Of Darkest Stone

Theme Song: Etna - Boris, Sunn 0)))

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“The High Bramble had been much thicker than expected on the east slope of the hill and now broken thorny twigs clung to my clothes like spider’s web. Pushing through the bramble by force had proven less frustrating than clearing it with what modest equipment I had brought. My legs, forearms and face were streaked with my own blood by the time that I reached the ridge.

I set down my pack and rested on one knee. Thankfully, when I turned the pack over in my hands, I found it had not torn; though there were small holes, scrapes, and frayed patches all over. I grabbed my water skin from within and took several swigs before splashing my face to clear the sweat and blood. The web of hairline cuts across my forehead and cheeks all stung anew and I clenched my face tightly to push out the pain. I exhaled, slapped myself a few times, and reopened my eyes.

The exposure of the ridge kept it mostly clear of the tortuous plants below and I made good progress southward from then on. However, with no shade, the late noon sun soon beat upon my back like the horse driver’s whip and I could feel the sting of sweat dripping over the cuts on my neck and legs. On the north slope of the hill and further down towards the ghostly river Reo, there extended a vast forest of Calin Trees. I longed for the shade of their limbs and the cooling drops of late dew held in the Kausim Brush beneath, but I could smell the bitter odour of stagnant Swamp Sod: patches of seemingly solid ground which would give way and bury you alive in thick swamp muck. The cave hermit I'd met the day previous had said a vengeful river spirit had captured these woods from the Dryads and would take any who entered. Only the shallow rock of the ridge could guarantee quick passage and safety.

I hiked for half the day. I stopped occasionally to rest and more than once I had to scramble against spontaneous flows of gravel which threatened to pull me down into the forest like an ocean tide. All the while, the sun travelled with me and sagged in the sky as my exhaustion grew.

After hours of careful walking upon the rough stone and gravel, my feet were thoroughly sore and cramped. The soft soles of my boots had failed me and I was forced to stop. I made a precarious camp on a slightly broader stretch of the ridge and lay facing the river to watch the Sternidae wheel in the sky and dive for the thin fish swimming below.

While chewing dried meat and massaging my feet, I watched as the sky turned pink and the sun fell to the tops of the hills. The tips of the trees glowed with the glancing light and the forest became like a million flickering candles. I remembered the memorials at my father’s chapel and lighting candles for my mother and brothers.

As the birds settled onto the water to sleep, the pink sky turned deep red and an evening mist began rising from the river valley. For a moment, I thought that I saw the faint smoke plume of some distant campfire coming from a large island which split the river, but when I searched for the source it was not obvious. What I perceived as smoke was too uniform in darkness, and when I concentrated, I could tell it was unaffected by the breeze. I lay upon my side on the coarse gravelly ridge and watched the strange patch of dark air until the sun dropped behind the horizon and the sky turned deepest black.

As the sun had fallen, the darkness had swiftly become more opaque. The emergent shape had been strange and the light of the setting sun had seemed to completely ignore it, so that no detail could be seen upon its surface. There had been only a monolithic silhouette against the red sky and a far-reaching shadow from its base. The pure black of this thing had been so palpable, so solid, that I found I could not look away. Its true size and true depth were hidden by its blackness, but I had felt it looming over me even though my camp was a full day’s journey distant – it was a massive tower.

As the sky had dimmed, the black of the void form had merged with the coming night and the candelabra forest was doused. A panoply of stars had filled the heavens and the silver light of the moon had adorned the distant hills. For some time, I had been able to make out the silhouette still, but soon the stars and moonlit horizon had appeared within its gloom. Shortly after, the dark shape had disappeared completely.

I blinked and I became aware of myself, the present, and my surroundings again. The drone of night creatures from the Calin forest below crashed upon me and shattered the apparent silence that I had felt while entranced. I was wet with sweat and I found that my palms were bloody and pocked with gravel from where I had been pressing them firmly into the ground as I watched the dark tower.

I had not made a camp fire, but I was too exhausted to bother. I lay back and fell into a deep sleep while flat upon my back.

I awoke with the strange sensation of having dreamt, but I could only remember darkness. It was early and the sun was reaching over the horizon. I scanned the shadowed landscape to see if the monolithic silhouette might manifest for the morning sun, but it did not. Whatever magic I had witnessed was only awoken by the coming of dusk.

As I had slept, plum-sized Rozmyrn Scarbadae had sequestered themselves into the folds of my cloak and when I rose they tumbled out and rolled down the hillside like sapphire marbles. Their clicking chirps called down a gang of Passerids which swooped along the slope and plucked their breakfast before nesting below in the morning damp Calin.

I stretched my awfully stiff limbs, packed up my gear, and headed off along the ridge once more. Provided I could find safe passage through a short stretch of the forest somewhere up ahead, I thought that I could make it down to the river in a matter of hours. The thought of fresh fish for lunch gave me renewed vigour and thankfully I made good pace. Just as the sun was reaching its zenith and the heat was becoming unbearable, I slid down a low spot in the hill and delved into the forest below.

In the shade of the Calin and the aura of the Kausim, it was actually kind of chilly. Though I had found an area which seemed more dry, my boots still occasionally sunk down into cold muck and my feet soon throbbed from the cold. What had been refreshing at first quickly became worse than the heat. The shear difference in temperature was astonishing. I was not surprised people assigned magic or divine power to this place.

With careful probing of the ground ahead using a long stick, I managed to avoid any sinking sod and I made it to the shore of the Reo with little issue. The cool breeze from the forest and the river combined with the heat of the high sun was magnificent. After catching a couple of fish, I lay down on the gravely beach and napped until the sun was lower in the sky.

I rose with the evening fog and found myself immersed. It had not looked so dense from the ridgeline on the previous night, but now, at the edge of the forest, I could hardly see my own feet. The river ran on quietly nearby within the mist and I could hear the splash of leaping fish.

I startled violently as I noticed a shadowed form lurking only feet away. Rocks slid out from beneath my feet and I fell. Part of the form snapped upright and a broad pair of polished antlers stood clear of the fog ceiling. They flickered brilliantly as the creature bounded back into the forest. I suddenly felt anxious. This place was unfamiliar to me even in the clear light of midday, but only then did I realize how alone I actually was.

I picked myself up and waded across the Reo to the island. If I was going to find my way to the grounds of the eventide tower I’d seen last night, I would need to hurry. The rising fog would soon make navigating the swampy terrain nearly impossible.

The sun seemed to fall terribly quickly then. The shallow rays cut sharp red lines through the fog and yet again the tips of the trees seemed to blaze. The dense fog spread the sunset across the ground and wrapped me in vivid hues of the dying light as though I walked among the clouds. Even amidst the terror of becoming lost or becoming the evening meal for some beast, I stood awestruck more than once.

I was in a fit of panic when I found the tower. I had completely lost any sense of direction and was simply running to find the river. Though my arms probed ahead wildly, the fog obscured the shear wall of black ahead and I ran face first into its cold surface. I felt the bones in my nose crunch together and a warm stream of blood ran down my mouth and onto my collar. The pain sent a jolt through my spine and my head reeled back.

The tower rose from the ground directly in front of me and cut a perfectly rigid swath across the orange sky. Even from up close the surface of the structure was pure black. The effect was as though I looked into it rather than at it and I felt a strong sense of vertigo as my legs became weak. I reached forward and placed a hand on the blackness to steady myself.

Though no detail could be seen, I felt an incredibly complex texture on my skin. As I slid my hand from side to side, my fingers traced series of flowing lines which spun like the ridges of a fingerprint. It felt cold and smooth like metal, but carried no sound when I wrapped my knuckles upon it. My excited breath swirled the fog around my head.

I worked my way slowly around the large perimeter of the tower while allowing my hand to glide along the surface. The air was frigid and I could hear nothing, but my breathing and my own feet squelching in the grassy muck. I guess it was about half-way around the tower when my fingers slid into a small gap which ran vertically from the ground to a point higher than I could reach. I pushed gently at first and then much harder when the surface clicked, but didn’t move. It took considerable effort, but eventually the surface on either side of the gap that I had felt began to swing inwards. Scentless air from within poured outwards and cleared the fog around me. The doors parted slowly to reveal pitch blackness equal to the outside, and yet it somehow felt infinitely darker. This blackness was not solid. If I stepped inside, it could consume me. Yet, that is what I did.

My curiosity outweighed my terror and I stepped forward into that frigid void. My damp and muddy boots slapped and squished against the floor. The sound travelled slowly to my ear and was muffled as though cotton were pressed into my ears. The floor shunned even the dim light from the threshold and my eyes saw nothing in all directions. The colours and sparks you sometimes see when closing your eyes for sleep soon began flaring up to fill the void.

I took a few steps further and felt a sickening feeling building inside me; nausea in my throat and an ache in my head. I could hear my blood pumping in my ears.

I don’t know what I hoped to find by walking into this place. My eyes were useless, and though my curiosity had brought me here, my hands now clung tightly to my side for fear of rubbing against something in the dark which surrounded me. Though it was only a few strides away, when I looked back to the door I felt a shock of terror at how far I’d walked. I quickly turned my gaze back to the void.

I regained my composure and leaned down to touch the floor. It was the only thing I could sense yet in this place and I needed more information. It felt identical to the wall I had touched outside. Again, a complex texture of intermingling ridges flowing in groups and swirling around each other. I allowed myself to focus fully on the sensation of touch as I dragged a finger through one of the ridges. After crawling for several metres I still hadn’t found an end to the ridge and I stood back up.

As I rose, the hood on my cloak fell forward and I felt a small object brush past my head before falling to the ground. A moment later I heard muffled clicking and chirping as a hidden Rozmyrn Scarbadae rolled frantically away from me, likely stuck to the path laid out by one of the countless grooves. Its carapace ground against the floor and sounded like the wooden tankard of a passed-out drunk rolling along the bar top. I followed it with my ear as it got further and further away and slowly it became too muffled to hear. Just when I thought I had lost it, I heard a faint click. This click was followed quickly by another, and another, and another, each in a descending rhythm which soon took the sound out of earshot once more. Somewhere in the darkness was another deeper and darker void where the floor gave way. Somewhere ahead was a stairway which plunged further down into even deeper darkness.

I felt my legs grow weak again as I imagined the potential scale of this space and that I could right now be standing on the edge of a hole which pierced down into eternity. I sat down hard on the ground and the metal pans in my pack rang out moments later.

The clang and clatter was swallowed by the void, but this time something else came forth: a light tapping sound reach me, but it was very hard to tell where it was coming from and how far it might have been. I sat still and listened. It was definitely getting louder, and at first, I thought it might be the chirping Scarbadae slowly working its way back towards the light of the door. However, the tapping grew quickly into more of a slapping noise. It was rapid and familiar, but not exactly rhythmic.

Even before I understood what I heard, I stood up and started backing towards the light. I began to shake with icy terror. My eyes were stretched painfully wide, probing the dark, and the sound of dozens of naked running feet grew ever closer. I turned towards the fading light of the doorway and saw that it was beginning to dim. I have never run harder in my life. For every footstep I heard, I realized the sound was likely several paces behind. I felt as though at any moment the groping hand of some monstrosity unseen should grasp me from the abyss and pull me into blackness perpetual. I heard no shouts or yells, or any evidence of some humanity that should sooth my fear. There was only the frantic run of this nocturnal horde.

I reached the diminishing threshold and turned with great speed to slam shut its darkest doors. I swear to you that I heard perhaps one hundred beasts clamouring towards me as the two doors shut, but only one made it through.

The creature was as pale as the moonlight which now shone through the tower’s fading silhouette. This creature had skin like paper and wore rags of stained clothes which hung loose from its gaunt form. White eyes looked out from a bald and bruised head.

I leapt back and swung my pack in front of me, but the creature froze immediately outside of the door - as though in shock.

As I watched, the creature crumpled in on itself and fell into a limp pile on the ground. It shrieked and squealed as its muscles wasted, blood poured out, and its pale skin turned gray while shrivelling against crumbling bones. Before I could even exhale, it had fallen completely to a pile of bones and dust.

Theme Song: Selva Oscura 1.1 - William Basinski

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“The warmth and humidity of the salt caverns threatened to be my end. Though I had walked this passage countless times, it was always overwhelming. It had been designed as such. I carefully leaned against a slick salt crusted wall and felt the pulsing warmth of a nearby Aedrer vein envelope me. The heat was inescapable and the desperate gulps from my water skin helped little.

The orange caverns around me looked like the great mouth of some unimaginable beast. An infinite number of salt pillars rose to sharp points or dripped down from the ceiling. The drops of water fell in a magnificent symphony of splashes which echoed within me. The longer that I rested there the more anxious I became that I would not rise again, the stalagmites seemed like tombstones in a great necropolis where even the air was dead. I imagined the slow salt drip onto my head crystallizing and rooting me in place. I pushed myself up and walked on with my clothes stiff and scratchy.

When my feet were so thoroughly cramped that I could barely sustain my weight I turned a sharp corner in the cavern rocks and saw a brilliant blue light. The dramatic change was too much for my eyes and I had to shield them as I trudged forward. The light shot downwards from the centre of an elaborate and elegant domed structure that was built seamlessly into a larger section of the caverns. As I stepped onto the carefully paved floor with its star-point design, I stepped through the threshold formed between a pair of columns and immediately felt relief as a gentle cold embraced me. The air swirled lightly with the mildest breeze and a light aroma of wild flowers filled my soul. At the centre of this place, a swiveling brass ladder rose into a brilliant oculus extending beyond vision into the stone ceiling. The glowing blue shaft was ringed by shelves of pure energy which held countless diverse volumes. Wild flowers and petals floated stationary, scattered about, within the remarkable opening like cheerful birds frozen in flight. The whole place was clean and crisp, untouched by time. I sat down and sprawled out on the cold floor to catch my breath and let the heat flow out of me. I gazed up into the clouded light which obscured the end of this vertical archive. As I lay there the archive opened to my minds eye and the knowledge contained within drifted down upon me. Each book held the life story of someone long passed as told in their own words. A mausoleum in text. Memories of hundreds cascaded into me and the large domed space began to feel crowded with people that were not there. The weight of it all was such that I could not have risen had I wished to. I may have slept, or perhaps I simply allowed those stashed spirits to possess my mind for a moment each. Their voices whispered cacophony from the blinding blue light and I heard it all.”

Haunts of Maleus Theme Song: Standish (Traditional) - Mark Korven Of Darkest Stone Playlist for Other Atmospheric Music

Chapter Illustration Photo Credit: Andrew Ridley

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The stone-walled tavern was thoroughly ruined and obviously long abandoned. The partially crumbled structure stood central within a field of mulch and burnt rubble mounds which were grown through with grass and wild plants like untended graves. Saplings sprouted up sporadically throughout it all - a few years old by now.

The same fire which had leveled this nameless hamlet had left the threshold and window wells of the tavern hollow and had brought most of the roof down into the dining area. Large charred beams lay broken apart on the skeletal remains of sundered furniture. Though the bar counter was mostly covered by a heap of rubble, it appeared to be largely in one piece. A few tables and chairs remained standing around the perimeter. They were warped and worn by weather, but not broken yet.

Whatever warmth which might have remained from when people still drank and laughed here was now covered in thick layers of ash, soot, dust, and the creeping forest floor.

After an unsuccessful search for the tavern sign, the visitor stepped inside and found the floor soft underfoot. They pushed the ash around with the toe of their boot and exposed soil and bits of smaller debris below. The smell of damp earth and ash filled the air.

Though the roof was mostly collapsed, there was one section in the north corner that had survived and would provide good enough shelter for the night.

The visitor stepped over a beam, set down their pack on a mound of moss-covered shingles and made their way towards the bar. Underneath the rubble, it was in good condition, and they hoped that whatever misfortune had come upon the hamlet, would also have dissuaded any thorough packing in the ensuing exodus. The possibility of a hidden bottle of something left forgotten in a corner was worth a few moments of digging.

They pulled a few planks and shingles away and made a hole into which they could peer towards the inside of the counter. Their hands were slippery and black as they leaned over and caught a glimpse of dusty bottles and a flicker of amber held within. They put their head and one arm through the opening they had cleared in an effort to reach the drink. Ash smeared over the front and folds of their black clothes.

A quiet mumbling sound reached their ears, a sound like voices carried by the wind.

Careful not to disturb the debris around them, the visitor stood up slowly and backed into a darker corner of the room. They waited for the sound to come again while watching the treeline through the window sills. Following a wrong turn early in the day, they had happened upon this hamlet by accident and had no knowledge of what people lived or did not live in this area. Though it had seemed relatively undisturbed, it was possible that bandits or wood elves might use this very tavern as an occasional outpost.

The treeline stood silent and static, the treetops did not sway and the visitor noted that there was no wind.

The mumbling caught their ears again and a jolt went up their spine as they realized it came from right behind them.

They turned and pulled their dagger in the same motion, anxious to face whatever had crept upon them.

The mumbling was right in front of them, and yet it still took them a moment to discern the source. Sitting at one of the last standing tables and shadowed by the last remnant of roof was an elder man.

A cloud passed over head and the tavern grew darker. For an instant, the man seemed invisible again until the visitor’s eyes could adjust. The man sat in a rickety chair with his back against the wall. He wore grey robes covered in ash and had long silver beard and hair. With pale skin and blank eyes, the man blended in with the stone building magnificently. Leaves blown in from yesterday’s gusts clung to his robes. The visitor looked confused and lowered their dagger.

“I’m sorry.” they said, “I didn’t notice you there. I’m afraid I couldn’t hear what you were saying.”

The man continued to mumble throughout it all and his blind eyes did not search for the source of the speech.

The visitor looked from the man, to the table and finally to the ground and saw that the debris and dust upon the table was undisturbed and there were only the faintest of footprints from the door to the chair. He must have been sitting here for some time.

“Are you alright?” The visitor asked. “Can I bring you somewhere? To your home? If there are others around here I would like to meet them.”

The visitor waited for some acknowledgement, but it did not come.

The mumbling was quiet; the visitor had only managed to hear it due to the lack of wind and life within this place. From up close, they could almost understand. It sounded as though the man was talking about himself. Thinking that he might be offering a response, the visitor crouched down and leaned in towards the man. One hand was still clutching the dagger.

“… a great blinding beam of brilliant light tore open the roof and then tore open the skies. It seemed to tear open my soul and my mind. I turned away and watched as those who had gathered in the pews burst into flames so white. The smell was of destruction. The whole chapel shone then. It shone like a star had fallen upon the altar and I watched as walls turned black under the scorching white, as skin fell from bones and souls rose upwards into the great power. The crescent brass atop the roof peak was molten white and the moon sat like a great blind eye floating between the two crescent horns. So many times had I been and so many songs had I heard. They all seemed to ring out then. The robes which filled the chapel on every other eve now floated down as flakes of soot. The pews were turned to black and the iron in the rose window melted sending colourful crystals of narrative glass upon the hot stone floor. Then it was over. The light was gone, the sky was dark as normal night come once more, and the blinded moon had passed the crescent brass. I stood for many hours in that place this time and the next. The space was changed then. I felt the heat still and I saw rain drops boil upon the floor…”

The visitor backed away and looked hard at the man’s wrinkled face. It had been brief, but they were sure they had felt heat upon their face.

“Where is he today?” A voice called out from the doorway.

The visitor turned and saw a stranger in plain farm folk clothes leaning against the opening. They had no weapons, only a pair of shears and a bag of fresh picked bush berries.

“What do you mean?” The visitor asked.

“You were listening to him speak right? He’s always here, but his mind is always elsewhere. I don’t think Maleus is even blind, I just think his eyes are busy seeing something else.” The stranger said. “He must have been talking about some place right? Probably a little weird?”

“Yes. Some kind of chapel. Sounds like he witnessed some kind of divine event, but he mostly talked about the chapel.” The visitor paused. “Maleus… he is ok?”

“Oh ya… who knows if this chapel even existed. The town elders haven’t heard of any places he talks on about, but he always speaks as though he saw it firsthand. I can’t believe anyone could have been so many places, let alone so many strange places. You know… sometimes I think he tells different stories about the same places.” The stranger said.

“He was mumbling, but he spoke with great clarity and vision. His words were strong, spoken by a strong mind.” The visitor said. “I meant to ask whether he is safe here?” The visitor asked.

“Sure, sure. Don’t worry about him. I’ve tried to bring him home with me, get him some food and a place to rest, but he just goes on like he does and eventually he winds up back here. I figure he must have been a regular here before the Rodsgard raised it. I just leave some food and drink here every day, occasionally listen to a tale or two, and he seems to be fine. Must have been that way for two years now.” The stranger said. “You looking for a place to rest?”

The visitor thought for a moment and heard the man mumbling in the pause.

“No thank you. I was thinking of staying here actually. Now I think I should watch over Maleus for the night.” They said. “Is it safe in these parts?”

“Most of the time. If it is safe enough for Maleus, you should be fine.” The stranger nodded towards the dagger that the visitor still held. “But if you want to sleep in a burned out tavern, in an abandoned town surrounded by forest, that’s on you. If you change your mind, just head north for about an hour and you should see a couple windows still lit.”

The visitor thanked the stranger for the offer and for the handful of berries that came with their parting words. The stranger set off with basket on their back and hummed a sorrowful melody as they disappeared into the brush.

The clouds grew dark and night softly fell over the hamlet.

The visitor unpacked, started a small fire, and ate supper. They offered some food to Maleus, but he took nothing. His eyes stayed wide open, the fire bouncing off their whites, and he kept on speaking. Though the visitor never saw him drink, his voice never tired nor grew hoarse. His posture never dipped nor straightened and his hands stayed clutched on his lap.

After fishing the bottle of drink out from behind the covered bar counter, the visitor propped themselves up against the wall beside Maleus and settled in to listen. The dagger was now sheathed, but still close at hand.

Maleus spoke of buildings far and wide, places he could not possibly have seen. Yet, he described the feeling of a door knob, the echo of a great dome, the cuts on his feet from walking over crystal floors. Each and every time, magic filled the places in his tales and Maleus could deftly describe the senses of the spirit as well. Each and every time, the visitor felt that they were seeing through the eyes of Maleus, feeling through his body, and walking through his words.