16th of March, 806th of NDE. Hokkyokusei Isnd, Hoshigawan Archipego.
Hokkyokusei Isnd was one of the smaller isles located north west of the main isnd, a few thousand kilometers from the Bay of Hikaruuta – known in the western tongue as the Bay of the Luminous Pig named after the previous shogun’s pet who had his own bathhouse in the capital of the prefecture. Most of the isnd occupied by the Kuroyagi Mountain rising high near the center and spreading over towards the shores. A mountain which once was a great elemental beast sin by Momotadon, the Silver Peach Boy, a favored moon elven child of Myelia who transmuted the gargantuan cadaver into the mountain.
Upon it, the first settlers of the mountain were a group of priests and sorcerers who built a shrine in honor of Momotadon and ter became a great temple for the Gods of the Archipego whilst near them a mining base was setup by the state around the te seven century of ASC after the discovery of strange minerals within the bowels. Minerals used to strengthen the golem factory lines in the production of war machines, a discovery which in the present age historians consider as the first minor step in the recmation of sovereignty for Hoshigawa.
Opposite to the mountain, from where on a clear day one can see the great mountains of the main isnd, stretches the Kuroikunath Forest, forming a hauntingly perfect crescent line on the shore adorned with trees whose smooth bark brim with a dim, bck shade drinking in the light of the moon and sun, creating a gloomy haze mingling with the umbral foliage’s own dark violet glow in all hours of the day. A sight both haunting and mesmerizing as the former residents often said amongst themselves.
Besides being occupied by the monastery order of Myelia and Yamaugon, God who presides over the souls passing through the Lunar Gate to be judged by the Gods of Death, and the Bck Lotus who took over the mining station. Which they renovated through the past century and converted into a semi-prison who repced the previous workers after they awakened the elementals sleeping in the greyish bck stactite walls. And before these two groups settled, the isnds first settlers were a small cn of soratanese folk.
Folk who escaped from the main isnd ravaged by the Succession War several millennia ago whose small hamlet still nestled in the womb of the forest, though no longer resided there after the second demonic crusade swept through the world. Now it was just a haunting reminder to the cruelties of time amongst the bewitching shadows of Kuroikunath, mostly inhibited by the rare convict who managed to escape from the facility on the mountain or leapt off a ship and was carried onto the shores by the gentle waves of the Freezing Sea between the two isles.
For just a mere second the absolute silence of the forest and the nearby field broke by the buzzing wings of the Hotaru-Css Thopter. Its side opened and a rge, oblong sb slid towards the tail, revealing the luxurious interior occupied by half-elven and elven beauties including Makoimo, a lunar dracorith of the Heishiath Echelon. Her milk pale complexion, moon silvery scales adorning her cheeks and tapering jawline and her short, neatly trimmed hair of a bluebell tinted hair glistened magnificently under the glow of the moon as she stepped out with her katana in its sheath, fastened onto her back, wand pistol in its holster attached to her pleated pants’ belt.
“Good luck and hope it shall be an uneventful night Elevated-Sister!” Makoimo leapt out from the thopter, its wings beating harsh and strong, creating a gust of wind disturbing the nightly peace of the grass stretching across the uneven vista. As her faintly stiffened cherry red colrs fluttered against the gust, her gaze focused on the stygian sister of hers whose thin, marble smooth horns scraped against metal as she leaned out whilst the magicraft vehicle rose into the air and disappeared heading back towards the mountain shrouded in the bck of night and silver of the moon and stars.
“Hope so…” She murmured as her silvery blue eyes gazed upon the silent and dark forest. Remaining still, her hand on the hilt of her katana, Makoimo listened to the faint rustling of branches and leaves, matching the silent rhythm of her silken locks dancing before her widening forehead, brushing the root of her nose between her sharply curving, thin and dark eyebrows.
Her well-honed, slender form was draped in the Jeogorieth Type-IV Coat of the Heishiath Echelon, a coat which was the elvenized version of Jeogori cropped coat quite popur on Nakashintai, keeping its delicate, flowing lines while the wide sleeves were narrowed a bit, and the front panel of the lower asymmetrical frame possessed three yers with the outermost melding in with the left curve of the reverse tear shaped open colr – or some other tend to liken it to a pear. Betwixt, the cherry red colrs brushed against her neck covered in patterns of scale growths, though only barely as she loosened her dragontie after stretching her legs encased in the loose appearing pleated Yoro Pants with draucr ptes extending from her foot – mimicking a Tabi – and ending just at her knee joints.
She grabbed the upper trims of her coat’s waist belt as she straightened her coat, then made her way towards the boundary of the woodnd. Before she stepped into the utter dimness she halted and held out her hand. A moon white sphere manifested out of the bckness, vanishing it further away, highlighting Makoimo in the near darkness before its glow focused into a funnel beaming forwards, spreading a little to the sides. Then it hovered and stopped just above her right shoulder strap adorned with lunar pins graven with ancient hoshigawan moon runes of power.
Makoimo’s modest bosom stretched the precipice of her uniform as she inhaled the cold, nightly air whilst her gaze swept across the lit gloom, searched for any sign of life where none existed in centuries. After the demon swept through killing all life on the isles; after Momotadon met with the gargantuan elemental and sin it other intelligences from beyond took a strange interest in the woodnd. Intelligences whom dabbled and shared the dark knowledge of undeath and necromancy with the mortals since the Mythical Age. Some of the first settlers still remain, ascended into more horrific shapes, hiding in the dimmest segments where they burrowed deep beneath the earth, waiting for unassuming prey to step into their territories. And whilst she wished to test her mettle against one such beast of death, Makoimo was here for a different, more mundane reason.
This night was much different than the ones before: Instead of battling horrors lurking and coming forth the depths of the serene waters around the small isle nor was it an abomination of the Dread Realms whose inhabitants often raided the realm of the living. No, the signal belonged to a more mundane creature, one whose ancestor descended from the folks graced by the gods. A mundane enemy who worked in the shadows to disrupt the peace forged by the Draunneth Alliance, by the Hoshigawan Shogunate.
Not the most exciting opponent she thought, but variety was the spice of life as her grandmother used to say. “And this experience shall come in handy once I am relocated to the main isle.” She thought as she unsheathed her bde nearing the umbral precipice of the forest.
With her katana in hand, magelight bzing through the darkness, she headed straight in, deep down hoping to come face to face with a less mundane adversary. The stillness of the forest unnerved her, ears poking through her dense hair’s silken locks listening, searching for any small sound made by crawling dead things but found only the soft moaning of her leather coat, yoro trousers and the overgrown grass brushing against her legs. Her small nostrils adorned by crescent shaped piercings expanded as she inhaled deeply, searching for the peculiar, pungent malodor of the undead and the servants of the Dread Lords. Yet she inhaled only the cold night air perfumed by her own pleasant, fruity pollinated by her own body, escaping from the confines of her sleek uniform.
Bereft of her sense of time, she arrived abruptly to the forsaken hamlet once thriving with life. The wind of the ocean sweeping through the isle still carried the soft ughter of children, the murmurs of their punitive parents and the st cries and shrieks mingling with the demoniac roars, the infernal trampling of horrid beasts from the lowest levels of existence. Yet the edifices remained in their pristine state, frozen in time for thousands of years thanks not to the various folk, but to something beyond them, a benevolent one nonetheless Makoimo thought as the all too familiar Shrine of the Silver Peach stood at the center in all its magnificence and glory.
No records exist for the commission of such structure, and as far as she was aware the people of that time offered no prayer to Myelia as that came when the first imperial delegation stepped into the frigid realms of Naireanth in the te eras of the First Crusade. Yet this building stood even when Momotadon syed the gargantuan beast and some even theorize that the first settlers built their vilge around it. Nevertheless, though she expected not to find anything in there, she walked there inside, sheathing her bde and holstering her wand pistol.
With a gentle pull, the sliding door revealed the insides and though she regretted it, she stepped in without taking off her boots. An involuntary yelp escaped her lips when the wood beneath her soles moaned softly. Makoimo looked around as for a moment, she believed she heard the faint sound of footsteps nearby, but instead of checking on them, she headed for the next door which slid just as easily.
Beyond that she came face to face with the all too familiar, minimalist shrine dedicated to Myelia. A fine sculpture of a tender arm reaching towards the sky, holding the goddess’s peach bathed in the regal shade of the moon. She got down on her knees and csped her palms while her head bowed down and she murmured a prayer just as the floor creaked behind her. With a swift movement she got on her feet and unsheathed her bde, parrying the oaken staff aimed at her head. Before her a feminine silhouette dressed in the distinct yudao garments of an assassin stood, their face hidden behind a bck cloth.
Without wasting time and breath, beneath their feet the slick ice grown over the floor and the assassin quickly lost their foothold. Makoimo struck the assassin’s neck joint with her katana’s lotus rose shaped pommel, knocking her out with a single strike. For a moment, she pointed her bde at the assassin’s bumpy bosom but decided it was better to leave her alive and bring her back to the facility for interrogation. She sheathed her bde and rolled the unconscious assassin on her back as she began to tap her from top to bottom. When she pulled down her mask to gaze upon the face behind it, those small, roundish eyes devoid of creases sprung open with a triumphant gaze and before the world faded into utter bckness, a sweet yet somewhat acidic scent hit her nose…
**
Makoimo slowly awoke, feeling a mild but fading throbbing ache in her head and lungs – the tter as if it was seared from the inside by icy needles. A soft creaking reached her ears as she tried to stand up, move around and in doing so recognized the faint squealing of sealing tape and croaking of rope as her furtive opponent made sure she was kept in pce. An opponent whom she could not see as her eyes quickly got used to the darkness.
With mild distress in her eyes, she looked down to inspect her bindings comprising thick ropes coiled around her bosom and abdomen, from the aching around her forearm folded onto each other, and around her thighs and ankles, beneath each tight loop yers of dark green tape drank in the darkness of her leathery uniform and the surrounding small room of the temple. As her senses returned and as she tried to lean forward, she also realized the agent or assassin bound her to a thick pilr which creaked loudly as she lurched forward.
“Grmrh.” Her short, muffled groan echoed through the small space, mingling with the squealing of tape and dragonid leather in her vain effort of breaking free from her clingy bindings. She pouted, scowled and poked her cheeks with her tongue from within, as she recalled the advice of an old friend though as her skin moved, she felt the mild pain of the tape pulling her hair and skin as it circled around her mouth. Though she not relented in her squirming and testing, hoping the advice she remembered barely would work out. She continued on and on, until her stamina almost ran out and left her almost powerless and remained in the state. Her taped cheeks fell betwixt her cherry red colrs, and her lids once again grew heavier whilst she decided to just wait for rescue that should arrive by the first light of the morning.
But as her lids began to descend over her eyes, a foul scent hit her nose and awake her in a moment’s notice and filled her strangely with a new vigor. Though her uniform kept her body pleasantly warm, perspiration flowed forth her milk white skin and flowed down the scales hidden beneath her dress shirt and coat. The smell of undeath was unmistakable to her, whilst her ears picked up on the faint cracking akin to the twisting of shattered marrow. Her distressed gaze looked at the door barely visible – revealed as by the single ray of silver that entered as clouds parted above, shining upon the queer shrine of her Goddess.
Beyond the sliding door, she saw a darkness deeper and clearer occupying the room, one more baleful and malicious emanating a crackling of bones, a sparkling of bckened blood, the stomach-churning murmurs of decaying flesh, yet she saw only an amorphous mass of fluid shadow and the outline of half a dozen hands pressing against the door, searching for the slit to slide it open. The tales of her grandmother, grandfather – both pious elves of the Gods of the Stars and Moon – flooded her mind about the horrors of the dreaded realms. The one that stuck in that moment, was the tale of ravenous shadows craving for the flesh of the dead, the Jikininkis. Accursed souls or spirits created through dark sorcery or by the dreaded lords she was not sure, and it mattered little in that moment.
With each breath heaved, Makoimo felt ever more nauseous, while her body shivered as an unnatural coldness seeped into her uniform and overpowered the cooling and warming enchantments woven into the arcane fabrics. Reluctantly, she neared towards unconsciousness once more whilst she battled against the first mild tides of bile amassing in her throat at the constant battering of malodorous scent. She held onto and stayed awake, she began to look around for her katana even knowing that the assassin probably has taken it with herself or at least discarded it outside.
She gulped audibly as the creaking of broken bones halted, and her gaze moved to the sliding door, bereft of amorphous silhouette, yet the outline of palms and paws remained so. The stench seemed to depart with the creature and she exhaled as her heart calmed, her taped cheeks once more brushing against the soft silk. Her lids grew heavy and slid slowly as her mind drifted into the realm of dreams, whilst darkness gathered behind the pilr, on the wall and the husky melody of dread was carried by the cold winds of the night.
Author's Note:
And another one. One a bit more spooktobery, sprinkled with a little bit of zakotober and kinktober. And a bit of uniform redesign for the common soldiers of the Bck Lotus Branch.
Now, I wrote and pnned out four varyingly horror esque stories set in the world, with each varying even in the levels of horror as whilst I love the genre, I find it hard to gauge what is scary in novel format. But this time around, the story introduces The Corpse Eaters from japanese folklore whom I first met reading Lafcadio Hearn - an Irish Greek writer from the 19th-20th century who traversed Japan and wrote down the folklore tales, including as you guessed it, the tale of the Corpse-Eaters.
The next three are simirly based on a few of my favorite stories I read in the genre's early days, with the next based on probably my favorite, and a master of short form horror, Arthur Machen's The Novel of the Bck Seal - a part of the short novel, Three Impostors. Which I pn to incorporate into a ter, longer form story, but for now I just try my hand once more in horror, and at a homage.
Besides that, the November story is near the finish line, and all I say for now that it shall introduce a character and feature the Snow-Scaled Host.
Anyhow, thank you for reading this and the next one comes tomorrow, probably and hopefully maybe a bit earlier. Till then, take care and have a nice day folks!
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