recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
Astrophobos

**Astrophobos**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

In the Midnight heaven's burning

Through the ethereal deeps afar

Once I watch'd with restless yearning

An alluring aureate star;

Ev'ry eve aloft returning

Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car.

Mystic waves of beauty blended

With the gorgeous golden rays

Phantasies of bliss descended

In a myrrh'd Elysian haze.

In the lyre-born chords extended

Harmonies of Lydian lays.

And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,

Where the free and blessed dwell,

And each moment bears a treasure,

Freighted with the lotos-spell,

And there floats a liquid measure

From the lute of Israfel.

There (I told myself) were shining

Worlds of happiness unknown,

Peace and Innocence entwining

By the Crowned Virtue's throne;

Men of light, their thoughts refining

Purer, fairer, than my own.

Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision

Crept a red delirious change;

Hope dissolving to derision,

Beauty to distortion strange;

Hymnic chords in weird collision,

Spectral sights in endless range....

Crimson burn'd the star of madness

As behind the beams I peer'd;

All was woe that seem'd but gladness

Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd;

Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness,

Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd....

Now I know the fiendish fable

Then the golden glitter bore;

Now I shun the spangled sable

That I watch'd and lov'd before;

But the horror, set and stable,

Haunts my soul forevermore!
My Pet Cat

My cat usually sleeps right behind my knees as I lay on my side. Tonight, though, she must have fallen asleep on the couch in the living room, as I can't see her anywhere.

As I am about to drift off, I feel something land behind my knees. My cat probably got lonely and she wanted my company. I close my eyes again and sigh, while my cat starts purring. Then this weird thought creeps into my mind: my cat isn't that heavy. To put this ridiculous thought to rest, I turn to look at her.

An old hag sits behind my knees, licking the back of her hand and purring. Her hooked nose is large and her face long, her skin stretched across her cheekbones. Her teeth are sharp and rotten, and her hair shines with grease.

I recoil in shock. The old hag opens her eyes wide and her jaw drops. A foul stench fills my nostrils. I freeze in terror. Then, the old hag raises her hand and snaps her fingers.

She turns into my cat.

"Meow."

*Written by MrDupin

Content is available under CC BY-SA*
I Don't Know What to Do

I don't know what to do. Every night, around midnight, I wake to find my wife missing from our bed. She has always had a wandering problem. She enjoyed leaving the house every night after I had fallen asleep to meet up with a friend. Like every night, I arose from the bed, rubbing my eyes as I placed my feet on the cold, hardwood floors. I peered out of the window at the moon, which hung delicately over the family cemetery in our backyard.

I called out her name, pacing cautiously down our narrow hallway. In the other room, I could hear Rose crying ever so quietly. I suppose my yelling awoke her from her dreams. So, I ended the search for my wife, and instead headed towards the nursery. Standing in her crib, Rose reached out for me impatiently. I picked her up, humming her favorite tune as she drifted back off to sleep one eye at a time. I stared down at her beautiful pale skin and blonde hair before kissing her wet cheeks.

As I placed her back into her crib, a crashing sound alarmed me from downstairs. Hurriedly, I ran towards the sound, ignoring my once cautious demeanor. And, once I made it down the stairs, I spotted my wife standing in front of the patio door. She was silent. I approached her slowly as I questioned where she had been. Laughter escaped her.

The atmosphere surrounding us was thick and an all too familiar stench filled the air. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but her laughter grew to an unbearable level. I covered my ears, screaming for her to stop but she persisted. Finally, I grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to quiet her. Only... her shoulders were as stiff as a board. I tried to caress her hair only to receive a ball of it entangled in my fingers. I backed away from her, my mind racing with confusion.

Instinctively, I rushed upstairs, bursting into Rose's room. Only... she wasn't there. I called out her name, knowing she would not answer back. Then, I recognized the sound of running water coming from our bathroom. I walked towards the door left barely open. I creaked open the door and stared intently upon the small body... bloated and afloat. Her blonde hair danced in the water much like it belonged there, and her beautiful face tucked beneath it so stunningly. The sight made my knees buckle. I fell to the floor and screamed at the top of my lungs for what seemed like decades.

But, with every second I gazed upon her corpse, I slowly began to remember. I remembered why she was dead. I didn't know what to do. Her mother, that whore, she made me do it. I had to teach her. I had to show her I loved her more than anything. She didn't love me anymore. She loved him. I had to show her. I had to. So, I took away something she loved. She had to feel how I felt when I gazed down at those papers. But, even that wasn't enough for her. She tried to run out of the patio door. But I didn't let her. I couldn't let her.

*Written by GreyOwl

Content is available under CC BY-SA*
Mother's Love

You wake up in the middle of the night. Your cat is cozily nested behind your knees and the weight of your blanket warms your tired body nicely. You sigh happily. When you are about to drift again into a sweet slumber, your cat hisses, runs frantically off your bed and hides behind the curtains.

She has never acted so oddly before, and that upsets you. You look around in your room for anything that could have startled her but nothing is out of the ordinary. You stay still and listen for anything unusual. You can hear your cat drinking water from her bowl in the hall, making that disgusting slurping sound that always disturbs you. Relieved that nothing is wrong, you lie back down and pull your blanket up to your chin.

But before you close your eyes, you see the shadowy silhouette of your feline friend ducking under your desk, her hair standing up. You gasp. If it isn’t your cat drinking water then what is making the sound?

Slowly and as silently as possible you get off your bed. But despite your best efforts, the old wooden framework groans loudly. You freeze. The slurping sound stops for a second before it resumes. Any doubts that this was your imagination’s doing are cast away.

Heart pounding on your chest, you tiptoe your way to the door. You step out of your room and look across the hallway, towards your cat’s bowl. And there you see her.

Your mother, crouching on hands and knees. Her limbs are long and skinny and her fingers are gaunt and bony. Her messy hair covers her pale, distorted face; her skin stretched against her cheekbones. She is greedily licking the water in your cat’s bowl with a tongue black as coal and twice the normal size.

Suddenly, she stops. She slowly turns her head towards you. She stares deep into your eyes; her pupils two unmoving dots of malice.

You jump in panic and run back into your room while your mother gallops on all fours towards you. You close the door behind you, moments before it starts shaking violently; loud bangs echoing across the house. You quickly throw your body against the door, blocking it. The whole doorframe quakes fiercely, but you hold firm.

Then, the banging stops. An otherworldly sense of stillness hangs in the air. After a few seconds of excruciating silence, the knob starts turning.

“Honey, is something wrong?” you hear your mother’s soothing voice from the other side. “Why did you close the door? I am worried. Please, let me in.”

*Written by MrDupin

Content is available under CC BY-SA*
Imitation

**Imitation**
 *By  Edgar Allan Poe*

Poem copied from the Wikisource.

 IMITATION.
A dark unfathom'd tide

Of interminable pride—

A mystery, and a dream,

Should my early life seem;

I say that dream was fraught

With a wild, and waking thought

Of beings that have been,

Which my spirit hath not seen,

Had I let them pass me by,

With a dreaming eye!

Let none of earth inherit

That vision on my spirit;

Those thoughts I would controul,

As a spell upon his soul:

For that bright hope at last

And that light time have past,

And my worldly rest hath gone

With a sight as it pass'd on,

I care not tho' it perish

With a thought I then did cherish,
Hawk Edge CB-70

## Description

A step above the Razorback Lite CB-60, the CB-70 brings a higher draw weight to the table, enhancing its penetrative powers.  This gives it the extra punch needed to bring down the larger game in COTW as long as it is coupled with the appropriate 600 grain arrows.

## Stats

 Weight
 Accuracy
 Recoil
 Reload Speed
 Hipshot
 Peak Draw Weight
 Magazine Size

*Note: All stats are ​on a scale of 0 to 100*

## Integrity Bonus Chart

 Red Fox

 Coyote
 Roe Deer

 Fallow Deer
 Blacktail Deer
 Whitetail Deer
 Wild Boar
 Black Bear

 Red Deer
 Roosevelt Elk

 Moose
 Bison

## Usage

As mentioned previously, all bows can be used to down every single game animal currently available, provided they are outfitted with the proper arrows; different arrow grains will result in identical ranges, but vastly different penetration ratings, so choose your arrows wisely using the above charts.

The bows in COTW have a very short effective range, and are susceptible to inaccuracy due to wind and a built-in random offset that can be corrected by use of perks.  It is important to note that this offset is designed to mimic the natural variance in accuracy experienced with real compound bows.  Keeping all of this in mind, bows are typically played in an ambush style, using scents and callers to bring your prey within range of a proper strike.  Bows function identically to rifles in that they will wobble when aimed, and can be steadied by holding your breath (default: Left Shift).

Upgraded sights can be purchased from the shop at appropriate bow skill levels, and these will aid in aiming over longer distances due to their multiple pins sighted for different ranges.  It is important to become accustomed to your bow by finding a stationary object and testing its accuracy at different ranges before attempting to take game, as they can be challenging to adapt to for a novice.

## Allowed Sights

* Brightsight Single Pin Sight
* Swift-Mark 3 Bow Sight
* Swift-Mark 5 Bow Sight

## Arrow Types

* 300 gr. Small Game Point Arrow
* 420 gr. Broadhead Arrow
* 600 gr. Broadhead Arrow
Epigram for Wall Street

**Epigram for Wall Street**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

I'll tell you a plan for gaining wealth,

    Better than banking, trade or leases —

Take a bank note and fold it up,

    And then you will find your money in creases!

This wonderful plan, without danger or loss,

Keeps your cash in your hands, where nothing can trouble it;

And every time that you fold it across,

    'Tis as plain as the light of the day that you double it!
The Haunted Palace

**The Haunted Palace**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

I.

In the greenest of our valleys,
 By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
 Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion—
 It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
 Over fabric half so fair.

II.

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
 On its roof did float and flow;
(This—all this—was in the olden
 Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
 In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
 A wingèd odor went away.

III.

Wanderers in that happy valley
 Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
 To a lute's well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
 (Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
 The ruler of the realm was seen.

IV.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
 Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
 And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
 Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
 The wit and wisdom of their king.

V.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
 Assailed the monarch's high estate
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
 Shall dawn upon him, desolate!);
And, round about his home, the glory
 That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
 Of the old time entombed.

VI.

And travelers now within that valley,
 Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
 To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
 Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
 And laugh—but smile no more.
Nemesis

**Nemesis**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
  Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
  I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
  When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
  Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.

I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
  Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
  That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
  Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
  And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
  That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
  That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
  I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
  Shows the tapestries things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.

I have peered from the casements in wonder
  At the moldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
  The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound.

I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
  I have flown on the pinions of fear,
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
  Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.

I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
  The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
  When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
  And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
  Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
  Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
  I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
TheHorrorNetwork:Inactivity Guidelines

Inactivity guidelines for sysops. These rules are supposed to be lenient because all edits/work on the wiki is voluntary. *However*, you are expected to do something, as a user with extended rights should. These guidelines should make it crystal-clear of what is expected.

## Administrator:

**5 months of inactivity, rights will be taken.**

If the admin returns within the next 3 months, they can ask for their rights back. If an admin announces a long period of inactivity, this may be extended.

*Note*: Admins need to be active. Six months should be enough time of inactivity. Rights may be returned by request in the next 3 months. After that, the user will have to reapply for administrator.

Short editing, lurking around the wiki, and generally not doing much of anything may count as inactivity. The admin in question may receive warning of this, but the inactivity deadline may be extended due to circumstances.
The Divine Right of Kings

Story copied from the Wikisource.

**The Divine Right of Kings**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

The only king by right divine

Is Ellen King, and were she mine

I'd strive for liberty no more,

But hug the glorious chains I wore.

Her bosom is an ivory throne,

Where tyrant virtue reigns alone;

No subject vice dare interfere,

To check the power that governs here.

O! would she deign to rule my fate,

I'd worship Kings and kingly state,

And hold this maxim all life long,

The King — *my* King — can do no wrong.
Bridal Ballad

**Bridal Ballad**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

The ring is on my hand,
    And the wreath is on my brow;
Satin and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
    And I am happy now.

And my lord he loves me well;
    But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell-
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
    And who is happy now.

But he spoke to re-assure me,
    And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o'er me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"

And thus the words were spoken,
    And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Here is a ring, as token
    That I am happy now!

Would God I could awaken!
    For I dream I know not how!
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
    May not be happy now.
The City

**The City**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

It was golden and splendid,

  That City of light;

A vision suspended

  In deeps of the night;

A region of wonder and glory, whose temples were marble and white.

I remember the season

  It dawn'd on my gaze;

The mad time of unreason,

  The brain-numbing days

When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze.

More lovely than Zion

  It shone in the sky

When the beams of Orion

  Beclouded my eye,

Bringing sleep that was filled with dim mem'ries of moments obscure and gone by.

Its mansions were stately,

  With carvings made fair,

Each rising sedately

  On terraces rare,

And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there.

The avenues lur'd me

  With vistas sublime;

Tall arches assur'd me

  That once on a time

I had wander'd in rapture beneath them, and bask'd in the Halcyon clime.

On the plazas were standing

  A sculptur'd array;

Long bearded, commanding,

  rave men in their day--

But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face battered away.

In that city effulgent

  No mortal I saw,

But my fancy, indulgent

  To memory's law,

Linger'd long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with awe.

I fann'd the faint ember

  That glow'd in my mind,

And strove to remember

  The aeons behind;

To rove thro' infinity freely, and visit the past unconfin'd.

Then the horrible warning

  Upon my soul sped

Like the ominous morning

  That rises in red,

And in panic I flew from the knowledge of terrors forgotten and dead.
No Name Land

The breeze brushed against my cheek and forced past my arm into my mouth and nose. It started to howl, beginning as a low whisper and twisting into an angry scream across the land. The sun emerged from the clouds, like a killer from the curtain peering out at me. It baked my skin and bones as I gazed over what used to be a town, but now looked more like a desert, only planks and boards jutting from the sky of dust. Sand blew into my bloodshot eyes as I looked up at the sky. It was radiant, and it hurt to look at. I looked back down to the sand, which was no better. I started to walk, and every step against the hot sand hurt.

*Pit pat. Pit pat.*

The wind was like a banshee now, unloading into my ears and around my body. I place my bloodied feet onto the sand once more, clutching my ragged clothes close and wishing I had kept my canteen.

*Pit pat. Pit pat.*

I stopped and rested on my knees, and dust blew along my shirt and under, scratching my blistered skin. I saw an old playground, its paint bleached and burned. Only one part of it was completely uncovered, a small swing set. On it was a man, no, a boy. He must have been no more than twelve.

*“Pretty ain’t it?”*

He asked while staring out into the town. I got up onto my shaking legs as the wind smashed into me, delivering gust after gust. He sighed.

*“Did you hear me, or are you ignoring me?”*

His voice sounded sweet, yet brittle. Listening made my bones ache, and my skin felt like nails were being driven into them. He lifted his feet off the sand and let the swing slowly go back and forth. Back and forth.

*Creek. Crick. Creek. Crick.*

I walked forward listening to the chorus of the gods.

*Pit. Creek. Pat. Crick. Pit. Creek. Pat.*

I stepped forwards again, letting my skin shrivel under the light. And he looked at me. His eyes were a deep red, and throbbed when I stared deep into them. There was a deep black skin around them, littered with sand and residue. He set his unscuffed feet on the ground, abruptly stopping with the creaking.

*Cree-*

We stood there eye to eye. The wind engulfed us, and the sun rippled through my cracked lips.

*“It’s a real beauty.”*

I grunted, my eyes unwavering. His dark lips curved into a grin. It made me want to retch. His lips again parted.

*“What’s your name?”*

I trembled now and my sight broke his. His eyes burned into the back of my head. I fell again, to one knee and winced. I looked up and again met his cold, dead gaze as my exerted muscles quivered.

*“I don’t know.”*

I managed to blurt, and some blood spat out. Some fell into the sandy sea, but most of it blew right back into my face. The wind stopped, puttering out to a low whine before fading into nothing. I winced again, feeling a sharp pain in my gut, and I looked to see more blood coating it. When I looked up he was gone, and I wearily stood up. I trampled onward listening to my feet once more as I had for hours on end.

*Pit pat. Pit pat.*

I looked back after a while, seeing the long dried bones of a boy sitting on the swingset holding an iron canteen, with ‘No Name’ carved into it.

*Pit.*

*Written by ThisIsLucid

Content is available under CC BY-SA*
Apostrophe to the Ocean

**Apostrophe to the Ocean**
*by Lord Byron*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

CLXXVIII.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society where none intrudes,

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:

I love not Man the less, but Nature more,

From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel

What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

CLXXIX.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;

Man marks the earth with ruin—his control

Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,

When for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

CLXXX.

His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy fields

Are not a spoil for him,—thou dost arise

And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields

For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,

Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,

And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray

And howling, to his gods, where haply lies

His petty hope in some near port or bay,

And dashest him again to earth:—there let him lay.

CLXXXI.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls

Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,

And monarchs tremble in their capitals.

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make

Their clay creator the vain title take

Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,

They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar

Alike the Armada’s pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

CLXXXII.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee—

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?

Thy waters washed them power while they were free

And many a tyrant since: their shores obey

The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay

Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou,

Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play—

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow—

Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

CLXXXIII.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form

Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,

Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm,

Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime

Dark-heaving;—boundless, endless, and sublime—

The image of Eternity—the throne

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone

Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

CLXXXIV.

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be

Borne like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy

I wantoned with thy breakers—they to me

Were a delight; and if the freshening sea

Made them a terror—’twas a pleasing fear,

For I was as it were a child of thee,

And trusted to thy billows far and near,

And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do here.
Lenore

Story copied from the Wikisource.

**Lenore**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!

Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;

And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or never more!

See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!

Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—

An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—

A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,

"And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!

"How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung

"By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue

"That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"

Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song

Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!

The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,

Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—

For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes —

The life still there, upon her hair — the death upon her eyes.

"Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,

"But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan of old days!

"Let no bell toll! — lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,

"Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth.

"To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven —

"From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven —

"From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven."
Elizabeth

**Elizabeth**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Poem copied from the Wikisource.

Elizabeth, it surely is most fit

[Logic and common usage so commanding]

In thy own book that first thy name be writ,

Zeno and other sages notwithstanding;

And I have other reasons for so doing

Besides my innate love of contradiction;

Each poet - if a poet - in pursuing

The muses thro' their bowers of Truth or Fiction,

Has studied very little of his part,

Read nothing, written less - in short's a fool

Endued with neither soul, nor sense, nor art,

Being ignorant of one important rule,

Employed in even the theses of the school-

Called - I forget the heathenish Greek name

[Called anything, its meaning is the same]

"Always write first things uppermost in the heart."
The Happiest Day

**The Happiest Day**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

## Tamerlane and other poems Version

THE happiest day—the happiest hour

 My sear'd and blighted heart hath known,

The highest hope of pride and power,

 I feel hath flown.

Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
 But they have vanished long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been—
 But let them pass.

And, pride, what have I now with thee?
 Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour'd on me—
 Be still, my spirit.

The happiest day—the happiest hour
 Mine eyes shall see—have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
 I feel—have been:

But were that hope of pride and power
 Now offer'd, with the pain
Even *then* I felt—that brightest hour
 I would not live again:

For on its wing was dark alloy.
 And as it flutter'd—fell
An essence—powerful to destroy
 A soul that knew it well.
Alone by Edger Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were — I have not seen

As others saw — I could not bring

My passions from a common spring —

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow — I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone —

And all I lov'd — I lov'd alone

*Then* — in my childhood — in the dawn

Of a most stormy life — was drawn

From ev'ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still —

From the torrent, or the fountain —

From the red cliff of the mountain —

From the sun that 'round me roll'd

In its autumn tint of gold —

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass'd me flying by —

From the thunder, and the storm —

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view —

- Edgar Allan Poe
The House

**The House**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

Notice: This is a Lovecraft's Poetry.

  'Tis a grove-circled dwelling

    Set close to a hill,

  Where the branches are telling

    Strange legends of ill;

  Over timbers so old

    That they breathe of the dead,

  Crawl the vines, green and cold,

    By strange nourishment fed;

And no man knows the juices they suck from the depths of their dank slimy bed.

  In the gardens are growing

    Tall blossoms and fair,

  Each pallid bloom throwing

    Perfume on the air;

  But the afternoon sun

    with its shining red rays

  Makes the picture loom dun

    On the curious gaze,

And above the sween scent of the the blossoms rise odours of numberless days.

  The rank grasses are waving

    On terrace and lawn,

  Dim memories savouring

    Of things that have gone;

  The stones of the walks

    Are encrusted and wet,

  And a strange spirit stalks

    When the red sun has set.

And the soul of the watcher is fill'd with faint pictures he fain would forget.

  It was in the hot Junetime

    I stood by that scene,

  When the gold rays of noontime

    Beat bright on the green.

  But I shiver'd with cold,

    Groping feebly for light,

  As a picture unroll'd -

    And my age-spanning sight

Saw the time I had been there before flash like fulgury out of the night.
Pacifist War Song - 1917

**Pacifist War Song - 1917**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

We are the valiant Knights of Peace
Who prattle for the Right:
Our banner is of snowy fleece,
Inscrib’d: "TOO PROUD TO FIGHT!"

By sweet Chautauqua’s flow’ry banks
We love to sing and play,
But should we spy a foeman’s ranks!
We’d proudly run away!

When Prussian fury sweeps the main
Our freedom to deny;
Of tyrant laws we ne’er complain;
But gladsomely comply!

We do not fear the submarines
That plough the troubled foam;
We scorn the ugly old machines -
And safely stay at home!

They say our country’s close to war
And soon must man the guns;
But we see naught to struggle for -
We love the gentle Huns!

What though their hireling Greaser bands
Invade our southern plains?
We well can spare those boist’rous lands,
Content with what remains!

Our fathers were both rude and bold,
And would not live like brothers;
But we are of a finer mould -
We’re much more like our mothers!
The Doomed City

**The Doomed City**
*by Edgar Allen Poe*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

Lo! Death hath rear'd himself a throne

In a strange city, all alone,

Far down within the dim west —

And the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the best,

Have gone to their eternal rest.

There shrines, and palaces, and towers

Are — not like any thing of ours —

O! no — O! no — ours never loom

To heaven with that ungodly gloom!

Time-eaten towers that tremble not!

Around, by lifting winds forgot,

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

A heaven that God doth not contemn

With stars is like a diadem —

We liken our ladies' eyes to them —

But there! that everlasting pall!

It would be mockery to call

Such dreariness a heaven at all.

Yet tho' no holy rays come down

On the long night-time of that town,

Light from the lurid, deep sea

Streams up the turrets silently —

Up thrones — up long-forgotten bowers

Of sculptur'd Ivy and stone flowers —

Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls —

Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls —

Up many a melancholy shrine

Whose entablatures intertwine

The mask the — the viol — and the vine.

There open temples — open graves

Are on a level with the waves —

But not the riches there that lie

In each idol's diamond eye.

Not the gaily-jewell'd dead

Tempt the waters from their bed:

For no ripples curl, alas!

Along that wilderness of glass —

No swellings hint that winds may be

Upon a far-off happier sea:

So blend the turrets and shadows there

That all seem pendulous in air,

While from the high towers of the town

Death looks gigantically down.

But lo! a stir is in the air!

The wave! there is a ripple there!

As if the towers had thrown aside,

In slightly sinking, the dull tide —

As if the turret-tops had given

A vacuum in the filmy heaven:

The waves have now a redder glow —

The very hours are breathing low —

And when, amid no earthly moans,

Down, down that town shall settle hence,

Hell rising from a thousand thrones

Shall do It reverence,

And Death to some more happy clime

Shall give his undivided time.
An Acrostic

**An Acrostic**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

Elizabeth it is in vain you say

"Love not"—thou sayest it in so sweet a way:

In vain those words from thee or L. E. L.

Zantippe's talents had enforced so well:

Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,

Breathe it less gently forth—and veil thine eyes.

Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried

To cure his love—was cured of all beside—

His folly—pride—and passion—for he died.
Azathoth

**Azathoth** (1922) *by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

When age fell upon the world, and wonder went out of the minds of men; when grey cities reared to smoky skies tall towers grim and ugly, in whose shadow none might dream of the sun or of Spring’s flowering meads; when learning stripped the Earth of her mantle of beauty and poets sang no more save of twisted phantoms seen with bleared and inward looking eyes; when these things had come to pass, and childish hopes had gone forever, there was a man who traveled out of life on a quest into spaces whither the world’s dreams had fled.

Of the name and abode of this man little is written, for they were of the waking world only; yet it is said that both were obscure. It is enough to say that he dwelt in a city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, that he toiled all day among shadow and turmoil, coming home at evening to a room whose one window opened not to open fields and groves but on to a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. From that casement one might see only walls and windows, except sometimes when one leaned so far out and peered at the small stars that passed. And because mere walls and windows must soon drive a man to madness who dreams and reads much, the dweller in that room used night after night to lean out and peer aloft to glimpse some fragment of things beyond the waking world and the tall cities. After years he began to call the slow sailing stars by name, and to follow them in fancy when they glided regretfully out of sight; till at length his vision opened to many secret vistas whose existence no common eye suspected. And one night a mighty gulf was bridged, and the dream haunted skies swelled down to the lonely watcher’s window to merge with the close air of his room and to make him a part of their fabulous wonder.

There came to that room wild streams of violet midnight glittering with dust of gold, vortices of dust and fire, swirling out of the ultimate spaces and heavy perfumes from beyond the worlds. Opiate oceans poured there, litten by suns that the eye may never behold and having in their whirlpools strange dolphins and sea-nymphs of unrememberable depths. Noiseless infinity eddied around the dreamer and wafted him away without touching the body that leaned stiffly from the lonely window; and for days not counted in men’s calendars the tides of far spheres that bore him gently to join the course of other cycles that tenderly left him sleeping on a green sunrise shore, a green shore fragrant with lotus blossoms and starred by red camalates…
The Bride of the Sea

**The Bride of the Sea**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me,

Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.

Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me

Sadly of years in the lost Nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish'd boulder,

Sweet is the sound and familiar to me;

Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,

Walk'd I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her,

Sweet as the breeze that blew o'er the brine.

Swift was I captur'd in Love's strongest fetter,

Glad to be here, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask'd I where she wander'd,

Never a question ask'd she of my birth:

Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder'd,

Glad of the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play'd soft 'mid the billows,

High on the cliff o'er the waters we stood,

Bound was her hair with a garland of willows,

Pluck'd by the fount in the bird-haunted wood.

Strangely she gaz'd on the surges beneath her,

Charm'd with the sound or entranc'd by the light:

Then did the waves a wild aspect bequeath her,

Stern as the ocean and weird as the night.

Coldly she left me, astonish'd and weeping,

Standing alone 'mid the legions she bless'd:

Down, ever downward, half gliding, half creeping,

Stole the sweet Unda in oceanward quest.

Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating

Turn'd to a ripple as Unda the fair

Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting,

Beckon'd to me, and no longer was there!

Long did I pace by the banks where she vanish'd,

High climb'd the moon and descended again.

Grey broke the dawn till the sad night was banish'd,

Still ach'd my soul with its infinite pain.

All the wide world have I search'd for my darling;

Scour'd the far desert and sail'd distant seas.

Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,

Flash'd a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

Ever in restlessness onward I stumble

Seeking and pining scarce heeding my way.

Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble,

Back to the scene of the lost yesterday.

Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes

Rises in ominous grandeur to view;

Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes

O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue.

Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing

Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and beams.

Frail it may be, yet how simple the trying,

Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams.

What is yon face in the moonlight appearing;

Have I at last found the maiden that fled?

Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing

Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread.

Current's surround me, and drowsily swaying,

Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face.

Eagerly, hasting, half panting, half praying,

Forward I reach for the vision of grace.

Murmuring waters about me are closing,

Soft the sweet vision advances to me.

Done are my trials; my heart is reposing

Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.
Hymn

**Hymn**
*by Edgar Allan Poe*

At morn- at noon- at twilight dim-

Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!

In joy and woe- in good and ill-

Mother of God, be with me still!

When the hours flew brightly by,

And not a cloud obscured the sky,

My soul, lest it should truant be,

Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;

Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast

Darkly my Present and my Past,

Let my Future radiant shine

With sweet hopes of thee and thine!
Lines on Gen. Robert Edward Lee

**Lines on Gen. Robert Edward Lee**
*by H. P. Lovecraft*

Story copied from the Wikisource.

*Si veris magna paratur*

*Fama bonis, et se successu nuda remoto*

*Inspicitur virtus, quicquid laudamus in ullo*

*Majorum, ortuna fuit.*

*- Lucan*

Whilst martial echoes o’er the wave resound,

And Europe’s gore incarnadines the ground;

Today no foreign hero we bemoan,

But count the glowing virtues of our own!

illustrious LEE! around whose honour’d name

Entwines a patriot’s and a Christian’s fame;

With whose just praise admiring nations ring,

And whom repenting foes contritely sing!

When first our land fraternal fury bore,

And Sumter’s guns alarm’d the anxious shore;

When Faction’s reign ancestral rights o’erthrew,

And sunder’d States a mutual hatred knew;

Then clash’d contending chiefs of kindred line,

In flesh to suffer and in fame to shine.

But o’er them all, majestic in his might,

Rose LEE, unrivall’d, to sublimest height:

With torturing choice defy’d opposing Fate,

And shunn’d Temptation for his native State!

Thus Washington his monarch’s rule o’erturned

When young Columbia with rebellion burn’d.

And what in Washington the world reveres,

In LEE with equal magnitude appears.

Our nation’s Father, crown’d with vict’ry bays,

Enjoys a loving land’s eternal praise:

Let, then, our hearts with equal rev’rence greet

His proud successor, rising o’er defeat!

Around his greatness pour disheart’ning woes,

But still he tow’rs above his conquering foes.

Silence! ye jackal herd that vainly blame

Th’ unspotted leader by a traitor’s name.

If such was LEE, let blushing Justice mourn,

And trait’rous Liberty endure our scorn!

As Philopoemen once sublimely strove,

And earn’d declining Hellas’ thankful love;

So followed LEE the purest patriot’s part,

And wak’d the worship of the grateful heart:

The South her soul in body’d form discerns;

The North from LEE a nobler freedom learns!

Attend! ye sons of Albion’s ancient race,

Whate’er your country, and whate’er your place;

LEE’S valiant deeds, though dear to Southern song,

To all our Saxon strain as well belong,

Courage like his the parent Island won,

And led an Empire past the setting sun;

To realms unknown our laws and language bore,

Rais’d England’s banner on the desert shore;

Crush’d the proud rival, and subdued the sea

For ages past, and aeons yet to be!

From Scotia’s hilly bounds the paean rolls,

And Afric’s distant Cape great LEE extols;

The sainted soul and manly mien combine

To grace Britannia’s and Virginia's line

As dullards now in thoughtless fervour prate

Of shameful peace, and sing th’ unmanly State;

As churls their piping reprobations shriek,

And damn the heroes that protect the weak;

Let LEE’S brave shade the timid throng accost,

And give them back the manhood they have lost!

What kindlier spirit, breathing from on high,

Can teach us how to live and how to die?
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Création de personnage à de Terris Inferis

* La feuille de personnage (seules les deux premières feuilles sont nécessaires pour un PJ non mage)
* **Traits :** Tous les traits à 0, 4 points de traits, il est possible de passer un trait (et un seul) à -1 pour gagner un point de trait supplémentaire). Jamais plus d'un trait à 2 à la création, y compris avec l'expérience de départ.
* **Atouts :** Deux atouts, il est possible de prendre un désavantage pour gagner un atout supplémentaire. Jamais plus de quatre atouts à la création, y compris avec l'expérience de départ.
* **Points de potentiel :** Deux points de potentiel.
* **Expérience :** 90 PX.
	+ Augmenter un trait de -1 à 0 ou de 0 à 1 coute 6 PX, en augmenter un de 1 à 2 coûte 8 PX.
	+ Acheter un atout coûte 6 PX.
	+ Acheter un point de destin coûte 8 PX.
	+ Augmenter une compétence jusqu'à 3 coût 1 point le point, l'augmenter jusqu'à 6 coûte 2, l'augmenter jusqu' à 9 coûte 3 et un point de potentiel, l'augmenter jusqu’à 10 coûte 4 et un point de potentiel. Il est impossible de dépasser 7 à la création. (Le tableau ci-dessous récapitule le coût total pour passer une compétence de 0 au niveau indiqué.)