Lilac Lake

Location description/setting.

This topic has 0 replies, 1 voice, and was last updated 11 months, 2 weeks ago by Ostara.

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    • #141697

      <p style=”text-align: center;”>
      It has long been rumored that deep within the Flooded Forest of Dreams lies a glittering lake of bone and lavender mist, beside which a slanted cottage sits. Settled along its rocky shores, it beckons to those who seek the services of the wraithlike woman that calls this place of haunting beauty home. However, even the bravest of travelers must first make their way through the forest that is Ostara’s domain, a disorienting labyrinth that has claimed more then the sanity of just one soul with its maze like twists and turns..

      The psalms of night fade with a sudden and alarming jolt as the threshold into the dense and eerie wildwood is crossed, a drowned landscape so quiet it feels like stepping into an entirely different world. The silence here is thick and hangs heavy, a blanket of suffocating stillness that could more accurately be described as a complete absence of sound. All encompassing, it seems to have its own presence, an aura of heaviness that weighs down on ones senses as if trying to lull those that wander through it into a sleepy daze. No birds chirp, no insects scurry. Not a single creature stirs. Even the very wind seems to have deserted this place for nothing rustles–no breeze to be felt and yet, the air is cool like the kiss of autumn upon ones skin.

      The trees that are found here are monstrous and gnarled, formed out of papery bark as black as charcoal. Branches twist and curve at impossible and unnatural angles– snaking and writhing, bending and flaring out in all manner of direction. Almost as if they had a mind of their own and would grow in any way they deemed fit. Roots tear and rip themselves free from patches of earth that lie scattered like floating islands, protruding at random and rising like ledges across the ground. Shallow pockets of water sink into the terrain, at times forming rivers that cut into the ground, feeding those upturned and prehistoric limbs which shaped themselves into bridges and arches that stretched across both water and land. But it was not just from dampened soil that those ancient wonders sprung, for just as many rose up from the shallow depths in which they lay submerged.

      In contrast to the darkened trees, the wildwood burned with colour. Bright and vibrant bulbs of sapphire were strung like lanterns, hanging in vines from those indecisive branches. The exotic blooms permeated an intoxicating fragrance that perfumed the air, invading ones senses and providing an almost sedative calmness that only increased the desire for sleep. The forest floor consists of a carpet of fallen leaves and bizarre purple moss that creeps across the ground, spreading up twisted limbs of bark and clinging to the knotted surface.

      Hour after hour passes, leaving those who tread through the shade of undergrowth with the overwhelming feeling of panic and dread, a niggling sensation planted like a seed within ones mind, a voice that whispers that to lose ones way is inevitable, a fate succumbed to by many. But, just when all hope seems lost, through the boughs of trees, an unearthly amethyst glow can suddenly be glimpsed, radiating soft and luminous in the distance and intensifying with each step taken towards the shrubbery which soon parts to reveal a glimmering pool of violet.
      <p style=”text-align: center;”>Lilac Lake…</p>

      It was not difficult to see how the whimsical body of water had been gifted its namesake. Vapors of mist clung to its rippling surface like smoke, rolling in gentle wisps over purple tinted depths. The atmosphere here was altered, a bitter sweet ache that trembled through the air and filled one with a wistful yearning that could not be explained. The lake called quietly, an unsung melody luring those of flesh and blood closer towards its shores along which a sleepy cottage sat, overgrown with climbing moss and sprigs of poisonous blooms though it was not until one wandered to the water’s edge would they be able to detect the alabaster gleam that shone through the current, made visible by the shimmering light of a sickle moon painted above. At first, it would be easy to mistake the opalescent glare for pearl coloured rock or odd coral formations but the longer one stared, the most obvious it was that what lined the bottom of the lake was a sunken graveyard of bleached ivory bone.

      Ostara’s tiny home was illuminated with the spluttering glow of candlelight, pulses of gold trickling from the windows over which scraps of fabric had been pinned to keep out the cold for there were no panes of glass to be seen, long ago shattered by the shrieks and violent tantrums of revenge the dead often threw at her. The cottage was ramshackle at best, its roof slanted, its eaves choked with greenery. The rafters of the small porch were decorated with carved runes and cultured trinkets, windchimes crafted out of glistening bone and dangling crystals. The charms were endless, hanging from the roof and murky wooden poles, even strung along the mantlepiece of the door itself, leaving one to wonder what sights lurked within those crooked walls….


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