Posts from Sacred Haven of Debauchery

One night, I was flying over a dark forest near the "Cthulhu" river, and suddenly I saw strange lights below, as if thousands of campfires were burning with a bright, even flame. I became curious about what was happening there, so I descended... about 30 meters above the ground, I saw many humanoid creatures (bipedal) singing strange songs. Listening closely, I realized that these were lines from an ancient, dark ritual. Suddenly, a sinister, commanding voice echoed from somewhere. It was the voice of a shaman, and it seemed he was summoning some creature from the depths of the dark realms. Suddenly, a scream rang out, and all these creatures turned their gaze towards me. The shaman shouted...

Spring is only on the pages of calendars right now. You can't feel it in your soul or body yet, probably because of the weather. Besides snowdrops, there are also beautiful lungworts. And doesn't lilac bloom in spring? Well, maybe in late spring...

Reality is relative. Perhaps there is no "reality" at all, and we are all dreaming, but I definitely know one thing: this whole world is the dream of one great dragon.

Heh, you, sir, are a solipsist! I didn't expect to meet a like-minded person... although two solipsists cannot be like-minded, at least because each is sure that this dream is dreamed by him :smile09:
And I love to sleep. But right now, it's not going very well, since I already managed to sleep in the second half of the day and in the morning on Friday... the longer you wait, the more appealing the sleep becomes ;) A good dream should be savored after a day of sleeplessness. Although the more intense the impressions, the greater the chance that you won't remember the dream in the morning... but that's not important! The main thing is to remember your dreams in your dream.

You guys are so boring.
Tell me something) For example, I love spring! Everything melts and blooms, lilac and snowdrops )))))

My favorite time of year is early autumn. When the nights are already dark, but it's still warm like in summer, when humid air after the rain and gray, ragged clouds covering the endlessly white sky are most common. I don't like spring because it's wet, not humid. Puddles, mud, all sorts of nasty things appear from under the snow. Frost, dirty, shapeless silhouettes of half-melted snowdrifts, bright, intolerably piercing sunlight... all of this is unpleasant. I have never seen snowdrops in real life. Lilacs in St. Petersburg will not bloom anytime soon... if they bloom by the end of April, that's good, but usually it's at the beginning of May. And I don't like bare, half-frozen branches. Even if they have buds. It's better to have falling leaves. And what a pleasant smell there is in the taiga in autumn! All the leafy undergrowth falls, mushrooms grow in full force, and you can still find an untouched clearing with late-ripening lingonberries or blueberries...

Can anyone tell a scary story?

I also have lilacs planted in a pot on my balcony :) Sometimes I manage to keep the flowers until almost November. And they bloom early) It's warm on the balcony and in the sun.

Well, spring is only on the pages of calendars right now. You don't feel it with your soul or body yet, probably because of the weather.
Besides snowdrops, there are also beautiful lungworts.

You feel it with your boots :D
And with the heat. It's already hot in winter clothes, but it's still cool in demi-season clothes. You don't know what to wear:(
And yes, lungworts are beautiful;) and dandelions.

I don't like spring because it's wet, not humid. Puddles, mud, all sorts of nasty things appear from under the snow. Frost, dirty, shapeless silhouettes of half-melted snowdrifts, bright, intolerably piercing sunlight... all of this is unpleasant.

But what about romance? The romance of spring) Nature comes to life, life is bustling, ants begin to strengthen their hives! Birds arrive and build nests! Bees eat pollen and buzz! And they build something in their nests.
No, I really love spring, I don't know about you:)

I love warm weather, but not hot weather:) around 18-22 degrees, no more. And that's spring, and sometimes summer and autumn:

And romance exists for those who feel it and create it:)
But in general, I agree with the idea that spring is the season of romance:)

Come up with something yourself. I'm the only one here who isn't sleeping. P.S. I'm not sleeping.

I can't stand spring; it's a terrible time, there's no romance in it.
Such a pure, bright, and beautiful winter, with its cold, ice, and snowflakes, fades away, and in its place comes mud, all sorts of unpleasantness, heat, and slush. It's paradise for farmers who have gone out to the fields, anticipating several months of relentless work.
Trying to create romance in spring is awful; I wouldn't want to do it under any circumstances.

Maybe someone can tell a scary story?

Once upon a time, I was hunting a Taymyr lemur. It is quite a sensitive beast, so caution, silence, and a carefree expression on one's face are required during the hunt. Although, of course, no amount of thoroughness will save you if you don't mask your own scent, for the Taymyr lemur possesses powerful smell-sensors that operate on autonomous power outside the denning zone. The best way to reduce your scent is to dye your fur purple and get a piercing in your lower right ear. But not everyone has the means to do this, so I had to make do by rubbing my nose with seal blubber.
I had been tracking this lemur for a long time—it wasn't discreet enough, it slurped noisily at the watering hole and defecated unforgivably loudly. Even a young gnoll could have tracked such simple game, but I immediately became suspicious. Things were falling too much in my favor... Chameleon take me if there isn't a catch here! For two days I crept behind this suspicious lemur. Strength left my stomach, and I sustained my life with spruce cones. Finally, the mushrooms ran out and I decided to take the initiative into my own paws. I silently crept up to the lemur in the shadow of an anti-tank dragon's tooth, and clenching my teeth from tension, reached for the vial of seal blubber. A practiced movement of the claw—scooped some thick grease, with the other paw clamped the lemur's beak (so it wouldn't shriek and accidentally give away my presence) and quickly sealed its nostrils. Then I immediately performed a backward roll, not waiting for this rare specimen of Taymyr fauna to reach me with its poisonous stinger. Praise be to the Mire, I have always been excellent at climbing trees! Before two seconds had passed, I had perched myself on the very top of the nearest sequoia, claws poised and ready. Below, the scentless lemur was raging. Its tail with the poisonous stinger swayed helplessly from side to side, scratching the bark of nearby trees. Acrid chlorine leaked out in small portions, vainly trying to poison everything living around. I belched up my favorite pine beads and
began to hum a hunting counting rhyme:

One—a salamander flew through the night forest
Two—caught a scolopendra for a demon's feast
Three—sees scarlet fever preparing the bowstring
Salmonella will kill four hamsters.

Five—a desman opened its antennas in the burrow
Know that the sixth mage in halva... oh!

I had to interrupt the song because the lemur began to behave quite unusually. Instead of the usual blind-stuttering and grunting, the game began to make strange screeching sounds and dig into the ground with its mandibles. I swallowed the beads back—they would still help me pass the time in long ambushes—and began to think through a backup plan. I had no desire to go down—the lemur had already released a whole cloud of chlorine, and without purple dye, I could seriously damage my lungs. So I growled softly and demanded that the neighboring sequoia immediately bend its branches and let me climb across. The sequoia stubbornly ignored my sinister growling. Then I rummaged with my paws in the travel pouches I usually wear on my belt and pulled out a mushroom of lethal power. According to its name, it was supposed to grant the eater the ability of wingless levitation. The taste of the mushroom resembled old radish, but choking and sniffling, I eventually managed to overcome it. Wings, as promised, did not grow, however, an extraordinary lightness in my paws appeared almost immediately. Performing a light pirouette, I smoothly dove onto the neighboring sequoia and held onto the branches thanks to a powerful movement of my tail. Now came the hardest part—to simply spit. Gnoll saliva has a truly lethal effect on lemurs if charged accurately into the right ear. But keep in mind—there is only one attempt, because lemurs do not forgive misses; their reaction is fast even without smell. The lethality of my saliva didn't worry me much—not for nothing had I been chewing the root of the basuca kumulata plant for the last two days—the lemur should have died instantly! On the other hand, I was never known for my accuracy... An unsuccessful spit would only anger the animal, which is ready to dump gallons of chlorine on the crown of a careless spitter. Therefore, I had to use a blowpipe. A thin cactus spine, moistened with concentrated root poison, replaced my own spitting apparatus. The projectile flew in a straight trajectory into the ear of the unsuspecting lemur... and flew out the other ear. I hadn't experienced such mystical failures for a long time. Without thinking about the wasted mushroom, the root, and two days of persistent tracking, I bolted away, jumping from branch to branch. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the lemur was threateningly beginning to inflate, rapidly increasing in size and becoming covered in monstrous pink blisters. This clashed so much with my ideas about the behavior of angry Taymyr lemurs that I was simply stunned. Meanwhile, the lemur inflated to the size of a decent pig-beast and popped with a crash. Disgusting streams of orange blood gushed in all directions, quickly mixing with a cloud of phosgene. The lemur's skin, the main product of my hunt, was hopelessly ruined. There was no point in staying any longer—I risked severe poisoning; here, height and distance wouldn't save me as they did with chlorine. Especially since the wind was blowing my way. Sadly chewing the lethal mushroom, I habitually assumed a four-legged position and trotted toward my home settlement. If I run quickly, without getting distracted by shelling cones and if I cut down on sleep—I will be able to see the piles of the swamp village by the next dawn. The road was boring and monotonous; I brightened it with silent songs, counting rhymes, and old jokes about a one-and-a-half-headed hydra told to myself. I decided to spend the night in an abandoned concrete pillbox that still had shell holes and soot. I made myself a bed of fireweed, put a bunch of reindeer moss under my head—and quietly drifted into the abode of dreams.
At midnight, I was awakened by sinister sounds of "YYY!" coming from the impenetrable blackness of the night. Perhaps a bittern was having fun, going out to hunt small flying mice... I grumbled discontentedly, curled up in a ball and covered my nose with my tail. This way one can conserve heat for a very long time until morning, without feeling the cold and dampness. But I still couldn't close my eyes: the sinister Y repeated. Now I heard it clearly, and it became clear to me that a bittern cannot make such sounds... a chill slowly crept up my spine, although the night had seemed warm at first. The Y sounded so long, inevitable, and threatening that I struggled to keep myself from trying to dig a protective burrow in the pillbox. But my fear grew as the Y approached. It was heard more and more distinctly, clearly; I could even distinguish the heavy steps of an unknown creature making Y in the night. Fear locked my muscles like iron, but making an effort over myself, I pressed against the observation slit of the pillbox... oh Merciful Mire! It was him! I clearly saw before me the silhouette of the Wandering Snatcher, a terrible forest vision that my great-aunt used to scare me with when I was a pup. Not a ghost from an old fairy tale, not a scarecrow for the Scarecrow Carnival—but concentrated darkness was thickening in front of my pillbox. And this darkness called "Y" to all living things! I felt that my vision was not accidental—the Snatcher had come specifically for me, and it is I, damn it, who he intends to express his "Y" to! Suddenly, something resembling a craving maw opened in the cluster of darkness and spoke in a tomb-like voice: "My do Y here! You go here and also say Y or die sick-sick very fast!"
Terror forced the last remnants of my sanity to fly out of my head. With an incredible effort of will, I overcame my numbness, jumped out of the pillbox, and bolted. Almost colliding with the Snatcher, from whose maw hung the remains of a lemur, I lunged away and dove into a network of badger burrows. As always when visiting mustelids, it was cramped here, smelled bad, and water dripped from above. But now I didn't care—I was tearing away from the powerful and disgusting creature whose name was difficult for me to pronounce even in my thoughts. "Y" already sounded muffled behind my back, which meant that the horror had followed me into the burrow. The ground shook, and a crash could be heard behind—the monster was expanding the burrow beneath itself. Tunnels, forks, and passages flashed before my eyes at great speed. Never before had I rushed through a burrow with such reckless skill. But suddenly my paws hit a huge rock ahead... I was at a dead end! I had to crawl back very quickly, but no fork was in sight, and most importantly—"Y!" was approaching me, and I was approaching it. My nerves gave way; I returned to the dead end and desperately hammered my paws against the rock, although I knew it was futile. The mouth of the burrow passage before me became darker than usual, and I felt that death was near...
One last chance remained. Only a miracle could save me. I tore the most tightly sewn pouch from my belt and hurriedly began to rip its fabric with my fangs. This was a Mystical Mushroom, found by me many years ago in the center of a Witches' Circle. It is known that only an initiated witch can use the power of special mushrooms; an ordinary gnoll should not risk it or play with the power of that which he cannot understand. One could lose their mind forever, lose their sight, or simply kick the bucket. But there was no choice. Closing my eyes, I swallowed the mushroom without even touching it with my tongue. I had absolutely no desire to taste this thing. My belly immediately began to bubble and slurp. The Wandering Snatcher was already within jumping distance of me; he stretched out his disgusting limbs woven from living darkness and proclaimed "YYYY!". Here strength left me, and I stopped realizing what was happening. I pressed to the ground on all four paws, my maw involuntarily opened wide, and some huge shadow seemed to fly out of my insides, hiding the Snatcher even from my eyes, which were used to burrow gloom. A non-gnoll shriek pierced my ears like a blunt knife. The Snatcher rapidly retreated down the burrow corridor, trying to shake off this incomprehensible shadow. He clumsily hammered his pseudo-limbs around, shook and howled. At times the shadow pinned him down, and I again lost the ability to see. Taking out a bunch of happy grass, I drew a protective triangle around myself and lit some yellow smoke. The battle between the Snatcher and the mysterious shadow continued; all the air in the burrow seemed saturated with horror, despair, and malice. To avoid suffocating, I had to inhale the smoke of the happy grass and constantly chew Minor Hunt Mushrooms. This way probably several hours passed, which seemed like a single moment to me. But suddenly the battle stopped, and two terrible screams—the same as a creaking howl of the shadow and the farewell "Y!" of the Snatcher—merged into one. Their vague outlines vanished, as if someone had abruptly turned on the light. Waving bunches of grass that protect against the evil eye and corruption, I cautiously headed toward the exit of the burrow—now the path was clear. It was difficult for me to hold myself together in my paws, and I ran again. When I finally ended up outside, my eyes met the pink disk of the rising sun. The haze dissipated; the terrible swamp Y had left the land. I hurried back to the village as quickly as possible, and since then I am extremely reluctant to tell about this incident. But sometimes, at night, I still imagine a sinister Y, and wild fear again rises from the tip of my tail to my very nostrils..

Read the dialogues with the moderators. I was horrified. There are so many old Russian letters on the left.

P.S. I'm not sleeping.

P.S. P.S. Perfect World, Server Mir Obor 69.

P.S. P.S. P.S. Now everyone knows why I'm not sleeping.

Added after 2 hours 13 minutes
And again, I'm not sleeping. I downloaded Jabber and registered. Where should I go now, please explain?

Which client did you download?

Added 6 minutes later
Or just give me your JID here :)

Aren't you asleep? o_O

valhallawolf@jabber.ru

I'm not sleeping, but I will be soon.

I'm also interested in the question about the "frog."

What exactly about this question are you interested in?