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Showing results for tags 'Miskatonic Valley Yule Fest'.
Found 22 results
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There was an open space around the church; partly a churchyard with spectral shafts, and partly a half-paved square swept nearly bare of snow by the wind, and lined with unwholesomely archaic houses having peaked roofs and overhanging gables. Death-fires danced over the tombs, revealing gruesome vistas, though queerly failing to cast any shadows. Past the churchyard, where there were no houses, I could see over the hill's summit and watch the glimmer of stars on the harbour, though the town was invisible in the dark. Only once in a while a lanthorn bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its way to overtake the throng that was now slipping speechlessly into the church. I waited till the crowd had oozed into the black doorway, and till all the stragglers had followed. The old man was pulling at my sleeve, but I was determined to be the last. Then I finally went, the sinister man and the old spinning woman before me. Crossing the threshold into that swarming temple of unknown darkness, I turned once to look at the outside world as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the hill-top pavement. And as I did so I shuddered. For though the wind had not left much snow, a few patches did remain on the path near the door; and in that fleeting backward look it seemed to my troubled eyes that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine. Icicles and stone illuminated by unholy fire. In the bottle: Snow and ice, as portrayed by camphor and mint. Wet: Minty camphor and a bit of something dusty and stale, like crumbling gravestones. Dry: Light, pale mint, with still just that hint of dustiness. I didn't get any fire at all.
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Beside the road at its crest a still higher summit rose, bleak and windswept, and I saw that it was a burying-ground where black gravestones stuck ghoulishly through the snow like the decayed fingernails of a gigantic corpse. The printless road was very lonely, and sometimes I thought I heard a distant horrible creaking as of a gibbet in the wind. They had hanged four kinsmen of mine for witchcraft in 1692, but I did not know just where. Despair and desolation in a potter's field: black soil and memories of screams on the pyre. In the bottle: a hint of dirt, a bit of snow. Wet: Dirt and vetiver alternating with that burned meat smell that's in Gore-Shock. Ick. Dry: No longer smells like meat... mostly. It's actually fairly pleasant now. Not sure if I'd want a second bottle, though.
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The man who had brought me now squirmed to a point directly beside the hideous flame, and made stiff ceremonial motions to the semicircle he faced. At certain stages of the ritual they did grovelling obeisance, especially when he held above his head that abhorrent Necronomicon he had taken with him; and I shared all the obeisances because I had been summoned to this festival by the writings of my forefathers. Then the old man made a signal to the half-seen flute-player in the darkness, which player thereupon changed its feeble drone to a scarce louder drone in another key; precipitating as it did so a horror unthinkable and unexpected. At this horror I sank nearly to the lichened earth, transfixed with a dread not of this nor any world, but only of the mad spaces between the stars. The mad spaces between the stars: oakmoss, myrrh, vetiver, rectified cade, ravinsara, wild verbena, and neroli. In the bottle: Vetiver and verbena with an undertone of the juniper cade. Very interesting. Wet: Mostly lemony verbena, actually very pleasant without being pledge. I get a hint of the neroli and the vetiver stays low in the background. This is a very dark oil in physical color! Dry: Much the same as wet, but maybe with a hint of the oakmoss. Really a very interesting scent, glad to have a bottle.
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No one spoke to me, but I could hear the creaking of signs in the wind outside, and the whir of the wheel as the bonneted old woman continued her silent spinning, spinning. I thought the room and the books and the people very morbid and disquieting, but because an old tradition of my fathers had summoned me to strange feastings, I resolved to expect queer things. So I tried to read, and soon became tremblingly absorbed by something I found in that accursed Necronomicon; a thought and a legend too hideous for sanity or consciousness. But I disliked it when I fancied I heard the closing of one of the windows that the settle faced, as if it had been stealthily opened. It had seemed to follow a whirring that was not of the old woman's spinning-wheel. This was not much, though, for the old woman was spinning very hard, and the aged clock had been striking. After that I lost the feeling that there were persons on the settle, and was reading intently and shudderingly when the old man came back booted and dressed in a loose antique costume, and sat down on that very bench, so that I could not see him. It was certainly nervous waiting, and the blasphemous book in my hands made it doubly so. When eleven struck, however, the old man stood up, glided to a massive carved chest in a corner, and got two hooded cloaks; one of which he donned, and the other of which he draped round the old woman, who was ceasing her monotonous spinning. Then they both started for the outer door; the woman lamely creeping, and the old man, after picking up the very book I had been reading, beckoning me as he drew his hood over that unmoving face or mask. The clock strikes eleven: black rose, oudh, rosewood, and sea-kissed patchouli, and the smoke of a snuffed tallow candle. I've worn this one twice, and am still not quite sure how to describe it. I just know it had no reviews. The sea-kissed note is similar to the one in Sunrise with Seamonsters... but it's backed by almost a hazelnut masculine foodie note. This one is super well blended, and for some reason I thought it had leather in it till I looked at the notes, that must be the oude. The rose isn't too girly, it blends very tightly with the sea note and grounds it to the sweeter earthier part of the blend. The candle aspect actually smells snuffed out tying it more strongly to the rose and salt, but it definitely connects with the Oude too. As it dries it goes from the foodie salt focus to the rose and oude and candle focus. The rose really comes out later on in the blend. This one is very unisex. Not just like either could wear it, but it's both very masculine and very feminine to my nose. If you are a fan of Spellbound or Sunrise with Seamonsters, try this blend.
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I was far from home, and the spell of the eastern sea was upon me. In the twilight I heard it pounding on the rocks, and I knew it lay just over the hill where the twisting willows writhed against the clearing sky and the first stars of evening. And because my fathers had called me to the old town beyond, I pushed on through the shallow, new-fallen snow along the road that soared lonely up to where Aldebaran twinkled among the trees; on toward the very ancient town I had never seen but often dreamed of. Sea salt, kelp, and twisting willows. In the bottle: Beautiful aquatics and something just a little foody-woody. Wet: Gorgeous, salty aquatic! The foodieness turned mostly into a spicy wood. Drydown: This stays salty aquatic on me, it's really lovely but that little foodie note is just a tad disappointing for me, I will have to see if it ages out, because if it does this will be my perfect aquatic!
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Diabolically decadent! Bone-chilling mint swirled in thick globules of marzipan cream. MINT. Mint, mint, mint. Creamy mint. Nothing else!
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Popularized by the reality TV show "Real Cultists of Arkham Hills"! Wow....to be first!! Sniff in bottle: a slightly sweet pumpkin-ish, grainy scent. Maybe that is the treacle? On Skin: Don't get any pumpkin or pecan...although there is a sweetness to it, and that grainy scent. Drydown: Stays the same after a few minutes. Not sure if it's for me...even though I am a foodie lover, especially pumpkin scents, but this seems a bit too grainy. Was hoping for more of a pastry scent...might let this settle since I just got it!!
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Fainting and gasping, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan toadstools, leprous fire, and slimy water, and saw the cloaked throngs forming a semicircle around the blazing pillar. It was the Yule-rite, older than man and fated to survive him; the primal rite of the solstice and of spring's promise beyond the snows; the rite of fire and evergreen, light and music. And in the Stygian grotto I saw them do the rite, and adore the sick pillar of flame, and throw into the water handfuls gouged out of the viscous vegetation which glittered green in the chlorotic glare. I saw this, and I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the light, piping noisomely on a flute; and as the thing piped I thought I heard noxious muffled flutterings in the foetid darkness where I could not see. But what frightened me most was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and coating the nitrous stone above with a nasty, venomous verdigris. For in all that seething combustion no warmth lay, but only the clamminess of death and corruption. Viscous vegetation, slimy water, suffocating incense: death cap and false morel with green frankincense, black copal, Spanish moss, celery seed, and lime rind over stagnant black liquid and decaying kelp. In the Bottle: This smells like putrid, decaying plant matter, like damp, rotting woods and leaves and mushrooms and all the things of the forest. I am not sure I am brave enough to skin test this. D: Okay it took me all day to work up to it, but here you go. Wet on skin: Oh God, gross, get it off!! Very green and rot-y smelling with a sickening sweet undertone. D: D: D: Dry: Sharp, putrid narcissus, like rotting narcissus flowers in the woods where some unholy ritual has been done. Unless the Elder Gods tell me to keep this scent, it will be finding a new home.
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It was the Yuletide, that men call Christmas though they know in their hearts it is older than Bethlehem and Babylon, older than Memphis and mankind. It was the Yuletide, and I had come at last to the ancient sea town where my people had dwelt and kept festival in the elder time when festival was forbidden; where also they had commanded their sons to keep festival once every century, that the memory of primal secrets might not be forgotten. Corrupt incense twinging through the huddled roofs of Kingsport on winter solstice night. To my nose, this has a salty, almost cold aquatic note to it, with ominous incense running through it. While it does turn a bit soap-like on my skin, it is not an unpleasant scent. Instead, it is strangely reminiscent of a perfume I used to wear a long time ago, but it has a darker edge to it. This perfume almost seems to have up a forlorn, secretive energy to it: it has not forgotten the rituals from elder times.
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Dusted with mineral-rich salts dredged from the foetid depths of the Nameless Sea! In The Bottle: Wow. Straight outta the bottle I'm indeed getting: cookies. caramel. sea salt. Wet On Skin: The same. It's like the 2012 Sugar Cookie plus salted caramel. Dry Down: In the dry down, a touch of the 'depths of the Nameless Sea' have emerged- usually aqua and water notes go all Mr Clean on me and it's a bad scene, but the foodie elements of this scent seem to be keeping it this side of just briny, which is going pretty well, actually. In All: Low to medium throw, I didn't put a ton on this time and I might continue to be cautious until I see how that briny note plays out over the course of an entire day. It seems to mellow pretty quickly, so there may be no issue. but if you tend to be on the fence with water notes, I'll proceed- but with caution.
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Pointing to a chair, table, and pile of books, the old man now left the room; and when I sat down to read I saw that the books were hoary and mouldy, and that they included old Morryster's wild Marvells of Science, the terrible Saducismus Triumphatus of Joseph Glanvill, published in 1681, the shocking Daemonolatreia of Remigius, printed in 1595 at Lyons, and worst of all, the unmentionable Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, in Olaus Wormius' forbidden Latin translation; a book which I had never seen, but of which I had heard monstrous things whispered. Yellowed fragments of vellum and parchment scrawled with unnamable horrors invoking ghastly abominations: decaying papers and moldering leather with sickly-sweet tonka, inky musk, black sandalwood, black fig, sugandh kokila, and pimento leaf. In the bottle: Uhhh. Sushi. Not fishy but cucumber rolls, with a hint of wasabi. That is VERY interesting. I really smell cucumber. Wet: dusty cucumber, paper and leather, with a touch of sandalwood. Much better on, and I think aging will erase that cucumber smell, but boy it made me want sushi. Dry: Musk and mouldering papers with a bit of sandalwood and leather. Definitely worth keeping to age, I would love to see how this develops.
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Ghastly secrets and terror-numb revelations: white mint, black amber, tallow, antediluvian woods, and sickly resins. (For reference, I tested this as a linen spray) This is mostly mint. Definitely the famous BPAL "white mint" note, with a strong background of very sweet amber. There is just a hint of something earthy, almost a mineral note that I think is from the resins. It reminds me a bit of the long DC'ed Black Opal. On the drydown, the woods give this a slightly masculine edge, and it smells a bit like a very expensive aftershave or cologne. Classy! I wouldn't mind my house smelling like this. No sign of the tallow. The throw is somewhat weak, but it find that common in mint blends. It is however, very long lasting. If you enjoy other sweet BPAL mint blends like Tokyo Stomp, Snowblind, and Lick It, but long for something a little more sophisticated and less candy-like, this will be right up your alley. It is also great for people who miss Lantern Ghost of Oiwa.
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I had seen maps of the town, and knew where to find the home of my people. It was told that I should be known and welcomed, for village legend lives long; so I hastened through Back Street to Circle Court, and across the fresh snow on the one full flagstone pavement in the town, to where Green Lane leads off behind the Market house. The old maps still held good, and I had no trouble; though at Arkham they must have lied when they said the trolleys ran to this place, since I saw not a wire overhead. Snow would have hid the rails in any case. I was glad I had chosen to walk, for the white village had seemed very beautiful from the hill; and now I was eager to knock at the door of my people, the seventh house on the left in Green Lane, with an ancient peaked roof and jutting second story, all built before 1650. The scent of ancient families harboring ancient secrets: thin dribbles of frankincense, bitter cistus, hollow myrrh, pale chamomile, and dark, furtive opoponax. I took a chance on this one even though I figured that the frankincense would dominate and not allow me to smell any of the other notes. It's a bit more complex at first but quickly dries down into all frank all the time. And then it's gone. Reminds me of Arcana, as most of the frankincense blends do.
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Mine were an old people, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. And they were strange, because they had come as dark furtive folk from opiate southern gardens of orchids, and spoken another tongue before they learnt the tongue of the blue-eyed fishers. And now they were scattered, and shared only the rituals of mysteries that none living could understand. I was the only one who came back that night to the old fishing town as legend bade, for only the poor and the lonely remember. Memories of alien gardens that crawl with wide swaths of vivid, soporific blossoms: gargantuan orchids, blood-purple poppies, and monstrous black peonies. At first sniff, something repulses me a little, like rotting flowers, but it's kind of... evocative... What was I expecting anyway from a blend that suggests "alien gardens"? However, the initial iffy scent burns off fairly quickly, and all is left is a soft, dark floral scent that stays quite close to the skin. It seems like a COLD dark scent - so that's kind of fun in a way. In fact, the more I think about it, and sniff my wrist, the more I like this - I feel it's one of those scents that could grow on me, especially if I let it settle for a while. I'm actually kind of glad to have a bottle, because it's fairly unique and a nice addition to the BPAL collection :-) Rating: 3 out of 5 stars for now.
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Then I saw the lurid shimmering of pale light, and heard the insidious lapping of sunless waters. Again I shivered, for I did not like the things that the night had brought, and wished bitterly that no forefather had summoned me to this primal rite. As the steps and the passage grew broader, I heard another sound, the thin, whining mockery of a feeble flute; and suddenly there spread out before me the boundless vista of an inner world-a vast fungous shore litten by a belching column of sick greenish flame and washed by a wide oily river that flowed from abysses frightful and unsuspected to join the blackest gulfs of immemorial ocean. Salted citron, black coconut, wormwood, and oily labdanum oozing through fungal mosses and sick, greenish subterranean flora. In the bottle: My first impression is one of salt, and then a bit of the citron and coconut. Wet: Aquatic and salty with just a touch of fungus. Dry: Salty aquatic fungus, actually very pleasant. I wish that citron stuck around more, perhaps aging will help it along.
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He beckoned me into a low, candle-lit room with massive exposed rafters and dark, stiff, sparse furniture of the seventeenth century. The past was vivid there, for not an attribute was missing. There was a cavernous fireplace and a spinning-wheel at which a bent old woman in loose wrapper and deep poke-bonnet sat back toward me, silently spinning despite the festive season. An indefinite dampness seemed upon the place, and I marvelled that no fire should be blazing. The high-backed settle faced the row of curtained windows at the left, and seemed to be occupied, though I was not sure. I did not like everything about what I saw, and felt again the fear I had had. This fear grew stronger from what had before lessened it, for the more I looked at the old man's bland face the more its very blandness terrified me. The eyes never moved, and the skin was too like wax. Finally I was sure it was not a face at all, but a fiendishly cunning mask. But the flabby hands, curiously gloved, wrote genially on the tablet and told me I must wait a while before I could be led to the place of festival. Candle wax and waxen "skin," rotting leather and reeking damp wood, and the ashes of a yawning, cold fireplace. In the bottle: What an odd smell... it's almost like sweetened condensed milk? Wet: Similar, but more stale. I think what I smell may be the candle wax, the staleness is the ashes from the fireplace. It's the same sort of 'stale' I smelled in Death-Fires Dancing Over the Tombs - I think it might be the Lab's stone note? Dry: Rather pleasant. The candle wax is definitely predominant. I don't really get much of anything else. It's a warm, sweet, waxy pleasantness.
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Unholy incense drifting through mazelike streets: dragon’s blood resin, black frankincense, sickly-sweet cardamom, cassia, and myrrh. This is a most interesting scent. At first sniff when sprayed in a room, I mostly smell cardamon and cinnamon. But when sprayed against linen(I sprayed it on the sheets), the heaviness of dragon's blood, myrrh and frankincense gives the atmosphere spray a depth that I didn't first notice. It might just be my imagination, but I almost catch a mild whiff of aquatic notes, making me think of a tall foreboding church by the seaside, looming large against the blackened night.
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Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, out of the Tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their membraneous wings; and as they reached the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and rode off one by one along the reaches of that unlighted river, into pits and galleries of panic where poison springs feed frightful and undiscoverable cataracts. Membranous green mandarin with dread-choked black sandalwood, opoponax, pine tar, mimosa, mugwort, and acrid tagetes. Immediately on applying I smell camphor, but that vanishes quickly. I get citrus, but a sort of herbal citrus. The mugwort is strong here, silvery and herbal. It must be what I mistook for camphor. I can't really pick out the sandalwood or tagetes. Yes, it's a little sour, maybe even acrid, but the opoponax and mimosa seem to be doing their part to keep it from being a screeching sour horror. I do like mugwort and here it smells very delicate and silvery. It's not unlike the lab's White Sage SN. My mother tells me this smells to her like nice soap (must be the sandalwood) and cedar.
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Presently the old man drew back his hood and pointed to the family resemblance in his face, but I only shuddered, because I was sure that the face was merely a devilish waxen mask. The flopping animals were now scratching restlessly at the lichens, and I saw that the old man was nearly as restless himself. When one of the things began to waddle and edge away, he turned quickly to stop it; so that the suddenness of his motion dislodged the waxen mask from what should have been his head. And then, because that nightmare's position barred me from the stone staircase down which we had come, I flung myself into the oily underground river that bubbled somewhere to the caves of the sea; flung myself into that putrescent juice of earth's inner horrors before the madness of my screams could bring down upon me all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. Perfect and absolute mental collapse: black pomegranate and vetiver with rose otto, rue, red patchouli, petitgrain, myrrh, and cacao absolute. In the bottle: VETIVER! And cocoa. It reminds me of Hershey's easter eggs, oddly. The kind that have the candy shell. Wet: Vetiver and cocoa still. I never thought the combination of those would go together but it's pretty interesting and works well. I wouldn't call this foodie either. Dry: Vetiver. This might as well be SN vetiver on me, I don't get much else at all. Still pretty okay though!
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From a 13th century recipe plundered from the vaults of the Zadok family's cellars! In The Bottle: Oh man. My mouth *actually* watered. Even with the most foodie food scent, that NEVER happens. But this scent has tricked my face into thinking there is delicious cranberry juice hidden inside this tiny perfume bottle! Wet On Skin: Okay. It's behaving more like a foodie *perfume* than food now. Still delicious, but the cider part is making it more of a fragrance than something to eat. Dry Down: This is a really nice holiday scent. I feel really excited to have this in time for all the festivities this month! It's a perfect blend of raw fresh apple cider and cranberries. It's not a 'hard' cider, there's no ferment or boozy note in here and I find I'm actually glad for it. In All: The lower end of the medium-throw spectrum, this scent likes to cling and stay close to the skin. In addition to being a must-have for foodies, I would say this is a good addition to the collections of anyone looking for a solid holiday scent to wear to daytime parties and also dinners with friends and family all through the season. I can also see this being a great scent to diffuse into a room with an oil burner. Total keeper!
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We went out into the moonless and tortuous network of that incredibly ancient town; went out as the lights in the curtained windows disappeared one by one, and the Dog Star leered at the throng of cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every doorway and formed monstrous processions up this street and that, past the creaking signs and antediluvian gables, the thatched roofs and diamond-paned windows; threading precipitous lanes where decaying houses overlapped and crumbled together, gliding across open courts and churchyards where the bobbing lanthorns made eldritch drunken constellations. Dizzying, swirling, starry madness: eucalyptus sap, white tea leaf, and ambergris foam. In the bottle: Ooooh. This is LOVELY, it brings to mind an aquatic Herbert West for me. Oooh! Wet: Strong tea with a hint of reanimation agent. This is a seriously lovely scent, I am so surprised! Dry: definitely Herbert West and tea. This is a multibottle for us!
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Footworn Steps Leading Into a Dank, Suffocating Crypt Atmosphere Spray
Gwydion posted a topic in Atmosphere
Maggoty with subterraneous evil: the scent of creeping deep green mosses, sweet rot, lantern oil, and sinuous incense drifting over dripping stone blocks, mushroom-moist soil, and crumbling mortar. In bottle: Rather disturbing. The moss and rot pop first, but the soil quickly steps in as support of both, with stone and mortar gently tingeing it. The Lantern oil gives the rot a chemical tinge. The rot becomes dominant quickly, though the moss stays strong. Given enough time, the unsettlingly sweet rot backs off, letting the moss shine.
