Solid foundational rolling perpetual background with interesting textual overlays. Nicely merged and accentuated. Does not get better than this gem. Thanks for creating and sharing.
I first saw the island from the deck of the Aurora, a rusting freighter chugging through the fog-shrouded waters of the North Atlantic. The island was a dark smudge on the horizon, barely discernible through the swirling mist, but it called to me with an inexplicable urgency. The captain, a grizzled man named Hargrave, had warned me about the place. "Devil's Reef, they call it," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper. "Ain't nothing good ever come from there. Ships go missing, men lose their minds. Best steer clear, professor." But I could not be dissuaded. My studies in ancient civilizations had led me to this forsaken corner of the world, drawn by cryptic references to a lost city buried beneath the waves. The journal of an obscure archaeologist, Dr. Ephraim Carver, had provided the final clue-a map marked with the island's location and a single word: "R'lyeh." We anchored in a shallow bay, the water unnaturally calm. The air was heavy with an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional cawing of seabirds. A jagged path wound its way up from the shore, leading to the island's interior. I shouldered my pack and began the ascent, Hargrave's warnings echoing in my mind. The landscape was bleak and desolate, a tangle of twisted trees and stunted vegetation. The ground was slick with a foul-smelling slime that clung to my boots and made each step a struggle. As I climbed higher, the fog began to thin, revealing a landscape of grotesque beauty. Strange rock formations jutted from the ground, their surfaces covered in a web of sinuous carvings that seemed to pulse and writhe when viewed from the corner of the eye. Hours passed, though it felt like an eternity, before I reached the summit. There, in a natural amphitheater formed by the surrounding cliffs, stood the entrance to a vast subterranean complex. Massive stone doors, carved with symbols that defied comprehension, loomed before me. With trembling hands, I traced the outline of a particularly elaborate glyph, feeling a strange warmth emanate from the stone. The doors swung open with a grinding roar, revealing a yawning blackness beyond. I hesitated, the primal part of my mind screaming at me to turn back. But the call of the unknown was too strong. I stepped into the darkness, my lantern casting a feeble glow that barely penetrated the oppressive gloom. The air inside was stale and cold, filled with the scent of decay. The walls of the tunnel were lined with more of the writhing carvings, their patterns growing more complex and disturbing the deeper I went. Whispers echoed around me, faint and unintelligible, like the murmurings of a vast and ancient consciousness. I emerged into a vast chamber, the ceiling lost in shadow. At the center stood a monolithic altar, its surface slick with a viscous, black substance that seemed to absorb the light. I approached it, drawn by an invisible force, and saw that the substance was seeping from the stone itself, forming intricate patterns that shifted and changed before my eyes. A sound echoed through the chamber, a low, thrumming hum that resonated in my bones. I turned and saw a figure standing in the shadows-a man, tall and gaunt, with eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light. His voice was a sibilant whisper, each word sending shivers down my spine. "You have come, as it was foretold. The stars are right, and the Sleeper stirs in His eternal slumber." I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. The figure stepped forward, and I saw that his flesh was pallid and mottled, as if he had been submerged in water for far too long. He raised a hand, and I felt an invisible pressure against my chest, forcing me to my knees. "The knowledge you seek is not meant for mortal minds," he continued. "But you shall have it, for the Sleeper's awakening requires a herald, and you have been chosen." Pain lanced through my skull as images flooded my mind-visions of cyclopean cities rising from the ocean depths, of monstrous beings writhing in the darkness, and of a titanic entity, its form too vast and terrible to comprehend, stirring from its aeons-long slumber. I screamed, but no sound escaped my lips. The figure raised his other hand, and the chamber began to collapse around me, the stone walls dissolving into a maelstrom of darkness and light. I felt myself falling, tumbling through the void, as the figure's final words echoed in my mind. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." I awoke on the deck of the Aurora, the island a distant memory. Hargrave stood over me, his face lined with worry. "Found you washed up on the shore," he said. "Thought we'd lost you, professor." I tried to speak, to tell him what I had seen, but the words would not come. The knowledge I had sought was mine, but at a price I had not foreseen. The visions still haunt me, waking and sleeping, and I know that the day of the Sleeper's awakening draws ever nearer. For now, I can only wait and watch the horizon, knowing that when the stars are right, the world will tremble, and the ancient city of R'lyeh will rise once more.
В детстве ночью я, слышала подобный звук, будто слышишь вселенную со всеми ее планетами, звездами, дырами и кометами. Так звучит темная материя в которой мы находимся.Ее много, больше чем света, а значит тьма правит.