be a bit more...elevated.

Anyway, if you wanna be in the story, gimme the following.

Name:

Age:

Desc:

Personality:

No backstory. That's for me to give.

Superpowers.....I'm not sure if you get any, actually, but everyone gets Night Hearing, which is telepathy.

If you're curious about the Night Lands, it was written in the 20's, and much fanfiction (by actual, published writers) can be found here: http://www.thenightland.co.uk/nightmap.html

I think the book in its entirety can be found here too, I'm not sure.

-Raz

Name: Maraena (Mae)

Age: early 20s

Desc: red/brown hair, grey eyes, med height, light build,

Personality: Inquisitive, focused, dry sense of humor

Feel free to do what you like with the personality beyond that

Name: Evan Phoenix (After Evan Dando and River Phoenix, it's just a name after all).

Nickname: Songbird

Age: 20 (I'd believe that life begins at 20)

Desc: Messy, shoulder length brown hair with growing stubble. Green eyes, changes to aqua if in situation of crying.

His causual wear is worn jeans, trainers, a demin jacket as well as long sleeved button shirts (Or whatever he finds and keeps).

He carries a bag, containing a notepad (Covered with lyrics, artowrk and photographs) and various pens from various travels, a Polaroid and clothing that he kept or picked up on his journey.

He also carries a guitar case with an accoustic inside (I figured electric doesn't exsist?). The guitar itself is decorated with stuck on polaroid pictures, scribbles, etc.

Personality:

His main trait that he always appears tired, which some could claim that he consumes durgs (He doesn't).

His overall personality is that of someone who has been travelling for a long time and cannot remember when the jounrey, nor does he care whether or not it will end. He simply exsists and has no purpose in life other than to keep exsisting till he ceases to live.

He appears to be very creative and active when producing music, lryics and other forms of art and also has many, many stories to tell which may make seem an interesting individual. However, he finds it very hard to talk to people unless someone talks to him first, breaking an insecurity barrier around him.

He also has odd but distintive behaviours, like leaving post it notes of pictures lying around the place or random automatic writings.

Superpowers; EDIT: Not to be revealed.


Is that alright?

Is there any progress so far, by the way?