OMG 😱😱😱 BRUDI👬 KOMM 😴😴 RUNTER BRUDI ⬇⬇ BERUHIG ☕☕ DICH⬇⬇ WEIßT DU WARUM!? WL 💁💁 ES WAR NUR EIN STREICH 😂😂😂 😛😜 HAHAHA VERARSCHT 👌👌 DU DUMMER MONGO 😂😁😁 DA IST EINE KAMERA 📹📷 GENAU DA 👈👇👆☝ DRÜBEN 📍DU H0M0 👨❤️💋👨👨❤️💋👨👐WIR 👨👨👦 HABEN DICH VERARSCHT BRUDI👬. ICH WETTE DU WUSSTEST 🙅🙅NICHT 💆WIE DU REAGIEREN SOLLTEST ALS MEIN 🙋 BRUDI DETLEF 😎😎 HOCH KAM ⬆ ZU DIR UND 💦💦😫😫 KOMPLETT ÜBER DEINE 👖👖 SÜßEN JEANS GESPRITZT HAT 😂😂 ES WAR SO LUSTIG 😂😛😀😀😅 JETZT HAST DU 🙋👅👅 ETWAS BABY 👶👶 SAUCE 💦🍲 ÜBERALL ÜBER DEM ZEUG 😵😵
OMG 😱😱😱 BRUDI👬 KOMM 😴😴 RUNTER BRUDI ⬇⬇ BERUHIG ☕☕ DICH⬇⬇ WEIßT DU WARUM!? WL 💁💁 ES WAR NUR EIN STREICH 😂😂😂 😛😜 HAHAHA VERARSCHT 👌👌 DU DUMMER MONGO 😂😁😁 DA IST EINE KAMERA 📹📷 GENAU DA 👈👇👆☝ DRÜBEN 📍DU H0M0 👨❤️💋👨👨❤️💋👨👐WIR 👨👨👦 HABEN DICH VERARSCHT BRUDI👬. ICH WETTE DU WUSSTEST 🙅🙅NICHT 💆WIE DU REAGIEREN SOLLTEST ALS MEIN 🙋 BRUDI DETLEF 😎😎 HOCH KAM ⬆ ZU DIR UND 💦💦😫😫 KOMPLETT ÜBER DEINE 👖👖 SÜßEN JEANS GESPRITZT HAT 😂😂 ES WAR SO LUSTIG 😂😛😀😀😅 JETZT HAST DU 🙋👅👅 ETWAS BABY 👶👶 SAUCE 💦🍲 ÜBERALL ÜBER DEM ZEUG 😵😵
Spunki, that meme you just posted was so poorly crafted, you brought shame to germany and its language.
All my life I've been fascinated with history, and beginning in middle school (around age 12) I became especially interested in germany, more specifically the Holocaust and the Nazi regime. Every time the subject came up in school I would pay attention moreso than in other classes, and no matter the class I would try to relate papers and assingments back to my passion: the Holocaust. Obviously people took notice, and I became known as the kid who liked the Holocaust. Most of them didn't think it was too weird, they just thought it was a hobby and they would sometimes talk to me if they had any questions. I didn't think it was weird either, I just found the horrible atrocities fascinating to learn about.
Because of this interest I majored in history at Harvard College, despite what people said about history not being the safest major due to lack of jobs. Regardless I pushed through, got my PhD, and wrote all the papers I could on my beloved Holocaust
Come the end of the education chapter in the book of my life I had to move on and find a job. But what people said was right. There were no jobs for a Holocaust fanatic such as myself. Within a year I was homeless, living on the streets. I'd curl up in my refrigerator box, thinking back on my life.
Was it worth it to major in what I loved, was it worth being homeless to persue my passion: the Holocaust?
I had never been able to answer that question. Because I just didn't know. That is until now, now I know it was all worth it, because I can say with absolute certainty that your comment is literally worse than Hitler
it wasn't about including all known db regulars it was about giving a general idea
ppl need to fucking stop getting triggered they weren't mentioned it's not like i remember all of u by heart
When I drew nigh the nameless city I knew it was accursed. I was traveling in a parched and terrible valley under the moon, and afar I saw it protruding uncannily above the sands as parts of a corpse may protrude from an ill-made grave. Fear spoke from the age-worn stones of this hoary survivor of the deluge, this great-grandfather of the eldest pyramid; and a viewless aura repelled me and bade me retreat from antique and sinister secrets that no man should see, and no man else had dared to see.
Remote in the desert of Araby lies the nameless city, crumbling and inarticulate, its low walls nearly hidden by the sands of uncounted ages. It must have been thus before the first stones of Memphis were laid, and while the bricks of Babylon were yet unbaked. There is no legend so old as to give it a name, or to recall that it was ever alive; but it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered about by grandams in the tents of sheiks so that all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why. It was of this place that Abdul Alhazred the mad poet dreamed of the night before he sang his unexplained couplet:
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons death may die.
I should have known that the Arabs had good reason for shunning the nameless city, the city told of in strange tales but seen by no living man, yet I defied them and went into the untrodden waste with my camel. I alone have seen it, and that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine; why no other man shivers so horribly when the night wind rattles the windows. When I came upon it in the ghastly stillness of unending sleep it looked at me, chilly from the rays of a cold moon amidst the desert's heat. And as I returned its look I forgot my triumph at finding it, and stopped still with my camel to wait for the dawn.
For hours I waited, till the east grew grey and the stars faded, and the grey turned to roseate light edged with gold. I heard a moaning and saw a storm of sand stirring among the antique stones though the sky was clear and the vast reaches of desert still. Then suddenly above the desert's far rim came the blazing edge of the sun, seen through the tiny sandstorm which was passing away, and in my fevered state I fancied that from some remote depth there came a crash of musical metal to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the banks of the Nile. My ears rang and my imagination seethed as I led my camel slowly across the sand to that unvocal place; that place which I alone of living men had seen.
In and out amongst the shapeless foundations of houses and places I wandered, finding never a carving or inscription to tell of these men, if men they were, who built this city and dwelt therein so long ago. The antiquity of the spot was unwholesome, and I longed to encounter some sign or device to prove that the city was indeed fashioned by mankind. There were certain proportions and dimensions in the ruins which I did not like. I had with me many tools, and dug much within the walls of the obliterated edifices; but progress was slow, and nothing significant was revealed. When night and the moon returned I felt a chill wind which brought new fear, so that I did not dare to remain in the city. And as I went outside the antique walls to sleep, a small sighing sandstorm gathered behind me, blowing over the grey stones though the moon was bright and most of the desert still.
I awakened just at dawn from a pageant of horrible dreams, my ears ringing as from some metallic peal. I saw the sun peering redly through the last gusts of a little sandstorm that hovered over the nameless city, and marked the quietness of the rest of the landscape. Once more I ventured within those brooding ruins that swelled beneath the sand like an ogre under a coverlet, and again dug vainly for relics of the forgotten race. At noon I rested, and in the afternoon I spent much time tracing the walls and bygone streets, and the outlines of the nearly vanished buildings. I saw that the city had been mighty indeed, and wondered at the sources of its greatness. To myself I pictured all the spendours of an age so distant that Chaldaea could not recall it, and thought of Sarnath the Doomed, that stood in the land of Mnar when mankind was young, and of Ib, that was carven of grey stone before mankind existed.
All at once I came upon a place where the bedrock rose stark through the sand and formed a low cliff; and here I saw with joy what seemed to promise further traces of the antediluvian people. Hewn rudely on the face of the cliff were the unmistakable facades of several small, squat rock houses or temples; whose interiors might preserve many secrets of ages too remote for calculation, though sandstorms had long effaced any carvings which may have been outside.
Very low and sand-choked were all the dark apertures near me, but I cleared one with my spade and crawled through it, carrying a torch to reveal whatever mysteries it might hold. When I was inside I saw that the cavern was indeed a temple, and beheld plain signs of the race that had lived and worshipped before the desert was a desert. Primitive altars, pillars, and niches, all curiously low, were not absent; and though I saw no sculptures or frescoes, there were many singular stones clearly shaped into symbols by artificial means. The lowness of the chiselled chamber was very strange, for I could hardly kneel upright; but the area was so great that my torch showed only part of it at a time. I shuddered oddly in some of the far corners; for certain altars and stones suggested forgotten rites of terrible, revolting and inexplicable nature and made me wonder what manner of men could have made and frequented such a temple. When I had seen all that the place contained, I crawled out again, avid to find what the temples might yield.
Night had now approached, yet the tangible things I had seen made curiosity stronger than fear, so that I did not flee from the long mooncast shadows that had daunted me when first I saw the nameless city. In the twilight I cleared another aperture and with a new torch crawled into it, finding more vague stones and symbols, though nothing more definite than the other temple had contained. The room was just as low, but much less broad, ending in a very narrow passage crowded with obscure and cryptical shrines. About these shrines I was prying when the noise of a wind and my camel outside broke through the stillness and drew me forth to see what could have frightened the beast.
The moon was gleaming vividly over the primitive ruins, lighting a dense cloud of sand that seemed blown by a strong but decreasing wind from some point along the cliff ahead of me. I knew it was this chilly, sandy wind which had disturbed the camel and was about to lead him to a place of better shelter when I chanced to glance up and saw that there was no wind atop the cliff. This astonished me and made me fearful again, but I immediately recalled the sudden local winds that I had seen and heard before at sunrise and sunset, and judged it was a normal thing. I decided it came from some rock fissure leading to a cave, and watched the troubled sand to trace it to its source; soon perceiving that it came from the black orifice of a temple a long distance south of me, almost out of sight. Against the choking sand-cloud I plodded toward this temple, which as I neared it loomed larger than the rest, and shewed a doorway far less clogged with caked sand. I would have entered had not the terrific force of the icy wind almost quenched my torch. It poured madly out of the dark door, sighing uncannily as it ruffled the sand and spread among the weird ruins. Soon it grew fainter and the sand grew more and more still, till finally all was at rest again; but a presence seemed stalking among the spectral stones of the city, and when I glanced at the moon it seemed to quiver as though mirrored in unquiet waters. I was more afraid than I could explain, but not enough to dull my thirst for wonder; so as soon as the wind was quite gone I crossed into the dark chamber from which it had come.
This temple, as I had fancied from the outside, was larger than either of those I had visited before; and was presumably a natural cavern since it bore winds from some region beyond. Here I could stand quite upright, but saw that the stones and altars were as low as those in the other temples. On the walls and roof I beheld for the first time some traces of the pictorial art of the ancient race, curious curling streaks of paint that had almost faded or crumbled away; and on two of the altars I saw with rising excitement a maze of well-fashioned curvilinear carvings. As I held my torch aloft it seemed to me that the shape of the roof was too regular to be natural, and I wondered what the prehistoric cutters of stone had first worked upon. Their engineering skill must have been vast.
Then a brighter flare of the fantastic flame showed that form which I had been seeking, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden wind had blown; and I grew faint when I saw that it was a small and plainly artificial door chiselled in the solid rock. I thrust my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof arching low over a rough flight of very small, numerous and steeply descending steps. I shall always see those steps in my dreams, for I came to learn what they meant. At the time I hardly knew whether to call them steps or mere footholds in a precipitous descent. My mind was whirling with mad thoughts, and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to float across the desert from the land that men know to the nameless city that men dare not know. Yet I hesitated only for a moment before advancing through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep passage, feet first, as though on a ladder.
It is only in the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have such a descent as mine. The narrow passage led infinitely down like some hideous haunted well, and the torch I held above my head could not light the unknown depths toward which I was crawling. I lost track of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I was frightened when I thought of the distance I must be traversing. There were changes of direction and of steepness; and once I came to a long, low, level passage where I had to wriggle my feet first along the rocky floor, holding torch at arm's length beyond my head. The place was not high enough for kneeling. After that were more of the steep steps, and I was still scrambling down interminably when my failing torch died out. I do not think I noticed it at the time, for when I did notice it I was still holding it above me as if it were ablaze. I was quite unbalanced with that instinct for the strange and the unknown which had made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and forbidden places.
In the darkness there flashed before my mind fragments of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and infamous lines from the delirious Image du Monde of Gauthier de Metz. I repeated queer extracts, and muttered of Afrasiab and the daemons that floated with him down the Oxus; later chanting over and over again a phrase from one of Lord Dunsany's tales--"The unreveberate blackness of the abyss." Once when the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in sing-song from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more:
A reservoir of darkness, black
As witches' cauldrons are, when fill'd
With moon-drugs in th' eclipse distill'd
Leaning to look if foot might pass
Down thro' that chasm, I saw, beneath,
As far as vision could explore,
The jetty sides as smooth as glass,
Looking as if just varnish'd o'er
With that dark pitch the Seat of Death
Throws out upon its slimy shore.
Time had quite ceased to exist when my feet again felt a level floor, and I found myself in a place slightly higher than the rooms in the two smaller temples now so incalculably far above my head. I could not quite stand, but could kneel upright, and in the dark I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. I soon knew that I was in a narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood having glass fronts. As in that Palaeozoic and abysmal place I felt of such things as polished wood and glass I shuddered at the possible implications. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the passage at regular intervals, and were oblong and horizontal, hideously like coffins in shape and size. When I tried to move two or three for further examination, I found that they were firmly fastened.
I saw that the passage was a long one, so floundered ahead rapidly in a creeping run that would have seemed horrible had any eye watched me in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally to feel of my surroundings and be sure the walls and rows of cases still stretched on. Man is so used to thinking visually that I almost forgot the darkness and pictured the endless corridor of wood and glass in its low-studded monotony as though I saw it. And then in a moment of indescribable emotion I did see it.
Just when my fancy merged into real sight I cannot tell; but there came a gradual glow ahead, and all at once I knew that I saw the dim outlines of a corridor and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. For a little while all was exactly as I had imagined it, since the glow was very faint; but as I mechanically kept stumbling ahead into the stronger light I realised that my fancy had been but feeble. This hall was no relic of crudity like the temples in the city above, but a monument of the most magnificent and exotic art. Rich, vivid, and daringly fantastic designs and pictures formed a continuous scheme of mural paintings whose lines and colours were beyond description. The cases were of a strange golden wood, with fronts of exquisite glass, and containing the mummified forms of creatures outreaching in grotesqueness the most chaotic dreams of man.
To convey any idea of these monstrosities is impossible. They were of the reptile kind, with body lines suggesting sometimes the crocodile, sometimes the seal, but more often nothing of which either the naturalist or the palaeontologist ever heard. In size they approximated a small man, and their fore-legs bore delicate and evident feet curiously like human hands and fingers. But strangest of all were their heads, which presented a contour violating all know biological principles. To nothing can such things be well compared - in one flash I thought of comparisons as varied as the cat, the bullfrog, the mythic Satyr, and the human being. Not Jove himself had had so colossal and protuberant a forehead, yet the horns and the noselessness and the alligator-like jaw placed things outside all established categories. I debated for a time on the reality of the mummies, half suspecting they were artificial idols; but soon decided they were indeed some palaeogean species which had lived when the nameless city was alive. To crown their grotesqueness, most of them were gorgeously enrobed in the costliest of fabrics, and lavishly laden with ornaments of gold, jewels, and unknown shining metals.
The importance of these crawling creatures must have been vast, for they held first place among the wild designs on the frescoed walls and ceiling. With matchless skill had the artist drawn them in a world of their own, wherein they had cities and gardens fashioned to suit their dimensions; and I could not help but think that their pictured history was allegorical, perhaps shewing the progress of the race that worshipped them. These creatures, I said to myself, were to men of the nameless city what the she-wolf was to Rome, or some totem-beast is to a tribe of Indians.
Holding this view, I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the nameless city; the tale of a mighty seacoast metropolis that ruled the world before Africa rose out of the waves, and of its struggles as the sea shrank away, and the desert crept into the fertile valley that held it. I saw its wars and triumphs, its troubles and defeats, and afterwards its terrible fight against the desert when thousands of its people - here represented in allegory by the grotesque reptiles - were driven to chisel their way down though the rocks in some marvellous manner to another world whereof their prophets had told them. It was all vividly weird and realistic, and its connection with the awesome descent I had made was unmistakable. I even recognized the passages.
As I crept along the corridor toward the brighter light I saw later stages of the painted epic - the leave-taking of the race that had dwelt in the nameless city and the valley around for ten million years; the race whose souls shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long where they had settled as nomads in the earth's youth, hewing in the virgin rock those primal shrines at which they had never ceased to worship. Now that the light was better I studied the pictures more closely and, remembering that the strange reptiles must represent the unknown men, pondered upon the customs of the nameless city. Many things were peculiar and inexplicable. The civilization, which included a written alphabet, had seemingly risen to a higher order than those immeasurably later civilizations of Egypt and Chaldaea, yet there were curious omissions. I could, for example, find no pictures to represent deaths or funeral customs, save such as were related to wars, violence, and plagues; and I wondered at the reticence shown concerning natural death. It was as though an ideal of immortality had been fostered as a cheering illusion.
Still nearer the end of the passage was painted scenes of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance: contrasted views of the nameless city in its desertion and growing ruin, and of the strange new realm of paradise to which the race had hewed its way through the stone. In these views the city and the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight, golden nimbus hovering over the fallen walls, and half-revealing the splendid perfection of former times, shown spectrally and elusively by the artist. The paradisal scenes were almost too extravagant to be believed, portraying a hidden world of eternal day filled with glorious cities and ethereal hills and valleys. At the very last I thought I saw signs of an artistic anticlimax. The paintings were less skillful, and much more bizarre than even the wildest of the earlier scenes. They seemed to record a slow decadence of the ancient stock, coupled with a growing ferocity toward the outside world from which it was driven by the desert. The forms of the people - always represented by the sacred reptiles - appeared to be gradually wasting away, though their spirit as shewn hovering above the ruins by moonlight gained in proportion. Emaciated priests, displayed as reptiles in ornate robes, cursed the upper air and all who breathed it; and one terrible final scene shewed a primitive-looking man, perhaps a pioneer of ancient Irem, the City of Pillars, torn to pieces by members of the elder race. I remembered how the Arabs fear the nameless city, and was glad that beyond this place the grey walls and ceiling were bare.
As I viewed the pageant of mural history I had approached very closely to the end of the low-ceiled hall, and was aware of a gate through which came all of the illuminating phosphorescence. Creeping up to it, I cried aloud in transcendent amazement at what lay beyond; for instead of other and brighter chambers there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the peak of Mount Everest upon a sea of sunlit mist. Behind me was a passage so cramped that I could not stand upright in it; before me was an infinity of subterranean effulgence.
Reaching down from the passage into the abyss was the head of a steep flight of steps - small numerous steps like those of black passages I had traversed - but after a few feet the glowing vapours concealed everything. Swung back open against the left-hand wall of the passage was a massive door of brass, incredibly thick and decorated with fantastic bas-reliefs, which could if closed shut the whole inner world of light away from the vaults and passages of rock. I looked at the steps, and for the nonce dared not try them. I touched the open brass door, and could not move it. Then I sank prone to the stone floor, my mind aflame with prodigious reflections which not even a death-like exhaustion could banish.
As I lay still with closed eyes, free to ponder, many things I had lightly noted in the frescoes came back to me with new and terrible significance - scenes representing the nameless city in its heyday - the vegetations of the valley around it, and the distant lands with which its merchants traded. The allegory of the crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence, and I wondered that it would be so closely followed in a pictured history of such importance. In the frescoes the nameless city had been shewn in proportions fitted to the reptiles. I wondered what its real proportions and magnificence had been, and reflected a moment on certain oddities I had noticed in the ruins. I thought curiously of the lowness of the primal temples and of the underground corridor, which were doubtless hewn thus out of deference to the reptile deities there honoured; though it perforce reduced the worshippers to crawling. Perhaps the very rites here involved crawling in imitation of the creatures. No religious theory, however, could easily explain why the level passages in that awesome descent should be as low as the temples - or lower, since one could not even kneel in it. As I thought of the crawling creatures, whose hideous mummified forms were so close to me, I felt a new throb of fear. Mental associations are curious, and I shrank from the idea that except for the poor primitive man torn to pieces in the last painting, mine was the only human form amidst the many relics and symbols of the primordial life.
But as always in my strange and roving existence, wonder soon drove out fear; for the luminous abyss and what it might contain presented a problem worthy of the greatest explorer. That a weird world of mystery lay far down that flight of peculiarly small steps I could not doubt, and I hoped to find there those human memorials which the painted corridor had failed to give. The frescoes had pictured unbelievable cities, and valleys in this lower realm, and my fancy dwelt on the rich and colossal ruins that awaited me.
My fears, indeed, concerned the past rather than the future. Not even the physical horror of my position in that cramped corridor of dead reptiles and antediluvian frescoes, miles below the world I knew and faced by another world of eery light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt at the abysmal antiquity of the scene and its soul. An ancientness so vast that measurement is feeble seemed to leer down from the primal stones and rock-hewn temples of the nameless city, while the very latest of the astounding maps in the frescoes shewed oceans and continents that man has forgotten, with only here and there some vaguely familiar outlines. Of what could have happened in the geological ages since the paintings ceased and the death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no man might say. Life had once teemed in these caverns and in the luminous realm beyond; now I was alone with vivid relics, and I trembled to think of the countless ages through which these relics had kept a silent deserted vigil.
Suddenly there came another burst of that acute fear which had intermittently seized me ever since I first saw the terrible valley and the nameless city under a cold moon, and despite my exhaustion I found myself starting frantically to a sitting posture and gazing back along the black corridor toward the tunnels that rose to the outer world. My sensations were like those which had made me shun the nameless city at night, and were as inexplicable as they were poignant. In another moment, however, I received a still greater shock in the form of a definite sound - the first which had broken the utter silence of these tomb-like depths. It was a deep, low moaning, as of a distant throng of condemned spirits, and came from the direction in which I was staring. Its volume rapidly grew, till it soon reverberated frightfully through the low passage, and at the same time I became conscious of an increasing draught of cold air, likewise flowing from the tunnels and the city above. The touch of this air seemed to restore my balance, for I instantly recalled the sudden gusts which had risen around the mouth of the abyss each sunset and sunrise, one of which had indeed revealed the hidden tunnels to me. I looked at my watch and saw that sunrise was near, so braced myself to resist the gale that was sweeping down to its cavern home as it had swept forth at evening. My fear again waned low, since a natural phenomenon tends to dispel broodings over the unknown.
More and more madly poured the shrieking, moaning night wind into the gulf of the inner earth. I dropped prone again and clutched vainly at the floor for fear of being swept bodily through the open gate into the phosphorescent abyss. Such fury I had not expected, and as I grew aware of an actual slipping of my form toward the abyss I was beset by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination. The malignancy of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I compared myself shudderingly to the only human image in that frightful corridor, the man who was torn to pieces by the nameless race, for in the fiendish clawing of the swirling currents there seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the stronger because it was largely impotent. I think I screamed frantically near the last - I was almost mad - but if I did so my cries were lost in the hell-born babel of the howling wind-wraiths. I tried to crawl against the murderous invisible torrent, but I could not even hold my own as I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the unknown world. Finally reason must have wholly snapped; for I fell to babbling over and over that unexplainable couplet of the mad Arab Alhazred, who dreamed of the nameless city:
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.
Only the grim brooding desert gods know what really took place--what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the dark I endured or what Abaddon guided me back to life, where I must always remember and shiver in the night wind till oblivion - or worse - claims me. Monstrous, unnatural, colossal, was the thing - too far beyond all the ideas of man to be believed except in the silent damnable small hours of the morning when one cannot sleep.
I have said that the fury of the rushing blast was infernal - cacodaemoniacal - and that its voices were hideous with the pent-up viciousness of desolate eternities. Presently these voices, while still chaotic before me, seemed to my beating brain to take articulate form behind me; and down there in the grave of unnumbered aeon-dead antiquities, leagues below the dawn-lit world of men, I heard the ghastly cursing and snarling of strange-tongued fiends. Turning, I saw outlined against the luminous aether of the abyss what could not be seen against the dusk of the corridor - a nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half transparent devils of a race no man might mistake - the crawling reptiles of the nameless city.
And as the wind died away I was plunged into the ghoul-pooled darkness of earth's bowels; for behind the last of the creatures the great brazen door clanged shut with a deafening peal of metallic music whose reverberations swelled out to the distant world to hail the rising sun as Memnon hails it from the banks of the Nile.
Who the hell are you? I do not know any of you people and just see Cookie, Triple, Daddy, and HotSalza post a lot.
Oh, and that guy in low 2k that always shares his advice in high skill vhs threads that everyone seems to ignore.
I like his spirit, feel bad for him at the same time, and get annoyed by his terrible advice. Nice when he helps the 1k - 2k players though. The advice he gives is more valid in there.
To my Annoying Little Chipmunk,
Good night Baby 💕 I love you so so much and I had such a fun time talking to you today 😏😉😍😄 I really enjoyed being a naughty girl for my master and then getting a punishment 😉 and I especially loved to hear you moan from all of my videos which honestly, is one of the sexiest things to ever come out of your mouth 😏😋 you make me so incredibly happy Dog and I can't wait to one day be with you and start a family and just..... Spend the rest of my life with you 📅 😘 I'm so incredibly lucky to have you and just thinking about you leaves me with a massive smile on my face 😄 You are my reason to live babe and honestly, the way I feel when talking to you is exhilarating. (What a posh word, eh?) ☺️😄 I love your goofy laugh and your extra cheesy smile 😊 I love the way in which your breathing quickens and you murmur "oh my" whenever I send you a picture, whether it's naughty or not, I love the way your always there for me and will make me smile even when I feel as if I'm dying. I love the way you call me beautiful the moment you see my sleepy face in the morning or the way you laugh at me when I make those little noises when I'm confused.... I love the way you call me perfect because honestly Dog, I feel perfect when I'm with you ☺️ I love everything about you baby and one day we are going to be the perfect couple and then the perfect husband and wife and after that we'll be the greatest parents ☺️ and if we're extra lucky we'll be the greatest grandparents EVER! I mean seriously, we'll be the type of grandparents that make other grandparents jealous just because of how cool we are!! 👵🏻👴🏼👵🏻👴🏼👵🏻👴🏼 Ugh, I'm drifting away from the topic 😂 Anyway, no matter what we do in our life we will do the best we possible could and honestly, it doesn't matter what other people say.... All that really matters is that we love each other 💕 And I know for a fact that I love you... No wait... I'm IN love with you Dog.... God, I was only going to just say night night but oh well 😄 Night night, don't let the mosquitoes bite 😂
Lots of love, your Cheeky Little Monkey Alice! Xxx 🐵🙈🙉🙊😊😘💞💕💞
Happy Omelet
Good for 4-6 persons
Cook Time: 10 minutes
Prep Time: 20 minutes
INGREDIENTS
6 eggs
1 sachet MAGGI MAGIC SARAP 8g
3 pcs bacon slices, chopped
1/2 onion diced
1 cup grated potato
½ cup grated carrots
1 cup shiitake mushrooms, sliced
1 green bell pepper, cubed
¼ cup chopped celery
1 tbsp MAGGI Oyster Sauce
1 tbsp butter
¼ cup grated quick-melting cheese
PROCEDURE
Combine eggs and MAGGI MAGIC SARAP. Whisk well.
Cook bacon until oil is extracted, sauté onion, potato and carrots. Cook for two minutes.
Add mushrooms and bell pepper. Stir-in celery. Season with MAGGI Oyster
Sauce. Set aside.
In a flat non-stick pan, heat butter. Add ½ the egg mixture and allow to spread. When set, sprinkle half of the cheese over egg then add ½ of the prepared vegetables.
Fold omelet and cook for another minute. Transfer on a plate. Repeat procedure for remaining eggs and vegetable filling.
CA Centipede, here. My father was a meme mogul. He got in on the ground floor during the original meme boom and made money hand over fist. We wanted for nothing as children. Ours was the house all the neighborhood kids wanted to hang out at, with our yuge swimming poor and all the latest videogame systems.
I know I was my father's favorite. He swore til the day he died that my first word was "Pepe." On my fifth birthday, he gave me my own rare Pepe. I was a little miffed at receiving a gift I couldn't open and play with, but even as a child, I knew it was something special. The Pepe had been created by a schizophrenic nun (the pastor call her possessed) who was burned for witchcraft shortly after the Pepe had been found among her effects. My father, posing as a Vatican exorcist, offered to "take care of the problem" for the church.
Then the memeconomy crashed in 2009. Our president at the time began posting cringeworthy photos of himself drinking beer and doing goofy things like playing with lightsabers. Understandably, Chinese investors got spooked and started dumping meme options, leading to a world recession in memes. We lost everything. Mom left. We had to move into a smaller house. Dad had to sell all the Pepes in his vault just to stay afloat. I did what I could, lying about my age so I could get a part time job at 12. When we hit our lowest, I gave my dad the birthday Pepe from my childhood to sell and put food on the table for one more week.
I was in my first semester of college, working towards an Italian Renaissance Art degree, when my father passed away suddenly. I put my course credits on hold and returned home to deal with the funeral arrangements and be with the last of my family. There was no money, but the inheritance did include one safety deposit box that I never knew my dad kept. It was left solely to me, and I soon discovered why. Inside was my birthday Pepe.
I was struggling financially more than ever, and I had no choice but to sell it. It was a godsend, really, that my father had kept it. I paid off the burial fees, and had enough left over to pay for some tuition. I returned to college, but something inside me had changed. Against the advice of my counselor, I changed my major to Memeconomics. They said the market would never recover, but I couldn't help but follow in my father's footsteps. I spent my summers travelling all across 4chan looking for Pepes to flip, then started shorting memes on reddit. When I graduated, I was still broke, but I had a respectable portfolio of Pepes and a diverse holding of dank memes.
My outlook seemed bleak, but I had a drive and a desire. I made a living, but not without a hard day's work. When Donald Trump announced his bid for presidency, it was like I hit the jackpot. My Pepes were suddenly worth more money than I'd ever seen in my life. But what was even more amazing, is that it wasn't liquidating my Pepes that made me money, it was my know-how of meme markets. Everyone wanted my advice and my time. I was in demand, and when I got tired of making other people rich, I started my own meme investment firm. Today I'm head honcho, and I'm poised to make a very large purchase before this year's election, because I'm going to buy back my birthday Pepe, and I'm going to be richer than I've ever been before.
So rest assured, centipedes. I've had quite the horse in this race. I memed Donald Trump straight into the White House. I will have the largest Pepe empire this world has ever seen. Who knows, with all the wealth and power I accrue during Donald Trump's booming memeconomy, maybe I'll run for president next?
“How much further?”, I thought as I ground my teeth. The ice cold piercing my skin and sinking into my very bones. I knew sleep would not come anyways, the perverse cold barring all rest in these areas. More importantly, we were within the reach of the ancient city of Arvons. Today we would reach that god-forsaken city. It was a suicidal expedition. Many had gone before, none had returned. Not even a single soul returned which dared to enter the haunted city. But we were still going, our curiosity and our excitement fueling this suicide mission. The thrill of discovering, finally the secret at the heart of Arvons, that was the reward in this perilous journey. I looked around the formation of this caravan. In front of me, our senior-most member, Ceventer, a veteran teacher at the Citadel academy. On my right, Arno, an old childhood friend, with whom I used to discuss the history of the world and concoct unrealistic theories as to the conundrum surrounding many civilizations and their practices. At the rear of the convoy, two twins, scholars from the academy who surely had their own interests in the matter; ambition, fame, wealth; it turned men mad, like wild beasts drawn to fresh blood.
My teacher used to warn us against interaction with the Arvon artifacts. They held unfathomably powerful magic that no mortal was fit to wield. If the legends could be trusted, the Arvons were a scholarly kind of people, men of letters, who spent their time in rigorous study of the complexities of the world, especially that of ancient and forbidden arcane arts. In the very beginning, they tended not to drift from the teachings and morals of their dominant religion. The use of magic was observed with great precaution and care, for they rightly believed that stray use of the arcane arts could very well bring unfathomable destruction and disintegration. Readily their caution turned into carefree mingling, the arcane arts openly practiced and experimented with. So it was, that they became rather professional with the use of magic, the miracles of gods transformed into vile sorceries that had no limitation, for their acumen in the arcane arts was expanding exponentially. And so was it, that they devised new and phenomenal methods of practicing magic. Such methods resulted in the birth of Arvon artifacts, aptly named after their god of knowledge, which came to be name of their country and civilization. Then very mysteriously they presumably vanished. No evidence as to their sudden disappearance. It is believed that they were annihilated by their own over indulgence in the arcane arts. Such a fate is sure to be shared by any who attempt to discover the secrets of the old worlds. And yet, we were still going.
Suddenly a structure came into view, beyond the thick mist that surrounded us. I could hear the gasps of my companions as they beheld the ancient city. The walls were made of cobblestone, quite ordinary, and about 10 to 15 feet tall. This would be rather astounding, were it not for the fact that the defenses of the city were enchanted with Arvon sorceries as well. In their era of glory, the walls prohibited any infiltration by ethereal barriers that surrounded the city at the perimeter of the wall. The barrier was powered by artifacts at the four barracks within the city, which were fed mana by the mages and sorcerers of the Mage Guard. Now the defense lay inactivated, its mana reserves depleted thousands of years ago.
So without any struggle, we passed through the threshold of the city, gates that were not much larger than the adjacent boundaries of the city. The city lay sprawling in front of us, a milestone of architectural feats of the Arvon civilization. Each façade comprised of Arcane stone. A special alloy of various stones that gave the material monumental strength, but operated on mana making it useable only by nations versed well in the ethereal arts. The design of the city bore witness to the ingenuity of the engineering of the Arvons.
We moved forward, trailing the main road leading to the center of the city, where they held their reserves and archives of knowledge and powerful artifacts. Our goal yet was ambiguous, even to our so called “Leader”. We were here to learn whatever scraps of knowledge, we could find. We neared the edifice I immediately identified as the main academy of the city. This was to be our destination.
Wooden doors, admitted us into the academy, which was lined with innumerable books, stores of knowledge, the fruit of meticulous research of several centuries, now gathering dust in this graveyard of a city. I almost had a sudden urge to take them with me, but I knew the others wouldn’t agree to carry them based on just a whim, nor was there space to indulge in such luxury, for what we could carry back was limited. We moved further into the academy in hope of discovering something of import. Moving and wandering through the maze-like corridors of the academy for half an hour, we found it. We knew we had found it, for there was an aura of gravity about. An amulet, very neatly enclosed within a glass dome. The insignia resembling a skull, a symbol of demons in the Arvon mythology. I lifted the glass dome nimbly, caring not to damage accidentally, anything of import.
I lifted the precious artifact in one hands and felt it with the fingers of the other. The skull insignia seemed to be made of bones, probably human bones, considering the nature of Arvon researches and sorceries. Human remains are able to draw incomprehensibly large stores of power, drawing on the strength of the soul of the former denizen of the body.
“This seems to be it”, I announced finally. This sparked curiosity from my companions. Ceventer moved forward and demanded the artifact be handed to him. I complied; no reason not to. Having found our trophy, we started towards the main wooden doors, but I stopped in my tracks, a sixth-sense warning me of an imminent danger. The others looked curiously at me. Suddenly, the whole building shook, and with it came a high-pitched shriek.
The sense of danger, registered on their faces. All of us broke into a sprint, rushing for the threshold of the academy. I was the last to exit the building, latching the door behind me, I looked at my companions who had stopped in their tracks. There was a man standing in front of us, dressed in black robes that served to conceal his entire body. Only a part of lower face visible, for the cowl of his robe was drawn over his face, his skin was pale and wrinkled, lips almost the same color as the face. The twin brothers caught up in their fear, immediately dashed in the left direction. The man stood there, unmoving, but as soon as the brothers were about fifty feet away, he leaped at them, instantly closing the gap between them and he had them. He pulled the head of one of the brothers, spraying blood all over the place.
Ceventer regained his composure suddenly and urged us to slip towards the right. Even though we ran hard, like we had never done so before, our fear and adrenaline propelling us, yet there was a no doubt in our mind that he could easily catch us. Yet somehow we were still alive for the moment, whatever consolation that was. We rushed towards the main gates of city.
The creature was after us, because we were absconding with the amulet, whatever this amulet was, it was the reason for the appearance of the demon. The gates were now within our sights; a slither of hope born within ourselves, like light in a pitch black cave; maybe we could escape this pandemonium and find safe haven outside the cursed city. Oh, how I regretted coming to this god-forsaken, what madness drove me to embark on this doomed mission. I shrugged these doubts from my mind, for the moment at least. I needed to focus right now. Besides me, Arno was dashing as well. His expression of pure terror and trepidation chilled me to the bones.
Now the escape was within several feet, my resolve strengthening on the thought of safety. The next moment, the demon was in front of us, right at the threshold of the gate. Ceventer casted his blue-flame magic, lighting the cloaks of the demon. It caught him by surprise momentarily, and that gave us the time to slip past him. It seemed that we would be able to reach the complacent safety of the outsides of the damned city. Suddenly the demon leaped again landing in front of us, clutching Ceventer in his disfigured claws. Sensing his end was imminent, he threw the damned amulet towards me. With his other claw, the demon ripped off his head from his now limp body, spluttering blood everywhere.
I knew, now it was our turn, survival instincts kicking in and aiding me, they reminded me of my own sorceries. I summoned a deep white mist, with the ability to conceal all tracks and obstruct all vision, all the while hoping that it was enough to make out in one piece. We ran, ran until our legs hurt, and still ran until we couldn’t feel our legs anymore, ran until we fell down from exhaustion.
I looked back at the city, we were dozens of miles away from that hellhole. We rested for a minute or two, and then started off again, still feeling unsafe. Our pace was slower this time, just a quick walk. ‘The demon has probably lost us’, I thought. Oh, how wrong I was, you don’t escape the ‘Hellhound’.
At that moment that shrill shriek rang again, draining all life from us. We were sprinting again, the demon leaped again, dashing past us and coming between us and our safety. This time his mouth was dripping with dark blood. This was why he took so long, the truth dawning on me, he was feeding off Ceventer’s corpse, the thought made my stomach churn.
This time it seemed I was his target, as he brought his claws on me, but Arno was quick to react. Slitting his throat with his weapon-magic. His head rolled downed on the floor, his face still concealed by the cowl that had been drawn on his face. I looked back at Arno, overcome by joy. He was grinning as well. Suddenly, his smile retracted, his eyes becoming wide with fear. I turned back again, the headless body of the demon held the beheaded visage of his body in his hand, the mouth in a wide grin that revealed razor sharp teeth. He dug his claws within my body, going for my heart.
And the visions began there, whether that because of my imminent death or the demon revealing unto me the reality in my final moments, the fact is, I was bestowed the truth of the Arvon’s mysterious disappearance; I saw a great city sprawling with stray mana and traces of arcaneries, undoubtedly a view of the Arvon city during its glory days. The vision shifted, now there was a council of mages seated around a round table discussing the “Power of Hell”.
The oldest of them rose and spoke, “Such a risk is unacceptable. The danger and peril is too great to risk everything for more power. We should leave the Powers of Hell alone. Mortals are not fit to wield anything of such a scale.” A younger member rose and began,” The old man has grown frail with age, his glory days are behind him, age turned on him, he advises against such power, for the power scares him. He cowers in fear in front of magic and power like the lesser mortals of other lands do. Our curiosity and indulgence in all arcane arts have bestowed us this glory and power. The Power of Hell, should be used, we will be gods under the shadow of such power.” The council announced its agreement, the matter decided. The vision shifted once again, the same young mage in a massive research room. Peering over the same amulet that led to our demise. He suddenly became overjoyed by what he discovered, probably a way to operate the amulet. The vision shifted once more, the amulet enclosed within the glass dome. The young sorcerer announced,” I have, after days of incessant hard-work, at last stumbled upon a way to open a pass to Hell and by it, the Power of Hell. The secrets of the Demon Amulet lay bare in front of me. Now, by the permission of this council of the wise, I shall begin the ritual that shall open the passageway.” The men, nodded their head in approbation. He started the ritual, speaking in the Demon Tongue. The amulet lighted up suddenly, the ritual seemed to working, but the glow vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Then there was a great tremor, that shook all men standing within the main halls of the academy. The same shrill cry rang, and the Demon was within the halls. What followed was uncontrolled bloodshed and decapitation.
The visions now ended, I was back in the expanse of the plains outside the city; still at the ends of the claws of the demon. Blood streaming down by my frail and weak body, I saw Arno run past me as well, the battle of life and death still continued for him, not for me it seemed, my life trickled out of me as the demon whispered in my ears in a gruff voice,’ No one escapes the Hellhound of Hell’. The material body releasing its grasp on the ethereal soul…
OMG 😱😱😱 BRUDI👬 KOMM 😴😴 RUNTER BRUDI ⬇⬇ BERUHIG ☕☕ DICH⬇⬇ WEIßT DU WARUM!? WL 💁💁 ES WAR NUR EIN STREICH 😂😂😂 😛😜 HAHAHA VERARSCHT 👌👌 DU DUMMER MONGO 😂😁😁 DA IST EINE KAMERA 📹📷 GENAU DA 👈👇👆☝ DRÜBEN 📍DU H0M0 👨❤️💋👨👨❤️💋👨👐WIR 👨👨👦 HABEN DICH VERARSCHT BRUDI👬. ICH WETTE DU WUSSTEST 🙅🙅NICHT 💆WIE DU REAGIEREN SOLLTEST ALS MEIN 🙋 BRUDI DETLEF 😎😎 HOCH KAM ⬆ ZU DIR UND 💦💦😫😫 KOMPLETT ÜBER DEINE 👖👖 SÜßEN JEANS GESPRITZT HAT 😂😂 ES WAR SO LUSTIG 😂😛😀😀😅 JETZT HAST DU 🙋👅👅 ETWAS BABY 👶👶 SAUCE 💦🍲 ÜBERALL ÜBER DEM ZEUG 😵😵
Dogolino and Dogolino 2 are my dogs names in steams, love those guys.
Also, we need more Gotvet.
first i saved dogolino as dog, and after that i tagged every dotabuffer as dog
I shouldn't have posted this..
Spunki, that meme you just posted was so poorly crafted, you brought shame to germany and its language.
All my life I've been fascinated with history, and beginning in middle school (around age 12) I became especially interested in germany, more specifically the Holocaust and the Nazi regime. Every time the subject came up in school I would pay attention moreso than in other classes, and no matter the class I would try to relate papers and assingments back to my passion: the Holocaust. Obviously people took notice, and I became known as the kid who liked the Holocaust. Most of them didn't think it was too weird, they just thought it was a hobby and they would sometimes talk to me if they had any questions. I didn't think it was weird either, I just found the horrible atrocities fascinating to learn about.
Because of this interest I majored in history at Harvard College, despite what people said about history not being the safest major due to lack of jobs. Regardless I pushed through, got my PhD, and wrote all the papers I could on my beloved Holocaust
Come the end of the education chapter in the book of my life I had to move on and find a job. But what people said was right. There were no jobs for a Holocaust fanatic such as myself. Within a year I was homeless, living on the streets. I'd curl up in my refrigerator box, thinking back on my life.
Was it worth it to major in what I loved, was it worth being homeless to persue my passion: the Holocaust?
I had never been able to answer that question. Because I just didn't know. That is until now, now I know it was all worth it, because I can say with absolute certainty that your comment is literally worse than Hitler
I'm disappointed I wasn't recognized.
it wasn't about including all known db regulars it was about giving a general idea
ppl need to fucking stop getting triggered they weren't mentioned it's not like i remember all of u by heart
i can't read.
YOU WILL NEVER KNOW WHICH ACCOUNT IS MINE. >:)
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I think it's a big problem you can't remember all of us by heart
still nice england tho
would give it maybe a 6/7 but the presence of diox makes it a clear 5/7
⊂_ヽ
＼＼ ＿C
＼( •_•) A
< ⌒ヽ N
/ へ＼ C
/ / ＼＼ E
ﾚ ノ ヽ_つR
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ノ ) Lﾉ__PLAYER
When I drew nigh the nameless city I knew it was accursed. I was traveling in a parched and terrible valley under the moon, and afar I saw it protruding uncannily above the sands as parts of a corpse may protrude from an ill-made grave. Fear spoke from the age-worn stones of this hoary survivor of the deluge, this great-grandfather of the eldest pyramid; and a viewless aura repelled me and bade me retreat from antique and sinister secrets that no man should see, and no man else had dared to see.
Remote in the desert of Araby lies the nameless city, crumbling and inarticulate, its low walls nearly hidden by the sands of uncounted ages. It must have been thus before the first stones of Memphis were laid, and while the bricks of Babylon were yet unbaked. There is no legend so old as to give it a name, or to recall that it was ever alive; but it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered about by grandams in the tents of sheiks so that all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why. It was of this place that Abdul Alhazred the mad poet dreamed of the night before he sang his unexplained couplet:
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons death may die.
I should have known that the Arabs had good reason for shunning the nameless city, the city told of in strange tales but seen by no living man, yet I defied them and went into the untrodden waste with my camel. I alone have seen it, and that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine; why no other man shivers so horribly when the night wind rattles the windows. When I came upon it in the ghastly stillness of unending sleep it looked at me, chilly from the rays of a cold moon amidst the desert's heat. And as I returned its look I forgot my triumph at finding it, and stopped still with my camel to wait for the dawn.
For hours I waited, till the east grew grey and the stars faded, and the grey turned to roseate light edged with gold. I heard a moaning and saw a storm of sand stirring among the antique stones though the sky was clear and the vast reaches of desert still. Then suddenly above the desert's far rim came the blazing edge of the sun, seen through the tiny sandstorm which was passing away, and in my fevered state I fancied that from some remote depth there came a crash of musical metal to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the banks of the Nile. My ears rang and my imagination seethed as I led my camel slowly across the sand to that unvocal place; that place which I alone of living men had seen.
In and out amongst the shapeless foundations of houses and places I wandered, finding never a carving or inscription to tell of these men, if men they were, who built this city and dwelt therein so long ago. The antiquity of the spot was unwholesome, and I longed to encounter some sign or device to prove that the city was indeed fashioned by mankind. There were certain proportions and dimensions in the ruins which I did not like. I had with me many tools, and dug much within the walls of the obliterated edifices; but progress was slow, and nothing significant was revealed. When night and the moon returned I felt a chill wind which brought new fear, so that I did not dare to remain in the city. And as I went outside the antique walls to sleep, a small sighing sandstorm gathered behind me, blowing over the grey stones though the moon was bright and most of the desert still.
I awakened just at dawn from a pageant of horrible dreams, my ears ringing as from some metallic peal. I saw the sun peering redly through the last gusts of a little sandstorm that hovered over the nameless city, and marked the quietness of the rest of the landscape. Once more I ventured within those brooding ruins that swelled beneath the sand like an ogre under a coverlet, and again dug vainly for relics of the forgotten race. At noon I rested, and in the afternoon I spent much time tracing the walls and bygone streets, and the outlines of the nearly vanished buildings. I saw that the city had been mighty indeed, and wondered at the sources of its greatness. To myself I pictured all the spendours of an age so distant that Chaldaea could not recall it, and thought of Sarnath the Doomed, that stood in the land of Mnar when mankind was young, and of Ib, that was carven of grey stone before mankind existed.
All at once I came upon a place where the bedrock rose stark through the sand and formed a low cliff; and here I saw with joy what seemed to promise further traces of the antediluvian people. Hewn rudely on the face of the cliff were the unmistakable facades of several small, squat rock houses or temples; whose interiors might preserve many secrets of ages too remote for calculation, though sandstorms had long effaced any carvings which may have been outside.
Very low and sand-choked were all the dark apertures near me, but I cleared one with my spade and crawled through it, carrying a torch to reveal whatever mysteries it might hold. When I was inside I saw that the cavern was indeed a temple, and beheld plain signs of the race that had lived and worshipped before the desert was a desert. Primitive altars, pillars, and niches, all curiously low, were not absent; and though I saw no sculptures or frescoes, there were many singular stones clearly shaped into symbols by artificial means. The lowness of the chiselled chamber was very strange, for I could hardly kneel upright; but the area was so great that my torch showed only part of it at a time. I shuddered oddly in some of the far corners; for certain altars and stones suggested forgotten rites of terrible, revolting and inexplicable nature and made me wonder what manner of men could have made and frequented such a temple. When I had seen all that the place contained, I crawled out again, avid to find what the temples might yield.
Night had now approached, yet the tangible things I had seen made curiosity stronger than fear, so that I did not flee from the long mooncast shadows that had daunted me when first I saw the nameless city. In the twilight I cleared another aperture and with a new torch crawled into it, finding more vague stones and symbols, though nothing more definite than the other temple had contained. The room was just as low, but much less broad, ending in a very narrow passage crowded with obscure and cryptical shrines. About these shrines I was prying when the noise of a wind and my camel outside broke through the stillness and drew me forth to see what could have frightened the beast.
The moon was gleaming vividly over the primitive ruins, lighting a dense cloud of sand that seemed blown by a strong but decreasing wind from some point along the cliff ahead of me. I knew it was this chilly, sandy wind which had disturbed the camel and was about to lead him to a place of better shelter when I chanced to glance up and saw that there was no wind atop the cliff. This astonished me and made me fearful again, but I immediately recalled the sudden local winds that I had seen and heard before at sunrise and sunset, and judged it was a normal thing. I decided it came from some rock fissure leading to a cave, and watched the troubled sand to trace it to its source; soon perceiving that it came from the black orifice of a temple a long distance south of me, almost out of sight. Against the choking sand-cloud I plodded toward this temple, which as I neared it loomed larger than the rest, and shewed a doorway far less clogged with caked sand. I would have entered had not the terrific force of the icy wind almost quenched my torch. It poured madly out of the dark door, sighing uncannily as it ruffled the sand and spread among the weird ruins. Soon it grew fainter and the sand grew more and more still, till finally all was at rest again; but a presence seemed stalking among the spectral stones of the city, and when I glanced at the moon it seemed to quiver as though mirrored in unquiet waters. I was more afraid than I could explain, but not enough to dull my thirst for wonder; so as soon as the wind was quite gone I crossed into the dark chamber from which it had come.
This temple, as I had fancied from the outside, was larger than either of those I had visited before; and was presumably a natural cavern since it bore winds from some region beyond. Here I could stand quite upright, but saw that the stones and altars were as low as those in the other temples. On the walls and roof I beheld for the first time some traces of the pictorial art of the ancient race, curious curling streaks of paint that had almost faded or crumbled away; and on two of the altars I saw with rising excitement a maze of well-fashioned curvilinear carvings. As I held my torch aloft it seemed to me that the shape of the roof was too regular to be natural, and I wondered what the prehistoric cutters of stone had first worked upon. Their engineering skill must have been vast.
Then a brighter flare of the fantastic flame showed that form which I had been seeking, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden wind had blown; and I grew faint when I saw that it was a small and plainly artificial door chiselled in the solid rock. I thrust my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof arching low over a rough flight of very small, numerous and steeply descending steps. I shall always see those steps in my dreams, for I came to learn what they meant. At the time I hardly knew whether to call them steps or mere footholds in a precipitous descent. My mind was whirling with mad thoughts, and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to float across the desert from the land that men know to the nameless city that men dare not know. Yet I hesitated only for a moment before advancing through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep passage, feet first, as though on a ladder.
It is only in the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have such a descent as mine. The narrow passage led infinitely down like some hideous haunted well, and the torch I held above my head could not light the unknown depths toward which I was crawling. I lost track of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I was frightened when I thought of the distance I must be traversing. There were changes of direction and of steepness; and once I came to a long, low, level passage where I had to wriggle my feet first along the rocky floor, holding torch at arm's length beyond my head. The place was not high enough for kneeling. After that were more of the steep steps, and I was still scrambling down interminably when my failing torch died out. I do not think I noticed it at the time, for when I did notice it I was still holding it above me as if it were ablaze. I was quite unbalanced with that instinct for the strange and the unknown which had made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and forbidden places.
In the darkness there flashed before my mind fragments of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and infamous lines from the delirious Image du Monde of Gauthier de Metz. I repeated queer extracts, and muttered of Afrasiab and the daemons that floated with him down the Oxus; later chanting over and over again a phrase from one of Lord Dunsany's tales--"The unreveberate blackness of the abyss." Once when the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in sing-song from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more:
A reservoir of darkness, black
As witches' cauldrons are, when fill'd
With moon-drugs in th' eclipse distill'd
Leaning to look if foot might pass
Down thro' that chasm, I saw, beneath,
As far as vision could explore,
The jetty sides as smooth as glass,
Looking as if just varnish'd o'er
With that dark pitch the Seat of Death
Throws out upon its slimy shore.
Time had quite ceased to exist when my feet again felt a level floor, and I found myself in a place slightly higher than the rooms in the two smaller temples now so incalculably far above my head. I could not quite stand, but could kneel upright, and in the dark I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. I soon knew that I was in a narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood having glass fronts. As in that Palaeozoic and abysmal place I felt of such things as polished wood and glass I shuddered at the possible implications. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the passage at regular intervals, and were oblong and horizontal, hideously like coffins in shape and size. When I tried to move two or three for further examination, I found that they were firmly fastened.
I saw that the passage was a long one, so floundered ahead rapidly in a creeping run that would have seemed horrible had any eye watched me in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally to feel of my surroundings and be sure the walls and rows of cases still stretched on. Man is so used to thinking visually that I almost forgot the darkness and pictured the endless corridor of wood and glass in its low-studded monotony as though I saw it. And then in a moment of indescribable emotion I did see it.
Just when my fancy merged into real sight I cannot tell; but there came a gradual glow ahead, and all at once I knew that I saw the dim outlines of a corridor and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. For a little while all was exactly as I had imagined it, since the glow was very faint; but as I mechanically kept stumbling ahead into the stronger light I realised that my fancy had been but feeble. This hall was no relic of crudity like the temples in the city above, but a monument of the most magnificent and exotic art. Rich, vivid, and daringly fantastic designs and pictures formed a continuous scheme of mural paintings whose lines and colours were beyond description. The cases were of a strange golden wood, with fronts of exquisite glass, and containing the mummified forms of creatures outreaching in grotesqueness the most chaotic dreams of man.
To convey any idea of these monstrosities is impossible. They were of the reptile kind, with body lines suggesting sometimes the crocodile, sometimes the seal, but more often nothing of which either the naturalist or the palaeontologist ever heard. In size they approximated a small man, and their fore-legs bore delicate and evident feet curiously like human hands and fingers. But strangest of all were their heads, which presented a contour violating all know biological principles. To nothing can such things be well compared - in one flash I thought of comparisons as varied as the cat, the bullfrog, the mythic Satyr, and the human being. Not Jove himself had had so colossal and protuberant a forehead, yet the horns and the noselessness and the alligator-like jaw placed things outside all established categories. I debated for a time on the reality of the mummies, half suspecting they were artificial idols; but soon decided they were indeed some palaeogean species which had lived when the nameless city was alive. To crown their grotesqueness, most of them were gorgeously enrobed in the costliest of fabrics, and lavishly laden with ornaments of gold, jewels, and unknown shining metals.
The importance of these crawling creatures must have been vast, for they held first place among the wild designs on the frescoed walls and ceiling. With matchless skill had the artist drawn them in a world of their own, wherein they had cities and gardens fashioned to suit their dimensions; and I could not help but think that their pictured history was allegorical, perhaps shewing the progress of the race that worshipped them. These creatures, I said to myself, were to men of the nameless city what the she-wolf was to Rome, or some totem-beast is to a tribe of Indians.
Holding this view, I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the nameless city; the tale of a mighty seacoast metropolis that ruled the world before Africa rose out of the waves, and of its struggles as the sea shrank away, and the desert crept into the fertile valley that held it. I saw its wars and triumphs, its troubles and defeats, and afterwards its terrible fight against the desert when thousands of its people - here represented in allegory by the grotesque reptiles - were driven to chisel their way down though the rocks in some marvellous manner to another world whereof their prophets had told them. It was all vividly weird and realistic, and its connection with the awesome descent I had made was unmistakable. I even recognized the passages.
As I crept along the corridor toward the brighter light I saw later stages of the painted epic - the leave-taking of the race that had dwelt in the nameless city and the valley around for ten million years; the race whose souls shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long where they had settled as nomads in the earth's youth, hewing in the virgin rock those primal shrines at which they had never ceased to worship. Now that the light was better I studied the pictures more closely and, remembering that the strange reptiles must represent the unknown men, pondered upon the customs of the nameless city. Many things were peculiar and inexplicable. The civilization, which included a written alphabet, had seemingly risen to a higher order than those immeasurably later civilizations of Egypt and Chaldaea, yet there were curious omissions. I could, for example, find no pictures to represent deaths or funeral customs, save such as were related to wars, violence, and plagues; and I wondered at the reticence shown concerning natural death. It was as though an ideal of immortality had been fostered as a cheering illusion.
Still nearer the end of the passage was painted scenes of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance: contrasted views of the nameless city in its desertion and growing ruin, and of the strange new realm of paradise to which the race had hewed its way through the stone. In these views the city and the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight, golden nimbus hovering over the fallen walls, and half-revealing the splendid perfection of former times, shown spectrally and elusively by the artist. The paradisal scenes were almost too extravagant to be believed, portraying a hidden world of eternal day filled with glorious cities and ethereal hills and valleys. At the very last I thought I saw signs of an artistic anticlimax. The paintings were less skillful, and much more bizarre than even the wildest of the earlier scenes. They seemed to record a slow decadence of the ancient stock, coupled with a growing ferocity toward the outside world from which it was driven by the desert. The forms of the people - always represented by the sacred reptiles - appeared to be gradually wasting away, though their spirit as shewn hovering above the ruins by moonlight gained in proportion. Emaciated priests, displayed as reptiles in ornate robes, cursed the upper air and all who breathed it; and one terrible final scene shewed a primitive-looking man, perhaps a pioneer of ancient Irem, the City of Pillars, torn to pieces by members of the elder race. I remembered how the Arabs fear the nameless city, and was glad that beyond this place the grey walls and ceiling were bare.
As I viewed the pageant of mural history I had approached very closely to the end of the low-ceiled hall, and was aware of a gate through which came all of the illuminating phosphorescence. Creeping up to it, I cried aloud in transcendent amazement at what lay beyond; for instead of other and brighter chambers there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the peak of Mount Everest upon a sea of sunlit mist. Behind me was a passage so cramped that I could not stand upright in it; before me was an infinity of subterranean effulgence.
Reaching down from the passage into the abyss was the head of a steep flight of steps - small numerous steps like those of black passages I had traversed - but after a few feet the glowing vapours concealed everything. Swung back open against the left-hand wall of the passage was a massive door of brass, incredibly thick and decorated with fantastic bas-reliefs, which could if closed shut the whole inner world of light away from the vaults and passages of rock. I looked at the steps, and for the nonce dared not try them. I touched the open brass door, and could not move it. Then I sank prone to the stone floor, my mind aflame with prodigious reflections which not even a death-like exhaustion could banish.
As I lay still with closed eyes, free to ponder, many things I had lightly noted in the frescoes came back to me with new and terrible significance - scenes representing the nameless city in its heyday - the vegetations of the valley around it, and the distant lands with which its merchants traded. The allegory of the crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence, and I wondered that it would be so closely followed in a pictured history of such importance. In the frescoes the nameless city had been shewn in proportions fitted to the reptiles. I wondered what its real proportions and magnificence had been, and reflected a moment on certain oddities I had noticed in the ruins. I thought curiously of the lowness of the primal temples and of the underground corridor, which were doubtless hewn thus out of deference to the reptile deities there honoured; though it perforce reduced the worshippers to crawling. Perhaps the very rites here involved crawling in imitation of the creatures. No religious theory, however, could easily explain why the level passages in that awesome descent should be as low as the temples - or lower, since one could not even kneel in it. As I thought of the crawling creatures, whose hideous mummified forms were so close to me, I felt a new throb of fear. Mental associations are curious, and I shrank from the idea that except for the poor primitive man torn to pieces in the last painting, mine was the only human form amidst the many relics and symbols of the primordial life.
But as always in my strange and roving existence, wonder soon drove out fear; for the luminous abyss and what it might contain presented a problem worthy of the greatest explorer. That a weird world of mystery lay far down that flight of peculiarly small steps I could not doubt, and I hoped to find there those human memorials which the painted corridor had failed to give. The frescoes had pictured unbelievable cities, and valleys in this lower realm, and my fancy dwelt on the rich and colossal ruins that awaited me.
My fears, indeed, concerned the past rather than the future. Not even the physical horror of my position in that cramped corridor of dead reptiles and antediluvian frescoes, miles below the world I knew and faced by another world of eery light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt at the abysmal antiquity of the scene and its soul. An ancientness so vast that measurement is feeble seemed to leer down from the primal stones and rock-hewn temples of the nameless city, while the very latest of the astounding maps in the frescoes shewed oceans and continents that man has forgotten, with only here and there some vaguely familiar outlines. Of what could have happened in the geological ages since the paintings ceased and the death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no man might say. Life had once teemed in these caverns and in the luminous realm beyond; now I was alone with vivid relics, and I trembled to think of the countless ages through which these relics had kept a silent deserted vigil.
Suddenly there came another burst of that acute fear which had intermittently seized me ever since I first saw the terrible valley and the nameless city under a cold moon, and despite my exhaustion I found myself starting frantically to a sitting posture and gazing back along the black corridor toward the tunnels that rose to the outer world. My sensations were like those which had made me shun the nameless city at night, and were as inexplicable as they were poignant. In another moment, however, I received a still greater shock in the form of a definite sound - the first which had broken the utter silence of these tomb-like depths. It was a deep, low moaning, as of a distant throng of condemned spirits, and came from the direction in which I was staring. Its volume rapidly grew, till it soon reverberated frightfully through the low passage, and at the same time I became conscious of an increasing draught of cold air, likewise flowing from the tunnels and the city above. The touch of this air seemed to restore my balance, for I instantly recalled the sudden gusts which had risen around the mouth of the abyss each sunset and sunrise, one of which had indeed revealed the hidden tunnels to me. I looked at my watch and saw that sunrise was near, so braced myself to resist the gale that was sweeping down to its cavern home as it had swept forth at evening. My fear again waned low, since a natural phenomenon tends to dispel broodings over the unknown.
More and more madly poured the shrieking, moaning night wind into the gulf of the inner earth. I dropped prone again and clutched vainly at the floor for fear of being swept bodily through the open gate into the phosphorescent abyss. Such fury I had not expected, and as I grew aware of an actual slipping of my form toward the abyss I was beset by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination. The malignancy of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I compared myself shudderingly to the only human image in that frightful corridor, the man who was torn to pieces by the nameless race, for in the fiendish clawing of the swirling currents there seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the stronger because it was largely impotent. I think I screamed frantically near the last - I was almost mad - but if I did so my cries were lost in the hell-born babel of the howling wind-wraiths. I tried to crawl against the murderous invisible torrent, but I could not even hold my own as I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the unknown world. Finally reason must have wholly snapped; for I fell to babbling over and over that unexplainable couplet of the mad Arab Alhazred, who dreamed of the nameless city:
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.
Only the grim brooding desert gods know what really took place--what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the dark I endured or what Abaddon guided me back to life, where I must always remember and shiver in the night wind till oblivion - or worse - claims me. Monstrous, unnatural, colossal, was the thing - too far beyond all the ideas of man to be believed except in the silent damnable small hours of the morning when one cannot sleep.
I have said that the fury of the rushing blast was infernal - cacodaemoniacal - and that its voices were hideous with the pent-up viciousness of desolate eternities. Presently these voices, while still chaotic before me, seemed to my beating brain to take articulate form behind me; and down there in the grave of unnumbered aeon-dead antiquities, leagues below the dawn-lit world of men, I heard the ghastly cursing and snarling of strange-tongued fiends. Turning, I saw outlined against the luminous aether of the abyss what could not be seen against the dusk of the corridor - a nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half transparent devils of a race no man might mistake - the crawling reptiles of the nameless city.
And as the wind died away I was plunged into the ghoul-pooled darkness of earth's bowels; for behind the last of the creatures the great brazen door clanged shut with a deafening peal of metallic music whose reverberations swelled out to the distant world to hail the rising sun as Memnon hails it from the banks of the Nile.
Where's the original 2K puck spammer dogolino. I missed that boi
Who the hell are you? I do not know any of you people and just see Cookie, Triple, Daddy, and HotSalza post a lot.
Oh, and that guy in low 2k that always shares his advice in high skill vhs threads that everyone seems to ignore.
I like his spirit, feel bad for him at the same time, and get annoyed by his terrible advice. Nice when he helps the 1k - 2k players though. The advice he gives is more valid in there.
To my Annoying Little Chipmunk,
Good night Baby 💕 I love you so so much and I had such a fun time talking to you today 😏😉😍😄 I really enjoyed being a naughty girl for my master and then getting a punishment 😉 and I especially loved to hear you moan from all of my videos which honestly, is one of the sexiest things to ever come out of your mouth 😏😋 you make me so incredibly happy Dog and I can't wait to one day be with you and start a family and just..... Spend the rest of my life with you 📅 😘 I'm so incredibly lucky to have you and just thinking about you leaves me with a massive smile on my face 😄 You are my reason to live babe and honestly, the way I feel when talking to you is exhilarating. (What a posh word, eh?) ☺️😄 I love your goofy laugh and your extra cheesy smile 😊 I love the way in which your breathing quickens and you murmur "oh my" whenever I send you a picture, whether it's naughty or not, I love the way your always there for me and will make me smile even when I feel as if I'm dying. I love the way you call me beautiful the moment you see my sleepy face in the morning or the way you laugh at me when I make those little noises when I'm confused.... I love the way you call me perfect because honestly Dog, I feel perfect when I'm with you ☺️ I love everything about you baby and one day we are going to be the perfect couple and then the perfect husband and wife and after that we'll be the greatest parents ☺️ and if we're extra lucky we'll be the greatest grandparents EVER! I mean seriously, we'll be the type of grandparents that make other grandparents jealous just because of how cool we are!! 👵🏻👴🏼👵🏻👴🏼👵🏻👴🏼 Ugh, I'm drifting away from the topic 😂 Anyway, no matter what we do in our life we will do the best we possible could and honestly, it doesn't matter what other people say.... All that really matters is that we love each other 💕 And I know for a fact that I love you... No wait... I'm IN love with you Dog.... God, I was only going to just say night night but oh well 😄 Night night, don't let the mosquitoes bite 😂
Lots of love, your Cheeky Little Monkey Alice! Xxx 🐵🙈🙉🙊😊😘💞💕💞
Ahah I posted on the original dogo's dota feed last night
Happy Omelet
Good for 4-6 persons
Cook Time: 10 minutes
Prep Time: 20 minutes
INGREDIENTS
6 eggs
1 sachet MAGGI MAGIC SARAP 8g
3 pcs bacon slices, chopped
1/2 onion diced
1 cup grated potato
½ cup grated carrots
1 cup shiitake mushrooms, sliced
1 green bell pepper, cubed
¼ cup chopped celery
1 tbsp MAGGI Oyster Sauce
1 tbsp butter
¼ cup grated quick-melting cheese
PROCEDURE
Combine eggs and MAGGI MAGIC SARAP. Whisk well.
Cook bacon until oil is extracted, sauté onion, potato and carrots. Cook for two minutes.
Add mushrooms and bell pepper. Stir-in celery. Season with MAGGI Oyster
Sauce. Set aside.
In a flat non-stick pan, heat butter. Add ½ the egg mixture and allow to spread. When set, sprinkle half of the cheese over egg then add ½ of the prepared vegetables.
Fold omelet and cook for another minute. Transfer on a plate. Repeat procedure for remaining eggs and vegetable filling.
Someone mentioned me holy shit im famous
haha i have autism. maybe i am OP
oh yeah i forgot that original pinoy dogo, mb he alrd got cancer cuz cursing weebs everywhere
No memes?
fucker off you are
Of course you are famous raj, you fucker off
Raj XD
Stop pls. Pls guys contain the leak.
(Explicit contain) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
i thought this is a serious thread
either way im flattered for being mentioned, thanks
CA Centipede, here. My father was a meme mogul. He got in on the ground floor during the original meme boom and made money hand over fist. We wanted for nothing as children. Ours was the house all the neighborhood kids wanted to hang out at, with our yuge swimming poor and all the latest videogame systems.
I know I was my father's favorite. He swore til the day he died that my first word was "Pepe." On my fifth birthday, he gave me my own rare Pepe. I was a little miffed at receiving a gift I couldn't open and play with, but even as a child, I knew it was something special. The Pepe had been created by a schizophrenic nun (the pastor call her possessed) who was burned for witchcraft shortly after the Pepe had been found among her effects. My father, posing as a Vatican exorcist, offered to "take care of the problem" for the church.
Then the memeconomy crashed in 2009. Our president at the time began posting cringeworthy photos of himself drinking beer and doing goofy things like playing with lightsabers. Understandably, Chinese investors got spooked and started dumping meme options, leading to a world recession in memes. We lost everything. Mom left. We had to move into a smaller house. Dad had to sell all the Pepes in his vault just to stay afloat. I did what I could, lying about my age so I could get a part time job at 12. When we hit our lowest, I gave my dad the birthday Pepe from my childhood to sell and put food on the table for one more week.
I was in my first semester of college, working towards an Italian Renaissance Art degree, when my father passed away suddenly. I put my course credits on hold and returned home to deal with the funeral arrangements and be with the last of my family. There was no money, but the inheritance did include one safety deposit box that I never knew my dad kept. It was left solely to me, and I soon discovered why. Inside was my birthday Pepe.
I was struggling financially more than ever, and I had no choice but to sell it. It was a godsend, really, that my father had kept it. I paid off the burial fees, and had enough left over to pay for some tuition. I returned to college, but something inside me had changed. Against the advice of my counselor, I changed my major to Memeconomics. They said the market would never recover, but I couldn't help but follow in my father's footsteps. I spent my summers travelling all across 4chan looking for Pepes to flip, then started shorting memes on reddit. When I graduated, I was still broke, but I had a respectable portfolio of Pepes and a diverse holding of dank memes.
My outlook seemed bleak, but I had a drive and a desire. I made a living, but not without a hard day's work. When Donald Trump announced his bid for presidency, it was like I hit the jackpot. My Pepes were suddenly worth more money than I'd ever seen in my life. But what was even more amazing, is that it wasn't liquidating my Pepes that made me money, it was my know-how of meme markets. Everyone wanted my advice and my time. I was in demand, and when I got tired of making other people rich, I started my own meme investment firm. Today I'm head honcho, and I'm poised to make a very large purchase before this year's election, because I'm going to buy back my birthday Pepe, and I'm going to be richer than I've ever been before.
So rest assured, centipedes. I've had quite the horse in this race. I memed Donald Trump straight into the White House. I will have the largest Pepe empire this world has ever seen. Who knows, with all the wealth and power I accrue during Donald Trump's booming memeconomy, maybe I'll run for president next?
No Memes UncleNox
6 eggs for 4-6 persons? lmao when i eat scrambled eggs i usually use 4 eggs already
^ aye, you need 30 eggs at least for 4-6 people
God, this forum has gotten ultra gayshit.
Also, Arin has a girlfriend, and she is a mutual friend on Facebook.
joel fuck off
We only 1-2 eggs because we eat rice.
Bread is especially a pathetic source of carbohydrates.
Reason why East Asians have huge intelligence quotient averages.
Why would you want me to fuck off and 30 eggs for 4-6 WUTFACE
Edit: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
“How much further?”, I thought as I ground my teeth. The ice cold piercing my skin and sinking into my very bones. I knew sleep would not come anyways, the perverse cold barring all rest in these areas. More importantly, we were within the reach of the ancient city of Arvons. Today we would reach that god-forsaken city. It was a suicidal expedition. Many had gone before, none had returned. Not even a single soul returned which dared to enter the haunted city. But we were still going, our curiosity and our excitement fueling this suicide mission. The thrill of discovering, finally the secret at the heart of Arvons, that was the reward in this perilous journey. I looked around the formation of this caravan. In front of me, our senior-most member, Ceventer, a veteran teacher at the Citadel academy. On my right, Arno, an old childhood friend, with whom I used to discuss the history of the world and concoct unrealistic theories as to the conundrum surrounding many civilizations and their practices. At the rear of the convoy, two twins, scholars from the academy who surely had their own interests in the matter; ambition, fame, wealth; it turned men mad, like wild beasts drawn to fresh blood.
My teacher used to warn us against interaction with the Arvon artifacts. They held unfathomably powerful magic that no mortal was fit to wield. If the legends could be trusted, the Arvons were a scholarly kind of people, men of letters, who spent their time in rigorous study of the complexities of the world, especially that of ancient and forbidden arcane arts. In the very beginning, they tended not to drift from the teachings and morals of their dominant religion. The use of magic was observed with great precaution and care, for they rightly believed that stray use of the arcane arts could very well bring unfathomable destruction and disintegration. Readily their caution turned into carefree mingling, the arcane arts openly practiced and experimented with. So it was, that they became rather professional with the use of magic, the miracles of gods transformed into vile sorceries that had no limitation, for their acumen in the arcane arts was expanding exponentially. And so was it, that they devised new and phenomenal methods of practicing magic. Such methods resulted in the birth of Arvon artifacts, aptly named after their god of knowledge, which came to be name of their country and civilization. Then very mysteriously they presumably vanished. No evidence as to their sudden disappearance. It is believed that they were annihilated by their own over indulgence in the arcane arts. Such a fate is sure to be shared by any who attempt to discover the secrets of the old worlds. And yet, we were still going.
Suddenly a structure came into view, beyond the thick mist that surrounded us. I could hear the gasps of my companions as they beheld the ancient city. The walls were made of cobblestone, quite ordinary, and about 10 to 15 feet tall. This would be rather astounding, were it not for the fact that the defenses of the city were enchanted with Arvon sorceries as well. In their era of glory, the walls prohibited any infiltration by ethereal barriers that surrounded the city at the perimeter of the wall. The barrier was powered by artifacts at the four barracks within the city, which were fed mana by the mages and sorcerers of the Mage Guard. Now the defense lay inactivated, its mana reserves depleted thousands of years ago.
So without any struggle, we passed through the threshold of the city, gates that were not much larger than the adjacent boundaries of the city. The city lay sprawling in front of us, a milestone of architectural feats of the Arvon civilization. Each façade comprised of Arcane stone. A special alloy of various stones that gave the material monumental strength, but operated on mana making it useable only by nations versed well in the ethereal arts. The design of the city bore witness to the ingenuity of the engineering of the Arvons.
We moved forward, trailing the main road leading to the center of the city, where they held their reserves and archives of knowledge and powerful artifacts. Our goal yet was ambiguous, even to our so called “Leader”. We were here to learn whatever scraps of knowledge, we could find. We neared the edifice I immediately identified as the main academy of the city. This was to be our destination.
Wooden doors, admitted us into the academy, which was lined with innumerable books, stores of knowledge, the fruit of meticulous research of several centuries, now gathering dust in this graveyard of a city. I almost had a sudden urge to take them with me, but I knew the others wouldn’t agree to carry them based on just a whim, nor was there space to indulge in such luxury, for what we could carry back was limited. We moved further into the academy in hope of discovering something of import. Moving and wandering through the maze-like corridors of the academy for half an hour, we found it. We knew we had found it, for there was an aura of gravity about. An amulet, very neatly enclosed within a glass dome. The insignia resembling a skull, a symbol of demons in the Arvon mythology. I lifted the glass dome nimbly, caring not to damage accidentally, anything of import.
I lifted the precious artifact in one hands and felt it with the fingers of the other. The skull insignia seemed to be made of bones, probably human bones, considering the nature of Arvon researches and sorceries. Human remains are able to draw incomprehensibly large stores of power, drawing on the strength of the soul of the former denizen of the body.
“This seems to be it”, I announced finally. This sparked curiosity from my companions. Ceventer moved forward and demanded the artifact be handed to him. I complied; no reason not to. Having found our trophy, we started towards the main wooden doors, but I stopped in my tracks, a sixth-sense warning me of an imminent danger. The others looked curiously at me. Suddenly, the whole building shook, and with it came a high-pitched shriek.
The sense of danger, registered on their faces. All of us broke into a sprint, rushing for the threshold of the academy. I was the last to exit the building, latching the door behind me, I looked at my companions who had stopped in their tracks. There was a man standing in front of us, dressed in black robes that served to conceal his entire body. Only a part of lower face visible, for the cowl of his robe was drawn over his face, his skin was pale and wrinkled, lips almost the same color as the face. The twin brothers caught up in their fear, immediately dashed in the left direction. The man stood there, unmoving, but as soon as the brothers were about fifty feet away, he leaped at them, instantly closing the gap between them and he had them. He pulled the head of one of the brothers, spraying blood all over the place.
Ceventer regained his composure suddenly and urged us to slip towards the right. Even though we ran hard, like we had never done so before, our fear and adrenaline propelling us, yet there was a no doubt in our mind that he could easily catch us. Yet somehow we were still alive for the moment, whatever consolation that was. We rushed towards the main gates of city.
The creature was after us, because we were absconding with the amulet, whatever this amulet was, it was the reason for the appearance of the demon. The gates were now within our sights; a slither of hope born within ourselves, like light in a pitch black cave; maybe we could escape this pandemonium and find safe haven outside the cursed city. Oh, how I regretted coming to this god-forsaken, what madness drove me to embark on this doomed mission. I shrugged these doubts from my mind, for the moment at least. I needed to focus right now. Besides me, Arno was dashing as well. His expression of pure terror and trepidation chilled me to the bones.
Now the escape was within several feet, my resolve strengthening on the thought of safety. The next moment, the demon was in front of us, right at the threshold of the gate. Ceventer casted his blue-flame magic, lighting the cloaks of the demon. It caught him by surprise momentarily, and that gave us the time to slip past him. It seemed that we would be able to reach the complacent safety of the outsides of the damned city. Suddenly the demon leaped again landing in front of us, clutching Ceventer in his disfigured claws. Sensing his end was imminent, he threw the damned amulet towards me. With his other claw, the demon ripped off his head from his now limp body, spluttering blood everywhere.
I knew, now it was our turn, survival instincts kicking in and aiding me, they reminded me of my own sorceries. I summoned a deep white mist, with the ability to conceal all tracks and obstruct all vision, all the while hoping that it was enough to make out in one piece. We ran, ran until our legs hurt, and still ran until we couldn’t feel our legs anymore, ran until we fell down from exhaustion.
I looked back at the city, we were dozens of miles away from that hellhole. We rested for a minute or two, and then started off again, still feeling unsafe. Our pace was slower this time, just a quick walk. ‘The demon has probably lost us’, I thought. Oh, how wrong I was, you don’t escape the ‘Hellhound’.
At that moment that shrill shriek rang again, draining all life from us. We were sprinting again, the demon leaped again, dashing past us and coming between us and our safety. This time his mouth was dripping with dark blood. This was why he took so long, the truth dawning on me, he was feeding off Ceventer’s corpse, the thought made my stomach churn.
This time it seemed I was his target, as he brought his claws on me, but Arno was quick to react. Slitting his throat with his weapon-magic. His head rolled downed on the floor, his face still concealed by the cowl that had been drawn on his face. I looked back at Arno, overcome by joy. He was grinning as well. Suddenly, his smile retracted, his eyes becoming wide with fear. I turned back again, the headless body of the demon held the beheaded visage of his body in his hand, the mouth in a wide grin that revealed razor sharp teeth. He dug his claws within my body, going for my heart.
And the visions began there, whether that because of my imminent death or the demon revealing unto me the reality in my final moments, the fact is, I was bestowed the truth of the Arvon’s mysterious disappearance; I saw a great city sprawling with stray mana and traces of arcaneries, undoubtedly a view of the Arvon city during its glory days. The vision shifted, now there was a council of mages seated around a round table discussing the “Power of Hell”.
The oldest of them rose and spoke, “Such a risk is unacceptable. The danger and peril is too great to risk everything for more power. We should leave the Powers of Hell alone. Mortals are not fit to wield anything of such a scale.” A younger member rose and began,” The old man has grown frail with age, his glory days are behind him, age turned on him, he advises against such power, for the power scares him. He cowers in fear in front of magic and power like the lesser mortals of other lands do. Our curiosity and indulgence in all arcane arts have bestowed us this glory and power. The Power of Hell, should be used, we will be gods under the shadow of such power.” The council announced its agreement, the matter decided. The vision shifted once again, the same young mage in a massive research room. Peering over the same amulet that led to our demise. He suddenly became overjoyed by what he discovered, probably a way to operate the amulet. The vision shifted once more, the amulet enclosed within the glass dome. The young sorcerer announced,” I have, after days of incessant hard-work, at last stumbled upon a way to open a pass to Hell and by it, the Power of Hell. The secrets of the Demon Amulet lay bare in front of me. Now, by the permission of this council of the wise, I shall begin the ritual that shall open the passageway.” The men, nodded their head in approbation. He started the ritual, speaking in the Demon Tongue. The amulet lighted up suddenly, the ritual seemed to working, but the glow vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Then there was a great tremor, that shook all men standing within the main halls of the academy. The same shrill cry rang, and the Demon was within the halls. What followed was uncontrolled bloodshed and decapitation.
The visions now ended, I was back in the expanse of the plains outside the city; still at the ends of the claws of the demon. Blood streaming down by my frail and weak body, I saw Arno run past me as well, the battle of life and death still continued for him, not for me it seemed, my life trickled out of me as the demon whispered in my ears in a gruff voice,’ No one escapes the Hellhound of Hell’. The material body releasing its grasp on the ethereal soul…