Tales from the Bog!
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MDLambert
- Posts: 177
- Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 5:44 am
Re: Inspired
Escape
On a blustery end-of-summer day in 1958, Allison found herself driving homeward after a stay at her sister's house in northern California. The wind whipped through her hair as she wore a striking red dress adorned with a vibrant yellow bowtie, her red lipstick and glasses adding a touch of elegance. But fate took an unexpected turn as her car suffered a flat tire, compelling her to pull over onto a secluded beach. Despite her efforts to mend the situation, the tire remained stubbornly flat, leaving Allison stranded.
Amid the vast expanse of sand and the crashing waves, a figure approached with determined footsteps. Introducing himself as John, he explained that he lived on the hill above and had heard the tire pop, prompting him to offer his assistance. The two engaged in casual conversation as John set about changing her tire, but the ease soon faded as his questions turned increasingly personal, casting a shadow of unease over Allison.
After completing the tire change, John put away his tools only to grasp the car keys from Allison's hand, leaving her stunned. As he forcefully opened the car door, Allison slid to the passenger side, her instincts taking over. Swift slaps and kicks allowed her to push John back momentarily, granting her the opportunity to exit the car. In her haste, she lost her high-heeled shoes and dashed onto the beach, putting distance between herself and the lights of the highway. But the pursuer was relentless, his cursing footsteps echoing behind her.
The beach's eerie tranquility shattered when a wet, squelching sound reached Allison's ears. Her heart raced as her foot sank into the formerly dry sand, followed by the other, and soon she found herself ensnared in the grasp of quicksand. Panic surged as she fought against the suffocating embrace, her struggles only hastening her descent. As the sand encased her waist, she fought to remain calm, conscious of her surroundings. The danger sign for quicksand lurked in the darkness nearby, a foreboding reminder of her dire predicament.
With each futile shift of her weight, Allison sank deeper, her upper body now enveloped by the wet, muddy sand. Desperation compelled her to cry out for help, but the fear of alerting John held her voice captive. The highway's distant lights offered minimal illumination, casting long shadows as she continued to sink. She clung to a fleeting hope that her pursuer had vanished, her arms now trapped beneath the encroaching sand.
Her resilience waned as the quicksand's relentless grip encroached upon her shoulders, her bowtie's end barely grazing the surface. Though she wrestled with her inner voice urging her to call for help, Allison remained resolute in her silence. However, as the sand inched towards her neck, the voice of self-preservation prevailed. A cacophony of screams echoed through the night air, merging with the waves crashing against the shore.
The unexpected sound of her car's engine roared to life, momentarily overshadowing her cries for help. The engine's growl receded into the distance as John sped away down the highway, leaving Allison to her struggle against the sand's consuming embrace. In her final desperate attempts, her cries grew more fervent, but the sand devoured her words, leaving only the chilling sensation of wet slushiness.
The following day's newspaper headlines chronicled the tale of the infamous fugitive, Allison Fairchild, who had eluded capture after allegedly murdering her husband. John's account painted a picture of recognition and pursuit, casting her as a dangerous criminal on the run. However, the truth remained hidden, known only to the relentless sands that cradled her.
On a blustery end-of-summer day in 1958, Allison found herself driving homeward after a stay at her sister's house in northern California. The wind whipped through her hair as she wore a striking red dress adorned with a vibrant yellow bowtie, her red lipstick and glasses adding a touch of elegance. But fate took an unexpected turn as her car suffered a flat tire, compelling her to pull over onto a secluded beach. Despite her efforts to mend the situation, the tire remained stubbornly flat, leaving Allison stranded.
Amid the vast expanse of sand and the crashing waves, a figure approached with determined footsteps. Introducing himself as John, he explained that he lived on the hill above and had heard the tire pop, prompting him to offer his assistance. The two engaged in casual conversation as John set about changing her tire, but the ease soon faded as his questions turned increasingly personal, casting a shadow of unease over Allison.
After completing the tire change, John put away his tools only to grasp the car keys from Allison's hand, leaving her stunned. As he forcefully opened the car door, Allison slid to the passenger side, her instincts taking over. Swift slaps and kicks allowed her to push John back momentarily, granting her the opportunity to exit the car. In her haste, she lost her high-heeled shoes and dashed onto the beach, putting distance between herself and the lights of the highway. But the pursuer was relentless, his cursing footsteps echoing behind her.
The beach's eerie tranquility shattered when a wet, squelching sound reached Allison's ears. Her heart raced as her foot sank into the formerly dry sand, followed by the other, and soon she found herself ensnared in the grasp of quicksand. Panic surged as she fought against the suffocating embrace, her struggles only hastening her descent. As the sand encased her waist, she fought to remain calm, conscious of her surroundings. The danger sign for quicksand lurked in the darkness nearby, a foreboding reminder of her dire predicament.
With each futile shift of her weight, Allison sank deeper, her upper body now enveloped by the wet, muddy sand. Desperation compelled her to cry out for help, but the fear of alerting John held her voice captive. The highway's distant lights offered minimal illumination, casting long shadows as she continued to sink. She clung to a fleeting hope that her pursuer had vanished, her arms now trapped beneath the encroaching sand.
Her resilience waned as the quicksand's relentless grip encroached upon her shoulders, her bowtie's end barely grazing the surface. Though she wrestled with her inner voice urging her to call for help, Allison remained resolute in her silence. However, as the sand inched towards her neck, the voice of self-preservation prevailed. A cacophony of screams echoed through the night air, merging with the waves crashing against the shore.
The unexpected sound of her car's engine roared to life, momentarily overshadowing her cries for help. The engine's growl receded into the distance as John sped away down the highway, leaving Allison to her struggle against the sand's consuming embrace. In her final desperate attempts, her cries grew more fervent, but the sand devoured her words, leaving only the chilling sensation of wet slushiness.
The following day's newspaper headlines chronicled the tale of the infamous fugitive, Allison Fairchild, who had eluded capture after allegedly murdering her husband. John's account painted a picture of recognition and pursuit, casting her as a dangerous criminal on the run. However, the truth remained hidden, known only to the relentless sands that cradled her.
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sixgunzloaded
- Posts: 976
- Joined: Tue May 05, 2015 2:16 pm
Re: Inspired
Oh, nice! 'Witchcraft' is awesome. It looks like a screen capture from a horror movie. Well done! 
How long did Tarzan watch before deciding to save Jill..?
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Jinn
- Posts: 330
- Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 5:47 pm
- Contact:
Re: Inspired
I can’t decide if these creepy tales invoke a bigger nightmare or boner. Well done, I’m really enjoying these.
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MDLambert
- Posts: 177
- Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 5:44 am
Re: Inspired
The Duel
In a realm where honor and valor were the pillars of knighthood, two young women, both skilled and steadfast, found themselves at odds on the outskirts of a murky battlefield, surrounded by the eerie tranquility of the sands. With eyes locked, their determination flickered like the torchlight against the encroaching darkness.
The older of the two, Seraphina, her armor glinting under the fading sun, her voice unwavering, spoke her thoughts firmly, believing in her cause. Across from her stood Isolde, a year younger but no less resolute, her fiery hair reflecting her fervor for her own perspective.
As words turned into heated exchanges, the tension escalated, transforming the verbal duel into one of steel and strength. The clashing of swords echoed through the swamp, a dance of parries and thrusts that showcased their equal skills. The sandy muck beneath them grew thicker, matching the storm that brewed in their hearts.
Their fight raged on, neither yielding, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows over the quagmire. The battle seemed endless, their breaths mingling with the humid air, until a fateful step led them to the treacherous quicksand that surrounded them. The ground gave way beneath their armored boots, and they found themselves waist-deep in the perilous grip of the mud.
Amidst the sinking despair, the clash of blades continued, stubbornness engrained deep within them. The realization that they were ensnared in an inescapable peril gradually sank in, mirroring the relentless pull of the quicksand itself. Waist-deep and still fighting, the gravity of their situation struck them like a thunderbolt.
Putting aside their dispute, Seraphina and Isolde shared a glance, a moment of understanding amid the chaos. Their battle-worn gazes met, and they abandoned their blades, reaching for any semblance of escape. Seraphina, with her quick thinking, managed to grasp onto a nearby vine, her fingers white-knuckled as she wiggled free. But Isolde, with no such anchor, found herself in a dire predicament.
The urgency of their situation eclipsed their conflict. Isolde made a selfless decision, pushing Seraphina free from the quicksand's grasp, sacrificing her own chance at salvation. The vine snapped, and Isolde sank further, her eyes locked onto Seraphina's. In an instant, the swamp swallowed her, leaving behind only ripples on the surface.
Seraphina's heart wrenched with a mixture of grief, regret, and the realization of her own stubbornness. She drove her sword into the ground next to the quicksand, a monument to the loss she could have prevented. Tears mixed with sweat dripped off jer cheek, she turned away from the swamp, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her fallen comrade. The once fierce determination had transformed into a somber contemplation, as she journeyed back to town, burdened by the knowledge that their dispute had led to a tragic end.
In a realm where honor and valor were the pillars of knighthood, two young women, both skilled and steadfast, found themselves at odds on the outskirts of a murky battlefield, surrounded by the eerie tranquility of the sands. With eyes locked, their determination flickered like the torchlight against the encroaching darkness.
The older of the two, Seraphina, her armor glinting under the fading sun, her voice unwavering, spoke her thoughts firmly, believing in her cause. Across from her stood Isolde, a year younger but no less resolute, her fiery hair reflecting her fervor for her own perspective.
As words turned into heated exchanges, the tension escalated, transforming the verbal duel into one of steel and strength. The clashing of swords echoed through the swamp, a dance of parries and thrusts that showcased their equal skills. The sandy muck beneath them grew thicker, matching the storm that brewed in their hearts.
Their fight raged on, neither yielding, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows over the quagmire. The battle seemed endless, their breaths mingling with the humid air, until a fateful step led them to the treacherous quicksand that surrounded them. The ground gave way beneath their armored boots, and they found themselves waist-deep in the perilous grip of the mud.
Amidst the sinking despair, the clash of blades continued, stubbornness engrained deep within them. The realization that they were ensnared in an inescapable peril gradually sank in, mirroring the relentless pull of the quicksand itself. Waist-deep and still fighting, the gravity of their situation struck them like a thunderbolt.
Putting aside their dispute, Seraphina and Isolde shared a glance, a moment of understanding amid the chaos. Their battle-worn gazes met, and they abandoned their blades, reaching for any semblance of escape. Seraphina, with her quick thinking, managed to grasp onto a nearby vine, her fingers white-knuckled as she wiggled free. But Isolde, with no such anchor, found herself in a dire predicament.
The urgency of their situation eclipsed their conflict. Isolde made a selfless decision, pushing Seraphina free from the quicksand's grasp, sacrificing her own chance at salvation. The vine snapped, and Isolde sank further, her eyes locked onto Seraphina's. In an instant, the swamp swallowed her, leaving behind only ripples on the surface.
Seraphina's heart wrenched with a mixture of grief, regret, and the realization of her own stubbornness. She drove her sword into the ground next to the quicksand, a monument to the loss she could have prevented. Tears mixed with sweat dripped off jer cheek, she turned away from the swamp, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her fallen comrade. The once fierce determination had transformed into a somber contemplation, as she journeyed back to town, burdened by the knowledge that their dispute had led to a tragic end.
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Viridian
- Posts: 1752
- Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 4:03 am
Re: Inspired
Damn, that's the best fantasy sequence yet.
Viridian @ deviantART: http://viridianqs.deviantart.com/
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sixgunzloaded
- Posts: 976
- Joined: Tue May 05, 2015 2:16 pm
Re: Inspired
WOW! This is amazing! Especially the second one with all the action and the hair and the muck flying around. And their expressions in the third and fourth frames...wow! Amazing job, thank you!
How long did Tarzan watch before deciding to save Jill..?
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Jinn
- Posts: 330
- Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 5:47 pm
- Contact:
Re: Inspired
Wow, ninja. That’s the coolest. Fantastic images, especially the struggling ones at the end. I can’t imagine that body armor of theirs would make escaping very easy, I’m getting claustrophobic just thinking about it.
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MDLambert
- Posts: 177
- Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 5:44 am
Re: Inspired
thanks for the positive replies! I have a few more in the works.
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MDLambert
- Posts: 177
- Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 5:44 am
Re: Tales from the Bog!
In the outskirts of the quaint medieval town of Argeelia, there lay a mysterious charm within the mist. Amidst this enigmatic atmosphere, a picturesque 19-year-old peasant girl named Ingrid lived her modest life. Her appearance was graced by the elegance of her long black hair cascading over her fair complexion. She donned the customary attire of a peasant, blending seamlessly into the rustic scenery.
One of Ingrid's preferred pastimes was venturing into the nearby swamp in search of elusive mushrooms. The swamp was an ethereal realm, veiled in thick fog that lent an air of enchantment. Deep black mud intermingled with tufts of grass, creating a surreal landscape that held an allure all its own. Yet, hidden amidst the swamp's beauty were treacherous patches of deadly muddy quicksand. Despite the dangers that lurked, Ingrid possessed an intimate familiarity with the swamp's perilous landscape, her keen eye adept at detecting the perilous quicksand.
After an entire week of foraging for mushrooms, Ingrid's woven basket remained disappointingly sparse. Fueled by determination, she resolved to venture deeper into the heart of the swamp. It was there that her journey led her to a realm where cobblestone ruins intertwined with fragments of ruined elven architecture. Amongst the eerie remnants of history, Ingrid's eyes widened in awe as she stumbled upon the most magnificent mushrooms she had ever encountered.
Pausing to relish the exquisite scenery of the elven ruins, Ingrid remained oblivious to the ominous transformation that unfolded nearby. A dark figure, emerging from the depths of the mud, took on a humanoid form. Startled by the sight, Ingrid instinctively retreated from the cobblestones, unintentionally stumbling into a perilous quicksand patch. Fear gripped her, yet her knowledge guided her not to struggle, knowing the perils of such a choice.
"What are you?" Ingrid's voice trembled, a mix of curiosity and apprehension evident in her tone. The shape-shifting mass of mud and slime began to evolve, sculpting itself into a legless female figure. The metamorphosis was astonishing, both shocking and intriguing Ingrid.
"I am… I am…" the mud creature stammered, its voice initially a shrill cacophony that gradually coalesced into coherent words. "I don't know what I am, but I am," it continued. Ingrid's curiosity grew, and she inquired about the creature's origins. In a voice borne of ancient mysteries, the creature recounted how it had been a part of the land, a presence as old as the elven magic that once graced the land. As centuries passed, it acquired the ability to move, eventually learning to mimic the forms of those who ventured into its domain.
As Ingrid found herself sinking deeper into the quicksand, the creature's tale unfolded against the backdrop of her struggle. The mud reached her waist, then her chest, and the urgency of her predicament became evident. She implored the creature for aid, her frustration palpable. Yet, the creature explained that it could not help her; it fed on human life force, and thus, her predicament only empowered it.
Desperation took hold of Ingrid as she screamed for help, her cries echoing through the mist-shrouded ruins. The mud continued its relentless advance, enveloping her until only her head remained above the sludge. The creature withdrew into the muck, then reappeared behind her. Its arms rested gently yet firmly on her shoulders, a strange magic transferring warmth and energy.
In a moment of profound connection, the creature's strength infused Ingrid, and with a decisive push, it guided her downward. The mud engulfed her with eager determination, the last sight she beheld a sky tinged with despair. As her vision narrowed, the world of the living faded, and the mud swallowed her whole.
Moments later, the creature emerged from the mud, solidifying on the elven cobblestone. Its form transformed, becoming an uncanny duplicate of Ingrid. With a solemn promise, it spoke, "Don't worry, child. I will take your place." Resolute, the newly formed Ingrid stepped upon the swamp's surface, clutching the basket of mushrooms. The ruins faded into the fog as she journeyed towards the town, each step purposeful and deliberate.
And as the mist wrapped around the ancient ruins, they seemed to exhale a sigh of acceptance, as if acknowledging the mysteries and transformations woven within their midst.
One of Ingrid's preferred pastimes was venturing into the nearby swamp in search of elusive mushrooms. The swamp was an ethereal realm, veiled in thick fog that lent an air of enchantment. Deep black mud intermingled with tufts of grass, creating a surreal landscape that held an allure all its own. Yet, hidden amidst the swamp's beauty were treacherous patches of deadly muddy quicksand. Despite the dangers that lurked, Ingrid possessed an intimate familiarity with the swamp's perilous landscape, her keen eye adept at detecting the perilous quicksand.
After an entire week of foraging for mushrooms, Ingrid's woven basket remained disappointingly sparse. Fueled by determination, she resolved to venture deeper into the heart of the swamp. It was there that her journey led her to a realm where cobblestone ruins intertwined with fragments of ruined elven architecture. Amongst the eerie remnants of history, Ingrid's eyes widened in awe as she stumbled upon the most magnificent mushrooms she had ever encountered.
Pausing to relish the exquisite scenery of the elven ruins, Ingrid remained oblivious to the ominous transformation that unfolded nearby. A dark figure, emerging from the depths of the mud, took on a humanoid form. Startled by the sight, Ingrid instinctively retreated from the cobblestones, unintentionally stumbling into a perilous quicksand patch. Fear gripped her, yet her knowledge guided her not to struggle, knowing the perils of such a choice.
"What are you?" Ingrid's voice trembled, a mix of curiosity and apprehension evident in her tone. The shape-shifting mass of mud and slime began to evolve, sculpting itself into a legless female figure. The metamorphosis was astonishing, both shocking and intriguing Ingrid.
"I am… I am…" the mud creature stammered, its voice initially a shrill cacophony that gradually coalesced into coherent words. "I don't know what I am, but I am," it continued. Ingrid's curiosity grew, and she inquired about the creature's origins. In a voice borne of ancient mysteries, the creature recounted how it had been a part of the land, a presence as old as the elven magic that once graced the land. As centuries passed, it acquired the ability to move, eventually learning to mimic the forms of those who ventured into its domain.
As Ingrid found herself sinking deeper into the quicksand, the creature's tale unfolded against the backdrop of her struggle. The mud reached her waist, then her chest, and the urgency of her predicament became evident. She implored the creature for aid, her frustration palpable. Yet, the creature explained that it could not help her; it fed on human life force, and thus, her predicament only empowered it.
Desperation took hold of Ingrid as she screamed for help, her cries echoing through the mist-shrouded ruins. The mud continued its relentless advance, enveloping her until only her head remained above the sludge. The creature withdrew into the muck, then reappeared behind her. Its arms rested gently yet firmly on her shoulders, a strange magic transferring warmth and energy.
In a moment of profound connection, the creature's strength infused Ingrid, and with a decisive push, it guided her downward. The mud engulfed her with eager determination, the last sight she beheld a sky tinged with despair. As her vision narrowed, the world of the living faded, and the mud swallowed her whole.
Moments later, the creature emerged from the mud, solidifying on the elven cobblestone. Its form transformed, becoming an uncanny duplicate of Ingrid. With a solemn promise, it spoke, "Don't worry, child. I will take your place." Resolute, the newly formed Ingrid stepped upon the swamp's surface, clutching the basket of mushrooms. The ruins faded into the fog as she journeyed towards the town, each step purposeful and deliberate.
And as the mist wrapped around the ancient ruins, they seemed to exhale a sigh of acceptance, as if acknowledging the mysteries and transformations woven within their midst.
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