Spooky Tails

[aatuylva]

Ok, this thread is the same deal as Tails of the Future, open to all, non-canon, mostly, except for one thing:

This is where all those ghost stories, scary happenings, and tales of the paranormal from your nations shows up when you don't have a thread for them to show up...

Basically, all those weird myths, those scary stories of your nation. Or, if you're saving those for something, just in general scary stories set in our little universe.

I'll be posting one shortly

[Kingdoms of Cal]

ooc: hmm might be stories of the Miliatin age. 10,000 years back when who knows how things worked ;-P

Magic and who knows, taken out by a super volcano...kinda the only thing that might take out that kinda stuff...they pissed off the earth so much, she had, had it. ;-P

[The Anean Star Empire]

In early 7004 HY, the Anean Army was returning home, victorious, from the Third World War. Spirits were high and the Empire was incincible. One night, a division of 20,000 soldiers made camp in the plains between Gracaria and Nordavic. This was because everyone knew the dangers of the forests.

Perhaps they didn't know them well enough.

Within the division there was an individual who had lost his mental faculties. Or, in layman's terms, he had lost damn near every marble in his head. He was under watch by the doctors and medics because there was fear that he would hurt himself or others. Reports seem to suggest that he was the sole survivor of a Nighthaunt attack 2 days prior. Not much is known about these creatures, save that they are very vicious and attack at night. The most descriptive any witnesses usually are concerns 'burning coals' of eyes and 'endless black'. When the poor soul was found, he had several scars and claw marks, torn clothes, and was rocking back and forth, clutching his knees in the fetal position. He had no tags, his name was torn from his uniform, and the only identifying mark he had was a tattoo of a blood red eye, on his left arm.

He was largely ignored by most of the soldiers, who were celebrating well into dusk. Drinking, carousing, partying, just having a good time. Surviving the fiercest combat on Haroma in over 1000 years is something to be proud of, after all...

"Dammit what's wrong?!"

"I don't know! We've got him on anti-bacterials and we're doing everything we can!"

"His vitals are failing, he's not breathing!"

The chief medical doctor couldn't understand it. Nothing was wrong wtih the boy. Superficial scratches, a few wounds in odd places, but everything was treated. It was if his soul was just...slipping away.

"He's gone...attempting to resuscitate.."

They were performing to the best of their ability, but nothing worked. Finally they gave up, marking his time of death at 7:01 PM, based on the pocketwatch of the head doctor. They did not have time to bury him, so he was placed near the center of the camp with the rest of their dead.

The camp was significantly more relaxed, if sorrowful, that they didn't have to worry about him flipping out and stabbing someone in their sleep.
The doctors and a priest said a prayer for his soul and went on their business, tending to those that still had a chance.

Near midnight, they recieved word that a battallion twenty miles back was attacked by Nighthaunts. Immediately work was set to create palisades and other simple defenses to last in case they also came under attack.

Most of the soldiers were relaxed and calm, though. Afterall, they usually stayed in the forests, and didn't like large numbers of people.

It was during the final watch, waiting for sunrise, around two o'clock, that the distinctive and soul-shattering howl of a nighthaunt in the distance was heard.
Soldiers moved to their posts, and readied their guns, awaiting this creature.

A response to that howl was heard from the center of the camp.

The survivors of the battallion from the rear, about fifty men, came upon a scene of devastation and destruction during their march east. The camp was in ruins. They couldn't account for all of the bodies, or even if some of the pieces they found belonged to anyone actually from the camp.

There was only one survivor.

One of the medics. He was covered in claw marks and his uniform was in tatters, and he was not very responsive. He was clutching an antique pocket watch. One of the soldiers inquired about the odd eye tattoo on his left arm, but the medic fell over, dead.
The delicate mechanisms of the pocketwatch broke as he fell atop it.

The time was stopped at 7:01 PM.