SUMMER

Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Extremely hot and dry. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please direct them to DaringRaven! As for the rest of the announcements, including a season change, you can find them over here at the following link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


WHAT IS ELENLOND?

Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


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  • CURRENT EVENTS

    Angkar: To honour the reinvigoration of the ancient city of Mondrágon, the majestic Queen Eulalia has permitted the opening of a Coliseum where people from around the world and all walks of life can test their combat skills against one another. Many have already done battle in search of honour, glory, prizes and money.

    Ashoka: In an otherwise peaceful times, Ashokans are beset with the relatively minor inconveniences of wandering undead and occasionally-aggressive giant rock worms. There has also been some controversy over the recent re-legalisation of human sacrifice.

    Morrim: Rumour has it that Emperor Leofric de Hollemark is mustering forces for a war. Though the threat from Soto’s forests has passed, the forces previously employed in watching the forest now linger at the border. Rumours also circulate of a small group that has been dispatched to make contact with the tribes of the Do’suul Mountains.

    Soto: The Sotoans have defeated the fey and liberated themselves from Méadaigh’s oppression! Preliminary efforts have been made at rebuilding the city of Madrid, which had been captured at the beginning of the war. However, the Sotoans are hindered from recovery famine. Méadaigh’s magic caused summer to persist in the Erth’netora Forest through the winter. Her power has been withdrawn and the plants die as if preparing for winter – even though it is now summer. The Sotoans must sustain off what food they can get, what creatures they can kill and what can be imported into the city from Morrim and Angkar.

    For a fuller description of our most recent events, check out our most recent edition of The Town Crier!

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    Elenlond is an original medieval fantasy RPG with a world that's as broad as it is unique. Calling on characters of all kinds, the sky's the limit in a world where boundaries are blurred and the imagination runs rampant. Restrictions are limited and members are encouraged to embrace their creativity, to see where they can go and what they can do. It's no longer just text on a page - it becomes real.

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    A Shovel, A Secret; Kaahn~ :o
    Topic Started: Apr 10 2015, 05:12 PM (271 Views)
    Kupselion
    Member Avatar
    Il ferait volontiers de la terre un débris/Et dans un bâillement avalerait le monde

    Cyriacus was dead in this dream, but he paced restlessly in his prison and sometimes called out Kupselion's name. Kupselion, who dreamt in darkness, felt Cyriacus moving around in his mind. He crouched by the door, listening to the dead man groan and shuffle, hauling dead, decrepit flesh around. Kupselion had killed him: he’d widened a vessel in the old man’s head and sucked down his blood and now his heart beat was no more and could hear the lack of it like an ocean of silence beyond the door.

    Sometimes Cyriacus came close to the door, whispering accusations through the cracks. His voice was a dry rattle: “You killed me, Kupselion, and now there is nothing. No breath, no heart, nothing. I know you’re there. I know what you’ve done. I know. I know. I see you. I see you.” Kupselion lived in terror when Cyriacus’ shape came near. His mind traced the man’s face clearer than his memories did; when he woke, he would half believe that the old wizard had visited him recently, for he seemed so close to his mind.

    Finally, there came the moment when Cyriacus came to attack. Kupselion could feel him charging across the cell and he scrambled away from the door just as Cyriacus’ body struck it with a thump and rattle. Then there was blood, so much blood, seeping under the door, wetting Kupselion’s feet even as he tried to run away. It followed him through corridors and tunnels, it seeped over the glowing fungi that made a dim impression on Kupselion’s rudimentary vision

    Out into the world he tumbled, and the light assailed him, flattening his sight to a single bright plane. His mind stretched outwards and came to no bounds. As far as he knew, the world outside the caves was infinite. He fell to the ground and writhed in the heat of the sun, knowing it would burn away everything in him and reduce him to almost nothing, to a single particle of himself, and he would float away, away, away. No more sin and no more blood and therefore no more Kupselion either.

    Later, he buried Cyriacus atop a hill. He saw with his eyes now, and so he saw the vivid scar he’d carved into the earth. The earth was red and the grass poured around it, and in the deep hole was the white-wrapped corpse. Kupselion laboured to cover it with dirt, using at first his hands, then later a shovel. No matter how much he worked, there never seemed to be more dirt in the grave, nor less in the pile beside it. For a moment, he was distracted by the sight of the hills around him: they rolled out under a vivid sky, basking under the belly of the sun and his flock of fleecy clouds. A figure made its way across the earth, little more than smear of reddish-brown against the vast landscape.

    For a while, Kupselion watched the figure’s approac, but then he remembered what he had been doing. He returned to the task of burying Cyriacus with vigour, his chest tight with terror at being discovered.
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    Shrista
    Member Avatar
    Pariah, Apostate, Heretic

    He was everywhere and nowhere, everywhen and nowhen. Light and shadow assailed him from all directions and none, sunrise and sunset, bathing him in fire, in the cold of night and stars, a sky dashed with a scattering of darkness, forward, nothing. Nothing. Nothing but the fathomless eternity of an apex burned clean of all light, the end of all time, and the beginning.

    It existed, everywhere, and nowhere, over grassy rolling plains and red baked sands, packed moist earth and the suns anvil of a burning salt flat, the nauseating roiling of a furious ocean, and the full playfulness of the wind screaming through an abyss. it was real and ephemeral, unreachable all at once, and he loved every excruciating and agonizing moment of it.

    The indecision of where to go, when to be clawed at him like a savage thing, all claws and teeth, rending him open to the unforgiving eternity. Well there was a saying, heads...or tails..?

    The coin appeared just as suddenly as the Daemon King himself, startling the procession in his Sanctum to a clinking, rattling halt. He sat, casually liquid in the rigid throne, though it felt soft enough, malleable, melting in on itself even as his tail and one leg draped over the armrest. So it was that in the quiet, like the muffle of the first snow, that his voice purred over the groveling silent subordinates, the vertigo-inducing characters of all languages, dead and not yet born moving with the undulating rhythm.

    "Heads, or tails?"

    The ascendants fell upon one another as the coin soared skywards, the ring rising to a painful whine, until his skin vibrated with the sound, became it as it descended to smash into its nadir, and poised perfectly on one edge.
    "Only in dreams!"
    His distaste for the matter filtered around him, tarnished the coin until it was black, the face decaying in a soundless shriek of dismay as his thumb caressed it.

    And then he was gone again.

    ***

    He had no hands in the nothing, but that was irrelevant. Specks of light drifted aimlessly, the odd anomaly with purpose, a wisp that seemed to know where it was going, a lucid dreamer, scudding by his formless presence. Calmly he reached for one, sent it spiraling away, the lucidity winking out as the dreamer awoke, troubled by some awful haunting enough to thrust them out of the ephemeral plane.

    How tiny and insignificant they were.

    How fascinating.

    If he'd had arms to spread, he would have, falling back like the ghost silhouette of an owl into the first passing fantasy.

    ***

    The grass spat him out, rejected him even as it tickled and scratched ineffectually at his legs, a reluctant hateful lover. His attire flickered about him as he lost momentary concentration, his attention busily focused on his new surroundings, woven from someone else's imagination. All at once doublet and hose in his colours clad him, nudity, a fine noblewoman's corset and lacy stockings, to settle on the billowing desert pants and overabundance of tinkling jewelry as before.

    Bare toes wriggled in loose earth as he strolled along, quite enjoying the wind tangling the feathery heads and dragging the clouds along like the helpless victims they were.

    He didn't have to wait long before he found them.

    Palms down he trailed his hands through the sea of lazily nodding stems, the silly children's rhyme leaving his lips in a coarse whistle as he climbed the hill towards where they toiled, until the cheerful song, albeit much altered burst from his lips in a rolling baritone;

    "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
    What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
    What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
    Early in the morning!"


    He could see they were digging now, a man, he thought, not that it mattered much. Digging for what? The intent to discover, to find what was lost? or was it something more..sinister?

    "Tie him up and hang him from the cloakroom door,
    Bind his lips and store him in the bedroom floor,
    Cast him out the window and watch him soar,
    Early in the morning!"


    Gradually he climbed the slope, humming under his breath as he leaned over the hole to see what was in it.
    "Needs more cowbell."
    His face was perfectly composed as he straightened to face the strange creature, head canting just a touch as a shrieking cow plummeted from the sky somewhere behind them and hit the ground, bursting into a flock of winged cowbells to mark the occasion of the hand groping errantly from the grave.

    Kaahn barely glanced at the groping hand that came questing from the loose dirt, watching instead Kupselion as he took up his dirge;

    "Hit him in the face with an iron shovel,
    Hold him under til he starts to bubble,
    Put him down to sleep so there'll be no trouble,
    Early in the morning..."
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    Kupselion
    Member Avatar
    Il ferait volontiers de la terre un débris/Et dans un bâillement avalerait le monde

    There was a shriek, then a clattering commotion. Kupselion jolted up from his work, back straightening, laboured breath halting. He stared at the approaching man, this bronze-skinned oddity, who he realised was singing the song that had vaguely pervaded his mind when he'd been intent on his labour. He caught the subject of the lyrics and glanced nervously at the pit in the earth, his throat thick with terror.

    To his relief, there was a covering of dirt over the body, and not a scrap of white shroud could be seen. But what was he to say he was doing? Would the man even ask? He stared for a long moment – too long, maybe – at the crown of striped horns, the tinkling assemblage of jewellery, deep into those eyes, those eyes, they seemed to know already...

    He stared back down out the pit and – what was that? His heart leapt and danced dizzily, beating a rhythm behind his eyes. A hand, Cyriacus' knotted and liverspotted hand clawing out from the disturbed dirt. How? How? He'd been wrapped up, he'd been silent and unmoving when Kupselion had wrapped him, he'd been complacent at last. But even now he thought he heard that whisper from the grave – "I see you, I see you" – and he wasn't sure if it was there, or simply an imagining.

    Kupselion scooped one more shovelful of dirt into the grave, hoping to cover up the hand, and then thrust the shovel into the ground, putting his foot up on it and convulsively wiping his wet brow with a long hand. "Ah, what brings you here, stranger?" he asked, looking up at him. He met the man's amberish, flamish eyes and he looked away, down at the grave, where Cyriacus' hand laid limp and half-covered by dirt. His gaze skittered away to his own chest: his flowered waistcoat was rumpled and smeared. He straightened it with one hand and then stared away across the horizon, as if looking for the approach of some other but expecting no one else to come.

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    Shrista
    Member Avatar
    Pariah, Apostate, Heretic

    Tell me...

    The plane throbbed beneath his feet, a subtle heartbeat that screamed, whispered through his skin and made his own reverberate in response.

    Tell me everything.

    The sleeper was afraid, his fear suffocating them both as the Incubus stood a little taller, leaned back and rolled his shoulders, inhaling the fragrance. Heady, it buzzed around his ears like an overpoweringly nauseating perfume, the feeling that he was left only with the sickness and not the memory of the scent pervading until he breathed again, relishing and regretting. The dreamer seemed to be quite agitated by the snaking, worming hand that groped for them, left him wondering the significance. A terrible secret hidden, and the Plane didn't want to play fair.

    Of course...he wouldn't expect any less. Only the echo of terrible violence, a wrong unrequited and a rotting corpse desperate for air.
    "Why you, of course. When you missed our appointment, I thought I'd come see what had you so occupied. Perhaps I could lend you...a hand?"
    He turned, folding his arms across his chest, and canting his head onto his shoulder. For a time he only watched the horizon with the tall pale fellow, content to stand there and observe his dreamscape. It looked much like the Plains of Aeril, the screaming winds tangling the grasses into a furious ocean, calming to a gentle breeze and changing direction, as so much did. Flickers caught in his peripheral as dreamers touched one another so briefly, inconsequential to the now.

    Kaahn rolled his head onto his shoulder, gaze wandering to study the pale creature once more. Strange. Had he encountered this one in the waking world? No, he didn't think so, yet there was something unmistakeably, familiarly troubled about him, some awful conflict that he could recognize. Ah yes....the great battle, the descent into the chaos of the spirit, animal lusts vying for control over higher intelligence. That he was familiar with. He, the great instigator...well it was only a matter of time before he won. What about this one? How well was he holding onto himself?
    A shovel had appeared in his hands at some point, without really intending to. It seemed to fit the setting well enough though.
    "Are we digging, or filling in, my friend?"
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    Kupselion
    Member Avatar
    Il ferait volontiers de la terre un débris/Et dans un bâillement avalerait le monde

    Kupselion wanted to tell him. He could feel the acid words bubbling in his mouth, biting at him to be let out. His heart pounded heavily in fear at how close the truth was: just inches away from being spoken and then he would be known.

    He blinked at the strange man, and then remembered with a sinking heart that there had been an appointment and he'd just gone and forgotten it, what with everything that had happened. Kupselion's mouth twisted uncomfortably. "I apologise," he said, nervously stroking his waistcoat, "Certain contingencies. You know how life can be. The most unexpected things can happen sometimes."

    He glanced down at the grave. The hand was covered up for the moment, but the loose soil shifted. His throat clenched shut. The man – whose name he couldn't remember, despite the fact that they'd arranged a meeting – was staring at him intently, too intently. Kupselion got the feeling that he didn't need to speak those words because somehow, without his willing it, the truth was already known.

    After looking anxiously around to see that there was no one else in the plains to watch them, he found that the man had a shovel in his hand and was offering to help. "Ah," he said, his voice coming out in a sudden, airy burst, "Filling in." He scooped up a shovelful of dirt and tossed it down, aiming for the spot where the hand was still trying to claw its way free.

    "It's nothing really," he said after a few shovelfuls, trying to sound nonchalant, "Just a trifling issue." A laugh burst out of him and stumbled down into silence. Sweating, and unable to sufficiently dry his wet brow, he stared bashfully down at his work for a while, until he couldn't bear it any more. His white head popped up and his dark eyes set on his helper.

    "I'm so sorry," he said, managing a watery smile, "I've forgotten your name. Ridiculous of me, I know, but you know...you know how it can be. Can you remind me?"
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    Shrista
    Member Avatar
    Pariah, Apostate, Heretic

    How silly, to have forgotten one's appointments. This was why he should have a personal assistant. It was precisely why he himself had a procession to follow him around and obey his every command, to scrape and grovel and carry out even the most suicidal or petty of his whims. And if you didn't like them? Well...that was why they were expendable no? Also expandable. The last time he'd done that he'd had to make the others repaint the walls. He could have cleaned them in a heartbeat but it was more entertaining to make them do it. And it filled the time...the endless, interminable space of time.

    After all, he had so much of it, and it was so flexible...

    Curse that whoreson and his magic toy.

    "Think nothing of it...personally, I have an assistant for that. If they remember, I can focus on the more pressing things...allow me to make you a gift, as a token of good faith!"
    Kaahn clapped his hands once, the air rippled as if a great heat blazed, though no temperature as such assaulted his face. He blinked, one brow arching at the sight of the succubus. Her skin was alabaster, form as smooth and styled as any coldly rigid statue. He almost expected her to be holding a large clay jug of wine or somesuch. Sunny red-gold hair piled atop her head, coal-dark eyes sweeping from him to the dreamer. Lovely, in spite of what some might see as horrific, the dark scaling chasing her spine to her thighs, enveloping calves and ending in sharp little hooves, edging the gristly, leathery wings at her back.

    "Your entrance could use some work, some glitz and flashiness."
    "Would you like me to do it again, my lord?"
    "Do three takes and we'll just pick the best."
    The incubus folded his arms and waited as she faded from view, then reappeared in first a cloud of dandelion seedheads with a chiming sigh, then a flash of flame and a chilling wail, and finally a cloud of paper streamers and confetti, and a bang. He sighed. It was all rather disappointing.
    "Definitely the last one. What do you think?" He rolled his eyes towards Kupselion, pursed his lips and flicked one of the multitude of necklaces on her bare chest with a jangle.

    "Anyway! Viridiana...this gentleman is now your master. Take notes for him, or whatever."
    The succubus knelt as he began moving dirt, pink tongue flicking over her lips. He could have let it do it by himself, but it was really a novel experience to do it like this. It wasn't as though he was going to get tired here. No, he could only sample from this new specimen's experiences.
    "What may I call this master?"

    He leaned his elbow on the shovel then, adopted a thoughtful expression as if actually considering the question, though the answer was much the same as it always was.
    "Kaahn. It's not surprising you don't remember, you're a busy man. Busy busy busy...I expect you deal with envoys and emissaries all the time...what's one more, am I right?"
    He barked a sharp laugh, clacked it off in his teeth, and shifted another shovelful of soil into the hole atop the victim.
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    Kupselion
    Member Avatar
    Il ferait volontiers de la terre un débris/Et dans un bâillement avalerait le monde

    Kupselion watched with such bewilderment that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing, unaware that due to the ever-changing nature of dreams his shovel had disappeared from existence. Kaahn called a succubus from nowhere (a feat which boggled even his dreaming mind) and commanded her to make a variety of entrances, and so she disappeared and reappeared again and again, making various cacophonies each time. When Kaahn finally asked him "What do you think?", poor Kupselion was at such a loss that all he could say was "...What?"

    Viridiana was assigned to him as an assistant. Kupselion couldn't help but think that he didn't want her. He normally had a good enough memory to keep up with all this appointments, and having an assistant, having to account for his time, left him less free to act on his own. What was he to do when the Hag wanted to sneak about at midnight (for his mind had no recollection, in its sleep, that the Hag was long gone and there was a new Emperor now) and he had an assistant wriggling her way up his ass all the time?

    And speaking of "up his ass..." She was wearing nothing, this strange creature; he had in fact never seen anything like her. What a commotion and scandal she would cause him, even if he put some clothes on her. Too pretty, by human standards, too suspicious...He had no taste for her but Lorialette would surely question him...

    Viridiana asked him his name in a smoky voice, and he responded stiffly: "Kupselion." He would sort out the particulars later, when Kaahn wasn't present.

    But now that his mind had turned to his life in Kinaldi, it began to reconstruct his surroundings, changing so fluidly and forgetfully that he did not notice any difference. One moment they had been standing around an open grave in the fields, and now they were in his office in the Palace, which was altered by his dream to allow room for the open grave, which now yawned right before his desk. Now there was dirt to fill it in with, no shovels, which Kupselion anxiously noticed while Kaahn spoke. He hardly paid attention to his words, instead sweating with the terror that he would have to find a shovel and dirt soon, he would have to find some way to patch up that dreadful hole in the boards so that no one would know, and he would have to do it all without anyone seeing, and that in a busy palace...

    "Oh, yes, yes," he said, a moment too late, tearing his eyes away from the incriminating hole in his floor, the dirt which he swore still shifted with the dead man's struggles. "There are many things...many names to remember." He eyed Kaahn once more, expressing despite himself that, "Well, you are not exactly a run-of-the-mill advisor either. Most of them are mere...humans. Tell me, why is it you wanted to meet?"

    And he was sitting behind his desk now, suddenly transported into the mode of business, his hands folded neatly before him, Viridiana standing slender and beautiful by his side, ready to take notes.
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    Shrista
    Member Avatar
    Pariah, Apostate, Heretic

    Kaahn didn't seem to mind that the surroundings were altering themselves. Almost as if he saw it on such a regular basis that it was no longer surprising. Not unlike violence, really, after a while you became so inoculated to the horror that you ceased to be numb, ceased to see it as an abnormality. So he paced with all the air of a merchant prince, or some great lordling, as if the floor wasn't bucking and growing into new planking, slotting itself together just as his foot came into contact with it.

    It had, after all, been there, or would be there, for an eternity, if that was what he wanted.

    The daemon paced self-absorbed along the edge of the yawning grave, the broken edges of unfinished paneling protruding out over the hungry mouth that still held dirt and flesh. Not unlike teeth, he thought. Almost on cue he noticed discoloured teeth begin growing from the uneven dirt walls down there, like weeds or strings of pearls spiralling in deranged patterns, only half seen.

    The shovel had become a fine brass watch, which he flicked open and noted that of course, the hands were missing. Then whirling madly in counterpoint to another, all the numbers changing apparently at will into a dozen different pictograms, numbers and letters. Abruptly it became a glass of pale amber liquid, which he sipped from and immediately regretted.
    "Is this some kind of watered down earwax? How foul."
    Carefully he set it on the edge of the desk, wiping his fingers against the cloth of his short coat, then scrubbing them delicately across his tongue.

    "Well my lord..."
    He paused before an oversized painting of a pinch mouthed woman holding a ridiculous...dog..? It might have been a rat. It's head was too large, eyes positively bulging out of its skull like a pair of snooker balls.
    "Hah. Haha...mm...excuse me. How extraordinary. You see, the thing is, I have been sent my my most esteemed ruler not to parlay but to offer our hands, as many as you like, or tentacles if you prefer, in assistance."
    His eyes gleamed for a moment as the self centered joke settled around his shoulders, before sauntering to the other side of the office and admiring some small trinket set carefully upon a shelf.
    "It might be said that our proud nation wishes only the very best for you and yours, and are watching the progress of leaps and bounds you appear to be making with a keen interest...and one such as yourself of course has many opportunities to affect such changes upon your fine country..."
    He picked up what appeared to be a small silver trowel and turned it in his hands, then waggled it at Kupselion.
    "You must be a fine gardener to win such awards. What are you growing now?"
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    Kupselion
    Member Avatar
    Il ferait volontiers de la terre un débris/Et dans un bâillement avalerait le monde

    Kupselion apologised profusely for the quality of the drink, saying, "The maids here, I swear they don't know what they are doing sometime. The tea is not very good. I am truly sorry. I am sure, with Viridiana here now, the quality of service will get better." Indeed, she was scribbling notes by his side, and he was sure that what she had written included the note, "make better tea."

    Kupselion was only able to half-listen to Kaahn's little speech – he was all too conscious of his feet striding right by the open grave. Kaahn said he wished to offer assistance – assistance! Kupselion leapt out of his chair. "Yes, assistance! What a glorious thing!" Viridiana scratched out the word "HELP" three times, her quill splattering ink. Kaahn was holding a small silver trowel – yes, help was being offered! "What do I grow?" said Kupselion, eyes following the little silver trowel. He spoke vaguely: "Silver bells, cockle shells, human teeth from bones beneath..."

    Wildly, Kupselion grabbed for the trowel, but Kaahn lifted it away, laughing. Kupselion snatched at it again, and Kaahn dangled it out of his reach. "Please–!" said Kupselion, and finally Kaahn let him have it. Kupselion pushed Viridiana out of his way and dashed out from behind his table and fell to his knees by the great abyss carved into the floorboards. Arms were now writhing out of the dirt like so many ghost pipes and the toothed earth howled up at him with rancid breath. Desperately, Kupselion took scoop of spoil with his trowel and tossed them down into this bottomless pit, writhing with hateful death. He felt like a man vomiting, hunched there on his knees, trying to conceal his shame. Viridiana and Kaahn laughed, the pit swallowed the dirt he tried to throw into it, and soon enough Kupselion fell, flipping end over end, right into sweaty wakefulness, in bed beside his ignorant beloved, deep in the silent night.
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