#lovecraftian vibes

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 57

Cryptid Batman but… While at first it was all tricks, simply fear and shadows and tricks of the minds, that doesn’t stay the case. It’s barely noticeable at first, the way the grunts deepen to something akin to growls by the time he takes a small child from the circus in. It’s not too alarming when their vision in the darkness gets better or their skin feels as cold as a corpse the moment they step into the streets. 

It’s hard to explain to Jason when his own teeth begin to sharpen and nails become talons the first time he puts on that domino, when it almost seems to meld with his skin into downy feathers. 

It’s hard to stay in denial with each new clan member about how much Gotham has sank Its claws into their bodies of mortal flesh and bone, how much they’ve shifted from the forms they were born with. 

[blueteller]

Cale... Cale.

Are you about to learn to manifest Lovecraftian eldritch horror spooky eyes Cale??

...He's about to manifest Lovecraftian eldritch horror spooky eyes.

Cale what are you doing

Cale I thought you didn't want to become a god why are you becoming Cthulhu

...Cale? Cale???

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

sorry im coping with aus again oopsie daisy. anyway here's my take on a fantasy au

it all started with me rewatching the D&D movie and thinking "hm. what (broad) classes would the neighbors have?"

and after much thinking i came to the conclusion: Barnaby = Bard / Eddie = Paladin / Sally = Sorcerer / Julie = fighter / Frank = monk / Howdy = Artificer / Poppy = Healer / Wally = 'Wizard'

those seem fitting! BUT i don't like restrictions or rules so in this very light worldbuilding for a casual (strongly glaring at myself here) CASUAL au, it's only dnd-esque. not actually dnd yk yk

in my head, they're not technically puppets for this au. they're flesh and blood, they've got bones, etc. they're actual Creatures, though they still look like Them! Julie's still pink w/ candy-corn-horns! Frank is still a gray tube! Barnaby is a big blue dog! they're just... not puppets. it's the same for the other beings in this fantasy world - they all keep the style, but they're all flesh n' blood if that makes sense. a cartoony fantasy world

so they have their little found family adventuring group titled, of course, The Neighborhood. because when they were first forming, Wally went "oh! are we a neighborhood? i've always wanted neighbors!" and it Stuck. so they all lovingly refer to each other as neighbors, even though the closest they get to being actual neighbors is pitching their tents next to each other & staying at an Inn in neighboring rooms

like your classic group of adventurers, they're almost constantly on the move. the longest they stay in one place is a couple of months - the rest of the time they're wandering! they take quests, get roped into general Shenanigans, etc. they adventure! and get into a lot of battles of varying severity

so Barnaby is still kiiiiind of a bard? best i can describe him is jack-of-all-trades moral support! he provides battle music, keeps the mood light, and stands off to the side to offer quips and tips. he prefers not to fight, and only Gets Involved when the others need Backup. even then, he usually takes the role of defending his neighbors. he has a good eye for whether or not physical support is needed - he never needs to be asked when there's a legitimate need for him! unless he's thoroughly distracted from the goings-on. he does have magic, but it's more for show / defense-based

Eddie's still pretty classically a paladin. healing powers, armor, there to be on the front lines and Protect! the group's sword and shield! he technically serves a god but he forgot who <3 he just makes the occasional general offering and mumbles some vague prayer. he's super friendly! super helpful! super willing to dive into the line of fire! Will disregard his own safety without a second thought! his magic is pretty much restricted to healing, and it's weak healing at that (maybe because he can't properly serve his god...), so it's mostly good for quick mid-battle heals and little wounds. temporary fixes!

Sally has innate fire/light magic, and she's very showy with it! she puts Flair and Pizazz into all of her casts and is very dramatic on the battlefield - she manages to turn her fights into a performance. She tag-teams keeping the Neighborhood entertained with Barnaby. he handles the humor/lightheartedness, she handles the escapism/encouragement. she writes scripts & stories in her off-time, and often reads them (or spins a new one) after dinner. when they have weeks / month breaks in one spot, sometimes she'll recruit local thespians to create a play

Frank is all about that hand-to-hand combat babey! he wants to feel bones break under his fists! he wants those split knuckles! he very often starts fights, and even more often finishes them - what he lacks in raw power he makes up for in vicious tenacity. he just Keeps On Going! he seconds as the group's Knowledge Guy. while his hobby is studying insects, he also catalogues/studies monsters and enemies and terrain so that the Neighborhood can always be prepared. the only time he stays out of fights is when he's researching or note-taking. he tries to micromanage the battle from afar anyway

Julie is like... put a druid, a fighter, and a barbarian in a blender. she's got a big sword! she's got seemingly endless energy in battle! she can talk to plants, especially flowers! her flora magic is very minor, so it's not like she's making giant roots burst out of the ground and strangle people. but plants can give her information, and if she asks nicely and they feel like it, sometimes they'll help her out. in battle she's a force to be reckoned with! nothing will stop her and her sword! she's usually the second (closely following Frank, with Eddie hot on her heels) Neighbor charging into battle - but she's the one with the stellar war cry! & where Sally and Barnaby tend to the Neighborhood's emotional wellbeing & entertainment, Julie keeps things fresh with Physical Activities during their downtime!

Poppy is a powerful healer! she draws on an individual's energy (often taps into her own as well) to convert it into healing power. it's draining but it's damn good healing! she also takes the role of the Neighborhood's cook (the others still like to help, especially Frank who is essentially her sous-chef) and makes sure they're all healthy. she hangs back during battles, waiting to (and hoping that she doesn't have to) heal a wounded Neighbor. if one of them is badly hit, she forces herself to run into battle and drag them to safety before working on their injury. she has a tiny bit of illusion magic, which she'll cast from afar to assist her Neighbors. she tries not to use it outside of emergencies - it takes a lot of energy, which she tries to conserve just in case.

Howdy has Zero Magic! none! four hands and none of them are magical! however, he's a damn good inventor & a whiz at potion making. he can Use magical items like there's no tomorrow - he just can't wield it himself. he supplies the group with potions, helpful items, all sorts of goodies - given that they can trade for it with anything he'd accept in-canon. the only exception is when they're mid-battle - he hands stuff out when needed without haggle. he supplies the group with their cash when they're not getting it from looting/quests - he has a magic backpack that can unfold into a fully-stocked merchant stall! he sells at towns, on the road, anywhere he can! In battle he hangs back with Poppy and, yes, supplies items, but he also uses ranged attacks - magical weapons that cast for him, magic 'bombs', that sort of thing! but there's a little secret - he's the Neighborhood's secret weapon. he invented fantasy guns! four magic revolvers that, when the 'second safety' is turned off, multiply into a giant clusterfuck of guns (with ammo ranging from magic 'bullets' to essentially rocket launchers). unfortunately he can only use this setting once & for a limited time before the guns overload & have to be manually repaired. so he either uses them off of the first safety (i.e, they're 'normal'), or not at all. you know shit is Really hitting the fan when he joins a fight

and Wally! Wally Wally Wally... you may have noticed that i put his class 'wizard' in quotes. that's because he says he's a wizard, but he's not! he just says he's one due to the automatic stigma and fear of what he really is - a Warlock! his patron is Home, an eldritch horror that many would classify as a demon. they have a very special, codependent pact that neither of them can live without - Wally wears their 'seal' as a house-shaped pendant on a choker (necklace) hidden under his clothes. Home is extraordinarily powerful, but Wally barely taps into that power. he has a grimoire that Home inscribed with a bunch of sigils that convert into spells when drawn & then cast in the air. the only other powers he uses are seeing-in-the-dark, seeing-magic, and opening teleportation doors! Wally can't sleep, but he can doze - though he's never fully unaware of his surroundings (its kind of like how dolphins only sleep with one half of their brain). he still eats with his eyes, which both feeds him & acts as a form of providing daily energy to Home, since Home can't exactly consume souls every day. If Wally uses too much magic, he has to rest inside of Home's house-form, which is the only time he actually fully sleeps. no one knows about Home, or that Wally is lying about his wizard status.

Home is a lovecraftian being with three forms. the first is the lowest power level - a cute one-room house with Eyes! i.e: Home Classic! Wally's pendant unfolds into it, and it's the main way Wally and Home physically interact & communicate. the second is possession - if Wally explicitly allows it, Home can completely take over his body and kind of 'tuck him away' to have a nice deep nap while Home takes the reins (Home can technically force this, but it's very difficult and would not go over well w/ Wally - it would also be an unstable possession). the third is Home's true form - a massive shadowy eldritch monster made of writhing darkness and nightmares that no one in their right mind would look at, let alone fight. Home has very complicated feelings about Wally & the Neighborhood. they are also, quite literally, Wally's heart - which is part of their pact.

i have some scene ideas & little Plot Concepts (most notably the times the Neighborhood learns two Very Big Secrets about Wally, one of which being the warlock/Home reveal).

but yeah that's moooostly it. basic stuff yk, not very in depth! just fun things to feed my maladaptive daydreaming & escapism

[mistysdragonlair]

I think my favorite bit of FR lore/worldbuilding is the World Pillar (and no I'm not just saying that because I'm in Earth lmao).

Just imagine being the beast clans when it was still intact all that time ago. A massive stone pillar in the middle of a plain, so so tall that is stretches up into the clouds and even into the upper atmosphere of the planet. Nobody knows when it was built or how or by who. It's unfathomably huge and radiates a power from it beyond what anyone seems capable of.

The pillar is eternal.

Even when it shatters generations later, it's still there. Now a massive grave to what was once peace between the gods of the land. Only one stays and he mourns deep below it. When before people knew nothing of it now they know exactly what it was for and maybe in a way that's worse, because now that it's gone the threat from space can come back. Ignorance is bliss.

And the pillar remains.

[littledigits]

Page of Jeremy scribbles. Hes an older character that I repurposed for a cool monster of the week game. He was useless most of the way until the *very* end. It was super in character.

[sacherali]

And Sinking Sickness is out!! Woo Get it here, if interested <3

I did some of the character illustrations for this adventure by Daylight Publications, here are some of the sketches and explorations I did for the Almsford setting 👀💚

Looking forward for you to seeing the final results (spoiler alert: the cover is badass!! and the setting is top notch as well <3)

[fuckyou-saidtheraven]

Me, listening to the Bifrost Incident for the first time: hwat the fuCk,,,, what the FUCK,,,

[eldrichfuck666]

the way I made my cutest edits while listening to acephale (explanation: THE BEST HORROR PODCAST I CAN'T SHUT UP ABOUT) and usually make horror edits and renders while listening to "if we ever broke up" and some silly little songs..

[cmrosens]

The Day We Ate Grandad

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60161402-the-day-we-ate-grandad

Blurb ~ Coming 2023

Three possible futures. Two versions of the apocalypse. One chance to save the world.

Wes Porter, a severely depressed insanity-inducing playboy, is detoxing from hallucinogens that have unlocked his ability to see versions of potential futures - and he's just foreseen two ways the world could end. Normally, Wes would leave the hero bullshit to somebody else, but he can't abdicate responsibility this time... not when both those apocalypses might be his fault.

With some prompting from a mythological bard-prophet who may or may not be real, and a lot of assistance from his monster-eating baby sister who desperately wants to move out of his apartment, and their soothsayer cousin who has his own demons to fight, Wes attempts to save [his] world... but have his poor decisions doomed them all?

THE DAY WE ATE GRANDAD is the third book in the Pagham-on-Sea series. It is a dysfunctional family cosmic horror novel for fans of WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS, THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES, and THE CALL OF CTHULHU, with themes of bereavement and grief, generational trauma, and a dash of Roman/Welsh mythology.

~

Cover design: Rebecca Kenney

Interior Illustrations: Tom Brown

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60161402-the-day-we-ate-grandad

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

Complete Moodboard for UDLTTOM

(Had to do 3 separate ones and put them all together, because I’m on mobile and there’s a 10 images per post limit)

[puppetmaster13u]

Even More Meat Marionette Au

But a lil drabble <3 Because my ADHD snatched this au and isn't letting go.

  There were tunnels under Gotham. 

   Everyone knew about them, even if they were rarely spoken of. There were tales about them, some whispered in hushed voices from mother to child, others creeping across withered pages stained with age. Stories of creatures, of living shadows, of men going mad, wailing about the things beneath. 

   No one went into the tunnels. 

  Not purposely at least. 

   For one Bruce Wayne, he had fallen the first time- slipped into a well after a night of rain and into those dark caves with stone as black as night and just as stained with blood as the rest of the city. 

   No one had gone down for a long time, and no one should have gone down for longer still, but the rain had made the crumbling stones slick, the child reaching just a hint too far, and so down he went, nails scrabbling against unyielding rock and blood dripping from soft skin. 

   The child did not scream, even if his terror was sweet in the air as his blood mixed with the water soaking his clothes. He did not stay, just like the others before him, but the caves remembered the sweetness of the fear he brought. 

   No one went into the tunnels, not anymore. 

   Yet the child did. 

   Oh he wasn’t a child anymore, not to humans, but to the ancient caves, he was still but an infant. He’d eventually leave, and they’d still be there. They had been there long before, and they’d be long after even when the city turned to dust in the sands of time. 

   And yet… 

  And yet. 

   Yet he kept returning, night after night and day after day, running a hand along the stone that should have chilled him to the bone. His fear was still ever so sweet in the air, even if it was lessening over the time. It was… curious. 

   There was still the scent of fear, of terror coming from the human, but it also wasn’t. It was coming from him, but it wasn’t his own fear. 

   The emotion clung to him, but it wasn’t his. It was others’ fear, others’ fear he was bringing down to the cavernous tunnels. Others’ fear he was feeding It, unknowing or not. A gift, a meal, something for It and It alone. 

   It was only polite to return the favor, to gift the little human something to fight and terrify. As much as the spilled blood pleased It, the tunnels understood that it would be far better for Its little human to stay healthy, to be able to bring blood not his own. 

   The city was always full of corpses and the tunnels stretched far longer than humans realized after all, It could reach any who fell. Purposeful deaths, accidental, it made no difference to the bloodstained stone beneath. 

   It would call to Its little human soon enough, Its gift was nearly complete after all. Something to fly without the creaking metal or suits of wires. Something new, something It hadn’t formed before. 

   After all, what use would It have for a living body? What use did flesh and stone need to move? It had been here for a long time, and It would be here longer still, but perhaps, perhaps just this once another would last past the crumbling of life and bones turning to dust. 

   A gift, from the tunnels to him. 

   For one Bruce Wayne, who had returned to them with sacrifices of flesh and blood and fear each night. For one child who had fallen and returned to the depths of the tunnels, for one child that was Its.

This is a combo of my Au & @phoenixcatch7's and you need to check out their Possessed Doll Au because it's amazing <3<3

[desognthinking]

head still buzzing about the wn lovecraftian entities au, specifically how everyone else fits into it :

Lilith here's just like, an absolute force of nature, wild and furious and serpentine. The kind of visceral terror of unmitigable natural apocalypse, and the creature that arises tangled in it, almost indistinguishable from the tsunami itself. Melting and rippling seemingly between states of matter, sometimes viscous liquid and miscible with the water, and sometimes suddenly solidifying and churning into shore; eating up into solid land. That sort of monster. But for Lilith I'm especially reminded of a haunting, twisted version of  Peace Like a River.  The dread comes from watching the cool still surface of the lake or the ocean, having the knowledge that there's something terrible down there, and yet being entirely helpless, against that calculated invisibility and silence, to do anything. 

In a way it does fit her: hard, and fierce, and loves like an ocean. & eventually, I think she does also find a kind of peace like a river.

Camila’s kind of at the other end of this. The mindsick illusions that stretches of (seemingly) open, empty land cast on the psyche. It’s foggy, it’s overcast, and Camila’s there, laughing, molecules thrashing in concert with the atmosphere. It’s nighttime, but the sky is awful bright. She has no wing-analogous anatomy but she flies, translucent and half-tangible in this form, settling over the plains like a shudder. Every electronic device in the vicinity goes dead. Not at all hidden – but that’s worse; this is the kind of experience that draws you into endless spirals when you lie awake sleepless afterwards, bone-rigid, questioning and dizzy. Like a physicist kept awake at night by visions of an expanding universe. Something once whispered things to the back of Camila's neck and now it whispers things to everyone too. 

Mary and Shannon haunt a beautiful mountainous region with sharp suspended caves and snowcapped brown-orange peaks jabbing through lower cloud layers. They are a little older and settled a little earlier and so have ended up inadvertently integrated deeply into the mythology of the region. At the base of one of the mountains resides a town some way away, where Mary actually leads ghost tours on the weekends and holidays. They own fridge magnets and ceramic bowls as well as other traditional crafts and artwork made by the residents,  partially because Shannon believes in supporting small local businesses, and partially because some of it is based loosely on them and it’s very pleasing. 

It is, in any case, something of a rarity for a town to be paralyzed and plagued so faithfully – by blood-curdling noises carried on winter wind, and familiar spectral glimpses that always precede the inevitable discovery of the drained-dry husks of the previously reported missing – and yet remain so protective of their own monsters. Many an enterprising paranormal investigator has been turned away unceremoniously, and vandalizing hikers are made unwelcome. Respect what you do not understand, the locals insist, and Shannon and Mary find that even monsters are not immune to growing fond.

Then Shannon disappears on a dry summer’s day. 

Mary throws herself into finding her and rips up earth and sky for it. She refuses to accept, for a long time, that the most dreaded phenomena has taken place – not death, because unnatural creatures are less susceptible to typical natural reckonings, but simply: abrupt, unexplained, indefinite Departure. From which one may still return, but which one cannot predict or theorize in any way. When finally, it becomes apparent that all she can do is wait and hope, she throws herself into the town. 

After the council votes against a new contractor who wants to develop up in the direction of the Creatures, there’s reports of a falling boulder, originally headed towards the laundromat on the edge of town, arrested mid-descent. It rolls laterally and fuses with an outcropping. A fierce fire, spreading from the west, stops at the town’s threshold, the grass at the foot of the Welcome! sign unsinged. When the townspeople go out to survey the damage, piecing together what’s been lost and what’s salvageable, they lay out the carcasses of larger game across the charred trail – for disposal, or, well, just in case. They’re gone the following morning and the trees, overnight, have screwed themselves upright, scarred bark plastered over in ropes of dirty silver. A team from a major studio comes to town, researching for a documentary on local horror oral traditions, and is shooed away. The next day, a rock splits open and spews out a broad, too-sparkling stream that curls and joins the river downstream.

Sometime down the line, Lilith comes by and has coffee with Mary on the edge of a cliff. From up here the town is blocked from their view, and even if it were not, it would be so small as to be insignificant. Lilith had loitered in the town earlier, claiming boredom, although Mary knows the sleepy place hasn’t changed much, if at all, in the last twenty years, and she has no idea what form of interest anyone could take in it.

She stands on the edge now, looks out into the clouds at a view that still prompts sharp pangs of loneliness when regarded without a familiar grin by her side, a head tilted into her shoulder mouthing at her ear playfully in an attempt to appease her for buying ‘just one more cup. And it’s so quaint, too!’

And then when Mary, just for show, would shrug and huff, ‘You know, the shopkeeper’s mom is sick and his kid needs to go to school. How can you be so heartless, Mary, honestly’.

Lilith puts her cup to her mouth and takes a silent sip. “Well,” she says drily, interrupting Mary’s thoughts. Nods down in the general direction of below. “I see you have a cult now.”

Mary, tired and hungry, strong but so lost, bristles with anger and launches herself at Lilith, who lets her. She thinks that to the townspeople this must look like a condensed volcanic explosion, going on and on and blackening a corner of the sky into red-veined hellfire and thunder. She wonders what they think – what they believe.

They tear at each other's throats for what’s probably hours, sending rock scraping down the cliffside and smashing into the ground below. Somehow avoiding the mouth of the little cave network that is Mary’s home – Mary and Shannon’s home, lovingly studded with knickknacks and mismatched cutlery, the shape of rooms cut carefully out of rock, linen sets they’d hauled back from the big city three hours out and carried up the slopes. 

Eventually they let up, and end up sitting quietly at the dining table inside, nursing freshly brewed coffee in miraculously intact cups. Neither of them apologize. (There is an aching hole in Lilith’s scaly, serrated chest, too.) When the stars rise to their zenith, Lilith gets up to leave and squeezes Mary’s forearm so tightly it would sever if truly only flesh and blood.

“She will come back,” her eyes are black spires pulling light inwards into indistinguishable points far within. “She will.” Then Mary watches Lilith leave, not in a thunderclap but a whisper.

Mother Superion is really not a part of such kinetic drama. She resides, in almost perfect stillness, enmeshed in her glacial home. You could say she is her glacial home: splayed out barely visibly in sensitive, trembling threads snaking through ice. She is ice because the ice has frozen up along with her. In this form she’s so distant from what people think of as a living organism – presence, and the faint transmission of murmurs and vibrations from the way snow falls and shifts around. She’s the overwhelmingly ancient unwordable sense of surrounding in research bases late at night, the thrumming in the engine not attributable to anything mechanical, or even physical. The slightest probe, or reaching-out, and the minutest responding hum, followed by immediate waves of sweating, nausea, nosebleeds. Disintegration and desquamation of the mucus membranes. If she chooses to truly act; if she moves, there will be a magnitudinous shattering, as there once was before. 

The others come to seek her and talk to her, of course, careful not to disturb too much of the snow and ice for fear of accidentally setting off some kind of reflex. Which is how it’s ascertained that, despite her lack of perceptible movement, Mother Superion is eminently capable of conveying a range of complex responses and emotions (mostly centering on unimpressed, sometimes chiding and disapproving, proud, more often than you'd expect, and on the rarest of times, overrun with grief).

[valahelart]

Don't worry, the Doctor will see you in a minute. He's just a little busy with the Visions right now.

[moss-n-ghosts]

made a bunch of memes for a non-existing show in my head

[witchblade]

bloodborne is much closer to being a squit game (‼) than the former to me

[nirikeehan]

Hello! For DADWC Prompt: Bad things happen Bingo: "Take My Hand!" with Thalia & Dorian (bffs). <3

THANK YOU CATHY!! I've been hyped for this one for ages and I am finally getting around to it.

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

WC: 1798

This one ended up getting away from me so I'm cutting it for length down to its relevant part. It's also occurring in the same story as this. For context, Thalia and Dorian are in the snowy mountains of Emprise du Lion, having just found a site they think houses old elven ruins and might be home to horrific abominations (and possibly an operation instigated by Solas?). Slight spoilers for the Tevinter Nights short story "The Horror of Hormak."

I also didn't proofread most of this. A true DWC experience.

---

“Maybe we should turn back,” Thalia said. A land bridge stretched out before them, allowing unfettered access to the ruins, but their circumstances suddenly felt a great deal more dangerous. “I can send a raven to Cullen, and then—”

“I’m sure he could scrounge up a few strapping lads wishing they were still employed by the Inquisition,” Dorian interjected drily, “but by the time they get here and tromp on up the mountain, what do you think would be left? Assuming there’s anything to find, of course. Just because the place is where we thought it was doesn’t mean there’s a nefarious operation happening below ground. But if we leave now, and there is someone here, we’ll lose the element of surprise for sure.” 

Thalia let out a slow breath, trying to ignore her sense of dread. “You’re right.” She chuckled, nervously adjusting the scarf around her neck. “It just occurred to me, if this was a combat mission like the old days…” 

“We’re two people short of a full party,” Dorian finished, with a smirk. “It is a little strange without Varric’s witticisms and Rainier’s constant brooding.” 

The comment brought a wry smirk to Thalia’s face. The four of them had been a dream team, once; her favorite agents to bring on a field mission. “I’m sure Varric is very busy these days, being viscount of Kirkwall. Couldn’t possibly tear himself away.”

“Rainier would be here in a heartbeat, though,” Dorian commented casually.

Thalia swallowed hard. “We’ve not time to reminisce,” she replied, and shifted to her Inquisitor tone. “Shall we call this strictly a scouting mission? We don’t have much manpower, and I don’t want us to get in over our heads. But if there’s something to find…” She cast a foreboding glance at their destination, “you’re right; it’s important we find it.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow as she spoke, but did not comment on her abrupt change of subject. “As you wish, Your Worship,” he said, with an exaggerated bow. 

“Oh, shut up.” Thalia dug her pole into the snow and started across the land bridge.

Standing among the ruins did nothing to tame them. The cracked stone walls surrounded them, and the silence, once peaceful, now held an ominous note. Thalia yearned for a gust of wind, just to make the place feel less like a tomb.

“Our research indicated this was an elven temple,” Dorian said quietly. They had assumed a defensive stance, backs facing each other, without thinking. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Why not?” 

Dorian gestured with a ski pole toward a pile of rubble poking out of a snow pile. “Because it has the layout of a fortress, does it not?” 

Thalia looked where he was pointing, and then around them. “Maybe. I’m not sure. There’s not enough left for me to tell, really.” She paused. “And I suppose you could say the Temple of Mythal served a dual purpose, couldn’t you?” 

“True.” 

Squinting, Thalia tried to picture what he meant. She supposed she could see it: if the crumbled walls they passed after leaving the landbridge was the entrance, they could be standing in the remains of some sort of courtyard. Or even an inner bailey. Did ancient elven even architecture have baileys? 

I bet Solas could have told me, Thalia thought, feeling a little queasy. 

Beside her, Dorian paced, leaving deeper and deeper impressions of his footprints in the snow. “The question is, if it is a fortress — what was it meant to protect?” 

“I don’t know.” Beyond the walls lay nothing but solid rock face. “There ought to be a door around here somewhere, shouldn’t there?”

“Precisely what I was thinking. Perhaps the stronghold is built into the mountain itself. It’s all a matter of finding it.” 

They began to walk the perimeter, scouring the mountainside for any sign of gaps, archways, or manmade carvings. Nothing revealed itself. The sheer rock wall extended up and up, ending in white-tipped peaks, and that was it. There was heavy snow all along the tips, Thalia noted, easily feet upon feet of it; the same sort of snow that obscured much of the site. “If there is an entrance somewhere, do you think perhaps the recent storm covered it up?” 

“Unlikely,” said Dorian. He stood a few yards away on a raised stone platform, his back to her. His voice sounded stilted and strange. 

Thalia frowned. “Dorian?” 

He glanced over his shoulder. He had paled considerably. “You should see this.”

“What is it?” Thalia frowned and hurried toward him, but he held out a palm to stay her. 

“Careful. No sudden moves, but…” He turned from her, looking over the far lip of the platform. “I think I’ve found our entrance.” 

Tenderly, Thalia picked her way up the small, crumbling steps to join him. The platform was made of an intricate pattern of ornately carved, octagonal-shaped slabs, fitting together in a pleasing geometric design. As she approached Dorian, she saw that a few feet from where Dorian stood, the stonework became cracked and uneven. Beyond that dropped off into only air.

“Good Andraste,” Thalia whispered. 

The black chasm was wide, and fell down, into total darkness; even the bright sunlight overhead could not penetrate its depths. 

Thalia demanded, “What the hell happened here?”

“I could not tell you,” Dorian said, “but I’m not sure it’s wise to get any closer.” 

That was apparent at a glance. Unlike Ramesh’s description of the mine at Hormak, there was no stair nor ladder, not even a likely location where they could set up a winch. This hole in the earth could not be man-made; instead, something terrible had caused a great collapse. But when? And why? 

Somewhere deep in the hole, something rumbled. 

It was faint at first. Thalia could have excused it as a distant groan of thunder — if it didn’t sound like it was coming from below them. Then, it grew louder, and louder still. The stone beneath their feet began to vibrate. 

“Whatever it is, I think we’ve worn out our welcome,” Dorian announced, and turned around to face her. 

Over his shoulder, a giant tentacle rose up out of the depths. 

Thalia had enough time to scream “Dorian!” before it attacked. The lumbering mass swung down violently at the ground near their feet. Some of the stones fell away into the abyss; the reverberation knocked both Thalia and Dorian backward. Thalia fell flat on her back, tried to to her feet, but the platform beneath her had shifted — tilted — downward. 

She let out an involuntary shriek as she slid toward the edge above the pit. One arm was all but useless: her prosthetic, in a crisis, became little more than dead weight. She clawed with her good hand, trying to lodge her fingers into a crack or crevice. Her legs flailed; her heels dug into the surface below her but would not gain a foothold. She hit a loose stone on her way down, which catapulted her into the air face first— 

And she halted. 

She was suspended over the edge, looking down into the yawning chasm, but she had stuck fast. Thalia looked behind her; her boot had lodged between two rocks; her scarf had come loose and wrapped itself around the branch of a spindly tree that clung to the lip of the pit’s overhang. Maybe if I can reach a branch myself, I can climb back up… 

Frantic, she looked around, but she ws alone. “Dorian?” she called. “Dorian?” 

“Oh, I’m right bloody here,” came a petulant voice from below.  

A few feet directly beneath her, Dorian clung to an exposed tree root, which was the only thing that kept him from falling. The tentacle had disappeared, but the rumbling still emitted from deep in the pit.

Dorian huffed. “So much for a scouting mission, eh?” 

 Thalia angled herself toward him and stretched out her arm. “Here, take my hand!” 

“Are you joking?” Dorian shot back. “You’ve only got one of them. How on earth are you even holding on?” 

“My foot’s anchored — don’t worry, just take it!” She wiggled her fingers, as if to prove how trustworthy they were.

“This was not how I planned to die,” Dorian grumbled, shimmying up the root to get in reach of her hand. “I wanted to be an old man, warm in bed, with a handsome someone’s mouth around my—”

“Dorian.” Straining, Thalia got in range of his outstretched limb and clamped her hand around his wrist. With all her might, she pulled. “Maker, you’re heavy!” 

“It’s not polite to make fun of one’s physical attributes in his final moments, my dear.” 

Gritting her teeth, Thalia tried to rear back and hook her other arm around the tree trunk to give her more leverage. She felt her prosthetic arm protest and buckle from the weight. If it detaches, I’m gonna lose him… 

With the additional force, Dorian slammed his hand onto the crumbling rock and hoisted himself back onto the platform. He grabbed at the tree and scrambled into it. Once safely nestled in the sturdy branches, he reached down and helped Thalia untangle her scarf and dislodge her foot from the rock crevice. It pulsed with pain and she was certain would be bruised black and blue, but it had saved them both. 

“So,” Thalia said with false cheer, once they had caught their breaths, “shall we hazard a guess as to what the hell that was?” 

As if in reply, the grotesque tentacle rose up once again out of the depths. It was a sickly grey in the light, covered in pseudopods and something else — what looked like it could be the outline of bones, eyes, and other orifices — but it was here and gone so quick it was difficult to tell. It swiped at them, missed, hit the remnants of the stone platform, causing the remains of the structure to crumble and fall. The noise from the collapse, joined with a tremendous bellow from below, shook the rocks, the tree, and the very air around them. 

And then above them all, high on the mountaintop, the snow began to slide. 

Dorian threw his arms around Thalia to shield her. The roar was deafening, and the avalanche whipped shards of snow and ice at their faces and clothes, but they were lucky — hanging above the pit in the tree, they were clear from its path. The snow fell directly into the chasm, and kept falling and falling. When at last the air cleared, there was no sign of the pit, the tentacle, or even of the ruins.

“Unless we send that raven to Cullen, and he can hire some strapping lads skilled at digging,” Dorian said blithely, “I fear we may never know.”