Oktober Fan-Art #3: A short story by Tronyn

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## Oktober Fan-Art #3: A short story by Tronyn

Known for major backstories to his maps Tronyn could not resist submitting a story too:

> The Netherworld

> No one’s scraped the blood off the walls here for at least a hundred years.

> The only sound is my breathing.

> Once every few hours a drip of water falls, somewhere off in the vast darkness.

> These halls of dull metal must go on forever. Thousands of miles in every direction.

> And the walls are all inscribed with bizarre characters – not hieroglyphics, not words – some script halfway between.

> I’ve been unable to discover any meaning in them. But my shotgun is the most advanced thing here.

> Meaning something carved out all those characters by hand, or by -

> Miles and miles, on the floor, walls, ceilings, into seeming infinity.

> Some inconcievable mad god.

> I’ve met enough disciples – things without eyes that crawl out of the darkness.

> Sometimes I see other humans, or – former humans. From different time periods.

> One time I saw a guy with the same kind of gear as me. Real messed up. No eyes, just bloody holes. Screaming.

> Most of the humans I see – maybe one or two a month, but then what’s Time here? – wear metallic armour.

> Like they’re from centuries ago, earth time. The middle ages. Makes me think they knew something we don’t.

> But the vast majority of the moving flesh I’ve seen here is not human, nothing like it.

> I can’t remember when I got here, and I don’t think I’ll ever leave. Nothing can save me.

25.10.2009 in Quake Fanart | 4 Comments »

### 4 Responses to “Oktober Fan-Art #3: A short story by Tronyn”

1. S.A. Says:
   31.10.2009 20:52

   Stuff ;>

2. Chip Says:
   21.11.2009 13:13

   Great short story. I can see myself inside those dull metal halls. And the drip of water, and the anticipation of meeting someone new. And maybe the hope of finding something different. Just a bit different. A different scratch on the wall. Or voices. Or metal sounds, or crawling flesh. And the heart beating faster at every corner. And the dark thoughts of getting out of ammo for the shotgun. And then I clutch it even harder. The metal is cold, and the ammo is few inside my torn out backpack. I wonder if it’s a PAK or PK3 generation backpack. I’m not sure how or why do I know these things. I’m just there. I’m just here. And, strangely enough, these places seems scary familiar.

   I thought I felt a gust of wind a few corridors back. I should go back and check every inch of the walls. I don’t think there’s an outside. What’s outside? Am I inside? Why’s my backpack torn out? Have I been attacked? It seems that each of these halls erases my memory bit by bit. Though I remember clearly everything inside here. So, I’m inside. I smile.

   Listen, the drip heard again. Is it closer? Is it somewhere up? Or down? I guess I could reach it. But the several hours interval between the drips doesn’t help. My hearing gets adjusted and it seems it’s farther away than the last one. Damn.

   What do I have in my backpack? I don’t remember. I need a map. I need… Ah, the hell with it, I’m gonna run in THAT direction until I find something new. It’s all in vain.

3. Tronyn Says:
   21.11.2009 17:20

   holy shit awesome addition, love the pak/pk3 thing of this weird self-awareness (like the character inside the ‘game’ realizes he’s inside), still atmospheric as hell (the two are hard to make compatible)… and still mysterious and creepy… I damn well hope someone writes a part 3.

4. Chip Says:
   28.11.2009 10:45

   I’d go for it and write a miniseries of Quake fiction. Your story was absolutely superb. The “One time I saw a guy” gives a meaning of time, and depth and profoundness.

   Is there a Quake fiction section somewhere?

   (Try reading this last sentence aloud.)

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