"When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began to drive me to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their victims body, I loved the irradiate refuge of sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods."
The Yellow Road
It has long been said that all legends arise from truth, that historical contortions and temporal burdens displace this absolute truth into fragments, each bearing a degree of relevance yet concealing the whole.
From such shattered perceptions continues the progression of myth, ultimately gestating as traveller's tales and stories.
The Yellow Road is one such reality that would benefit from having its origins and purpose cast into the brilliance of truth.
The Yellow Road appears as a game-trail, a gash within fog-haunted redwood forest. The trail appears disused, yet recently tracked, as if carefully tended to.
The forest surrounding the Yellow Road usually manifests closely to civilisation, usually close to a village or town, though sometimes close to a large city or metropolis. The game-trail itself merges with the routes leading to and from the locale, enticing travellers to travel upon it.
It has been theorised following observation that the Yellow Road acts as a beacon of some sort, a lure dangling the worm before the fish; scenting the air around the game-trail with irresistable pheromones, as animals are irrevocably drawn to the game-trail immediately following the Yellow Road's appearance.
Those who look beyond this momentary cause for celebration talk of oddities and aberrance. Animals seem to display unusual, jarring movements within sight of the Yellow Road, a whip-crack bending of the neck, halting steps, and repetitive actions.
Those who listen beyond the background noise of the outer forest speak of weird piping and forlorn moans of pain and despondence that punctuate the weird silence of the Yellow Road.
Attentive listeners verbalise a constant susurration of whispers, a litany of secrets spoken and impersonal ramblings that pervades the piping and moans.
Yet what is stranger still is the complete desertion of some towns. Entire houses emptied with no signs of struggle and food still on plates.
The disappearance is not total, sometimes bodies are found upon the remnants of the Yellow Road, wearing no clothes yet oddly frozen, some appear to have disrobed with great haste. While other times, the bodies appear to have been dealt with great force, with massive depressions in chests, heads and extremities.
A rare few bodies are marked with unnatural sigils, symbols twisted into impossible shapes and faintly glowing yellow.