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GNO Chapter Excerpts Page ~ B1C18 Quick-Browse
Chapter Quick-Browse For Graven's Grotesque: A Gothic Epic
Chapter 18 Excerpt Teaser
Description: Lazarus, Angels, & Damons ~ 4 Paragraphs
Beneath the vast and vaulted canopy of an ancient forest, a heavy veil of darkness lay thick and unyielding, spreading in all directions and shrouding the heavens, save for a singular column of night’s expanse—an aperture rent through layered shadows of leaves and upturned boughs, revealing a less-darkened tapestry of stars that twinkled faintly against the twilight firmament. In the stillness of the windless eve, the towering limbs and leaves lay motionless, as though painted in sable hues, heavy with the weight of ebony ink.
From the lofty, shadowed canopy, unbroken pillars of mighty oaks thrust downward to root deep within the forest floor. Their trunks stood tall, straight, and broad, forming dense ranks that constricted passage and sight alike. Betwixt these ancient columns hung twisted veils of cobwebs, thick and unmoving, adorned with tiny spheres of webbing that held fast the remnants of long-forgotten prey. At the feet of the oaken guards, the undergrowth lay tangled and sparse, strewn across the earth in damp decay—fallen twigs, curled bark, and matted leaves of countless seasons past.
Clusters of broad-crowned mushrooms speckled the mist-shrouded earth, altogether as gatherings of pale spectres that mirrored the dense assembly of oaks above. Their pungent breath mingled with the scent of sodden wood, stagnant pools, and rot, weaving a sweet and fertile perfume of virgin woodland. Beneath the retreating mists, the leaf-littered soil swelled and sank around ancient roots that writhed beneath the surface. Scattered stones and dark boulders marked the earthen floor’s sombre face. Directly beneath the clearing in the canopy, a wide, shallow brook murmured softly over a bed of weathered stones. Downstream, waters gurgled and fell over a moss-draped ledge, splattering atop flat rocks before spilling into a still, obsidian pool.
From the forest’s shadowed heart came the unbroken, melancholic strain of a flute. The lonely melody grew nearer, accompanied by the measured crunch of twigs beneath steady footsteps. A startled owl took flight, casting down the hindquarter of a half-devoured mouse, fleeing through the starry breach above. The player emerged from the shadowed embrace of an oak, rounded the pool, and seated himself upon an oddly-shaped, centuries-worn boulder. Neither man nor beast, but a creature of both—his upper form was that of a man, save for the curled horns that crowned either side of his head; and below, there stood the shaggy hind limbs of a goat, cloven hooves planted firm. His frame was small and lean, yet neither frail nor famished. Unlike Lazarus, he was yet another shade of Eljo—as all were unalike. And from the pool’s edge, the Satyr leaned forward, seeking his own reflected visage upon the water’s darkened face.
He jabbed a notched and knotted flute downward, toward his own reflection, whilst announcing in a scruffy yet dignified voice, “I have since fashioned a new melody—a most-memorable compilation from the deepest wells of my ever-clever, grand and glorious contemplations...”
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