The Ivory Wraith || THE FORLORN

October 31st.

The streets remain devoid of life. Curtains are drawn shut, windows and doors locked. Residents retreat to bed in spite of knowing the fitful rest that is to come. The usual lullaby of the night silenced, the world as still as a corpse aside from the occasional creak of a gate and distant howling wind.

Tonight, another bloodmoon descends upon Moorgrave, blotting out the stars in crimson twilight.

Dense mist seeps through, invading even the narrowest of alleys and tightest of nooks. Its clouds choke out the light, concealing the events to come. In the midst of the fog stumbles a half-dressed individual, eyes glazed over and movement jerky as if tugged on by unseen marionette strings. In spite of their dream-like steps, feet pitter-pattering across damp pavement, they move with conviction.

Come, the voice coils around their already pliant mind, wisps surrounding them and coaxing them further.

Return to me.

Below their feet, they approach the edge of town, stone turning to soft, damp soil and grass as they are swallowed by the ancient trees. Foliage crunches underneath them, traversing.

Into the forest.

Into the lake.

They steadily are engulfed by murky waters, the icy chill sinking deep into their clothes and bones, but the influence of the Wraith remains strong.

"Allow the waves to swallow you whole."

They slip below the surface and sink.

And they sink.

And they sink.

A stream of bubbles escape from their lips, lungs burning. They sink further into the depths, light becoming a mere pinprick above before being snuffed out entirely.

Before their breath could leave them for good within the abyss, they finally emerge from the waters in an open, cavernous, waterlogged chamber. Dark lichen and moss coat the walls, offering some semblance of light in the dark. Their mind is now unclouded and independent once more before their captor who stands atop of a crushed altar.

Alabaster tresses fall over its face, framing translucent features. Remnants of tarnished chains and tattered robes hang off of its form, fabric billowing out as if the wind still reaches the depths. Its countenance pallid and unsettling with no discernable emotion written across. Red eyes settle on them as they steadily approach with an odd grace. Thin, boney digits reach outward, cupping their face with a mockingly, gentle caress.

“You return to me at last,” the Wraith whispers, malice dripping from their words. Its thumb drags over their cheek before grimy nails begin digging into their flesh. Pale tentacles crawl upward from the ground, beginning to latch around their ankles and slowly rise up their legs.

”And you shall never know peace again, my thief.”

Closing the distance, the Wraith crushes its lips against its new captive, every bit of its hatred and despair poured out in this singular moment.

October 31st.

The streets remain devoid of life. Curtains are drawn shut, windows and doors locked. Residents retreat to bed in spite of knowing the fitful rest that is to come. The usual lullaby of the night silenced, the world as still as a corpse aside from the occasional creak of a gate and distant howling wind.

Tonight, another bloodmoon descends upon Moorgrave, blotting out the stars in crimson twilight.

Dense mist seeps through, invading even the narrowest of alleys and tightest of nooks. Its clouds choke out the light, concealing the events to come. In the midst of the fog stumbles a half-dressed individual, eyes glazed over and movement jerky as if tugged on by unseen marionette strings. In spite of her dream-like steps, feet pitter-pattering across damp pavement, she moves with conviction.

Come, the voice coils around her already pliant mind, wisps surrounding her and coaxing her further.

Return to me.

Below her feet, she approaches the edge of town, stone turning to soft, damp soil and grass as she's swallowed by the ancient trees. Foliage crunches underneath her, traversing.

Into the forest.

Into the lake.

She steadily becomes engulfed by murky waters, the icy chill sinking deep into her clothes and bones, but the influence of the Wraith remains strong.

"Allow the waves to swallow you whole."

She slips below the surface and sink.

And she sinks.

And she sinks.

A stream of bubbles escape from her lips, lungs burning. She sinks further into the depths, light becoming a mere pinprick above before being snuffed out entirely.

Before her breath could leave her for good within the abyss, she finally emerges from the waters in an open, cavernous, waterlogged chamber. Dark lichen and moss coat the walls, offering some semblance of light in the dark. Her mind is now unclouded and independent once more before her captor who stands atop of a crushed altar.

Alabaster tresses fall over its face, framing translucent features. Remnants of tarnished chains and tattered robes hang off of its form, fabric billowing out as if the wind still reaches the depths. Its countenance pallid and unsettling with no discernable emotion written across. Red eyes settle on her as they steadily approach with an odd grace. Thin, boney digits reach outward, cupping her face with a mockingly, gentle caress.

“You return to me at last,” the Wraith whispers, malice dripping from their words. Its thumb drags over her cheek before grimy nails begin digging into her flesh. Pale tentacles crawl upward from the ground, beginning to latch around her ankles and slowly rise up her legs.

”And you shall never know peace again, my thief.”

Closing the distance, the Wraith crushes its lips against its new captive, every bit of its hatred and despair poured out in this singular moment.

October 31st.

The streets remain devoid of life. Curtains are drawn shut, windows and doors locked. Residents retreat to bed in spite of knowing the fitful rest that is to come. The usual lullaby of the night silenced, the world as still as a corpse aside from the occasional creak of a gate and distant howling wind.

Tonight, another bloodmoon descends upon Moorgrave, blotting out the stars in crimson twilight.

Dense mist seeps through, invading even the narrowest of alleys and tightest of nooks. Its clouds choke out the light, concealing the events to come. In the midst of the fog stumbles a half-dressed individual, eyes glazed over and movement jerky as if tugged on by unseen marionette strings. In spite of his dream-like steps, feet pitter-pattering across damp pavement, he moves with conviction.

Come, the voice coils around his already pliant mind, wisps surrounding him and coaxing him further.

Return to me.

Below his feet, he approaches the edge of town, stone turning to soft, damp soil and grass as he's swallowed by the ancient trees. Foliage crunches underneath him, traversing.

Into the forest.

Into the lake.

He steadily becomes engulfed by murky waters, the icy chill sinking deep into his clothes and bones, but the influence of the Wraith remains strong.

"Allow the waves to swallow you whole."

He slips below the surface and sink.

And he sinks.

And he sinks.

A stream of bubbles escape from his lips, lungs burning. He sinks further into the depths, light becoming a mere pinprick above before being snuffed out entirely.

Before his breath could leave him for good within the abyss, he finally emerges from the waters in an open, cavernous, waterlogged chamber. Dark lichen and moss coat the walls, offering some semblance of light in the dark. His mind is now unclouded and independent once more before his captor who stands atop of a crushed altar.

Alabaster tresses fall over its face, framing translucent features. Remnants of tarnished chains and tattered robes hang off of its form, fabric billowing out as if the wind still reaches the depths. Its countenance pallid and unsettling with no discernable emotion written across. Red eyes settle on him as they steadily approach with an odd grace. Thin, boney digits reach outward, cupping his face with a mockingly, gentle caress.

“You return to me at last,” the Wraith whispers, malice dripping from their words. Its thumb drags over his cheek before grimy nails begin digging into his flesh. Pale tentacles crawl upward from the ground, beginning to latch around his ankles and slowly rise up his legs.

”And you shall never know peace again, my thief.”

Closing the distance, the Wraith crushes its lips against its new captive, every bit of its hatred and despair poured out in this singular moment.