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located in Ruins, the forest and its magic., a part of The Ruins of Terran, one of the many universes on RPG.

Ruins, the forest and its magic.

Central to the Ruin.

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Demetrius simply stared as the golden-furred wonder continued to speak and slunk away to a half-finished carving in the wall. He had mistaken them for some ancient tribe of people's work but no, it was this graceful, but still frightful, creature. Saw my sheet? My PROFILE? He couldn't believe what he was hearing, Thomas Thatcher had shared his most personal details with... This. Whatever it was. When asked for clarification of his profession he only nodded slowly, though he wasn't sure if he was seen or not, the creature had returned to it's art and commenced clarification of what the meaning behind it was. Maybe I'll write a story about this he thought, still unable to speak steadily and so not bothering to try. His breath kept catching in his throat, making his lungs ache and his muscles sting with the lack of oxygen. His face grew hotter and he knew it must be red. His vision started to blur and he became aware that it had been some time since he'd last blinked.

“I should go, you shouldn’t have seen me anyway.” The voice was smooth beyond reckoning and Demi knew that in other circumstances it would be soothing and relaxing but right now he couldn't even move an eyelid, no chance of relaxation there. So instead, he just nodded again, still slowly, and listened to the warning offered to him. As though he wasn't scared enough, he was now being warned to be careful of the night by a cat taller than himself. This must have bypassed his brain and went straight to his funnybone, the irony wasn't lost on him even in the vicegrip of fear, and he laughed out loud as the other occupant of the room departed via the window. He laughed, perhaps a better word would be skrieked, to the empty room and slid down the wall, his shirt pulled up almost to his shoulders as he did. The smooth stone and the worn edges of a carving from long ago brushed across his skin of his back as his cries of relieved laughter ebbed away to a choking cough that was shortly followed by several huge, shaky breaths of air.

It took an untellable amount of time for the writer to regain control of himself. It could have been no more than a minute, it could have been over an hour. He had no idea because his mind was racing as it tried to cope with what had happened. Whatever portion of his mind had been previously dedicated to timekeeping had given up and joined the battle to bring him back to a state of normalcy. Not an easy task concerning a man such as himself, a man who rarely left the house, let alone the state, a man who had been to the zoo as a child but got no closer to wild animals than that. Nonetheless he could always depend on logic pulling him through and the simple fact was that he was alive, unscathed and possibly losing his mind. Even now, so shortly after the encounter, he began questioning if it had happened at all. But it had, the fresh carvings on the wall were testimony to that.

It was, however, one of the older and more worn carvings that caught his eye as he pushed himself forward into a crouch in preparation to stand again. His legs still shook and he planted one palm firmly on the wall to take shift his centre of balance. With surprisingly little effort he managed to bring himself upright and it was then that the drawings etched into the wall finally grabbed his attention. The detail in them was incredible, easily better than anything he'd be able to do in his lifetime, and he reached out his fingers to run them over the markings at his eye level. It was a pyramid, atop a hill, beside a temp-

As soon as the tips of his fingers brushed the marks gouged into the stone, imaged began flashing before his eyes. He drew back and covered his face in his hands but still the images of the carvings burned into his vision, each like fire within his head. There was the pyramid, the hilltop, a man approaching, a great rumbling that shook the Earth, a beast of stone.... He blacked out. The man fell to the stone floor with a dull thud as his skull connected with rock and there he lay, motionless but the rapid rising and falling of his chest.


It is a glorious day, the sun shines brightly over the valleys and hills, the river below reflects the rays of light like a liqud mirror that is almost blinding. There is not a cloud in the sky and the view is stunning. Far off across the land can be seen the ocean, though it is shrouded in mist. "It is not important anyway" says the man who strides up the steep side of what is more than a hill but less than a mountain. His voice echoes without anything to bounce the sound and is faraway, even to his own ears. Quiet, otherworldly even. "That doesn't matter either" he says as he continues with his purposeful steps. He is almost at the top but breathes as though he were taking a leisurely stroll. He looks down and sees no perspiration on his semi-bare chest. He sees no weapons strapped to his waist. He sees only a white tunic draping from one shoulder that reaches down to his knees and leather sandals fastened around the ankle.

It is not long before he reaches his destination, though it is srouded in the same mist that obscures the sea from view. Through it he can see a triangular shape silhouetted within the wall of grey. Yet as he grows closer the fog disperses, it shifts to the side and moves around behind him to create and arena between him and the structure, of which he has no idea of the size, it is impossible to tell yet. And then suddenly it is visible. And it is close. But it is not a building as he had thought, it is a creature.

The creature sits with the soles of it's feet on the ground and it's ears together at the top of it's head. It is clear to him now how it could be mistaken for a structure. The fog, like many things, can be decieving. But it no longer clouds his view of the thing ahead, it prevents him seeing anything else. There is only the two of them on a circle of darkest green grass that was once so lively and bright, encased in impenetrable grey. Not a word is spoken as the four-legged guardian of the hilltop stands and walks forward, ears now flattened against it's skull, curved fangs visible beneath it's green eyes which are set into a face of golden fur that splits above the mouth to frame those teeth in whitest hair. Similarly, the legs are the same white, brighter than the smoky air around them, and the body is sandy, shimmering brown. He knows this creature though he doesn't know where from. But he looks up once more into it's face and all questions of familiarity are cast away. The head of a man now takes it's place above those feline shoulders, a man with long black hair, a smooth, youthful face, glasses and a days worth of stubble on his cheeks. "You're me" the man says to the beast in that same faraway voice.

The reply is in a similar voice, though somehow it is stronger, closer, filled with power. "It cannot be seen, cannot be felt. Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter." It is a riddle. The man loves riddles. But he cannot answer, he does not know the answer. And so the beast contines. "It is coming, traveller. Be warned."


Demi's head jerks up from the floor and he shouts a single word. "Darkess!" He looks around. Carvings on the walls, blue sky outside the window, stone floor. No fog. No creature. No riddle. He gives a sigh and sits up, wincing at the pain in his head as he does. "Musta hit pretty hard..." he mumbles. What had made him pass out? He couldn't remember. He remembered the dream. He remembered that thing speaking to him, warning him. But that happened here too he thought. "Demetrius Florentia, don't be ridiculous." He laughed at the clear impersonation of his Mother he had just made and stood. He swayed once, twice, then remained still. The world around him was blurred and he realised his glasses had fallen off. They lay broken and twisted by his feet. "Crap."

He bent and picked them up, wondering just how long he'd been unconscious, and stuffed the frames and shards of lens into his pocket before heading off, slowly, down the stairs, all the time thinking about the bizzare dream he'd just had. It WAS a dream, wasn't it? It had to be, as far as logic was concerned. Still, he felt pretty strange and he reckoned this forest had a way of making you feel a little different than usual.

A few minutes later he slumped out out into the clearing with his jacket and tie slung over one arm and his shoulders and back covered in dust. His hair was a mess, his face was grimy from the sweat, his shoes were scuffed, his shirt was untucked and missing a button and his eyes were bleary and red.He wanted to get back to his room, tidy up and hit the bar. He'd never wanted that so badly in his life. But still, somehow, he wanted to get back out there, back into the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nuram ran through the forest, becoming increasingly careless as his thoughts grew more and more occupied by the sight he had just witnessed. It was unnerving, unnatural and unexpected to him. Yet what concerned him more was that it was change. And, he had grown to know, change could be good. Plans and schemes invaded his mind. Ideas of how to make his deepest desires came to fruit, ideas that would be difficult but not impossible. He had also grown to know that nothing was impossible. Not here. The forest was giving out gifts and Nuram would not go without, he would take it if he had to. But he could not do it alone. Even with the voices of the ruins always in mind he could not work alone. He would need this human. And perhaps others, should they be chosen too.

A branch snapped as his giant claw glanced off it. It didn't slow him at all. A crash and a rustle as it fell into the undergrowth did nothing to distract him either. He had things to do, things to see, people to see. He knew another group was coming and he intended to keep a closer eye on them than he had the last. Perhaps even guide them from the shadows. Drawing them into the forest should not be too hard, curiosity took the woman easily enough after all. But the sound of disturbances may not help... And so he slowed himself down, closing his eyes to focus his hearing to locate the fresh blood that wandered through the trees ahead. It was not difficult and he gauged their speed accordingly so he could hide further down the track and remain out of sight. But there was something else up ahead. Something UP ahead indeed.

"Nim..." His top lip curled back away from his teeth in a snarl as he realised the guardian was also tracking the humans. He could not let the others catch onto his plans, they would most certainly disapprove. He would need to be cunning, that much he knew, but the extent to which he may alter his behaviour was as yet unclear to him. Be himself too much and he would lose any trust he could garner from the humans, change too much and he would arouse the suspicions of the other guardians. He thought as he went, eyes now open and looking dead ahead for a place as close to the trail as he could be while keeping out of their eyeline. It then occured to him that Nim, with her open curiosity and constant appealing to his own better nature, may aid him in this new quest he had set for himself. If the dimension-shifter tried again to convince him to give the newcomers a chance then he would do well to sieze the oppurtunity to accept and bury any perconvieved notions that he was up to no good. And so he took his place no more than 25 feet from the treeline and waited for the group to reach him.