[Community Event] Get your Norrathian Fables, Halloween edition!

[Glenorian]

Beware of the Grim Grinners...

Friends, I must warn you. This is no joke! There is an evil about. It all began when citizens around Norrath began decorating for the Nights of the Dead. At first, these pulpy fiends seemed harmless, like any other run-of-the-mill jack-o-lanterns. But these were crafty gourds. Don't let them fool you! They invite you in with their insidious smiles. Once that simper sinks into you, it infests your mind and turns you into one of them!

The jack-o-lantern look-alikes positioned themselves all throughout the major cities, waiting for carefree celebrators to stumble by. None could resist their sensuously sweet aroma, like one of your Aunt Cece's cinnamon pumpkin pies. Just one look was all they needed to capture their prey. Soon, dozens of denizens were mindlessly milling about the streets with the exact same endless grins. Always smiling! Never talking, always drawing toward those without the same dreadful countenance, never stopping until those unfortunate souls reflect their own demonic selves. Then together, they herd en masse throughout the land while slowly their heads grow into gourds!

And so it happened to me one day. I'd gone to the market to buy some milled flour for baking cookies. I should have known something was off. The market is always full of sounds--chattering customers, merchants hawking their wares, livestock neighing and bleating in the pens. But that day all was quiet and much too still. As I looked over my shoulder, I could see several people and one goat following along behind me, all with horrible grins. A terrible feeling in my gut told me something was off, and that I should run! But I was too late. More grim grinners stepped into my path and I was surrounded. The last thing I can recall was staring into eyes like green Frostfell tree lights. Then...I awoke at the cemetery with a fat round gourd for a head. So heavy and foreign. Like I drank a gallon of New Halas lager and had the worst hangover of my life. I heard a witch cackling nearby, and flames erupted from my skull! A terrifying moment, though happily the flames did not burn. Merely an illusion. (In truth, they are really very handy for lighting my path when walking creepy places at night.) Now I'm compelled to wander every Nights of the Dead to warn others to gourd themselves lest they become a hothead like me!

But as I'm looking at this pic, I must admit, I am rather gourd-geous! Happy Nights of the Dead everyone!

 

[Aeval]

It was All Hallow’s Eve…in the shadowed forests of Nektulos, where the moon never shines the same twice, a lone arasai shadowknight named Loreleii stalked through the mist. As she followed the long winding pathway through the Valley of the Dead she felt a dark presence…it grew stronger as she approached Black Water Lake. She had heard whispers of a spirit haunting the old Evernight Grove, a place once sacred to Tunare but now drowned in silence.

When she reached the grove, she found the trees twisted into faces, their bark peeled back into screaming mouths. One tree still wept sap that shimmered like blood. Loreleii notched an arrow, calling softly into the fog, “Show yourself, spirit.” A whisper answered from behind her. “You called me, sister.” A chill ran down Loreleii’s spine. Suddenly a cold breeze blew through the grove rustling the leaves of the trees…Loreleii thought she heard a faint scream coming from the trees behind her.

She spun but saw only her own reflection in a pool of black water. Then the reflection smiled. It drew its bow too…same stance…same trembling hand…and fired. The arrow struck Loreleii’s chest. Pain bloomed, then vanished. She looked down, her body was dissolving into bark, her skin turning to grain.

Now, when travelers pass Evernight Grove, they say a new tree stands there, a slender elm with eyes that follow you in the dark. And if you listen close, you can hear it whisper through its leaves: “Don’t call your name in the woods. It always answers.”

 

[Barral]

Once Good Now Evil

Once a Noble Dwarf paladin devoted to Qeynos Barralz Thrainemberforge fell from grace after his faith was shattered in a PVP battle back on Nagafen Server. Consumed by vengeance, turn to dark magic, binding his soul to Freeport. Where the celebration of Nights of the dead is going on and while Barral is exiling over to the freeport side gets jumped by a group of Qeynos and freeport people. Barral fought with all he had as a level 10 died on Oct 31 as a paladin.

Barral's ghost is running to find his physical body and at every turn creatures and pvpers trying to kill him. He ran as fast as he could but in the end he died again. Between the creatures and pvpers jumping out to kill him before he could become freeportian. As a ghost with no armor, it was a challenge to get quests done. But he finally made it to the freeport side as a paladin.

Now, that he is freeportian and doing quests and getting jump by skeletons. Getting stunned by spiders and out jumps Qeynosian trying to kill me. I am not going to die this time because I have a guildie to help me out. Qeynosians like to get you while your do quests. Running into mobs while, pvping gets you killed. While Barral was running into the fog and could not see anything out jumps a werewolf and all most kills me but, Qeynosian dressed up as werewolf. Watch out for those Qeynosians, they are deisguised as creatures to scare you or kill you.
A visit in a decorated house by: Charnicc Nights of the Dead Morbid Mansion.

 

[Barral]

Not as scary is some of others, I have read.

 

[Traesta]

The Cursed Jukebox’s Dark Secret​

One day many years ago, Rylee acquired a magical jukebox. The seller had warned her about the curse, where every previous owner had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only confused loved ones. But Rylee, enchanted by the way it played songs from thin air without records just by pushing a button, dismissed the stories as superstition and had it delivered to the house.

On a dark and stormy night, Rylee was decorating the tree and her twin sister Caylee was tending to the plants in the living room, the jukebox filling the house with hauntingly beautiful melodies. When the music changed to something discordant and strange, Caylee stood to change the station. As her fingers reached toward the glowing buttons, a pale wraith burst partway through the glass, its hands seizing her with impossible strength. Rylee's scream pierced the air as she watched helplessly, frozen in horror, while the spectral figure dragged Caylee into the jukebox.

The next day, standing alone before the now silent jukebox, Rylee finally understood where all the previous owners had gone. They were trapped inside, some as skeletons and some as shadows, their voices now part of the endless playlist, singing and dancing to songs they would never finish. Desperate to save her sister before she too became a shadow, Rylee reached out to their other sister Diasta, who had spent many years studying magic. She begged Diasta to write a spell powerful enough to break the curse and release the trapped souls from the jukebox, hoping against all hope that it wasn't too late to save Caylee. And to this day, Diasta works tirelessly on the spell while the jukebox sits in their home, with the souls and Caylee still locked inside waiting.

 

[Barral]

The Cursed Jukebox’s Dark Secret
I read the story and I like it

 

[Afista]

The Reaper’s Crossing

Moonlight reflected off the top of the water. Afista stood at the edge of a rickety pier as the trees behind her whispered warnings that old, dark magic stirred ahead. She had come to this forest seeking rare eghoza flower petals, which were said to bloom only in the fog beyond the ferry crossing. A hooded figure waited by the boat, tall and motionless, wrapped in tattered black. His voice was no more than a chill in the air. “Board, Druidess of Growth. The waters await your passage.”

Afista hesitated, yet duty pulled her forward. She stepped aboard, and the ferry drifted soundlessly into the fog. No wind, no wave, no breath of life stirred. Only the rhythmic stroke of the ferryman’s oar echoed through the dark. Then Afista saw it—the tunnel ahead, carved within the stone, its mouth glowing with pale light. It pulsed like a heartbeat, and within it, she heard faint cries—the voices of the dead! Her druidic senses flared as the ferryman’s skeletal hand rose from his cloak, a scythe gleaming at his side. “All souls must cross, Druidess. Even those who cling to life.”

Afista raised her blade, summoning the power of Tunare. Vines of pure green light erupted around her, wrapping the ferry in living magic. “The Mother of All protects her children,” she declared, voice trembling but firm. “You will not take me this night!” The Grim Reaper’s flames flickered. For a heartbeat, the river itself seemed to shudder beneath the power of her spell. “So be it,” he whispered. “But remember—no one escapes forever.”

With a blinding flash of emerald light, the ferry shattered. Afista awoke upon the forest shore, drenched in river mist. The petals she sought were scattered around her, gleaming faintly like moonlight on tears. From across the water, a hollow voice drifted through the fog: “I will see you again, Afista of Tunare… when your roots wither and your leaves fall.” And somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of an oar dipped once more into the silent, endless river.

 

[Anandra]

Maury was so excited to be working at Cobb's Corn Maze. It was a great after school job. A great way to get into the Nights of the Dead spirit. The work was easy and the rules were simple. "Don't leave the path, don't break off the stalks and DO NOT WALK IN THE CORN ROWS". The whispers started the second week.

At first it was just faint giggling when Maury did his end of day sweeps. The next day soft murmurings of his name. Then melodic humming. A fleeting shadow. Maury asked Old man Cobb, but his response wasn't comforting: "Stay on the path, and don't pay her no mind. She just wants the attention, gives her more substance. Stick to the rules and you'll be fine." And the old man walked off.

The following Saturday, the shadow didn't flee.

"Maury, will you stay and keep me company. It's lonely out here at night," the soft voice spoke.

Maury stuttered, "What, what's your name? Why don't you leave, go home?"

"I'm trapped here in the corn field. Trapped in the maze. No one leaves the path anymore. Will you come join me amongst the rows?" Vague pigtails swaying as the form's outline grew sharper in the fading light.

"Is there any way to free you?"

"Only when the stalks are gone, will I be free. I don't mind the waiting, I just want to share my spirit until then."

Maury, suddenly filled with terror, leapt to his feet. Unfortunately for Maury, he stumbled. Two steps backwards. His hand found a cornstalk to stop his fall, the icy grip on his wrist stopped his heart.

"My name is Carrie. Now I'm going to teach you my song!" as Maury's screams filled the night.

For the rest of the season Maury showed up, did his job with moderate effort, humming quietly to himself. But each night as he walked home he'd sing Carrie's song, "All I want for Frostfell... Is YOU!!"

 

[Darkmoogle]

The Necromancer’s Soul Stones

The moon above was as thin as a knife when Ashiz began work in the attic of his manor. The candles flickered and shadows moved as if alive, whispering through the rafters. A scattering of uncut gemstones—onyx, garnet, amethyst—lay before him on the work table. But these were no ordinary jewels. They had been steeped for seven nights in the blood of the dead and cooled in the still waters of Nektulos.

Ashiz examined a gem closely, the gem’s surface reflecting his red eyes. “You’ll do nicely to hold a spirit.” he murmured. He set the stone against a tiny anvil and struck it once with a chisel of bone, sending sparks scattering across the workbench. The air filled with a hiss and somewhere beneath the floorboards, a moan answered. “Ah,” Ashiz smiled. “Another volunteer.”
He began inscribing runes into the gem’s facets, each mark binding a thread of some lost soul. “Beautiful,” Ashiz whispered. “The jewel of a soul burns brighter than any torch. And even the unliving deserve to shine this Nights of the Dead.” Ashiz lifted his newest creation and turned it toward the window. It was time for the silent ones to see once more.

Ashiz pressed the first emerald gem into the socket of a fallen Teir’Dal thief. The second gem, a blood-hued garnet, went into the skull of a Freeport guard. Finally, the amethyst—cut so sharply it seemed to drink the light—was placed in the eyes of a long-dead scholar from the Academy. When Ashiz whispered the last of his incantations, the bodies sat up, stiff as marionettes, and cocked their heads as if listening to something only they could hear. Ashiz turned to his creations, their jeweled eyes glittering like stars over a sea. “Come,” he said. “Let us bring some color to the night.” As they descended the stairs, the candles in the attic went out one by one—until only the faint glow of the gems remained, hovering in the darkness and waiting for their own socket to fill.

 

[Kattt]

When Angeliana asks me to scare her.




Title: Patch Notes-666-13

~~Once upon a steward's nightmare, the great burden of her charge to bear
Through the fog and wretched darkness there, before her unfurls this horrid scare,
Stretching before her, a mausoleum of sorts, with dank and angry, consuming ports
And her eyes began to wander, on the crypts that lay out yonder...

As her senses begin to formulate, the enraged and dark energies pulsate,
Tomes of words glow in the dark, the moving quills exuding eerie snark,
Discourse isn't plainly spoken, but manifested in a ghostly token
Clearer it becomes to her sight, the beings that instill the greatest fright,
Gruesome and irate trolls slowly approach, climbing from their holes with reproach.

These un-dead posters shuffle hither, pale and gaunt, citing tiffs begin to dither
Mindless and repetitive, shouting oddities as they near
"First!" "This is fake!" "Bring back old content" and on they jeer,
Waking within her, every deep-seeded, ageless fear.

The forum stretched with threads of old, A dreadful sight to now behold,
As these dark toxic moans fill the air, her gasps and shudders bring to bear.
Though she wandered into this dream, her mind prepared, manifested the scheme,
She looked upon the item in her hand, that which denotes the duly banned,
A large hammer she held tight, ahhh...this was the item to aid her fight.

As the denizen's were upon her, her prepared hand rose higher...
Down the hammer came, and they vanished with quick aim.
An explosion of ire, but the battle became dire,
A sleep-filled paralytic, the body's subtle dendritic,

It slowed her down, as it flowed swiftly through her veins
So many more, faster and faster, there was no restrain
Her hope was fading, the numbers cascading,
Just when she thought all was lost,
Her body shuddered and tossed.

In horror she awakened, screaming, bolted upright
Eyes bleary, hairs on end, her chest tight,
Suddenly realizing where she was, in her own room safe and sound,
Wiping her brow, as her feet shakily touched the ground.

It was all over, or so she thought
The corner of her eye, a shadow caught,
The form behind the curtain,
In her state, could she be certain?

Angry, tall, dark, and droll,
There in her room, stood a troll.
She drew up her blanket, afraid to blink,
But this troll just gave her a wink!

He shouted...."FIRST!"








{Deepest apologies not tighter, the deadline loomed like a big critter!}

 

[Schnabel]

The two dignitaries of Freeport, Lord Varnek of the Militia and Commissioner Durril of the Tradesfolke Coalition, were men whose shadows seemed to arrive before them, and linger long after they passed. They rode through the sun-scorched savannah beneath hoods that wilted like wounded birds, muttering to one another about the heat, the emptiness, and the ruinous pride of the straggling gentry who clung to their ancestral holdings beyond the safety of Freeport’s walls. The land was a parched expanse, cracked and ochre, punctuated here and there by the skeletons of abandoned villages: houses gaping, wells dry, and the remnants of trade stalls bleached to bone by the merciless sun. When at last the Groan estate rose before them, it did so like a blister upon the land: a hulking manse of mottled stone and peeling ironwork, its parapets shimmering in the distance like heat mirages. Within, the age-worn Margrave himself, Titus Groan, received them with a courtesy worn thin by long isolation, his movements slow and deliberate, as though every gesture were carved from ritual. His daughters drifted at the edges of the stuffy foyer, pale and silent, their beauty like that of statues buried too long beneath dust.

Later, by the light of a weary fire that struggled against the encroaching dusk, Varnek and Durril gossiped like ravens over carrion. The heat of the day had been replaced by a hollow wind that rasped through hedge and corridor alike, carrying the dry rattle of unseen things. “She died in childbirth, they say,” murmured Durril, his voice brittle as parchment. “Lady Lavinia. Brought forth a creature the midwives could not name. A son twisted like driftwood.” Varnek chuckled, a sound like sand shifting in a dry riverbed. “A son that did not survive the night, if you catch my meaning. Yet the Groans never bury deep. The ground is too hard for that.” They spoke then of the daughters: how their father’s dwindling influence might be turned to the Overlord’s advantage, how two unwed beauties might find their fortunes bartered among the city’s elite. Between them, the air hung heavy with the scent of dust and ambition.

That night, the fire collapsed into ash, and the estate seemed to exhale. The wind whistled through the shutters, and the house gave faint, creaking replies. Varnek awoke to the sound of something vast slouching in the passage beyond his door: slow, deliberate, and dry, like thin soil grinding beneath a leaden plow. He held his breath, listening, as the noise seemed to travel behind the walls themselves, tracing the veins of the old house. When he told Durril of it in the brittle dawn, the other only smiled thinly. “A spirit, perhaps,” he said, his lips cracked and pale. “Or something worse. There are things that survive out here that Freeport’s walls would not admit.” Their laughter, forced and shallow, was carried away almost at once by the dusty wind.

Decades later, the estate lay silent. Through broken shutters, the swollen orange sun poured its tired light onto a regal husk, laying strangled in its bed. In a chamber nearby, two long-dead figures slumped in their chairs, their garments reduced to filigrees of rot, their ruddy bones roughened with age. Around them, the air was thick with stillness. Along one wall crept a strange verdant growth, coarse and pulsing faintly, its hues an obscenity in the dusky room. Then a floorboard shifted, sighing beneath a colossal weight. A towering figure rose from the far shadows—encased in the corroded armor of House Groan, head bowed, each motion slow and inevitable. It paused beside the desiccated guests, the air trembling faintly around it. A flower, blooming impossibly from the corner of a grand mirror nestled above the mantelpiece, caught its gaze for quite some time. And then, without a sound, it turned and walked out into the hall, out past the hedges and the moldering ramparts, out into the blazing, empty plain, where the wind muttered endlessly to the bones of forgotten homes.

 

[Schnabel]

It seems an edit I made might have gobbled up my attachment; I'd rather not fuss with it anymore, and thereby push the story's timestamp past the cutoff, so I'll add the image here:

 

[Angeliana]

Thank you all for participating in this event. The stories were awesomesauce and it was tough picking out only a few!

After reading (and re-reading) all the entries, there are 3 that treated me to a scare for sure!

• Traesta - I will never be able to use a jokebox again, I even cancelled Spotify just in case!
• Anandra - That song showing up at Halloween is always scary!
• Kattt - Story of my CM life always scares me! I loved it!

I would be remiss if I just left it at that as there were also 3 that tricked me by drawing me in with a great, but not so scary, story.

• Afakulru - Love the Whodunit story!
• Smallcorners - Solid in character story, it kept me reading!
• Crazylayde - Witch in the woods!

The above mentioned people will each get 3 tokens. Everyone else who followed the rules and participated earned 2 tokens. I appreciate you all for indulging me and providing me with some great stories!

Payouts will begin shortly, so keep an eye on your inbox!

 

[Angeliana]

All token payouts are done! Thank you again!

 

[Kattt]

@Angeliana Thank you for doing this! It was fun!

To all those who entered...thank you for the contributions and all the great stories! I read them all and they were all great!

Hope there is more of this.

 

[Leylee]

@Angeliana Thank you for doing this! It was fun!

To all those who entered...thank you for the contributions and all the great stories! I read them all and they were all great!

Hope there is more of this.

Mine was basic as im a noob to the game but it was nice to see the amazing contributions.

 

[Crazylayde]

I loved this! Hope that we have more of these types of community activities coming up I really enjoyed dusting off the old writing skills!