The Ossuary
By MRDRCAT on June 13, 2024 2:30 pm
Dungeon Synth. Figured I'd try my hand at it. As usual, 100% Dirtywave M8. I'm just happy I managed to create not one but two panpipe patches from scratch - one using Macrosynth (the Braids engine) and one using the FM synth. Uploaded early because I'll be on the road this week.
Of course, there's lore:
The bard, you already forgot his name, said there had been a flood lifetimes ago. It left the ossuary under water since then, too deep in the caves for skindivers to loot. This year's drought had finally brought the water levels down, and the bard was the only local brave enough to set superstition aside and lead your team to the ossuary.
The caves, still dripping with moisture and reeking of pale carrion, echoed in all directions. Twisting tunnels split and wound through the earth - the perfect place for keeping the bones (and treasures) of a battle hungry sect of warrior monks.
The bard played his pipes to lighten the mood and provide an audible nexus to keep your team together in the wet half-light of your torches. The sound was amusingly irreverent in this deep, once-sacred place. You passed markings of the warrior monks, carved into the stone walls - encouraging signs you were close to their riches.
Their name and god lost to time - or deliberately forgotten - the warrior monks controlled this entire area well before your ancestors' first breath. Their bloody conquests were legendary, the stories used to cow unruly children and thrill pubs of rapt listeners. As with all empires, theirs waned into the dust of history, the legends losing their power to enthrall as fresh history took hold and mattered more to new, short-sighted generations. The symbols carved on the walls meant nothing anymore.
Suddenly: war horns sliced through the dank black air. You couldn't tell from which direction. The bard played his pipes to rally the team, but...the tune was different. The pipes sounded almost ethereal, as though the melody was not for you. Somehow, you rallied to your star formation, weapons bristling, eyes on all sides. More horns, then...
Nothing. No attack, only seven fools with arms drawn on wet walls.
You rounded one last curve to behold the remains of the warrior monks, stacked from floor to ceiling, arranged in patterns echoing the senseless runes you passed in the catacombs. Strangely dry in the still-dripping caves. Thousands of skulls, their black sockets staring you down from all sides.
Your swordsman was the first to say it aloud, breaking the silence: no treasure. Your team launched into all directions searching, their curses echoing through the caverns, farther and farther away until the only company you had were the flickering skulls piled high.
You heard the bard playing, but he sounded so distant. Farther away even than your still cursing team. You didn't remember moving away from them. Then you heard the bard again, but differently, the sound of his pipes weaving in from another direction. Which way did you enter? Which bard must you follow? What did he look like?
The bards' pipes echoed blindly through the twisting caves. You called desperately to your team. Your torch burned low...
War horns in the distance.
Audio works licensed by author under:
CC Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike (BY-NC-SA)
