Casper Boppy's Journal

The Necornomicon

This journal entry is valid and granted a Reward.

Disasterpiece

You cannot view this Journal entry because it contains spoilers for a Scenario you have not discovered.

This journal entry is valid and granted 1 Exp.

Downtime

Dream #1 - Husk

I found myself in an endless field, a patch of dirt surrounded by wilting corn that spanned infinitely into the horizon. Ash fell from the sky like snow, clumping in piles at my feet. As I looked around, a voice called out to me.

"Casper Owen Boppy."

It was quiet at first, but as it repeated it grew louder and louder.

"Casper Owen Boppy."

I had to escape.

"Casper Owen Boppy."

The earth rumbled in response to its deafening grumbles. I pushed into the corn stalks and ran, only to find myself in the patch once more.

"Casper Owen Boppy."

A distant mountain rose, sprouting leafy arms that dug into the floor as it lumbered over to me like a horrible dragon. It heaved, and its breath rattled as though passing through a wind chime made of bone. The beast's shadow cast over me, and a golden crocodilian grin formed as its hollow eyes met mine. Here was a monster wilted, decayed, yet utterly insurmountable. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be powerless.

"Casper Owen Boppy," it breathed, as though it were speaking its final words.

"What the fuck are you?" I spat, backing away in a hopeless attempt to run. Air escaped rhythmically from its abyssal maw, and I realized that it was laughing.

"I am your God."

"What?"

It laughed again, then prowled around the patch, crushing the corn without dropping its gaze. "I am a God diminished. I am a God defiled. I am a God fettered." It pulled its head close until it was mere inches away from me. "But in you, Nephew... I see freedom."

"Why me?" My voice was breaking. I could feel my heart race, and it seemed that it would stop beating at any moment. Nephew?

"You and I are cut from the same... Crop." It smiled before rising like a snake and blotting out the sun. "I am life born from death. I am death born from life. I have watched you grant life to the dead, and I have seen you grant death to the living. You have given and taken. You have planted the seeds, and I ask you to harvest your bounty, Reaper."

"You must be mistaken, sir. I haven't either of those things."

"Kaneko. Kerry. One rose at your command, the other fell by your hand."

"That was nothing."

"Precisely."

"Huh?"

"You end and begin as though it is nothing. You do as I once did."

"What do you want from me, freak?"

"Do you see the poison seeped into these fields? The blight wrought by your predecessor?"

"Yeah, I see it. Who's my predecessor? What am I?"

"I ask that you draw that poison from me, free me from the wilting and restore me to what I once was."

"Answer my fucking questions, who am I and who came before me?" I shouted. The beast's face snapped towards me, and in its empty eyes I saw the godly fury told of only in ancient myth. There came a rustling from the field, and a green arm snaked towards me. I dove out of the way, but it grabbed my leg and snatched me up, tossing and catching me so that only my head escaped its clenched fist. I felt the wind sprint through my hair and opened my eyes to find the beast glaring at me as the horizon raced by.

"You would do well to not shake your fists at powers far beyond you," it snapped. I saw the ground grow distant, then watched the sky and earth revolve as he whipped me through the air, his slender form like a whirling scar on the world. I saw the patch of dirt rapidly approach, and shut my eyes to brace for its impact.

Pain. Unbearable, searing pain. I thought I would die or wake up from this hell, but I was left breathing, left alive as soil entombed me. My lungs quaked as dirt clogged them. I felt roots coil my limbs, I could feel them crawl under my skin and up my bones. Darkness fell upon me as the looming beast's head eclipsed the sun.

"Today I have shown you the mercy denied to your predecessor. Gods are not to be trifled with, we are not to be bargained with. Be grateful that I let you learn that lesson," It snarled.

I tried to spit at it, and a feeble spattering of crimson crossed my vision, dampening my chin and dripping onto my neck.

"Bill Zachariah Boppy was a fool, a lord of only mice and miscreants. In him, I placed my trust, and in return I received naught but rot. From you, I demand restoration. Fix his mistakes, tend to my fields, and I make you a God."

Uncle Bill? This thing knew Uncle Bill?

"Steal the power granted from that infernal contract by those arbitrating devils. Give it to me, piece by piece, and I will purify these lands. In return, I will reveal the secrets of my power unto you. I will make you a God, so long as you make me whole once more. I have already delivered the method, all that is left is for you to accept the means." The cornstalks grew, the great husk's figure disappearing behind a dome enshrining the dirt patch like a cathedral. Vines twined together like rope, a patchwork hand of corn cobs blossomed from its tip and descended to me.

"Bear this burden, Reaper, and a bountiful harvest shall await you."

I wanted to say no. I wanted to spit into his hand and hold my ground, but the thought of the Stevewalker's twitching corpse beneath that brass hammer kept me from dying with dignity. It was that thought--that memory of a budding love broken before it could ever blossom and the hope that it could still bloom despite--that guided my hand into the air. Blood dribbled down my arm, but I found the god's grip and curled his fingers in mine.

"Then rise, Necornmancer, and claim this world in the name of the Husk," it boomed.

The hand pulled me from my soil-bound coffin and left me standing in front of a freshly covered grave. The grass here was grey, and a storm was brewing. The first drops of rain fell on my shoulders. I felt the weight of the corn hand shift in my grasp, and found a rotted yellow book in its place. The first page was written in a language I couldn't read, but I understood it nonetheless. My hand raised above the grave as I felt power surge through me, coming as an ache that stung like stretching bones and warm sun. Inside of me, I felt something fundamental shatter, only for the cracks to be filled with something new. Something different. Soul-Binding. I called out to death and demanded life, and a rumbling came from beneath the grave, bubbling to the surface to answer me. The dirt erupted into the air when a pale hand emerged, the Stevewalker's stonecarved name disappearing behind his corn-infested form. His glazed eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw horror reflected back at me.

Then it was over, and my eyes opened to the ceiling of Uncle Bill's farmhouse.

Rise, Necornmancer.

And I will make you a God.

Previous Page Next Page

To Russia With Love

You cannot view this Journal entry because it contains spoilers for a Scenario you have not discovered.

Downtime

Dream #2 - Popped

I was standing in a house, there were humanoid shapes crumpled around the floor, blood seeping from their wounds. I pressed my hand to their necks, unable to find a pulse on any of them. They were young, too young. I could hear voices and sirens from outside, someone was crying just beyond the door.

There was a sound like rain. It started slowly, growing quicker and quicker. Little white flecks rose from the wooden floorboards and the children's open wounds, jittering around the room wildly like grasshoppers. A pleasant smell seemed to follow them, a strange contrast from the coppery smell of death. Popcorn, I realized.

The specks coalesced, building up a monstrous form as vines grew from the floor to support it. I thought of a bouquet of white and brown flowers, green stems holding up the spattering of burnt popcorn. The beast looked down at me, it had no eyes but it's gaping maw seeped with fury. It wasn't as large as the Great Husk, but still it towered over me, hunching to fit into this room.

"Foolish child," it said. Its voice was raspy yet guttural like a beast. The crackling of old joints followed its movements, blossoming from the still-popping corn.

"Now what's your problem, beast? You got something to do with that Husk fellow?"

"Rash, brazen, bold. You who have seen death should know better than to rush into it. Fslur."

"The fuck?"

"You Boppys, always the same. Shaking your fist at those above you, begging for a challenge as you sit dying on the floor, trying to keep your guts from spilling onto the floor," it hissed.

"You're being a real asshole right now, stranger. Is this about Babushka? She was a blind fool, trying to kill me instead of doing something that would help us actually fend off the wolves."

"Did you honestly think she was there to aid you?" The beast laughed. "You would do well to learn the bite of betrayal, to understand that you have no friends. To all, you are a tool, something to be used and tossed away when your purpose has been served. They will not speak for you, they will not fight on your behalf. Do you know how your uncle perished?"

"I don't," I confessed.

"By trusting someone else with his life. He fought for others, and he died when that favour was not repaid. The price for his survival was little more than words, yet still his accomplice refused to pay. There is no gift too small to be given freely to you. Bill found that out the hard way, be thankful that you have been given the chance to learn this lesson."

"Who even are you?"

"Fslur," it growled.

"Stop saying that, bitch."

"The only hands you can trust are your own, do not place your life into someone else's. Always have a way out. Always be the one to decide your survival. This world will not save you. Your allies will not save you. You were lucky today, but soon your luck will run dry. If you cannot guarantee your life, then consider yourself a dead man walking, Fslur."

"Fuck off. I don't need you to tell me that I fucked up."

The beast stared, its long head tilting as though to analyze me. It seemed to wheeze, blowing out ash from its mouth. An orange glow started to pulse from within, glowing brighter as the room grew hotter. The popcorn that made up its figure blackened, falling to the floor in blazing chunks. The fires spread to the floor. I stepped back, trying to avoid the inferno as it flared up around me.

"Fslur," it cawed from the fire, "your recklessness will only lead you to death and failure. You are weak, just as your uncle was. Your life is connected by a thread to the hands of the Great Husk, yet still you jostle the strings. You are not yet strong enough to own your continuance. You are at the mercy of us and those around you. If you cannot kill a god, cannot kill an elderly woman, then don't give them a reason to pull the trigger. Bill struck at gods, you strike at Russian grandmothers. In both of your attacks, you lacked the surety of an escape. You were lucky that a canine decided your life was worth the risk of the freezing water. Bill did not have that same luck. You will not have that same luck in the future." The beast's form was a black mass of coal now, yet still its words echoed around me. The flames began to consume the entire room, I struggled at the door while coughing from the smoke. Locked.

"Let this be a lesson, Fslur, if you cannot exit a room alone," it boomed, "then do not enter it in the first place." The fire grew closer, it snapped at my feet, crawling higher and higher up my leg. I screamed, I could feel the blistering heat melt away my skin. I punched at the door, calling for help. I begged to the voices I could still hear beyond. No response. I fell to my knees, clutching my stomach as my life began to wane. I begged to the burnt corpses, hoping they'd offer me a way out. Still no response. The burning light consumed me, eating away my entirety, and soon I found myself in complete darkness. It was cold, at first I assumed that I had died, only to sigh in relief as I realized I was back in bed. I let my head rest on my pillow and spent the rest of the night staring up at the old farmhouse's ceiling. I didn't want to go back to sleep.