Nov 25, 2012

The Suffering Scrolls

NOTE:: Rough text. No Format, No Edits. DO NOT WRITE LIKE THIS. This is just a taste.


The scrolls were in the dark cave under the sea. The fires that lit them were still burning after all these years. It had been a long time since there had been a movement out there in the world but now the forces were moving and time was neigh. The darkness in the cave was receding. A new dawn was coming for them and they were ready to welcome it the way the could. By destruction and madness. The scrolls sent out their thoughts into the ether. Ready to be picked up by those who were known to such things. There was a nascent power in the air and the scrolls were going to make the most of it. They had been suffering from a long time and their time had come to make their suffering known to the rest of the world and the powers that be. The scrolls were united in their pain. There was no two ways about it. They were ready to wreak havoc on the world outside and there was going to be no escape from it for the world at large.

The words on the scrolls arranged themselves in the form of the characters that would help them in getting out of the cave and making for the surface where they would start their reign of destruction and havoc on the planet. The scrolls had been in the making for years. The writers of the scrolls were all dead and the fucking things were updated by the scribes who had used their own blood and the skin of the previous scribes to update the scrolls and keep them intact in the world. The weather and the dissidents of their dark deeds had tried to oppose them and destroy the scrolls, but every time, through the ages, through the wars and the famine, and the hunger and the corruption, the scrolls had managed to survive. They had seen everything from plagues to the nuclear explosions, but the scrolls had prevailed and the keepers of the scrolls had laid their lives on line for preservation of the dark knowledge hidden within. Their only consolation that one day the words will rise and take the revenge for which they were made. 

The time was here.

Nov 11, 2012

The Experiment

NOTE :: This is a work in progress, posted here for arcane purposes. Please read the last two posts to enjoy this fully. All mistakes are mine.


It was not easy for new comers to go into The Dreaming but there were ways. Oh, there are always ways to go about it. If someone designs a place where no one is meant to go, some will spend their whole lives just trying to get in. And maybe, just maybe, after a while, they'll get in too. The Octopi had spent the last 100 years trying to get into The Dreaming. Through occult and science. Through sacrifice and genius. Through madness and mathematics. They had finally found a way to get in. Find some people willing to commit suicide and send them on a whirlwind trip across the planet, with a boat load of drugs and then pray. Pray that they find the right time and place and rip in the time where the dreams leak into the real world and they just might be able to reach in and explore the place.

The freaky thing about the Octopi experiments with their attempts to get into The Dreaming was that everyone had the same dream. Of a snow filled field which went on as far as the eye could see. And then the wolves. Oh, what wolves they were. Creatures of ancient tales, fierce and wonderful. With jaws full of death for anything that didn't belong into The Dreaming. The first few batches of test subjects came back with their brains all fried out and the best thing to do with them was to put a bullet in their heads. The mission incharge had done the honors himself. He had taken his 9mm into the sleeping cells and shot each of the subjects when their vital signs remained calm, but their mouths filled the hull with screams of terror and joy. He didn't know what they were seeing in the dreaming and he had no desire to find out either. The next batch of recruits was well prepared. They were put through mental conditioning and quick response. Their lucid dreaming classes went on for as long as they had to. They were the lost children of human race that no one would miss.

The experiments were a mixture of science and magic of any kind that they were able to get their hands on. Once a shaman traveled with a batch of trainees and they were able to know about the wolves. They were flying somewhere over Antarctica when the dream hit all of them. The shaman felt the presence of wolves and he had seen them before. He saw that they were guarding a pyramid in which a book was kept. Somewhere under the surface of water. He was able to placate the wolves for now. But the experience left him so traumatized that he took up a desk job.

The Octopi continued to refine and redefine their methods. Then one day a man with a bag of books and a plane under his command contacted them. Things were never the same after that day.

Nov 9, 2012

The Book Man

NOTE:: This is just rough text, part of the bigger work I am writing right now. The final form of this might not look like this at all. Just doing this for motivating myself. Don't enjoy reading this. :)


The man with books was stopped at the airport. He had a bag full of books of all kinds. Hardcover, paperback, books without covers and books with their last pages torn out. He had seen some evil people in his time whose idea of entertainment was to go in local libraries and tear off the last page from every book in the catalog. He hated such people and when he saw the books that were handled carelessly and without love, he felt like crying. He loved reading books that made him want to cry. But he dared not waste his tears. Those things were important. So when the airport authorities stopped the man he was not unnerved. They looked into his bag of books, carelessly pulling out the books and ruffling through the pages as if the books contained a bomb or something. They did contain bombs, actually. But not the kind of bombs that would damage an airplane. The book man just waited till the authorities went through the bag. 

"Hey, look at this book. It's pretty freaky." One of the officers checking out the bag picked a book called The Ancient Symbols and Their Significance in the Modern World by Mortimer August. It was a book dear to the man's heart and it angered him to see the police officer carelessly thumbing through the pages. Then the police officer did something so vile and sadistic that the man had to intervene. He licked his thumb and started to move it towards the corner of the page he wanted to turn. The man reached forward and held his hand on the corner of the page with the police officer's saliva filmed thumb just inches away from the the back of his hand. The police officer looked at the man. The man looked back the police officer with a smile ready on his lips. "I'd prefer if you didn't do that. It's a holy book for some religions and they treat it with extreme reverence."

A puzzled expression came over the police officer's face. 

"This book like the Bible or something?"

The man smiled, again. Friendliness pouring from every inch of his face. 

"You're absolutely right. All these books are holy and I am using these to spread the word of the holiness in heathen lands."

Nov 5, 2012

The Book Of Water

NOTE:: I am putting this here just to make myself accountable in case I fuck up. This is chapter 4 from the nanowrimo project I am doing this november. This is unedited, rough and shoddy work. The first draft that is shit. Read at your own risk. CONTAINS MISTAKES.

The book lies under water. Its pages are waxed and protected from the hungry waves and it has a cover made of skin of animals that live inside its tomb. The words in the book ripple under the waves. Trapped in the pages with nowhere to go till someone reads them out and brings them to life. They have not been read since they were trapped in the pages. The pyramid under the water has not been seen by human eyes in the million years that it has spent trapped in the watery grave. Were books even supposed to be written a million years ago. The book doesn't know and the book doesn't care. The symbols in it are angry. They sense the shifting of elder powers in the world above and it doesn't give them a very good feeling. It makes them uneasy and jumpy and they thrash and squirm as the waves of unease wash over them in the water. The energy signals are strong and erratic and it doesn't make the words feel too good. They've been silent for ages and now the things are disturbing them. They want to break free from their tomb, but they need an external force to set them free, and there is nothing they can invoke or call to their aid. So the words suffer in the book of water. They send out waves of their own to let the fetid energies know that there are others who are also waiting to get out of whatever prison they're latched into. There is no shame in this. There is only a challenge. A discordant aggression that a war is coming and that war is going to change everything that stands between them and the worlds that have been silent for ages. The book of water bubbles under the surface. Angry and awake. Willing to get out of its prison which can't be broken by it. The sea churns, the waters pass them by, and the hot water near the tomb fries small animals that dare to pass by it. The anger of the book only contained by its pages. So it sends the words deep into the chapters. Looking for knowledge that it has forgotten over the years. It sends the words searching for things that are no longer there. And that are not supposed to be there, but there might be a trace. There might be a sign and the book is willing to take that chance, no matter how slim the hope, it is willing to hang on.