>>599028

Oh and pic unrelated

I seriously hope you are not talking about the series-that-shouldn't-be-named

http://theholders.org/

>>599047

*shivers*

thar ya go OP, no need to thank me, Good luck


...
And goodbye.

>>599031
I don't know, I might, I'm not exactly sure what it is I'm looking for. I just know on /x/ people talk about a group of items that should never be brought together. Just wanted to know more about it.

In any city, in any country, go into any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. Walk up to the front desk, and ask the person there if you may speak with someone calling himself the "Holder of the Dawn". The person at the desk should then stare into your eyes as if judging you, if they refuse, reveal the first object, a task not easily accomplished. They will then walk you through a door into a room.

In the room there will be a man with gray skin and long ratty hair, he will be whispering to the walls about how he has heard the other Holders have been found and their Objects stolen, or taken. He will know you are there, and if you make noise he will look at you, with bloodshot eyes and black teeth, but he will not speak to you, unless you say "It was me." He will then walks towards you and stare into your eyes and say "You are the Chosen?" if you respond "No" then your life will end, quickly and painlessly. Should you reply "Yes," he will put his hand up and display a ring that glows a hue of orange-yellow, and he will say "Your quest ends here, Seeker," he will then grab your head and push on your temples, if you allow this to continue he will split open your skull and kill you. To remove his hands from your temples will cause him to have a look of fear in your eyes. Kill the man and take the ring.

That ring is Object 529 out of 538, with the ring you will be able to find other Objects already taken by other Seekers, but as you wear it, you will be haunted with voices, to demand you to bring the Objects together. If this is your quest, you will have friends. If you are attempting to destroy the Objects, you will find yourself on the edge of death more times then anyone would wish.

>>599052
Thanks!

One day when you are walking in a garden, you will see out of the corner of your eyes a pumpkin. It will have a strange, unfamiliar aura about it, and it will draw your eyes to it.

Stop and look at the pumpkin for five seconds. It MUST be five seconds, no more, no less. If you look at it for more or less than five seconds, then pray for a swift end.

You must now pick the pumpkin. You must use a golden knife to cut it away, or else when you touch the vine, your mind will be torn asunder by hell's most unspeakable horrors.

If at any time you hear voices while touching the vine, IMMEDIATELY say "I am but a messenger!". If the voices stop, then continue your work. If they continue, then run. Don't ever stop running. They WILL find you.

Once you have the pumpkin, take it inside and stab it with your golden knife. The entire room will go black, and you will wake up in a pristine meadow. However, you MUST NOT pick ANY of the flowers, though you will be sorely tempted to.

That is when Glorxyphinaxxlthrod, Lord of the Pumpkins, will appear before you. He will only respond to the sentence "Where do they grow?". If you say ANYTHING else to him, he will tear your insides out with his slithery vines of terror so quickly that you will not feel pain, but you will see your entrails spill upon the ground.

Should you ask him the correct sentence, he will recount to you a story. It will be long, mind-bendingly horrifying and wrought with painstaking details of inhuman terrors. Weaker humans' minds will snap like twigs under his pumpkiny words. Should your mind be resilient enough to bear his story, you will wake up in your bed, surrounded by pumpins. In your refrigerator will be a freshly baked pumpkin pie. This pie will give you the ability to eat a delicious pumpkin pie. It is item 389 of 512. They must never be brought together.

>>599109

>This pie will give you the ability to eat a delicious pumpkin pie.

lol wut?

sage for holders

Bump for answers to the pumpkin-thing.

>>599028

It's 2538.

Newfag.

In before Dargaia's Nectar and the original HoTE

If you ever find dargaia's nectar, you'll probably be one of the ones who have been looking for it all their lives, and thus won't need any instructions on what to do with it.

Just the same, it's pretty simple, at least to start with. Make sure your affairs are in order (incase you have a bad reaction), and then? Bottoms up.

The coming months are the least pleasant part. You'll find yourself unable to keep food down weeks before you stop needing it. Same with sleep. The color of your blood will be off, making your viens stand out. Expect a few ingrown body parts; little things, just fingers and ears and teeth, usually pressing up against the skin. Make sure you're caught up on your booster shots because you're never going in for a checkup again. Or wearing anything more revealing than a trenchcoat in public, most likely.

Eventually, a little cut on your belly will start 'unhealing', becoming a puss-filled wound in a few days. Over the coming week, Three things will emerge from this.

The first object resembles a greasy black beachnut with maybe a tooth or two growing from it. When you're dead someone will eventually find it and use it to make a new batch of dargaia's nectar. Hide it well, make things fun for future generations.


The second object basically looks like a softball-sized cluster of veins, many of them broken and leaking oily black stuff, all wrapped around something. Then it'll squirm and you'll notice the twisted little skinless fetus in the middle. It will only survive for about twenty seconds. Burn the remains.

The third object will.. well, let's just call it "object 3". It's easier that way.

You can plant it anywhere you want. I advise someplace where you don't mind spending all your time and no one else will go. Your back yard or under your cellar works if you don't have any roomates; as long as there's fertile soil. Dig at least five feet down. It won't want to be buried, but just keep piling dirt onto it (if you can still hear it when you're finished you didn't go deep enough).

Its veins (or roots, I guess) will eventually spread in all direction about a foot and a half for every year of your life. Grass and weeds will grow stiff and bony, or black and oily, or take on the color and texture of a spider bite, or rice paper. Wood will be infected too; you'll hear the arteries in your walls pulsing on quiet nights. The ground will rot with dead insect and animal life. Don't mow your lawn; it bleeds like hell.

This is your sanctuary.

No matter what threats or injuries beset you outside, here you will be safe and healthy. Well, what passes for 'healthy' for you now. And if you really hate someone, bring them here. Trick them into coming. They'll get infected, one way or another; a lungfull of spore, a thornprick, a bit of residue on their hand. They will blood-vomit and the blood will have tiny centipedes in it. They'll shit out their own spinal fluids. Their eyes will milk over and hatch; little spines and brambles will grow from the sockets. They'll survive for months or years, doctors will be baffled, it will be completely fucking great.

That's all for starters. You'll learn more as you go. Much more. But if I told you everything now you might not do it.

Whatever you do, just guard it with your life, your very soul. If you think you're in danger of loosing it, dig it up, kill it with a silver needle, let someone else make a new one some day. You'll feel as if you've pierced your own heart, but it's better than letting it fall into the wrong hands.


Because you're a Holder now.

And you'd better not let them come together.

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway

house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask

to visit someone who calls themself "The Holder of the End". Should

a look of child-like fear come over the workers face, you will then

be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden

section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone

talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you

will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.

Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud "I'm

just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence,

flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at

an inn, just keep moving, sleep where your body drops. You will know

in the morning if you've escaped.

If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words

continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless

room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and

cradling something. The person will only respond to one question.

"What happens when they all come together?"

The person will then stare into your eyes and answer your question

in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear

soon after the meeting, a few end their lives. But most do the worst

thing, and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want

to as well. Be warned that if you do, your death will be one of

cruelty and unrelenting horror.

Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.

That object is 1 of 2538. They must never come together. Never.

Some hobo sold it to me for a pack of cigarettes and half a bottle of scotch. Only a few thousand ever made, he said, and this was the twenty-first. Quite the collectable he said. Probably worth quite a bit if I could get it appraised. What the hell.

I brought it home, left it on the table while I went in for a shower. When I came back all the food in my kitchen was rotted and all the pets in my house were dead.

I still didn't know what it was. I put it in my bedroom closet. I was then treated to six nights of the same nightmare: fleeing across a desolate field with the ground writhing and wrippling with the mating throes of massive underground snakes.

On the seventh night I woke up to Sarah's gurgles as she vomited up a live viper. She died of its bite. When I opened my closet I found a... nest.

I burried It in my back yard. The next morning there was a twelve-inch sappling growing from the spot. By noon it had grown two feet. And had eyes. Dozens of them.

I cut the growing thing to shit, dug It up, took it out of town and threw it into a river.

It came back.

It still spits out eye-spiders every couple hours. They follow me and stare and then they make this little mouse-noise and burst. In the beginning I screamed but now I just kinda giggle and gibber. Its such a fucking mess..

Now, I'm going to do the only other thing I can think of. I'm going to dress in my seediest clothing, hit the streets, and see if I can hock it for a pint of LTD. There has to be someone out there as stupid as I am.

I can't say exactly where the Twenty-Ninth is, because like the First it demonstrates a vast multipresence, if not omnipresence, as does its "holder". I'll not name him because I loath having him gaze over my shoulder.

Number 2325 is the size of Rhode Island, and all the little negroids living on it think they're worshiping "the land". In a sense they're correct, but they still haven't figured out why their land demands so much more than anyone else's.

The ninety-eigth is called Gegnaiek. A tree you might call him; though older than the sun, he has found perfect nourishment in homo sapien

You'll notice me personifying these objects at times, speaking as if each is possessed of a certain alien intelligence. In fact, this is only the case with a very few, perhaps a hundred; the rest are merely created to perform a function, or innumerous functions, and with crushing indifference they perform them, incapable of seeing or caring what gnats and flies may be crushed into the gears.

We are the monkeys staring down the gun barrel, the moths bathing in flame, the babies with a playpen full of knives and needles and cyanide. Our doom is wrought by our own fumbling hand, and like the cave-beasts we are, we call the tools of our suicide "wicked" and "evil", pretending our murderers to be the faceless boogiemen who must have set them in our path..

How know I so much?

By consulting object 2537.. The Index.

Though apparently sentient, The Index has never tried to mislead me or do me any harm, merely spelled out on its stiff yellow pages honest and up-to-date information on the Objects. All of them. Location, function, associated dangers.. everything a Gatherer could wish to know. In plain, modern English.


It is the single most dangerous object in existence.

Ever since SCP has taken hold as the new AIDS filled HEY EVERYBODY LOOK I CAN WRITE ONE TOO, I can't help but feel the Holders has been refreshed ever so slightly.