Information

Erebus has a minion!

Ember the Smolder

Erebus

The

Nightmare Jollin
Owner: Alkuna

Age: 10 years, 7 months, 3 weeks

Born: July 26th, 2015

Adopted: 5 years, 6 months ago

Adopted: September 17th, 2020

Statistics

Level: 10
Strength: 25
Defense: 25
Speed: 25
Health: 25
HP: 25/25
Intelligence: 35
Books Read: 35
Food Eaten: 2
Job: Unemployed

The Vale of Hungry Shadows was a dangerous, haunted forest that locals did their best to avoid at all costs. It was said that creatures lurked in its depths, most predatory and hostile. It was said even the forest itself could confuse and frighten, with creeping shadows that weren't solid, and the very wind whispered ideas and concepts into one's mind to confuse and disorient the unwary. Townsfolk never liked to stray beyond the very edge of the trees.

To Dr. Morey Mottu, the forest wasn't a source of fear, but a puzzle to be figured out. He had spent his young adult life in college, studying folktales and stories about the place. His theory was that human imagination played a key role in the forest's reputation and that at most, the trees exuded pollen, or mushrooms released spores, or maybe one of many other possible scientific reasons had caused hallucinations and confusion in people who ventured within.

Upon traveling to the town, he was able to interview numerous people and get accounts of the creatures that lurked within the Vale, or came out to skulk through the streets of the town at night. He took copious notes and asked pointed, probing questions about the supposed aura the forest put out. Wasn't it possible that their imaginations had run away with them when they claimed to see shadows of dangerous animals that vanished when they got close? What time of year did the trees release pollen? Did the forest get worse then? How prolific were the mushrooms and molds?

The answers were frustratingly inconclusive. People insisted that the shadows did move on their own, and the wind whispered at the edge of hearing. The denizens of this backwater town were as ignorant as he'd ever seen. When he tried to attach scientific inquiry to the forest, he was greeted with silly campfire stories and empty-eyed ramblings, or second, or even third-hand accounts of random people who disappeared or were found brutally slaughtered by fauna or the elements. This one's neighbor was guilty of sin, and some monster had killed him for it. That one's cousin had gone in on a dare and never returned. Then there was lady So-And-So, or Mr. Such-and-Such whose second cousin's roommate swore that they had seen things that defied logic. He half imagined these citizens were drunk, or too superstitiously uneducated, or too steeped in self-inflicted trauma to give clear, concise information.

The sin comment, at least, was supported by the town having a list of sins and vices. There were, of course, the eight deadly sins, but also seven more vices that he'd never heard of. The sins and vices were practical enough, and he even agreed that it was a bad idea to steep oneself in them. But they were posted everywhere, and it was beginning to feel like the mantra of a cult rather than something practical: like safety rules.

When he inquired at the Hunters Headquarters, he was greeted by men and women who were an enigma in themselves. Battle-hardened men and women, their faces taunt with determination and a genuine sense of loss. Dr. Mottu thought he could rely on these people, at least, but soon felt the keen knife edge of frustration. Among practical weapons and tools for fighting aggressive beasts, he also was told that the weapons and tools were blessed by the priest at the local church, and made of material historically known for combatting mythological monsters that science had long ago debunked. Worse, outfits worn by those Hunters who ventured into the forest were hung all over with talismans and 'magical' charms that had been inscribed by some 'enchantress' living in a cave on the edge of town.

When he patronizingly asked if anyone had fought a vampire or werewolf, he was told in serious tones that vampires had gone extinct fifty years ago due to some gigantic corpse-eating Kumos that had appeared suddenly from the forest. The Kumos was now loosely confined in the catacombs beneath the town, fed by the bodies of those found slain and kept content and relatively placid. The idea of a Kumos still being alive for five decades made it very hard for Dr. Mottu not to scoff in their faces. The last werewolf, the Hunters told him, completely straight and with no hint of humor, had died a century ago at the fangs of some weirdly predatory Yaherra. It seemed even the most experienced people in this town were still tied to ignorance and fairy tales.

Upon informing the Hunters that he planned on venturing into the Vale to collect samples for scientific study, he was rather vigorously advised not to do so. Or at least, not to go without a cadre of Hunters and a battery of charms. He flatly refused an escort, even as they insisted that there would be no charge to do so. The leader of the Hunters had scolded him at length for the sin of Pride, and he reluctantly allowed the team to press a several charms upon him, just to placate their superstitious worry.

Ever the pragmatist, Dr. Morey Mottu had ordered a special mask designed to filter out pollen, mold, and even toxic gasses that may be airborne in the forest. The mask would fit over his entire face, protecting his eyes as well as his nose and mouth, not unlike the old war gas masks in history museums. Now he donned it as he approached the edge of the forest. Once he was certain it was secure, he pulled out a video camera and recorded his first step across the threshold. The charms he wore on his coat clattered softly, weirdly comforting.

There were no roads into the wilds, merely walking paths, and what looked like goat trails, once he left the sun-soaked road bracketed by wildflowers. The instant he stepped into the deep shadows cast by the trees, he noted that the flowers gave way to earth was a rich, healthy loam. This, he pointed out to his camera, could be found in any healthy forest the world over. Tree roots were prevalent here, and he soon learned to step carefully, even on the trail, to avoid being tripped.

But that was it. It was just a forest. Trees stretched above him. The forest was alive with the sounds of nature; bird calls, insects buzzing, and the occasional sound of some forest critter scurrying off about its business. Golden shafts of sunlight came down to the forest floor, illuminating a beautiful natural landscape. It was, he admitted reluctantly, a tiny bit creepy, though he couldn't put his finger on why it felt that way.

It was when he caught the first talisman on a bush that he noticed something was off. The talisman pulled him up short, and after a moment of trying to tug free, Dr. Mottu swore softly and untied the talisman from his arm. It came off easily enough, and he muttered sourly, wrestling with the branches until they gave up the small piece of white what-ever-it-was. He didn't notice initially that things darkened slightly, but as his hand closed around it, he felt a small rush of warmth and light that made him pause.

He looked around. The forest was still warm with the typical summer heat and streaked with green and gold. After a moment of thought, he walked over to a flat area and set the white talisman on a rock.

Immediately the forest darkened slightly. Less light seemed to filter through the trees. The temperature dropped by a few degrees, confirmed by his thermometer. The birdsong muted a bit. The gentle breeze that made the branches rustle suddenly got an odd cadence, like whispered speech. He picked it up again. The light brightened. The temperature jumped by five degrees Fahrenheit. Birdsong returned. The wind returned to its mindless rustling.

That was weird. Slowly, Dr. Mottu untied the other talismans, noting the changes to his recorder as he removed each one. As the last talisman joined the rest on the rock, the forest lost all trace of warm light and friendly sounds of nature.

It was also, he noted, extremely chilly beneath the trees. His thermometer said he had dropped from a warm 80 degrees in the sun, to a chilly 55 degrees Fahrenheit. A temperature, he realized, that was reminiscent of a cave. The trees loomed above Dr. Mottu, their branches tangled like skeletal fingers. The rustling of leaves seemed to whisper secrets, the soft murmurs teasing the edge of his hearing. The snapping of twigs beneath his feet seemed to echo as though giving away his presence to something he probably didn't want in hearing range. It was a symphony of unease that set his nerves on edge.

Dr. Mottu continued describing his readings to his camera as he took samples from several spots nearby. Satisfied, he picked up the fistful of talismans. The chill vanished without a trace. The gloom lifted, and the breeze stopped whispering creepy nonsense. Ever the pragmatist, Dr. Mottu took more samples, labeling them specifically as having been collected with the talismans, as opposed to without. Pausing here and there to take a sample of fungi, soil, and even foliage, he ventured toward the heart of The Vale of Hungry Shadows, picking up and putting down the talismans in turn.

Without the little bits of carved stuff, the sun didn't seem able to penetrate the canopy very well, and he soon employed his flashlight to help him navigate the dim interior. Dr. Mottu found himself understanding where the superstitious townsfolk got their flights of fancy. Once past the reach of the sunlight, the forest did make for a spooky backdrop where imagination could run rampant. Getting spooked was easy if you didn't understand the nature of forest life. It did puzzle him greatly that the talismans changed the way the forest felt. Finally, he set the talismans down and moved away from them. If the citizens of town experienced the forest without them, it made sense for him to spend a more extended time without them too. That was when things took a turn.

He started catching movement on the edges of his vision within the mask. When he turned, there was nothing there. Bushes seemed to reach for him, catching on his jacket at several intervals. The sounds of animals suddenly seemed to fade, until only the occasional rustle or a fleeting glimpse of movement disturbed the silence.

When the forest goes quiet, there's a predator nearby, Dr. Mottu noted, nervously checking on the handgun he kept on his person for feral Anyus or Tigreans. I should have asked what the talismans were and what they supposedly did. I've never encountered a bit of carving that completely altered the perception of a forest before. Maybe I should send one off for testing at a lab. It's so weird though; why did the forest get so creepy the instant I put my them down?

The thought was chilling, and the Hunter's voice came back and reminded him that the talismans had been meant to protect him; to shield him from the eyes of what was out here. Now that they sat on a stump, inert and alone, he suddenly felt very exposed, and worse, very visible.

Fool.

Dr. Mottu spun, looking wildly for the source of that word.

Arrogant.

Again, he tried to locate the source of the scathing words that danced on the edges of his awareness. Nothing. He rewound the recording on his camera and tried to replay the audio, only for the recording to show that no words had been spoken. He checked his mask, making certain that it hadn't shifted or leaked, letting some hallucinogenic particles into his lungs. But no, the mask was secure.

Sin of Pride.

Dr. Mottu frowned. This was in alignment with the stories the locals told; no words were spoken, but ideas and concepts whispered directly into their minds, targeted at them as they trespassed too far beyond the safety of the sunlight. It had been so easy to dismiss them at the time.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have come. Go back, idiot.

These warnings were too clear, too blatant, to be a bad trip on some hallucinogenic mushroom.

You will die out here.

"I'm not afraid of you!" Mr. Mottu's voice was slightly distorted by his mask as he yelled back at the creepy whisperings on the wind.

Something moved again at the edge of his vision, and this time he could have sworn he had caught something slinking behind a bush.

You will be.

Hands shaking ever so slightly, he switched to Temperature Sensor mode on his camera. If it was an animal, it should glow red in the camera's viewscreen.

Oddly, the camera detected nothing but branches and leaves. Maybe the animal moved away in the time it took to switch modes? It seemed improbable for say, a raccoon to disappear from detection in the few seconds it took to switch from camera to temperature sensing mode. But he saw movement at the edge of his vision again. Weirdly, so did the camera, though whatever it was, it was the same temperature as the plant life around it.

Leave.

Take your samples Dr. Morey Mottu, and get out.

Dr. Mottu dropped the camera on his foot, the flashlight following an instant later. He swore, grabbing his gun and pulling it out of its holster, ready to fire upon the first creature to look at him crosswise. His name! How did the whatever-it-was know his full name?!

The shadows around him were moving more energetically now. No longer at the edge of his vision, but larger, more solid, and closer. Then he saw it; a Nightmare Jollin. It sat, perched on a tree stump about a hundred feet away, black eyes glittering in the light of his fallen flashlight. It was staring straight at him.

Slowly, eyes never leaving the fox-like creature, he picked up his recorder again, and aimed it at the Jollin. The temperature sensors indicated that the Jollin, a mammal, gave off no heat. It wasn't possible. It had to be a glitch, or, distance, or...

"Are... you a ghost? Or a zombie?" the questions seemed ludicrous. There were no such things as ghosts, and zombies were a product of movie magic. But the Jollin was the same temperature as the forest around it, and that only happened with reptiles and corpses.

No. I am Erebus. I am the personification of the deep darkness and shadows within the bounds of the Vale. My dark mists encircle the forest and fill the spaces beneath the trees. I am everywhere. And I know this: you need to pick up your talismans and leave, lest the forest creatures find you and swallow you up. Turn around, mortal. Turn around and walk out. Your bubble of safety is shrinking, and you have already caught something's attention.

Dr. Morey Mottu pulled his knowledge of the scientific world around him like an insulating shield against fear. He would not let a tiny fox spook him. He sneered at the Jollin, "Your nonsense doesn't fool me, creature. This is just a forest, and I'm here to catalog what I find. I'm not sure how you cloak yourself from thermal readings, but I'm not going to let you confuse me or trick me into thinking some boogeyman is after me. I have a gun, and that will take care of any feral Anyu or Tigrean that wants to make a meal out of me."

The Jollin bared its small, but razor-sharp teeth in a savage smile. Is your gun blessed, Dr. Mottu?

He snorted, "Of course not. Some preacher blah-blah-blah-ing over my gun won't make a difference."

It is not about the words, Doctor. It is about the blessing. It is about the laying on of holy magic, that makes common steel a defender against the supernatural. A stick cracked in the distance, and the Jollin sat straight up and stared off into the forest at something he couldn't see. When the Jollin looked back, it was somber. Remember this, Morey: you were warned. Many, many times.

The Jollin disappeared abruptly. It didn't just hop down and cut off the doctor's line of sight in the underbrush; one second it was there, the next, it was gone.

Something black, and bird-like, swooped over Dr. Mottu's head, and he shouted, firing a bullet wildly into the trees. The rapport set his ears ringing as the bullet whizzed harmlessly off into the canopy. A Noktoa. He had freaked out over a Noktoa, of all the damn things. The owl-like creature was completely unaffected by the crack of the gun, and settled onto a tree branch, her jet-black eyes fixed on the doctor. She stared at him, turning her head this way and that, her beak strangely resembling a smile, though not a nice one.

Danger! There were still no words spoken, but Dr. Mottu knew the warning came from the Jollin. Pick up the talismans!

The doctor felt something zing through him, internal alarm bells jangling frantically. Ignoring the Jollin's entreaties to pick up the silly little charms on strings, his hands closed around the more solid and comforting reality of his gun. Bending down, he scooped up the flashlight and struggled to see what supposed monster was coming in the preternatural gloom, where suddenly the entire damn forest seemed alive with shadows.

A howl pierced the silence, closer than he would have liked.

As if in answer, the Noktoa flared her wings and screeched. "Mooooreeeeeyyyy Moooottuuuu."

Dr Mottu uttered the first F-Bomb out loud since he had come to this town. He had thought it, of course, often. But hearing his own damn name in the screech of a Noktoa broke his professionalism for the first time in years.

Suddenly, a flash of dark fur darted between the trees, his flashlight catching the canid legs and back spikes of a Telenine. He felt the slow, crawling feeling of being watched. He took a step back along the path toward the edge of the forest, eyes scanning the underbrush. And that's when he saw them; the eyes. two piercing orbs, burning with an otherworldly intelligence, staring back at him. Then they vanished.

The forest seemed to close in, the trees looming above him. He took another step back, and stumbled over a root, his footing unsure.

Suddenly, Dr. Morey realized he was lost. The trees seemed to have shifted, and the path he had just been standing on had vanished. Panic set in, his breath coming in short gasps as the Telenine, far too close for comfort, growled. The eyes reappeared, closer this time. He looked around for the talismans, but they were gone.

This isn't possible! The forest can't just rearrange itself! Despite his practical, scientific thoughts, he couldn't deny that the forest looked very different, and the talismans were nowhere to be seen.

Fear drove him to squeeze the trigger, the roar of the gun echoing again and again into the distance. The Telenine stepped closer.

How?! He'd been aiming right between its damn eyes! He knew he had hit it!

Another step forward, and Dr Mottu felt the blood drain straight out of his face and pool somewhere around his ankles. There was a perfect hole drilled through the Telenine's skull, right between his eyes. But it did not bleed, nor did the Telenine seem all that affected by it. Then the hole filled in and vanished, seemingly without the beast even noticing that it had even been there in the first place. Dr. Mottu's body went cold. This wasn't possible! It was an animal, damn it! And animals were bound by the same laws of physics that everything else in the universe was bound by.

The Telenine bared perfectly white fangs and then it coughed. Dr. Mottu blinked, briefly puzzled. The Telenine coughed again, shook its head, and then a bullet popped out of his mouth and landed on the forest floor with a soft tink. The bullet wasn't even deformed; it had passed into the Telenine's flesh and then been ejected without hitting anything. Then the growl rose to a snarl, and Dr. Mottu was knocked off his feet, the heavy weight of the monster on top of him.

Dr. Morey Mottu, scientist and pragmatist, was dead. Marcus sighed heavily, and the Alpha team carefully gathered up the man's belongings and loaded the corpse into the customary tarp, brought along for the death of sinners. A mask, clearly designed against toxins, had to be removed to identify the body. Inside, the man's face was locked in a superior, arrogant sneer, even though his head was sitting about a yard from the rest of his body. A pawprint was scorched into the flesh of his torso, right above his heart. The word "Pride" had been cut into the flesh of his forehead by a sharp claw. No one knew how the Telenine pulled that off, but armor did nothing to protect the flesh underneath when Vyces attacked. He molded flesh to his whims and left it frozen that way as a signature.

Alpha team had found the charms, piled neatly on a tree stump where the foolish man had set them. Another sinner, another body, another soul devoured by the very monster Marcus had tried to warn him about. Shaking his head in regret, he led the team out of the forest.

Behind them, a Nightmare Jollin watched them go.

I warned him. The Jollin's words reached Marcus' thoughts and made him shudder. You warned him - pride goeth before the fall.

Then, without a sound, Erebus vanished from view.

-------------------------

Name: Erebus

Type: Elemental

Alignment: Neutral/Good

Known Rules: Erebus embodies the darkness and the shadows within the Vale of Hungry Shadows. One of the few creatures to have not been driven insane or made monstrous by the event that turned the Enchanted Forest into the Vale of Hungry Shadows. Appearing as a small Jollin, Erebus communicates using a kind of oblique telepathy, trying to inspire fear in anyone who intrudes directly into the Vale. The tactic of "scare them so bad that they never return" is usually how he operates, and he never actually directly attacks a person..

Combat: Erebus is made out of shadows and as such may be weakened by bright lights, but cannot be destroyed. Attacking the Jollin is discouraged, since his efforts are rooted in trying to protect people. It is important to note that a Good alignment is not the same as a "nice" alignment.