[Then came Bremerial and Zarston:]
Bremerial moves to a kneeling position.
Bremerial leans forward.
Bremerial quietly says, "The story I am about to recount was told to me on a night very much like this one. It filled we with dread when I first heard it. Only now do I have the courage to recount it."
(Bremerial curls her finger slowly, beckoning you all to lean forward to hear her words.)
Bremerial tremulously says, "It has often been said that evil dwells within the stillness of moonless nights, where the trees whisper secretly in the wind and owls hoot their mournful resounding refrain. But this is NOT where evil resides. This is NOT the time you should fear."
Bremerial tremulously says, "There is a moment when day merges into night. Where the embracing caress of sunlight begins to give way to the grasping tendrilous fingers of darkness. Some people refer to this as 'twilight'."
Bremerial tremulously says, "For it is when day touches night, that a crack appears in the world.......for an instant......just an instant."
Bremerial fearfully says, "The crack is the portal to and from a place that is nameless, where all manner of horrors reside. Things that you cannot imagine. Things you do not want to imagine!"
Bremerial tremulously says, "The creatures on the other side of the crack peer into our world with envious eyes..with eyes of such malevolence, that even FEAR ITSELF is frightened."
Bremerial tremulously says, "But the crack is never large enough for any creature to come through......only large enough for evil to gaze with hatred upon us....scheming......planning......"
Bremerial tremulously says, ".... and then the crack seals itself, leaving those of us who never knew it existed, none the wiser."
(Bremerial leans further forward and in a hushed tone says...)
Bremerial softly says, "...or so it should."
(Bremerial gazes at you all intensely, her eyes widening.)
(Bremerial lowers her voice slightly and glances over her shoulder, before continuing..)
Bremerial quietly says, "100 years ago almost to the day, the crack appeared and remained open for an instant more than it should have done. No one knows why. But it was long enough for evil itself to leech through, taking the form of all manner of creatures."
Bremerial quietly says, "Not many.. but enough."
Bremerial quietly says, "I often imagined them to be misshapen beings with oozing pustules for eyes and twisted frames that slithered along the ground on a channel of mucus. But in truth their form is a mystery."
Bremerial tremulously says, "Their sojoun within our realm lasted the briefest of moments. They were not ready to enter. They were unprepared!"
Bremerial tremulously says, "But in that instant, they delved into the hearts ... and minds ... and souls of every sentient being that dwelt within our plane of existence. And they raised their voices in exultation..For they knew instantly, that that which they had envied, was mere flesh that could be destroyed .... utterly and irrevocably."
Bremerial fearfully says, "As the crack closed they felt themselves dragged back through... back into their own realm. But some of their essence remained...like some dreadful vanguard of an army yet to come."
Bremerial ominously says, "If you EVER feel that there is someone standing behind you and turn to find yourself alone? That is them."
Bremerial ominously says, "If you EVER wake in the night to see a shadow beside you and in turning on the light find that it is only a coat on a hook...that is them."
Bremerial ominously says, "If you EVER feel a cold cold shiver come upon you as if someone has walked upon your grave... that is them."
Bremerial says, "When you go home tonight, hug your loved ones. Draw them to you and pray that that crack never opens again for more than an instant."
Bremerial fearfully says, "Pray."
Bremerial fearfully says, "...Very."
Bremerial fearfully says, ".....VERY."
Bremerial loudly exclaims, ".......HARD!"
Heavy droplets of sweat drip from Bremerial's brow.
Bremerial leans back.
Bremerial falls back and plops to the ground in a sitting position.
Bremerial appears to be trying hard not to grin.
Bremerial quietly exclaims, "Sweet dreams all!"
Bremerial examines a sweat-stained rag intently, turning it over and over within her hand and nodding in satisfaction. She raises the rag to her forehead, gently drawing it across her brow. She deftly flicks the rag outward, splaying the material and producing a spray of tiny droplets.
(Zarston gives a subtle nod towards the judges, indicating that he is ready to begin. He then takes a deep breath before placing his hand over his heart and lifting his voice high into the chilly air of the clearing.)
Zarston recites dramatically:
"Mortals are not meant to live forever,
But as adventurers who force the rules of life and magic to suit our whim,
We often forget that we are not the immortal Arkati,
And at times we must depend upon their grace."
Zarston recites airily:
"This is the story of one such adventurer,
His name and features were not important, and have long been forgotten,
All that we need to know is that he was one of us,
A mighty adventurer with all of Elanthia open up to him."
Zarston recites gravely:
"But after travelling down its roads and reaping the rewards of battle and exploration,
Wealth and Power inflated his Ego to monstrous levels.
And worse still he began to measure his worth by the hoard of his wealth,
Making him reluctant to let go of it for any reason, let alone one as intangible as piety."
Zarston recites briskly:
"And so for years he went without offering a gem to Lorminstra,
Trading them instead for fistfuls of silver at the closest gemshop.
Things proceeded as they had in the past, and the man spent a normal amount of time living and nearly dying,
Until one morning when he was brought back to life by a righteous woman in service of Lorminstra."
Zarston recites concernedly:
"He knew something was wrong, but couldn't articulate it - his body feeling somehow more heavy then expected.
There was a subtle stench of decay wafting into his nose that his rescuers couldn't smell,
And over a faint bruise on his shoulder there was a bump that he could feel with his fingers that no one could see.
The bulge and the funk stuck to him no matter how hard he worked to remove them,
But they also didnt worsen in any way.
Until the next time he died and was resurrected."
.
Zarston recites darkly:
"His first breath was in no way sweet, smelling instead of rotting flesh and leaking death.
His hand shot up to his shoulder and his fingers confirmed what he could feel as soon as he woke up -
That there was a clawed, disembodied hand gripping into his flesh, imperceptable by everyone but him.
His probing fingers felt like they popped a huge boil, and soon his nose was assaulted by the smell of molding cheese.
The man shuddered as he felt a noxious trickle of warm, thick fluid creep slowly down his back."
Zarston recites gravely:
"At this point the man abandoned his idea of not tithing to the Arkati,
But no matter how he attempted to donate his wealth he never again felt their blessing upon him.
Finally, after he had emptied an entire sack filled with diamonds and emeralds at the feet of a priestess,
She stopped his hand before he could ring the gong with the hammer by announcing with unmerciful eyes,
"You have forsaken the Arkati, adventurer, and my lady tells me that they have forsaken you in kind."
Zarston recites hesitantly:
"So the adventurer attempted to cut his losses by abandoning the battlefield,
Hoping that he had accumulated enough wealth over the years to retire early.
Unfortunately he had already grown accustomed to a certain lavish lifestyle.
After a month (that may have included a run at DragonBones) his bank account was completely drained,
And so to escape Destitution and Starvation, he again began to hunt."
Zarston recites regretfully:
"Through extreme diligence he was able to keep his soul inside his body for an admirably long time,
But as we all know, when it is our time, Gosaena finds a way.
And after an inescapable combination of bad weather and unlucky events,
He found himself looking down over his claidhmore-reaved body."
Zarston recites disgustedly:
"Floating over himself he could barely make out a faint image of his tormentor.
Wiry, dark purple limbs riddled with boils and open sores writhed tightly around his corpse,
And there by his ear was a sharp toothed, disembodied mouth whispering softly and unceasingly,
"Soon ... you ... will ... be ... mine ..."
Zarston recites despondently:
"He was eventually rescued and brought back to life - if you could call what he woke up to living.
Each breath was a struggle against the arm wrapped around his neck and the legs constricting his waist.
What little air he inhaled was uncomfortably warm, stale, and pregnant with the scent of putrefaction.
And throughout every second of the day, he could hear and smell the rotting tongue of the voice from behind his ear.
"Soon ... you ... will ... be ... mine ..."
Zarston recites grimly:
"He struggled to continue "living" for a full week before giving up the battle.
The last anyone ever saw of him, he was giggling to himself and excitedly telling everyone, "Soon it will ALL be over."
He skipped to the most dangerous hunting ground he knew of, stripped off his armor, lay down, and waited.
But just as the construct pulverized his head into a viscous, red, white, and grey soup, the voice howled in triumph,
"IT WILL NEVER BE OVER FOR YOU, HEATHEN! FOR NOW YOU ARE MINE!"
(Zarston slowly allows his hands to fall to his sides and silence to fill the air. His body remains still and listless, but each of his words ring loud and clear through the shroud of night.)
Zarston recites threateningly:
"And so the moral of the story is this.
Remember your place in this plane of existence,
And tithe to the Arkati an offering of your fortune from time to time.
Or your soul, too, may be lost,
To the Demonic."
Zarston slowly empties his lungs.
