The Nine Planes of Parsnip : The Realms that See Light : The Ravines of Oblivion (and the Forest which Surrounds Them)

What little is known of the great Ravines is that they are fed by the flow of the Alpheus, fresh and cool from its northern springs, and that it is here where the sad tale of Acrid bore bitter fruit so many years ago...

But before we turn to that cruel tale, let us look first to the dark forest that surrounds this mysterious place: the magestic Northern Pines, a.k.a. the Wolfwood. Perhaps so little is known of the Ravines of Oblivion due to the very nature of this deep forest, but we had best set such speculation aside lest we anger those that listen.

As you can see, the plains that lead up to the forest edge are thick with flowers, rich with succulet grasses and free of all but the most appropriate and decorous rocks. Why, then, be there no Flocks of Sheep, no herds of Black Bison, no Licentious Metaphors upon the plain? It is because of the Eyes Within the Forest that the plain lies empty of all but vegatative life. Can you not feel them upon you?

I have...since we first drew nigh, and I eagerly await our departure, for their gaze makes my skin crawl, though that be just the beginning. Far worse awaits those who bear the brunt of the Forest's Gaze and fear not for the safety of their eternal souls.

In her purity, Acrid was one such fool.

The Eyes burned into her young soul: so clean, so clear, so bright. How could she have dared seek flowers in THIS of all places? Perhaps the Beauty of the Plain be like Honey to the Bear...bringing what is otherwise strong to its knees, helpless before the blows of beings too small to swat at, too soft crush. Yet with the sun at her back and the cool shade of the Forest before her, she began to wonder at what she felt, and cast her die to lie within its dark embrace.

What fools we humans be, for THIS is what came to her in that moment's peace, and THIS is how she fell into the grasp of Oblivion.

But if I do not lie down to die, to soothe my living self with a short respite from the heat of the sun, will I not suffer the fate of my mother? Will I not seem too cruel to bear, so selfish...so vain? These Eyes see me for what I am, baring my soul for all to see, showing every passer-by how hot, how wet I get when I touch myself in the secret places of my soul. They see, and they KNOW. They do not lie like I do, nor do they turn aside and blush at that which they don't comprehend. They stare and in staring, devour...me.

So I run...the cold lifeless flowers, fresh-ripped from their earthen womb, cast aside, forgotten...and I begin to HOWL. I HOWL and TEAR and SCREAM at the cruelty that feeds within me, that consumes my heart, that makes me an animal...like my mother...CRAVING. I must rip this beast from inside me and shed my clothes amongst the trees for the roots to subsume and purify. How could I, of all the unworthy frames that fill this void DARE draw so close to such wonder? The truth lies buried in my breast, barking from my throat. I am an echo of rhythmic cruelty...a devourer, a winged demon...

I HOWL, and leap, and fall into the mists that surround me...never to know again. Lost. Young. Of twelve years and unguided. Remember me.

My friend?

My friend? I think we had best leave this place. Come. There is no peace here.