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Welcome to Gnarlia! The rules are simple here: You post, and I take your name and make a story entry from it. It's kind of like a CYOA, only made of people. Come, be a talking badger or some other whimsical poo poo that I decide on arbitrarily, and I'll do my best not to make it an allegory about crucifixion. (If you're confused on what I'm doing, see this thread or this one.) I was going to wait until around Thanksgiving, but the election has me down, and I think everyone needs a little cheering up! Please don't feel like you have to read the whole thread before posting. Post so I can work on your entry, then read the thread. It's more fun that way! E: THREAD IS NOW COMPLETE! ENJOY READING, AND HAPPY THANKSGIVING! If you liked this, let me know (or vote 5 or whatever) and I'll probably do another one at some point in the future. In a world most people forgot to look for—or perhaps avoided on purpose—there lay a realm known only as Gnarlia. It was a place where reality twisted just out of reach, and anything remotely familiar felt as if it had been pulled through a thicket backward. Rivers ran in erratic spirals, the sky often brooded in colors one might call bruised, and shadows followed rules of their own, slipping into the corners of one's eye before vanishing altogether. Gnarlia held magic, but it was the sort that settled under the skin, leaving a feeling of both awe and unease. One thing was certain in Gnarlia: it was always winter and never Christmas. No one could quite remember why or how it started, only that the cold had seeped into every corner of the land and clung stubbornly, unchanging. Some whispered of a lost season, stolen away by an old enchantment or hidden curse; others claimed it was the doing of an ancient figure who took pleasure in keeping warmth at bay, like a collector of cold. Whatever the reason, the land lay suspended in this chilling state, as if Christmas itself had been forgotten or, perhaps, purposefully kept away. Gnarlia wasn’t a place for heroes or grand quests with neat endings. No one came here expecting to find glory or purpose. Instead, it drew the wanderers, the curious, and the disillusioned, those willing to accept the uncomfortable truth that not everything had a reason—or even a meaning. Here, every creature and object held a story, but the tales were rarely simple, and more often than not, they were stained with a hint of regret or mystery, leaving visitors wondering if they’d learned anything useful at all. The magic in Gnarlia had little regard for making sense. Creatures spoke in riddles because they’d long forgotten the straight answers. Trees had an unsettling habit of leaning in close to listen, and even the smallest glimmer on the path might lead to an unexpected encounter—whether enlightening, unsettling, or simply strange. Gnarlia’s lands were bound by a peculiar silence, where every whispered tale seemed to carry an echo of something half-remembered. Days in Gnarlia passed like an old, half-faded memory, while nights settled with an unnerving calm, thick with shadows and winds that seemed to carry forgotten words. And for those who wandered in too deep, one truth remained: whatever they found, they’d never see the world quite the same way again. Tube fucked around with this message at 22:47 on Nov 26, 2024 |
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Nov 6, 2024 07:38
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One gnarl, please!
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Nov 6, 2024 08:27
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I'm game, bring on the krakens
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Nov 6, 2024 09:16
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I think I'm a good fit for Gnarlia.
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Nov 6, 2024 09:21
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You had me at "talking badger". Sorry you're gonna end up with a bunch of the same names as the Halloween story, though!
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Nov 6, 2024 09:24
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Sure, why not
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Nov 6, 2024 09:35
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He's too dangerous to be allowed to live!
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Nov 6, 2024 10:51
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gnarly
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Nov 6, 2024 11:53
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yeah why not
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Nov 6, 2024 12:05
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one not allegory about crucifixion please
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Nov 6, 2024 12:11
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Never tips over Stands up on his own He is a blockhead Thinking man full grown He comes well prepared.
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Nov 6, 2024 12:21
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I would like to be some sort of ground-floor, majestic-but-weird part of this. 
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Nov 6, 2024 12:26
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oh dear 
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Nov 6, 2024 12:32
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Turdo posted:I think I'm a good fit for Gnarlia. in love w this username
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Nov 6, 2024 12:34
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Hello.
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Nov 6, 2024 13:12
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^^ whaddup, Woebin! I want to be gnarly!
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Nov 6, 2024 13:48
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We don't know each other but I am here to provide my services as a fitting creative prompt
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Nov 6, 2024 14:00
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let's gnarl
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Nov 6, 2024 14:20
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I have a good username for this sort of thing.
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Nov 6, 2024 14:21
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worm girl posted:I have a good username for this sort of thing.
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Nov 6, 2024 14:28
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I also have a good one.
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Nov 6, 2024 14:36
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Hmmmmm
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Nov 6, 2024 14:39
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They can't kill us all!
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Nov 6, 2024 14:50
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Good luck
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Nov 6, 2024 15:10
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Yo wassup?
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Nov 6, 2024 15:25
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Dumb Sex-Parrot posted:One gnarl, please! In the depths of the frostbitten forest, where the silence was broken only by the occasional creak of ice-laden branches, there came a sound that seemed utterly out of placea loud, raucous laugh followed by a string of incomprehensible babble. Perched on the low branch of a twisted pine was a large, vibrantly colored parrot, squawking with an unrestrained energy that defied the cold. This was Dumb Sex-Parrot, a bird of peculiar fame in Gnarlia, known less for wisdom and more for lets say, enthusiasm. The parrots feathers were a shock of bright greens, reds, and yellows, a vivid blot of color in the pale, frozen forest. With a wide-eyed stare, he let out an ear-splitting caw. You lookin for love, or just lonely? he squawked, tilting his head with an exaggerated wink. Then, as if responding to some internal monologue, he mumbled to himself in a voice that was far too loud to be discreet. Always winter, never Christmas, he muttered, like it was a phrase hed picked up and couldnt quite figure out. A squirrel nearby watched with a blend of resignation and mild irritation. Been here since well, since before the snow came, the squirrel grumbled, casting a disapproving glance at the parrot. Some say hes enchanted, or just cursed to be eternally clueless. Dumb Sex-Parrot, seemingly unaware of the squirrels judgment, was now preening his feathers and squawking snippets of strange phrases that didnt seem to fit together. The squirrel shook its head. If anyones hoping for wisdom, theyll be disappointed. Yet, despite his haphazard nature, Dumb Sex-Parrot had a peculiar knack for leading wanderers precisely where they needed to gowhether they knew it or not. He cocked his head as if listening to something only he could hear, then squawked, Follow me, lovebirds! before launching into a chaotic flight through the trees, weaving in and out of frozen branches with surprising grace. Those few brave enough to follow found themselves stumbling upon curious, hidden places, each one stranger than the last, as Dumb Sex-Parrots laughter echoed through the woods, warming the frozen air with an odd, irreverent hope.
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Nov 6, 2024 16:03
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Fatkraken posted:I'm game, bring on the krakens Near the edge of Gnarlias frozen lake, where the ice lay thick and dark, rumors had long whispered of a creature lurking beneath. They called it Fatkraken, though few could agree on exactly what it was. Some claimed it was a massive beast with tentacles and bulging eyes, while others swore it was more like a bloated shadow that drifted just beneath the ice, waiting patiently. But one thing was certain: no one ventured too close to the lake, especially when the ice groaned and cracked underfoot. Legend had it that Fatkraken was once an ordinary creature of the deep, but something had twisted it over timea curse, perhaps, or maybe just the relentless, empty winters gnawing away at it. Now, it lingered, half-asleep, half-awake, watching the world above with a kind of drowsy malice. On rare occasions, those passing by the lake could swear they heard it mumbling in a guttural, watery voice, always something cryptic and strange: Ice holds secrets colder than the stars, or The lake remembers what the land forgets. In Gnarlia, the lake and its elusive inhabitant were a magnet for those seeking the truth behind strange mysteries, though few who sought Fatkraken ever returned quite the same. The ice around the lake was littered with small trinketsofferings left by those hoping to gain Fatkrakens favor or at least keep its attention away from them. Shimmering baubles, shards of broken mirrors, and strange coins lay scattered like breadcrumbs around the frozen edges, little gifts for the great shadow beneath. Occasionally, Fatkraken would stir, sending a ripple through the frozen lakes surface. Its enormous form would press close against the ice, and those who dared to watch might catch a glimpse of glistening eyes or the faint outline of curling tentacles. And then it would sink back down, returning to its patient vigil, waiting for whatever it was that called to it from the depths of winter. No one could say what it wanted, if it wanted anything at all. But there was a sense that the creature was waitingperhaps for the end of the cold that held Gnarlia in its grip, or maybe just for someone foolish enough to reach into the icy depths and disturb the silence it guarded so jealously.
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Nov 6, 2024 16:21
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Turdo posted:I think I'm a good fit for Gnarlia. In a quiet, snow-dusted glen at the edge of the Briarweald, there lived a small, grumpy bird known to all as Turdo. Turdo was a nondescript little thinga mottled brown with feathers perpetually ruffled in indignation, eyes beady with suspicion, and a beak that never seemed to stop muttering complaints. He was the kind of creature most in Gnarlia tended to ignore, but Turdo had a habit of popping up precisely where he wasnt wanted, sharing his many unsolicited opinions with anyone who happened to cross his path. Turdo had a peculiar skill: he seemed to know a great deal about everyone elses business. He chirped endlessly about the smallest infractions, rattling off local gossip with a sense of outrage wholly disproportionate to the subject. Heard old Boggle the hares been sneaking extra roots from the garden, hed squawk, with a dramatic shudder. And dont get me started on those chipmunks, hed continue, as if anyone had asked. Disgraceful, the lot of them. But what Turdo lacked in charm, he made up for in persistence. Travelers who passed through his glen often found themselves saddled with his running commentary, sometimes even forced to trade a bit of news just to get him to stop talking. His insatiable curiosity bordered on nosiness, and his mind was sharper than his scruffy appearance suggested. If there was a secret or scandal brewing in Gnarlia, Turdo was bound to sniff it out. Some said he was cursed to bear the weight of all the lands petty grievances, forever destined to catalogue every trivial mishap and minor infraction. Others whispered that he was more than just a bothersome birdthat, perhaps, Turdo had a hand in keeping Gnarlias enchantment alive by ensuring that no misdeed went unnoticed. But whatever his true purpose, Turdo had no plans to let up anytime soon. And so, he flitted through the forest, muttering to himself and stopping here and there to glare at any passerby who dared to disturb his territory. For though he was small, Turdos indignant chatter was as much a part of Gnarlia as the endless winter, the frost on the trees, and the quiet mysteries that lurked behind every shadow.
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Nov 6, 2024 16:30
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Nov 6, 2024 16:33
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Tube, you're a maniac.
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Nov 6, 2024 16:35
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Last Visible Dog posted:You had me at "talking badger". No, that's the best part in some ways! On the outskirts of Gnarlias frozen lake, not far from where the ice held the shadow of the Fatkraken below, a strange creature prowled, casting an ever-fainter shadow in the moonlight. Known only as the Last Visible Dog, it was said to be the final remnant of a once-mighty pack that roamed Gnarlia before the endless winter set in. The Last Visible Dog was an unusual sight, a scrappy, gray-coated figure that seemed to flicker in and out of view, especially when watched too closely. Turdo, perched high in a nearby pine, squawked nervously as he watched the dog prowl along the lakes edge, muttering as he did. Ought to keep that mutt leashed, he chattered, though no one was around to hear him. Dangerous business, slinking around so close to Fatkrakens lair. But despite his bluster, Turdo couldnt hide his curiosity. After all, everyone knew that the Last Visible Dog was searching for something. Those who claimed to have spoken to Dumb Sex-Parrot whispered that the dog was following the trail of a scenta faint whiff that drifted like an echo through Gnarlias frozen forests, leading it from place to place. Some said it was the scent of the lost season itself, the one before the frost, or perhaps something even older. The Last Visible Dogs quest, it seemed, might hold the key to the warmth that had been forgotten. As the dog moved cautiously over the cracked ice, it stopped now and then to glance back, its shadow growing thinner with each step. It was as though the deeper it traveled into Gnarlias mysteries, the closer it came to vanishing altogether. A ripple disturbed the ice as if Fatkraken itself sensed the dogs presence, sending a faint shiver across the frozen lake. Turdo fluffed his feathers, bristling with both disdain and a reluctant admiration. Foolish mutt, chasing dreams, he muttered, though his eyes tracked the Last Visible Dogs every move. For somewhere in the back of his mind, Turdo wondered if the dog might actually find what it was looking forand if that might change Gnarlias winter, forever.
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Nov 6, 2024 16:49
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Squee posted:Sure, why not In the frost-bound clearing where Dumb Sex-Parrot had once squawked his dubious wisdom, a new sound echoed through the stillnessa high-pitched squeal that could only belong to Squee. Barely larger than a pine cone, Squee was a mouse with fur as white as snow, a single dark stripe down his back, and eyes far too large for his tiny face. Though he was small, his presence in Gnarlia was oddly significant, for Squee was known as the Herald of Odd Tidings. Whenever he appeared, something strange and often inconvenient was sure to follow. Squee scampered through the clearing, clutching a small silver acorn hed found on his journey. His little feet barely made a sound as he darted past Turdo, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the mouses frantic scurrying. What are you up to, then? Turdo muttered, watching Squee from his high perch, his feathers puffed out in irritation. Hed seen the Last Visible Dog earlier and was already unsettled; now, Squees nervous presence seemed a confirmation that something strange was indeed brewing. Squee ignored the birds complaints, fixated on his task. The silver acorn, an object as rare as warmth in Gnarlia, was rumored to be a gift from the time before the eternal winter. It shimmered in his tiny paws, reflecting the faint moonlight, and with each hurried step, Squee squeaked out, Must find the Dog, must find the Dog! His path zigzagged wildly, as though he wasnt quite sure which way he was going but was certain hed recognize it when he found it. Just as he scurried near the frozen lake, a faint crackling sound emerged from beneath the ice. Fatkraken stirred again, its shadow drifting ominously below. Squee froze, staring down into the depths, and for a moment it seemed the great shadow might rise up to swallow him whole. But then, a faint glow appeared in the distancethe Last Visible Dog, hovering like a specter on the other side of the lake, its translucent form flickering with each step it took. Squees eyes lit up, and he bounded forward with renewed urgency. Whatever mystery lay hidden in Gnarlias frozen grip, it was clear that this unlikely paira vanishing dog and a mouse with a silver acornwere inching closer to uncovering it. Turdo watched them both, his beady eyes filled with both suspicion and a reluctant fascination. Thisll be trouble, he muttered to himself, though he was far too interested to look away.
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Nov 6, 2024 16:56
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jizzy sillage posted:He's too dangerous to be allowed to live! Deep within the forest where the snow clung thickly to branches, and strange scents lingered in the frozen air, there was a peculiar phenomenon that every creature in Gnarlia knew to avoid. They called it the Jizzy Sillagea shimmering, drifting trail of perfume that seemed to waft through the woods, defying all attempts to place its origin. Its scent was unsettling, a blend of sweetness and rot, with a sharpness that hung in the air long after the trail had passed. Squee was the first to notice it, his tiny nose twitching as he caught a whiff of the strange fragrance. He froze, silver acorn clutched to his chest, his wide eyes darting nervously. The Last Visible Dog, padding silently through the trees beside him, caught the scent as well, lifting its ghostly muzzle to the air. For a moment, both paused, uncertain whether to press forward or turn back. For the Jizzy Sillage was known to lead wanderers astray, luring them into dead-ends, dark hollows, and places where strange things whispered from the shadows. High above, Turdo spotted the haze of shimmering perfume drifting through the trees and let out an irritated squawk. Foul business, that scent, he muttered, ruffling his feathers in disdain. Always winter and never Christmas, and here we are with that blasted stench creeping in like its got some grand purpose. But even he couldnt resist the odd allure of the Jizzy Sillage; its presence was rare, and it always seemed to appear when something important was unfolding. The scent led through a twisted path of brambles and ice-slicked rocks, compelling Squee and the Last Visible Dog to follow. They moved cautiously, inching along the trail, each breath bringing a strange mix of nostalgia and dread. The Jizzy Sillage left traces on their fur and in their minds, little shivers of memories that werent their own. Images of past warmth, of laughter, of something just out of reach, flickered through their thoughts, mingling with the cold and silence of Gnarlia. It was as if the Jizzy Sillage itself held remnants of the world before the endless winter, fragments of something lost and forgotten. Fatkraken, beneath the lake, sensed the scent too, a dull rumbling stirring the ice as the creatures massive shadow shifted. The scent seemed to reach even the depths of the lake, echoing faintly across Gnarlia, a reminder of what might one day return. And so, Squee and the Last Visible Dog pressed on, following the trail that twisted like a memory just out of reach, while Turdo looked on from above, torn between disgust and an undeniable curiosity. Whatever secrets the Jizzy Sillage held, it seemed intent on drawing them all closer to an answeror perhaps, to something else entirely.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:03
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cumpantry posted:gnarly The Jizzy Sillage twisted and drifted deeper into the woods, leading Squee and the Last Visible Dog toward a place few dared to treada dense grove known as Cumpantry. The grove was legendary in Gnarlia for its peculiar flora, twisted trees that seemed to lean close together in whispered conversation. It was said that Cumpantry was a place where lost things gathered, a haven for oddities that didn't quite belong anywhere else. Squee scampered nervously, the silver acorn clutched tighter than ever as he and the ghostly dog followed the trail of shimmering perfume. As they entered the grove, the trees grew close and the air thickened, damp and fragrant with a heady mix of earth and something strange and metallic beneath it. Tendrils of the Jizzy Sillage curled through the branches, as if guiding them further in. The Last Visible Dogs form seemed even fainter here, flickering like a shadow barely hanging onto its shape. High above, Turdo watched from a perch just outside the grove, glaring down with his usual mix of disdain and fascination. Fools, the both of them, he muttered to himself, though he didnt turn away. Everyone in Gnarlia knew that once you entered Cumpantry, you rarely left quite the same. Some said the grove itself held the memories of those who ventured there, taking a little piece of everyone who passed through. As Squee and the Last Visible Dog ventured deeper, they began to see small, broken trinkets scattered around the groverusted keys, single gloves, fractured mirrors. Each item seemed to shimmer with a faint light, hints of stories left unfinished. In the stillness, they both felt it: Cumpantry was alive, or something close to it, as though the very air pulsed with fragments of lost time and forgotten warmth. The scent of the Jizzy Sillage grew stronger here, leading them to a clearing at the groves heart. There, at the center, was a low stone altar covered in frost, where the Jizzy Sillage seemed to gather in a thick, swirling cloud. It hovered, pulsing faintly, as though waiting for somethingor someone. Fatkraken stirred beneath the ice at the lakes edge, as if sensing that the journey was reaching a turning point, sending a ripple of tension across Gnarlia. And somewhere deep in Cumpantry, an echo of laughterfaint and unsettlingdrifted through the trees. Whatever awaited them in this grove of lost things, Squee and the Last Visible Dog knew they had no choice now but to press forward, each step carrying them further into Gnarlias secrets.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:09
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Tube posted:Everyone in Gnarlia knew that once you entered Cumpantry, you rarely left quite the same. that's right.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:11
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Van Hammer posted:yeah why not In the heart of Cumpantry, as Squee and the Last Visible Dog stood near the eerie, pulsing cloud of the Jizzy Sillage, a new sound broke the stillness: a low, bewildered mutter and the crackle of broken branches. Emerging from the dense thicket was a tall figure in a heavy wool coat, clutching an old leather satchel and looking thoroughly out of place among Gnarlias twisted trees and silver-lit frost. The newcomer, a human with wide eyes and a tentative step, was Bram Van Hammer, though here he was known only as a stranger lost in a place that defied reason. Bram had stumbled upon Gnarlia by accidentor so he thought. Hed been on a trip to Amsterdam, a city he knew well from years of visits, a place of comfort where he often wandered to clear his mind. This time, though, something felt different. Hed wandered into an antique shop hidden down an alleyway he could have sworn had never been there before, where strange, dusky objects cluttered the shelves and the shopkeeper had eyed him with a peculiar smile. It was there that Bram had found a narrow, silver-framed mirror, its glass cloudy with age, something about it beckoning to him. When he reached out to touch its surface, the world had shifted, blurring for a brief, dizzying moment before he found himself here, standing in the cold woods of Gnarlia with nothing but his satchel and an unsettling sense that hed left something essential behind. Bram wasnt entirely sure what had happened, but he couldnt shake the feeling that the mirror had drawn him here for a purpose, however obscure. As he stepped into the grove, the Last Visible Dog growled softly, a faint, low sound that faded quickly as the dog flickered in and out of sight. Squee watched Bram with wide eyes, his little paws still clutching the silver acorn, while Turdo, perched on a branch just outside the clearing, muttered, Now whos this, then? Coming through with his fancy Earth shoes and that befuddled look. Typical. Bram, seeing the unlikely collection of creatures gathered around the Jizzy Sillage, stopped short. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeingan apparition of a dog that looked half-real, a nervous little mouse with an acorn, and, impossibly, a parrot squawking from the trees with a piercing glare. Where am I? he murmured, half to himself, his breath visible in the cold air. The last thing he remembered clearly was reaching for the mirror, his own faint reflection slipping away as if swallowed by shadow. Squee, uncertain of what to do, edged forward with caution. Youre in Gnarlia, he squeaked, his voice soft but surprisingly steady. Where its always winter and never Christmas. Bram only blinked, his mind struggling to wrap around the strange world unfolding around him. And yet, deep in his chest, there was an odd sense of familiarity, as if he had stepped into something hed almost known all along.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:17
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Nix Panicus posted:one not allegory about crucifixion please As Bram Van Hammer tried to take in the strange scene around him, a soft, mocking laugh echoed through the trees. The shadows on the far edge of the clearing shifted, and a slender figure emerged, cloaked in dark, silvery cloth that seemed to shimmer as he moved. This was Nix Panicus, a figure known throughout Gnarlia for his ability to slip through the forests unseen, a master of misdirection who took great pleasure in causing harmless (though sometimes maddening) confusion among travelers and beasts alike. Squee shivered at the sight of him, clutching his acorn even tighter. The Last Visible Dog flickered, fading almost to nothing as Nix approached, his smirk widening as he took in the human standing in the center of Cumpantry. Well, well, Nix drawled, his voice smooth and teasing, a Child of Man, just dropped into our dear Gnarlia like a leaf on the wind. Did the portal make you dizzy, little one? His eyes glinted with a mischievous gleam as he observed Brams wary, bewildered expression. Bram blinked, unsure whether he should answer or flee. The term Child of Man struck him as strange but oddly familiar, as if hed heard it once in a dream. I well, I was in Amsterdam. And then the mirror Bram trailed off, unsure how to explain the journey himself. Nix only laughed again, his amusement obvious. Amsterdam, hmm? he said, rolling the word over his tongue as if tasting its foreignness. You must be quite lost indeed to have fallen from so far. Turdo, who had been watching this exchange from above with mounting irritation, ruffled his feathers and squawked, Keep your wits about you, Child of Man. This ones as slippery as they come. Nix smirked up at Turdo, completely unbothered by the insult. Now, now, little bird, he chided with mock sweetness, Im only here to help. Turning back to Bram, he added, Or at least, to offer a bit of direction. Gnarlia can be an overwhelming place for those unused to its charms. Nix paused, studying Bram with a strange intensity before speaking again. Perhaps you have something that belongs here, or perhaps youre here to find something lost. Either way, the way forward is rarely a straight path. He gestured toward the clearings edge, where a trail seemed to appear out of nowhere, twisting and fading into the woods. If you wish to learn more, Child of Man, follow me. But bewareGnarlia has a way of giving you exactly what youre looking for, whether or not youre ready for it. With that, Nix Panicus turned and drifted into the shadows, his figure slipping in and out of sight as if woven from moonlight itself. Bram hesitated, glancing back at Squee and the Last Visible Dog, uncertain but compelled. After all, Gnarlia was a land of questions, and Nix, despite his mocking tone, might just hold a few of the answers.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:24
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By popular demand posted:Never tips over As Bram hesitated at the edge of the forest trail, the air around him seemed to shift, vibrating with a low, murmuring hum. Squee perked up, his tiny ears twitching, and Turdo squawked with thinly veiled irritation. "Ah, not this again," he muttered, ruffling his feathers as though bracing himself. "Always with the pomp and nonsense." From somewhere deep within the woods, a strange procession began to emerge. Flickering lanterns bobbed in the darkness, casting odd shadows that danced and stretched across the snow-laden trees. Figures in long cloaks moved gracefully, their faces hidden, their steps perfectly in time with a silent rhythm. This was the annual event known throughout Gnarlia as By Popular Demand, a strange ritual in which the forest's more reclusive inhabitants ventured out to answer questions and grant audiences, if only for one night. It was an event cloaked in mystery and half-truths, whispered about for weeks beforehand and then dismissed as myth the day after it ended. Bram watched in awe as the procession moved closer. A small crowd of Gnarlian creatures began to gather around the clearings edge, all drawn by the promise of the event. Careful now, Child of Man, warned Squee in a nervous whisper, By Popular Demand isn't like any gathering youve known. The ones who show up are well, theyre curious sorts. And theyre bound to answer questions, but not always the ones youve asked. Nix Panicus appeared out of the shadows again, slipping up behind Bram with his characteristic smirk. Only the most pressing questions of the land get asked By Popular Demand, he explained, his voice soft and full of mischief. The forest has its own strange, fickle ways of choosing who speaks and who listens. Perhaps youll find some answers to why youve come here or perhaps youll only find more questions. As the figures in cloaks gathered around the clearing, the murmurs grew louder, each voice blending with the next until they became a low chant, weaving through the cold air like smoke. The creatures of Gnarlia watched in silence, anticipation thickening the atmosphere. For the event known as By Popular Demand was more than just an audienceit was a chance, however slim, to understand the deeper mysteries of Gnarlia itself, and perhaps, in Brams case, to unravel the strange chain of events that had brought him here. ------------------------------ As the murmuring of the cloaked figures settled into an expectant silence, one of the forests creaturesa scruffy fox with eyes far too knowingstepped forward first, clearing his throat. Is it true, he asked in a trembling voice, that the frost has its own mind? The cloaked figures nodded slowly, answering as one in a voice that seemed to come from the depths of the woods. The frost remembers all things, they intoned, but it chooses to keep its secrets cold. Next, Turdo hopped down from his perch, his beady eyes gleaming with irritation as he fluffed his feathers. Fine, fine. Since Im here, Ill ask, he grumbled. Why is it that every year, were forced into this blasted winter without so much as a single Christmas feast? The cloaked figures whispered among themselves, and their collective response was cryptic but pointed. A feast is earned, Child of the Feather. And so far, the hunger of Gnarlia remains. Turdo let out a disgruntled squawk, muttering to himself as he flew back to his perch. Squee scampered forward, clutching his silver acorn. His voice trembled as he squeaked, Do you know where this came from? It feels important. The cloaked figures bent toward him, their voices softening. That which you carry is a seed of a season lost. It remembers what we do not. Squees eyes grew wide as he hugged the acorn close to his chest, feeling its faint warmth even through the cold. The Last Visible Dog, nearly transparent now, stood at the clearings edge, lifting its head to let out a soft, mournful whine. The figures nodded solemnly in response. You are right to search, they murmured, for you alone remember the scent of what once was. Follow, even as you fade. Finally, Bram Van Hammer stepped forward, swallowing his nervousness. He hadnt planned to speak but felt the weight of the moment pressing him. I dont know how I ended up here, he began, his voice low but steady. I touched a mirror, and I just need to understand. Am I supposed to be here? Or is this some mistake? The figures turned their attention fully to him, a silent intensity in their collective gaze. Child of Man, they said, their voices echoing around him, there are no accidents in Gnarlia. Your arrival is no mistake, nor is it entirely yours. Look to the forgotten places and the fractured reflections. The path will unfold as it must, but be warned: it may lead where you do not wish to go. As the words hung in the cold air, the cloaked figures began to fade, their voices merging with the wind, leaving Bram and the others in silence. The questions, it seemed, had only multiplied, and the answers lingered just out of reach, somewhere deep within the shadows of Gnarlia.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:36
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and I was there too!
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Nov 6, 2024 17:37
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Rupert Buttermilk posted:I would like to be some sort of ground-floor, majestic-but-weird part of this. As the clearing emptied and the figures from By Popular Demand faded into the depths of the forest, Bram noticed a lone figure lingering just outside the circle of treesa wiry teenage boy, dressed in a mix of Earthly clothes and tattered Gnarlian garb that didnt seem to quite fit. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his unruly brown hair stuck out beneath a cap that looked like it had seen better days. This was Rupert Buttermilk, a British boy of about sixteen who had stumbled into Gnarlia some weeks before, though the days blurred together here in ways he couldnt quite count. Rupert had come to Gnarlia not through a mirror, but by a peculiar accident of his own. It had happened on a school trip to the English countryside, a boring outing where hed wandered off from the group out of sheer restlessness. When hed crossed through an arch of ancient stones hidden in the woods, hed found himself in a place that was certainly not Yorkshire. At first, hed thought it was some elaborate prankuntil hed come face-to-face with a talking hedgehog whod hissed at him for stepping on her garden. Since then, Rupert had been living by his wits, picking up what he could from the odd assortment of Gnarlian creatures that lurked in the woods. The denizens of Gnarlia had taken him in reluctantly, intrigued by the boys bravado and his thick accent, though they warned him constantly of the dangers that lurked in the deeper parts of the forest. Hed fallen in with the vagabond community of squirrels, hedgehogs, and other small creatures who taught him how to forage and shared whispered legends around their nightly fires. Rupert had even grown accustomed to Gnarlias strangenessuntil he got caught up in the mysterious procession of By Popular Demand. He hadnt meant to end up there; hed only been chasing a faint, familiar tune he thought he heard drifting through the trees. Before he knew it, hed been swept into the clearing with the rest of the forests creatures, watching as they asked their questions and listened to the cryptic answers that followed. Hed listened intently, and when Bram asked his question, something in Rupert resonated. A fellow Child of Man, as they called them here. And unlike the creatures of Gnarlia, this stranger seemed just as lost and desperate for answers as he was. As the clearing emptied, Rupert jogged up to Bram, his face lighting up with a rare glint of hope. Oi, youre from Earth too, arent you? he said in a quiet voice, though it betrayed his excitement. Names Rupert Buttermilk. Been here well, too long, honestly. If youre planning to get out of here, Im coming with you. Cant stand another minute of these cryptic types talking in riddles. Bram looked at him, taking in Ruperts mismatched clothes and the determination in his eyes. There was something refreshingly grounded about him, a mixture of resilience and weariness that mirrored his own. I dont know if Im getting out, Bram replied honestly, though he was grateful for the company. But if youre willing to follow, I could use the help. Rupert gave a short, wry grin. Lead the way, then, mate. Between the two of us, we might just make sense of this place. Or at least get into enough trouble to make it interesting. And with that, the two Children of Man set off together into the depths of Gnarlia, each step carrying them further from certaintyand, maybe, a little closer to finding the way back.
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Nov 6, 2024 17:46
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