latenight-feverdreams-blog
late night fever dreams
A creative retelling of nightmares and fevered dreams I've had.
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A beautifully tiled 90s public washroom.
Bathrooms, Collins Design, 2004 📚
Salvaged & scanned by @jpegfantasy 🖨️
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“The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”
— Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and Song of Despair
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DORÉ, Gustave (1832-1883)
“This said, they both betook them several ways” (illustration for John Milton’s Paradise Lost, detail)
1866
Engraving
Ed. Orig. Lic. Ed.
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Episode 1: Adra’s execution
A soft, howling breeze drifted through the winding network beneath Whaeldrake Cathedral, bringing with it the acrid smell of decaying moss and festering wounds. The endless halls housed numerous cells, all identical, carved directly into the earth, their open mouths wired shut with rusted iron bars. In the distance, the jangle of door-keys fastened to the guard’s belt echoed throughout the dungeon, its light-hearted twangs a sharp contrast to the fetid void that greedily swallowed it up.
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Andrew McLeod. from Blackmetalcytwombly Vol. I, II, III, 2010
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Would anyone be interested in an open horror RP with Adra? I want to garner some interest to see if it’s worth creating an off-shoot blog for her!
Episode 1: Adra’s execution
A soft, howling breeze drifted through the winding network beneath Whaeldrake Cathedral, bringing with it the acrid smell of decaying moss and festering wounds. The endless halls housed numerous cells, all identical, carved directly into the earth, their open mouths wired shut with rusted iron bars. In the distance, the jangle of door-keys fastened to the guard’s belt echoed throughout the dungeon, its light-hearted twangs a sharp contrast to the fetid void that greedily swallowed it up.
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Episode 1: Adra’s execution
A soft, howling breeze drifted through the winding network beneath Whaeldrake Cathedral, bringing with it the acrid smell of decaying moss and festering wounds. The endless halls housed numerous cells, all identical, carved directly into the earth, their open mouths wired shut with rusted iron bars. In the distance, the jangle of door-keys fastened to the guard’s belt echoed throughout the dungeon, its light-hearted twangs a sharp contrast to the fetid void that greedily swallowed it up.
The gentle thuds of footfall upon hardened dirt accompanied the metallic clangs, as the guard continued his stalk throughout the halls, his brandished torch gleaming harshly in the resolute darkness. As he passed each cell, he waved the torch over the iron bars that contained its occupants, often met with moans of agony and fear, and the sound of desperate scuttering as unknown creatures recoiled from the intruding light.
A small grin crept across his scarred face, wrinkling a deep and ugly gouge that traced its way across his left eye and deep into his cheek. His yellowed teeth crowded to the front of his mouth, as if eager to be seen by any passer-by. A rough and patched beard, peppered with black and silver hairs grew erratically from his jaw, as if to protest its very existence. His dark eyes gleamed with a sort of hunger, for he knew that he had a newcomer amongst his collection. Fresh meat, as it would seem, however, this morsel wouldn’t last more than a night.
The jangle of his keys came to a jarring halt as his stride abruptly stopped, his torchlight hovering eagerly over the furthermost door within his hall. The flickering light spilled in through the bars, soaking the granite cell in sickly-orange light that wavered and danced against the wet and mossy stone. Against the far wall lay the frail body of a woman, bloodied and broken, her chest exposed to reveal a large, raw wound. It was a brand, that had peeled into her flesh, engraving the ominous sigil of Kuagor, The Other-Realm.
The sigil was a crude, offensive symbol. Two spheres interlocked, the superior hollow, whilst the inferior was blackened, with distinctive fissures throughout its frame. The guard’s smirk grew into a grimace as he tapped the torch firmly on the iron bars of the cell; deep, metallic thuds ringing out into the blackness.
“Yer time’s up, heretic. I’ll be takin’ ye to the pyre soon enough. Best be lively, the folks love a show.” His voice was drenched in a deep, blood curdling thirst as he slew his words towards the prisoner. He let out a cackle, his voice catching in his throat as he heard the woman stir.
Her feeble chest rose and fell softly as she wheezed, lifting her head to shoot the guard a steely and resolute gaze. For a moment, he felt fear strike his bones, the unwavering fearlessness of such a feeble creature catching him off-guard. She held his gaze relentlessly, lurching forward as she spat bloodied words at him.
“It is you who is the heretic, Arthus. You, who tortures the innocent and sends them to their demise. How will you bear the guilt of your crimes when faced with the holy wrath of Obxyian?” Her words gurgled, the wound on her chest beginning to seep slough as the blisters split.
Arthus froze; he had never shared his name with any of the prisoners, nor did he speak it within earshot of them. His mind rattled as he poured over the possible ways she had found who he was. As he deliberated, she shot a cold, menacing grin towards him.
“Are you afraid, Arthus? You seem to have forgotten who I am. Why I am here. You will see soon enough. Take me to the Cathedral.”
#horrorr#fantasy#epic fantasy#execution#heretic#heresy#cathedral#horror story#fantasy story#dragon#seer#prophet#dark#tw: gore#long post#australian writer#writing#my writing#my work
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