Finished.

[FlaK 0]

My last map. You need TX.

 

Night Star

 

Read the Read Me, Sonic you can put it up if you want, wherever you put these things.

 

See y'all around.

[FlaK 0]

Bump.

[dbjs2009 25]

thx

[BioBen 3]

Dude, don't bump your own thread, we'll see it when we see it.

Screenshot please.

[Nmenth 291]

The sky was dark with low mists rolling over the knolls and pathways like a faint white hand slowly sliding across the ground, the wispy fingers curling around rocks and trees as if searching... searching for something that only it knew and escaped the minds of man in the enigma of its nature.

The moon was full, but obscured by clouds, causing shadows to shift about with the ever changing light, though even in the moments of brightness, the blanket of fog still made the grass nearly invisible.

Since it was still early in the night, the sunset having taken place no more than a few strikes of the clock before, the bats were now out, going about on their nightly hunts for food.

Wolves were also howling in the distance, their long voices echoing through the hills like a snake slithering in tall grasses. Enough time elapsed between each subsequent lupine call that one began to wonder if they had finished their nocturnes and had departed yet, only to have the still air parted once again by the songs of the darkness.

The castle stood out though in that scenery, towering and opaque with the deep blue backdrop surrounding the silhouette. Some of the bats flew in and out of the long abandoned ramparts where they had made their roosts. Dusty cobwebs were their curtains and wallpaper, and guano; their homemade flooring.

Within those foreboding halls of cold stone was where the ancient coffin rested, aged, but not disused. It gave a quiet creak as the lid slowly lifted and a hand emerged, grasping the old wooden sides. Slowly, ever so slowly, the casket opened and the hand was followed by a wrist and then an arm.

When it was fully opened, that was when the figure stood to its feet and stepped out onto the hard floor... the Necroposter, bane of internet forums and unspeakable horror whose only will is to dig up the posts forgotten eons ago by the locals with three letter replies. Scrawled out in simple text, like a skeleton of the grammatical world, "thx".

How has it come to this, one begs to wonder? What has caused the English language to dissolve like a weighted down man in a bog, unable to lift off his own burden in time to save himself?

In the upper left, the glowing timestamp, "Saturday 25th December 2004" present, but ignored.

A lone forum moderator stumbles upon the grim panorama and writes a few words down depicting the recent events, but it is too late now to do more. The thx has already been inscribed and the 2004 disregarded, even a dump into the recycle bin could not undo the wrong that was committed here.

Another came while he observed the landscape. The newcomer, apparently not noticing that he was not alone, left his own feelings there, mistaken as they were concerning the events that had transpired, before disappearing as quickly as he arrived.

The moderator returns to his reflections and turns his gaze back to the dismal vista spread out before him. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, the Necroposter will return to his slumber and pay attention to topic's timestamps, but there is no promise of this, only hope. The moderator drops his notes there and quietly walks away, eyes glancing to the "Close this topic" option for a moment, but it seems so futile now, damage done. Nevertheless, obligation compels him and he clicks the command, triggering the "Add Replay" button to transform into one reading "Closed".

As the clouds drift by, the moonlight briefly illuminates the area as a final reminder of the chaos that had ensued there before being covered, not to be revealed again before sunrise.