The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

Necronymous Forum Private Message Subject: Okay… Sent: Thu Jan 08, 6:36 pm From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 This is kind of random, but I notice your posts constantly mention this ‘Thorvaldr’ character. You always say it’s watching something or waiting for something, but no one else has any idea who or what it is. I’m just curious… Who is Thorvaldr? :O Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 2:17 am From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior Thorvaldr? I’m almost glad you asked. He’s just kind of there. A sort of presence, if you will. I can’t really explain it properly without it sounding completely odd. By the way… he sees you. Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 12:01 pm From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616 Uh… could you explain that a bit better? Sorry, I don’t understand. I mean, is he a person, a ghost, a pet, or what? D: Subject:Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 5:20 pm From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior Thorvaldr is a warrior king. He is waiting for the moon to rise a

This message is my map, and this map is my message. The earth here is thin. I move about it so freely, and the ease of it is a delicious thing, but it is also frightful. I dig my inscriptions by feel and touch, and because I know the earth, I know that this will be massive for your senses. Here in this layer of the planet, I am inbetween my people and your people. I float about in this soft soil like a drifting bubble, weightless and yet handled so delicately within my surroundings that my fragile dome will never burst. I am fit to drift along in euphoria. I would do this forever, if granted the chance, but I have responsibilities to my people, and to our Mother. If I were to glide about, dreamlessly, in this infinite expanse of softrock, a few fathoms beneath your manmade pave-veins, I would lose myself in the arms of Mother, and she would love to have me lost. That exquisite moment will not arrive until your end-time comes. For now, I must finish the task I have been chos

Memories. They’re how we know what has happened. Everything you remember goes in to who you are, why you act the way you do. It’s a shame that people are not afflicted by the things they cannot remember. Especially you. Memories are funny like that. Sometimes, when something so wonderfully frightening happens to you, your silly mind blocks it out to ‘protect you.’ While it might think it’s doing you a favor, it kills me to see it take those things away from you. Amazing things have happened to you. Horrible things have happened to you. Even if you’ve forgotten, I will always remember. I was there with you every step of the way. I was standing in the shadows, watching you. Tormenting you. You have such exquisite fear, I can’t get enough of it. Over and over, I put you through the most exciting times of your life, watching each time as you collapse upon yourself in mindless terror. You’re exhilarating. If only I could watch you suffer forever.. But that silly mind of yours.

Have you ever heard of an old PC game called “The Theater”? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Probably because many people say it doesn’t even exist. You see, The Theater is an old computer game released around the same time as Doom. Today, if you ever find it, it’s only available on crappy bootleg CD-ROMs, which, more often than naught don’t even actually contain the game. The actual legitimate copies that they say were released back in the day feature a blank cover with nothing but the sprite of what has since been named the ‘the Ticket-Taker’. He is simply a poorly drawn, pixelated Caucasian, bald man with large red lips wearing a red vest over a white shirt and black pants. He is completely emotionless, though some say that if you smash the disc his face is shown as angry the next time you look at the cover. But this is just dismissed as an urban myth. What is peculiar about The Theater, though, is that there is no developer named on the jewel case, nor a game description on t

The power does it to everyone. It corrupts us all, or at least those of us who embrace it. Although we dive right in to be swept away by the black waters of necromancy, it’s not easy for us to stay afloat. Our humanity is the coastline, the palm trees, the dry land itself. You put your humanity side by side with the fact that you’re a wizard of hell, coastline next to infinite expanse of ocean, and you decide being a wizard is more fun. It appeals to you. You can’t get away from it, so you dive in and swim out in to the ocean to get a bigger taste. To feel it all over your body, instead of just staring at it and dipping your toes in. The first time you swim in the ocean of the dead, the waters are electric to your soul. They shock you, show you things that you can’t possibly understand but eventually DO come to understand. One day, it just so happens that you might decide you’re tired of swimming, so you try to turn around, but the coast is gone. You don’t swim back. You kee

Hello. Its nice to finally meet you. Finally? Oh, its uhh.. I’m just overjoyed to have someone to talk to. Oh, I cannot express how happy I am to have this opportunity. Oh? Why am I so happy? Its really quite simple. The last few years of my life have been torturous. I mean, god… Oh thats a funny saying. God. No loving god would let any of his children go through what I have. But now I have someone to talk to. Oh glorious day! Oh where to begin? I think it was a day much like this one. I went to the library with some friends to find something to do over the upcoming weekend. We got there just before the library opened and found an hourglass on the stairs. Real ornate looking. Gold encrusted and whatnot. We were pretty bored, so we turned it over, set it down, and got to talking. Few minutes later, the librarian shows up. As it turns out, he showed up at the same instant the last grains of sand ran out of the top chamber. We didnt find anything at the library, but did have a

I was an American male on the loose in Belgium in the late 80’s. The tiny village I lived in was called Cambron-Casteau and was only a few kilometers north of the French Frontier. The town was truly nondescript and an ancient abbey remained the only interesting feature it possessed. The abbey’s remains stood on fifty acres of land just beyond the town with a great house, a tower, forests, lakes and catacombs! The latter caught my attention as soon as I learned of them. I investigated the tunnels both historically and physically. Originally, it seems monks in the late 1500’s connected the abbey to the church in nearby town of Lens with underground tunnels, and may even have gone as far as Mons. This is no small feat as Mons rests twenty kilometers from the abbey and Cambron-Casteau. It then appears that Hitler could not leave something like an underground tunnel alone and had it walled up during Belgium’s occupation because too many of his soldiers got lost trying to chase

A man and woman walked out of the bank, hand in hand. This might be a normal thing for anyone, maybe even you. But not for her. The man made a typical, throwaway remark about their lunch plans. Under usual circumstances, this would just be interpreted as a feeble attempt to incite lightheartedness into the conversation. But not for her. With a quick, agile movement, the woman, his wife, picked up a slab of concrete by the sidewalk and, with great aim, hit two doves perched on a low-hanging branch. They fell, like two pathetic white balloons. As soon as they hit the ground, his wife beat them to a pulp-she could see that they were still breathing. And her husband knew that he fucked up again. Some passerby began to stare openly at the horrible sight of two bashed birds. “Linda!” Her husband yelled. “Stop it!” “I thought we were going to kill two birds with one stone?” She replied, in a voice of unnatural calm. Her face gazed up at him from the ground, stoic and rigid, like some dread ma

The Stitched Man. This legend seems to be based on the story of William Harker. Harker was one of the first settlers of the Ichor Falls valley, and a master tailor whose work was known throughout Delaware. Richard Bayard, mayor of Wilmington, DE, was noted to have ordered three suits from Harker in 1836, saying “The man could stitch anything.” In 1840 a cooking fire started in Harker’s home, tragically killing his wife and infant son, and seriously injuring him. Allegedly, Harker overheard doctors saying that they would not be able to heal his burns, and when they returned to his bedside, Harker called for his sewing kit. Harker died four days later, and the legend began shortly after — first as a tribute to the master tailor, that he had been able to stitch himself back to health, and went to search for his wife and child to “repair” them too. But the legend became more and more perverse over the generations, with the common lore being that the Stitched Man now sought replacements for