Discover Top Posts Tagged with #portum:plot

… april 26th, 2025 .

is that sunshine on the horizon ? a golden hue blanched portum in yellow light. the fog started to thin, and the grass began to come alive with bursts of pale pink. the grey and dreary sky grew paler, and if you squinted at just the right angle it almost looked blue … at least, that was what aldrich nair had thought as he walked down the promenade that springtime morning. he had lived long enough to see the rise of man and the fall of it, an aged dragon with seven centuries beneath his scales. out of nowhere, his palms started to pulse.

… what is this feeling ?

he stopped and stared down at his hands. the fire that he expected — at the ends of his fingers, from the indentations in his palm — almost boiled from inside, unprompted. instead of being showered in flame, jets of water burst from his hands like a broken pipe. it gushed down onto the cobbles, soaked the front of his trousers, leaving him standing in a puddle of his own making. violently, then, water came from his throat in short bursts ; he clutched his stomach as it drained out of him wherever there had once been flame. and down the street, dahlia apeldoorn was walking with her headphones firmly in their ears, oblivious. they stepped up onto the curb, and almost instantly the nymph whirled upwards into the air, carried on an invisible gust of wind. she was whipped in a circle before being lowered back to the ground, falling to her knees, a trembling mess.

… “ this has never happened before, ” she choked. “ something strange is coming. ”

all across the town, powers started to take on a mind of their own. werewolves started to bark despite being weeks away from a full moon, vampires lost control entirely, and ghosts phased in and out like faulty projections. banshees went quiet, nymphs recoiled at the sight of wildlife, mermaids became caught somewhere between human and fish …

… and portum was thrust into a total loss of control.

#portum:plot #portum:plot004

… august 24th, 2025 .

the fog. that's how it all started. a group, lonely and scared, had been running, fleeing, from the certainty of fate that nipped at her heels. the kind of fate you couldn’t outrun, only outlast. portum had been waiting, nothing like what it was today but still a certain promise of safety. it was calm, and it was silent. the kind of silence you could tuck yourself into if you didn’t mind the cold. they made a promise to themselves. that no one else would run like they had. that if they did, they’d have somewhere to land. they’d carve out a place, stone by stone, word by word, for the lost and the hunted and the haunted. new faces came and went like the tide. and before long, there was barely anyone left in portum who remembered, really remembered, the horrors that had driven the founders there. but some didn’t forget. they heard the tales — whispered around campfires, tucked into bedtime warnings, passed down with a sneer and a sideways glance. stories about those who came from nowhere, cloaked in fog, who built a home for things that should have stayed buried…

… stories about the ones they’d been taught to fear. taught to hunt.

just as the founders had left behind a legacy, so did the ones who had hunted them. their hatred grew into a festering wound, growing deeper instead of healing. they’d heard the stories and learned of their legacy. finally, they had had enough. they went to work, methodically gathering information though any means possible. the whispers became their guide and with enough grit and tenacity they finally had a starting point. a vampire boasting about the town opening up to everyone who needed it. with a promise of a bloody reward the vampire was lured into their trap and left on the doorstep of the very town meant to protect him. they didn’t expect the town to fight back. with every body they dragged through the forest the town seemed to get harder and harder to locate. the witch disappeared into nothingness. nymphs, werewolves and shifters with lives lost for their cause. frustrations grew and their efforts doubled. then, one day, something shifted. they were met with fog. fog so overwhelming that it almost swallowed them whole. they stood firm, with weapons raised, until a small crack split the fog in two…

… in the far distance, between the trees, a town appeared.

#portum:plot

… march 5th, 2025 .

ever since she was born, cosima had learned to place her faith in the stars. as she grew older she’d draw her magic from them, letting them influence each spell and potion. but there was still something about those early days, listening to her parents teach her everything they knew. her mother would tell her that wishes would be listened to and her father told her they were watching every step she’d ever take.

… did they see her now?

her breaths came in heavy pants as she ran through the forest. it felt as if she’d been running for hours when it more likely had been a few seconds. the angry mob that had held her sounded faint, and that was the only small comfort she had. “ show us, ” they’d said, sharp metal pressed against her back as cosima felt her heart grow heavier in desperation. it had been the same song and dance for hours as she’d been moved around, cuffs digging into her skin and her bare feet scraping raw against the forest ground.

… “ it’s right there, ” she’d pleaded, begged, voice a hoarse cry. “ can’t you see it? ”

she ran, and ran, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through her torso with every heaving breath. her one goal was the town enveloped in fog. it swallowed her whole, shielding her from view. it was impossible to see where she was going, but all she could do was run. it all came to a halt as her legs gave out and portum welcomed her. it was just a bit too late.

… around her the town of portum woke up to a new disturbing find.

#portum:plot #portum:plot003 #death tw

… february 20th, 2025 .

portum’s weather is always mild. neither too hot nor too cold, a comfortable and familiar middle temperature. cool enough for a jacket, warm enough for a picnic — pleasant, like the town itself. the air hums with an easy balance, the kind that has lulled generations into believing that the seasons would never betray them. but a cold wind rolls through the trees, with fog thick enough to swallow the streets whole. heavy rain, showering down from the heavens like ice spikes, splashing off the concrete and settling in the grooves of the sidewalk. the once-gentle town square becomes a battlefield of overturned café tables and drenched awnings struggling against their frames. weak trees are felled, and the air whips the cheeks of supernaturals as they fight against the gale. for the first time in portum’s history, it’s inhabitants are turning to the portum times for the weather. they are searching for answers for the change, tuning into the radio, sticking their upturned palms out of windows to check for a downpour. the forecast, once an afterthought in the town’s predictable climate, now holds a strange weight. nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. not until morning breaks and brings the freezing flurry with it. and beneath it all, an unsettling truth lingers in the cold air. portum has always been mild. always.

… days have passed. the sky remains a bruised kind of grey.