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Well I'm still here. And still game.
You still accepting? I'd like to get behind something else while I run my own operation in the casual section, and this piqued my interest more than anything else.
EDIT: I'll put this here while I'm at it.
===
”Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s any less worthwhile.”
Personal Information
Name: Mylo Crane
Nickname: None
Age: 67
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Appearance
Description of Appearance: Mylo’s old, that much is easily visible. He’s let his hair grow out, and hasn’t shaved for a bit. As a very natural-minded man, he prefers to let everything go as it’s meant to, until it proves to be a problem (like his beard, for example). He doesn’t have as many wrinkles as one would expect on a guy reaching seventy, which he’s thankful for.
Style: Mylo wears a lot of old, rugged clothing that always seems like he picked up whatever he found in his closet and just went with it. He usually wears jeans, work shoes, a collared shirt, and a sweater over that. Always has lots of leather bands and braids on his wrists, and a necklace or two (most of them he made himself). Always has his one pair of beaten glasses on.
Disposition
Likes: Crafting, woodworking, the arts, antiques, storytelling, nature, and animals.
Dislikes: Advanced technology, big urban cities, and the arrogance of youth. To an extent of each.
Personality: Mylo is a naturalist, a romantic, and some would say, a hippie. He’s kind, gentle, wise, and understanding of most people. He enjoys his own solidarity, but he appreciates company when it’s due. He cares for the beauty of nature and hates seeing it being defaced or destroyed. An animal lover, he enjoys being around fauna of all kinds, as long as they’re not dangerous. He’s not a control freak, but doesn’t like being around people who don’t listen to him when he’s trying to tell them something (important or otherwise).
Fears: Fear of the future. Losing what little he has to the progression of society. Losing the place where he lives and the things he holds dear. Fear of the unknown.
Past
History: Mylo was born in the countryside to a caring mother and father, both possessing a similar mindset to what he has today. They didn’t care for living in urban areas, and built themselves a large cottage in the woodlands of Pennsylvania. They were the type to only keep the things they needed, and spent as much time away from modern civilization as they were capable of. They went out for food and the like, but always rushed back home to spend time with their son, to teach him everything he really needed to know. Time went on, Mylo grew older, and his parents both passed away some years apart from each other, and he buried them both in the forest. He inherited the cottage and has lived there ever since.
Mylo spent much of his time renovating the cottage himself, carving furniture from wood and painting things around the house. He eventually developed a sense of wanderlust however, desiring to see the world his parents didn’t care for, that they never let him behold with his own eyes. He left for some time, traveling around the state, and seeing all the societal ills he learned of during his youth. In the end, however, he didn’t see it as being as bad as he thought it’d be. Sure, he didn’t enjoy seeing all the industrializing and deforestation, but he found comfort in places like flea markets and produce shops. He went back home after a while of traveling, with a more positive outlook on life from then on. Now he sells the crafts he makes for money, and takes trips out to town to buy furnishings and groceries instead of occasionally harvesting beans. He lives a solitary but joyful life.
Until, one evening, when he was sitting in his rocking chair on his new balcony, staring at the sunset over the forest. He felt ill, and his eyes rolled backwards into his head. He never woke up, and no one knew to come checking up on him.
Other: Mylo is an exceptional culinary expert, even though he claims he just puts together whatever tastes good and eats it. He tried to date a girl he met in town once, when he was younger, but she turned out to be… well… a little promiscuous. And he didn’t like that. He never tried again after her, seeing it as something he just wasn’t cut out for.
EDIT: I'll put this here while I'm at it.
===
”Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s any less worthwhile.”
Personal Information
Name: Mylo Crane
Nickname: None
Age: 67
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Appearance
Description of Appearance: Mylo’s old, that much is easily visible. He’s let his hair grow out, and hasn’t shaved for a bit. As a very natural-minded man, he prefers to let everything go as it’s meant to, until it proves to be a problem (like his beard, for example). He doesn’t have as many wrinkles as one would expect on a guy reaching seventy, which he’s thankful for.
Style: Mylo wears a lot of old, rugged clothing that always seems like he picked up whatever he found in his closet and just went with it. He usually wears jeans, work shoes, a collared shirt, and a sweater over that. Always has lots of leather bands and braids on his wrists, and a necklace or two (most of them he made himself). Always has his one pair of beaten glasses on.
Disposition
Likes: Crafting, woodworking, the arts, antiques, storytelling, nature, and animals.
Dislikes: Advanced technology, big urban cities, and the arrogance of youth. To an extent of each.
Personality: Mylo is a naturalist, a romantic, and some would say, a hippie. He’s kind, gentle, wise, and understanding of most people. He enjoys his own solidarity, but he appreciates company when it’s due. He cares for the beauty of nature and hates seeing it being defaced or destroyed. An animal lover, he enjoys being around fauna of all kinds, as long as they’re not dangerous. He’s not a control freak, but doesn’t like being around people who don’t listen to him when he’s trying to tell them something (important or otherwise).
Fears: Fear of the future. Losing what little he has to the progression of society. Losing the place where he lives and the things he holds dear. Fear of the unknown.
Past
History: Mylo was born in the countryside to a caring mother and father, both possessing a similar mindset to what he has today. They didn’t care for living in urban areas, and built themselves a large cottage in the woodlands of Pennsylvania. They were the type to only keep the things they needed, and spent as much time away from modern civilization as they were capable of. They went out for food and the like, but always rushed back home to spend time with their son, to teach him everything he really needed to know. Time went on, Mylo grew older, and his parents both passed away some years apart from each other, and he buried them both in the forest. He inherited the cottage and has lived there ever since.
Mylo spent much of his time renovating the cottage himself, carving furniture from wood and painting things around the house. He eventually developed a sense of wanderlust however, desiring to see the world his parents didn’t care for, that they never let him behold with his own eyes. He left for some time, traveling around the state, and seeing all the societal ills he learned of during his youth. In the end, however, he didn’t see it as being as bad as he thought it’d be. Sure, he didn’t enjoy seeing all the industrializing and deforestation, but he found comfort in places like flea markets and produce shops. He went back home after a while of traveling, with a more positive outlook on life from then on. Now he sells the crafts he makes for money, and takes trips out to town to buy furnishings and groceries instead of occasionally harvesting beans. He lives a solitary but joyful life.
Until, one evening, when he was sitting in his rocking chair on his new balcony, staring at the sunset over the forest. He felt ill, and his eyes rolled backwards into his head. He never woke up, and no one knew to come checking up on him.
Other: Mylo is an exceptional culinary expert, even though he claims he just puts together whatever tastes good and eats it. He tried to date a girl he met in town once, when he was younger, but she turned out to be… well… a little promiscuous. And he didn’t like that. He never tried again after her, seeing it as something he just wasn’t cut out for.
Kyle Foster
I was surrounded by darkness after I entered the mansion. The light from the Crone’s lantern disappeared with the closing of the doors. I quickly turned my flashlight back on and beheld where I then stood.
Seemed to be… a cave. Hovels and indentations carved into the dirt walls. Skeletal remains, some human and others vastly alien to me, filled each spot. Cobwebs and stray bones littered the long hallway, and I knew very well where I walked into at that moment.
The burial vault.
The Rat Man’s burial vault.
I braved myself for what I knew would be a dangerous path ahead. I knew from the story, which I read quite some time ago and remember to this day, what was to come. Strange though as it was, I heard none of the Rat Man’s little companions scurrying about the vault. Yet I knew they were watching, tucked in between the bones, hiding away when I shined my flashlight at them.
They knew why I was here. And they surely told their master of me.
I reached the end of the hallway, and I came to a large, circular chamber. Several stone coffins made a circle around the perimeter, with an unlit brazier standing at the center betwixt all of them. I stepped into more and more piles of bones as I walked, with only mere patches of dirt visible now. I looked at the peculiar, nonhuman remains mixed with those of my own kind and wondered what they were taken from. Other monsters, perhaps? The Rat Man could have sent his minions to devour them upon their intrusions. Or maybe this is where monsters of this world were laid to rest.
I didn’t know. The stories were unclear. But I was ready to learn many, many truths. Behold what could not possibly be, but in fact, is.
I proceeded through more hallways and chambers, up staircase after staircase. While I was between wanting to meet the Rat Man and escape the burial vault, I was intent on keeping my pace. Either he would find me, or I would leave, and return for him later.
I didn’t finish my story for the Crone. I simply began telling another one.
Living another one.
I was surrounded by darkness after I entered the mansion. The light from the Crone’s lantern disappeared with the closing of the doors. I quickly turned my flashlight back on and beheld where I then stood.
Seemed to be… a cave. Hovels and indentations carved into the dirt walls. Skeletal remains, some human and others vastly alien to me, filled each spot. Cobwebs and stray bones littered the long hallway, and I knew very well where I walked into at that moment.
The burial vault.
The Rat Man’s burial vault.
I braved myself for what I knew would be a dangerous path ahead. I knew from the story, which I read quite some time ago and remember to this day, what was to come. Strange though as it was, I heard none of the Rat Man’s little companions scurrying about the vault. Yet I knew they were watching, tucked in between the bones, hiding away when I shined my flashlight at them.
They knew why I was here. And they surely told their master of me.
I reached the end of the hallway, and I came to a large, circular chamber. Several stone coffins made a circle around the perimeter, with an unlit brazier standing at the center betwixt all of them. I stepped into more and more piles of bones as I walked, with only mere patches of dirt visible now. I looked at the peculiar, nonhuman remains mixed with those of my own kind and wondered what they were taken from. Other monsters, perhaps? The Rat Man could have sent his minions to devour them upon their intrusions. Or maybe this is where monsters of this world were laid to rest.
I didn’t know. The stories were unclear. But I was ready to learn many, many truths. Behold what could not possibly be, but in fact, is.
I proceeded through more hallways and chambers, up staircase after staircase. While I was between wanting to meet the Rat Man and escape the burial vault, I was intent on keeping my pace. Either he would find me, or I would leave, and return for him later.
I didn’t finish my story for the Crone. I simply began telling another one.
Living another one.
Peachygem said
I wrote my first IC, it's a bit short since I haven't actually entered the forest yet o.o
That's alright. Take as much time as you need to plan things ahead.
He's always been my favorite. After him will be the Vaubermanksr.
You can pace yourself however you want. Meet your monster first, or others'. I know what I'm doing, and I'll continue with it in my next post.
The ending for the Rat Man's story isn't really so special, just a wrap up. I copied it from here. It's what I'm going to do with him during the course of the game that I'm excited for.
The ending for the Rat Man's story isn't really so special, just a wrap up. I copied it from here. It's what I'm going to do with him during the course of the game that I'm excited for.
CaptBoobgrab said
Sure, I appreciate it. Thanks man, this is very interesting. Also your avatar is creepy as fuck.
Does it look infected to you?
Kyle Foster
I fled from my home at the stroke of the twenty-second hour. My mother and two siblings, all sound asleep. They would not approve of my departure were they aware of it, thus I saved them the drama of the situation.
I had been telling them, and many others about this for months. I was firm in my curiosity but my peers denounced me as delusional. They told me to take time off and think carefully about what I had been proclaiming, yet all I did in response was continue with my “ramblings”, as they put it.
I knew. They didn’t. There was nothing I could change. In the end, I suppose facing my suspicion alone was inevitable. The tales I recounted… none of them ever involved more than one person.
Perhaps that’s how it’s meant to be.
I dressed warm, for I knew what would befall me. I took a flashlight from a kitchen drawer and as many batteries that I could fit inside my coat pockets. I took the family car and drove slowly away from the house. Once I was far enough, I sped towards my destination. I was eager, ready to face the legend so many denied as true. I was always ready to believe something… different, existed in this world.
I parked outside a campsite, on the gravel lot where few other vehicles had been stationed. The people there were asleep in their tents, and didn’t notice me as I walked through the grounds and towards the edge of the forest. I felt the chill of the night air around me, looking up at the cloud-ridden moonscape lighting my way. I stopped where the trees became clustered and the ground became nothing but leaves, dirt, and twigs. I stood there, attempting to present my composure to no one in particular. But in truth, I was deeply afraid. I breathed slowly, and mustered the strength to utter those sacred words.
“Please let me in. I want to tell you a story.”
As expected, I was met with no response. But that simply reassured me whereas many others would be discouraged and likely to return home in shame. Not I, however. I steeled myself, and began my trek forward, into the dark of the woods. I held my flashlight forward, weaving my way through the trees. I felt the same as many would when I stood in the darkness. I was afraid of the unknown. But this was a different scenario of its own, for I knew the unknown lurked around me. I wasn’t afraid of something that I thought was out there. I knew very well they were present and poised to slaughter me.
Some minutes passed. I felt the predetermined chill creep beneath my sleeves and collar, rattling at my bones. It would have frightened someone else, but I was excited to see the story come true.
T́̾̅҉̗̫̪̗h̳͎͊̍̿͊ͥ͗ȇ̾ͫ̚͏̞̪͈r̰̹̈̀ͨͣ̇̀e̓͗͒͆̂̓͏̰͖
͕̱̬̣̤̒̾̈́̃ͮ̒ỹ̖̗͚͓̎̍͟ơ̫͉̞̏ụ̤̰͇ͮ͐͝
̝̉ͬͪ̏̑ͫ͞a̩̒̋̓̎ͮr̮̮͖̙̰͙̰̎̊̏̄e̙̝͇͙͎͐̌̎͞.̮̄̄
There. I heard it. A woman’s voice, resonating amidst the night wind. Speaking to me.
D͇̲̗͔ͫ̈ͭͩ̍̏ő̞̭̪ͭ͗̓̐̊̕e͈ͨ̌ͫͯͅͅs̲̳̱ ̧̟̘̺̠ͧ̓̆̑ͤ̃ͪh̲̝͈̘͉͒͗̈́̐̅ͨě̷̬͓͎̇ ̢̠̞̋̃͌̽̽ͨ̂ḩ̣͆̌ȁ͍̹ͬ̀v͈͚̰̳̽͟ͅe̦̬̺̯̰̤͓͗ͦͨ͌̔̔͐
͍͉̫̬̻͈͖̽̈̇̕s̷̤ụ̪̫̰͔̯̈́͂p̦̭̲̙̺̎͟p͚̗͔̮͍͎̦ͨ̊͛̉̿ͧḷ̙ͯ̾̎͜e̠ͮ̎͆̇̓ ̆͆ͯ̉͂ͧ̅s̝̘̠̹̱͉̈̆͟k̢̟̠̥͍̩̠̤ͦ̍ḯ̥̰͔̬͒̕n̜̦̭̗̬͉ͧ̔̈̽ͤ͡?̙̈́ͧ
̥̮̔̅̎̈́͗̚͝Cͧ̂͌͏͎̼̪̮͈ͅâ̈́̎̍̈҉̮ń̲̫͓̺̜̜͠ͅ ̶͔̎̓̔w̨̳̲̔̈́̔͑̾̌e͓̟͎͇͍̗ͮ̑͡ͅ ̯̰̻̣̒ͮͦ͌m͍͈̜̱̹͛̆̓ͨ̓͠ä̝͖͚̟͚̙͍́k̩̖̣̇̀̓̒̒e͖̪͙͍̖̥̅͒͆ͩ
ͯ͒̑ͪ͘s̡̺̻̜͓͚̖̖͒ͤͤ͆́͛ò̲͇͙̜͖̱̲͜m̢̗͓̳͎̓̈́e̊̏̀̓̚͟t͓̻̒̄͜h̀ͬ͊ͣͬ͐̐͏̫͔͖̦͓̝͍i̭͕̙ͧn͖̺̯͎ͫ̂̊͌ͯg̴̘͎ͮͪͪ̅̚
̭͗̽o̧̙̘͖̫̹͊́ͣǘ̦͚͙̙̻͛̒͊̌̀̾ṯ̥̤ͯ̓͡ ̻̱̭͉̼o͆͗ͤfͨ̓̓ ̸̖͉͚̬͔̖͚ͤͭ̏ͩ͐h̛̝̰͈̜̘̮͔i͍͔͐ͮ̚͝m̗̤̙̰̯?̡̩̦̗͋̀̀ͩ̆̔ͅ
A man’s voice.
H̖ͩ̇̆I͎̮͙̮̣͒͊̄̉̾ͥ̚Ŝ̢̱̥̣̫̠̹͉̐͂͋̚͠ ̹̬̰̹̗͖ͬͪ̍ͫ̒͌̾͞M̢̫͎ͪͦ̓̎̌̇̇I̺̼͈͈̍̄ͮ͊͠͠N͚̠͉̫̟̟ͤͬ̓̌ͧ͋̏͋͘D̴͓̳̮͇̼͕̩͑͘͢ͅ ͕͍̝̗̪̤̣̿̅̒S͓̬ͮ͘Ṱ̡̜̮̊͆̋̔Ḭ̛̗͍̺̩̇̒̑̈̾̏ͣ͑̚R̜͕̟͈̦̫̫̲̃̋͒ͅS̵̬͍̄ͣ͢.̷̧̘͖͈̯̼̳̗͌̆͝
ͣ̎͐̄ͬ҉̧̮̖͕̼̕ͅḤ̷̲̜̞͌̆̂̏̑̌̋͢Eͤ͑ͯ҉̼̖͈̦̰̳̬̪͞ ͖͓̐̒ͥ̆͐̚͝I̗̻̰̫͙̝͖̳̲͑̉̒͢Ŝ̵̯͈͔̄́̉͜ ̸̢̯̘̘̦̤̝̻ͥͨ̐ͦͯ̍͝C͇̫̞̿ͣ̈́ͦͮ͐̈́̑͟͝Oͭ̅̄̉͊ͪ͏̡̬͍̟͚̕M̺̠̜͍̖̱̹ͮ͛͛̌̂̆̑̎͠I̩͎̠̫͈̹ͧͨ͢͡N̴̬̹̹̻̗̝̭̦̾͜͜G̴̥̟̠̟̣̬̞͔͓̍͊͗.̡̹̾̀͑͌͟
̵̶̣̩̤̈͊ͣ̌̐̎̍͌F̥̬͉͉̜͔ͥ̇͛ͦͣͥͫ̍́̕͢O͉̼͓ͭ̇͜R̨̛̩͖̼͉̲̭̼̍̏̊ͭ̐ ͎͋́́͠T̷̬͇͖ͫͫ̐̇H̖̰̯̥̮͎̹̫̚E̛̟̮͖̯̼͇̙̿̈́́̂ͭͅ ̛͚̤̝͗́Ç̡̪̾̿͂̈̽̊̍R̸͇͕͕̰̈́̀́ͮ̎̎Ǫ̹͓͍͍͕̬̂ͭͤͦ͂̇ͬ̍͡Ǹ̶̤͔̩̟̦̠̺̂̊͂͒̎̀E̶̘̩̱ͥ̉̃̀ͧ̾̽̈́̕.̢̢̬̪̳͐̇̊͑̍͐̈̐
A demon’s voice.
Ÿ̰̩́̆̄̔̾͞e̞̣̤̐͒͝s̤̩͕̩͎̉̃ͦ̊̑.̛̐ͨ͊̒̊.̟̙̍͑.̴̿ͧ̓ͦ̏ ̷̘̺̜̫̖̜͉ͭͩͥ̓c̷͎̥̠͉̦̠͑̋o̴̦̰̟͈̤ͦm̯͈̤̲̹̽̾͡e͙͓̟͂̽͞ ̝̩͍̠̪ͅt̡̺̦̔o̶̬̊ͭͦ ̴̪̟̫̳̣̝͔ū͕̓͐͊͌s̴̳̗͎̥̜ͭ̉́ͤͦ̇͑,̥̖̝̻͈̅̇ͧͨ̚͜ ̠͍͎̺̜̈́̃̊̏́̏l͎͎͍͈̓̕i̪͈̥̦͚ͤ͞t̵̪ͧ̚ṱ̥̯̼̯ͥl̹͓̤ͫͥ̃͂͐̏͘e̢̠̺̠ ̮ͩp̑̆͛͆i̴̩̦̜̙̙ͧ̾̀̊̃͂̌g̛̲̼͐͛ͦ.̪͆̑ͣ̐
̪̤̺̙W̪͊̈́͋̏̅ė͖̟̬͎̦̎́͛ͬ ̰̰ͤͦͭ͞w͙̺̲̠͔ͩ̾̎͢a͍̱͓͌͑ͥn̥̦͕̫̫̞̍͋̽̎t̵̙̦̣͚͈̙͕ͥ ͈̯̻͎͚͓͑t̙͓̤ͨ̆ͅo̶͎̲̘͉̰͔̍̽ͥͧ̐̑ͩ ͔̯͚̆̈́͛sk̃͛̎̋͡i̩̻̼ͫ͑̎̋̀͡n̫͠ͅ ̵̞̩͍̟̩͑ͧ͌̽̆̂y̮͎̞̫̖̏̅ơ̺̝̦̔u͕̩̺̞̺̼͒̉ͭͬ,̪̿̈́͗͛͢ ̷̬̭̜̥̣̜͗̂̊͐a͔̣̥͙ͦͪ͢n̜̲̺̭̺͚ͫ͐̿͌d̟͇͇̝͖̪͔̊̍̓ͮ͡
̳̖̈̓͋ș̨͚̹̤̝â̸̺͔ͩ̇͗l̴̝ͭͧ̓̍ť͔͖̲ͮ͊͜ ̩̘̝͔̎ͩ̄̚y͎͇ͤ̊̈́͋ͧ̍̎o̺̬ͤ͌̃ͤ͑̽͌u̇̐͊,̛̤ͭ̉̐ͯ̆̇ ̬a͈̙͎n͈̜̝̞̬̿̈́d͈͚͈̭͂ͅ ͉͒͆̅̾͗̒͝ḷ̛̳̳̖̭͚͗̇ͦͮͤ̚i̢̫̬͌͂c͔͚̰̬̙͔͉͆̚͠kͥ̅ͭ̋ͨ҉͖̳̗̥ ̤̻ͣ̏ͣ̋ͨ͢a̳̖͕̍̉͐̆ͮļ̫̼̗̝̑͗́̓͐̾l̬ͪͨ̽́ ̿͗̌̒ͥͮ̉t̺̗̱̣̬̝ͪ̉̉̒ͯ͢h̳͇͍̺̠̯̪͒ͮ́̀̀ė̞̯̘͔̬̭ͤͤ̀
̡̏b̸͍̫̬̺̤ͥl͐ͭͭ͗͛̏́҉̬̖͍̘ͅͅȍ̳̇͠o̱̗̹̒̍̔̃̉̎ͨd̵̖̻̺̄̓ ̡̝͈͎̃͛̿͆b̫̰͎͓̹̳ͦ̇͐è͕̳͒͋̍̂̋f̘͓̟ͤͬͥ̑͌͢ọ̲̜̱̜̾͗r̳͖͒ͤ̔͑͒͛ẹ͔͔̫̤̥̰̇͘ ̵͉͈̦̩͚̻̀̀ỉ̖͉̗ͣ͒̅́ͅt͚͉͍͕́̈́ͦ̀̚ ̐ͤ̔d̝̳̼̟͈͖͞ṛ̭̮̘͟o̼̼̞͙̜̲͉ͫͪͪp̍̒̅ͣ̑̾͝s͓̻̲̘͔̽͊͆́ͥ.̙̂͗͌͐͋͘
I didn’t listen to them. I wasn’t supposed to. I kept onward, disregarding their jokes, and their threats, and their inhuman growls. I didn’t know who they were, but their existence, albeit with some hesitance, reassured me once more. I walked forward, never deterring. Even when I began to feel the legion of eyes in the dark peering at me from afar. Amidst the voices, I heard sounds of leaves rustling wildly, as if something were dashing forth to eviscerate me. I paid it no mind, as I was instructed. But I will admit, it was difficult. They all intensified in strength as I continued forward. The chilling breeze, the voices, and the presence of something… else. At their peak, they all culminated into a whirlwind of impeding hatred, trying with all their might to halt me, to destroy me. But as I saw the light in the distance, none of their attempts mattered. I saw my destination, and I made haste. The breeze became a gale, and the voices began to shout violently. I dodged tree after tree until the moment I stepped into the clearing, and then... it all just stopped.
The breeze had died. The voices, silent. I could not feel a presence behind me anymore. And it caused me to breath a sigh of relief.
I looked forward. I saw the mansion, with its decaying walls and broken windows. If ever I could believe it to have been a normal abode, it would have looked like a lavish paradise isolated from the world. I saw the soft, somber beauty in it. And then, I saw her.
The Crone.
I stepped forward, towards her. I remained silent, and I turned off my flashlight, and let her lantern guide me instead. I climbed the steps, and stood before her as she rocked slowly back and forth in her chair made of twigs and splintered wood. I waited for her to begin what I could only describe as a ritual. She slowly raised her head and gazed at me, filling me with unease as her beady glass eyes pierced mine. Her mouth, it stretched into a grin, as if with a sense of sick pleasure, and she said to me...
"What story will you tell me?"
I hesitated, for I had thought for many days what to tell her at this moment... and I was still unsure. But I suppose the first thing to come to mind was better than no thoughts at all.
"He used to be... a little boy." I said to her.
She kept her smile.
"He lived in a lavish house with his strict and arrogant guardians. He had a pet whom he loved, a little mouse he found in the fields near his home. He fed and cared for it, and called it his friend, but when his parents found it, they took it away from him. “Filth!” They said, “Filth that does not belong in this house!” The boy was distraught, but he found another mouse to call his friend. Every time his parents would find his new pet, take it away, and kill it. But he just kept finding more. Eventually, the two had enough. They dragged the boy to a graveyard, and imprisoned him within a crypt vault. With the intent to leave him there to be eaten alive by rats, they drove away and returned home."
Her smile grew.
"The boy was scared at first, but soon he found many, many rats within the vault. They were larger, and more menacing than the field mice he was accustomed to, but they treated him like a friend just the same, for the mice had put a good word in for him. But the rats were… malicious beings. They told him to do away with his clothes, until he was left with nothing but a loincloth. They fed him rancid meat from the recently dead brought to the graveyard. And though it took time, the chain of his iron collar was bitten and chewed through, and he was free. By then, he was no longer a little boy. Many years had passed, and the vault had changed him. He was tall, and he had spindly limbs and jagged, filthy hands and feet, with prickly fingers. He was emaciated, living on nothing but the meat of the dead. His eyes became wide and their lids shriveled, leaving him blind. His nose became flat, but still worked as it was intended to. His grin stretched into a thing of evil, never dropping, and his teeth became giant and menacing."
And grew.
"One night, when his parents were old and withered, the boy – now calling himself “the Rat Man” – returned home with his many rat companions, all of them quite hungry. They laid siege to the parents’ opulent mansion, infesting it, and devouring them in their beds. The Rat Man merely stood there and watched. As he left the mansion, he saw the field mice, and approached them. But they fled from his sight, horrified by the monster the rats had turned him into, no longer the little boy they called their friend."
And grew.
"The Rat Man, disheartened by the mice’s’ retreat, returned to the crypt vault, and-"
She raised her hand at me. I stopped immediately, having satisfied her requirement. I held back my own smile as I listened to her say, "That's enough. Go inside."
The double doors in front of me swung open, nothing but darkness lying beyond their frame.
This was it.
I was either to leave now... or go inside. And meet him.
The Rat Man.
Perhaps, to many others, the prospect of coming face-to-face with someone or something they feared... dissuaded them. But I was anticipating this. Ready to feel the fear. Maybe that was my problem, deliberately seeking something to frighten me... but I couldn't help myself. I believed in the fantasy, and the horror. I was ready for it.
I stepped inside, and the doors closed behind me.
I fled from my home at the stroke of the twenty-second hour. My mother and two siblings, all sound asleep. They would not approve of my departure were they aware of it, thus I saved them the drama of the situation.
I had been telling them, and many others about this for months. I was firm in my curiosity but my peers denounced me as delusional. They told me to take time off and think carefully about what I had been proclaiming, yet all I did in response was continue with my “ramblings”, as they put it.
I knew. They didn’t. There was nothing I could change. In the end, I suppose facing my suspicion alone was inevitable. The tales I recounted… none of them ever involved more than one person.
Perhaps that’s how it’s meant to be.
I dressed warm, for I knew what would befall me. I took a flashlight from a kitchen drawer and as many batteries that I could fit inside my coat pockets. I took the family car and drove slowly away from the house. Once I was far enough, I sped towards my destination. I was eager, ready to face the legend so many denied as true. I was always ready to believe something… different, existed in this world.
I parked outside a campsite, on the gravel lot where few other vehicles had been stationed. The people there were asleep in their tents, and didn’t notice me as I walked through the grounds and towards the edge of the forest. I felt the chill of the night air around me, looking up at the cloud-ridden moonscape lighting my way. I stopped where the trees became clustered and the ground became nothing but leaves, dirt, and twigs. I stood there, attempting to present my composure to no one in particular. But in truth, I was deeply afraid. I breathed slowly, and mustered the strength to utter those sacred words.
“Please let me in. I want to tell you a story.”
As expected, I was met with no response. But that simply reassured me whereas many others would be discouraged and likely to return home in shame. Not I, however. I steeled myself, and began my trek forward, into the dark of the woods. I held my flashlight forward, weaving my way through the trees. I felt the same as many would when I stood in the darkness. I was afraid of the unknown. But this was a different scenario of its own, for I knew the unknown lurked around me. I wasn’t afraid of something that I thought was out there. I knew very well they were present and poised to slaughter me.
Some minutes passed. I felt the predetermined chill creep beneath my sleeves and collar, rattling at my bones. It would have frightened someone else, but I was excited to see the story come true.
T́̾̅҉̗̫̪̗h̳͎͊̍̿͊ͥ͗ȇ̾ͫ̚͏̞̪͈r̰̹̈̀ͨͣ̇̀e̓͗͒͆̂̓͏̰͖
͕̱̬̣̤̒̾̈́̃ͮ̒ỹ̖̗͚͓̎̍͟ơ̫͉̞̏ụ̤̰͇ͮ͐͝
̝̉ͬͪ̏̑ͫ͞a̩̒̋̓̎ͮr̮̮͖̙̰͙̰̎̊̏̄e̙̝͇͙͎͐̌̎͞.̮̄̄
There. I heard it. A woman’s voice, resonating amidst the night wind. Speaking to me.
D͇̲̗͔ͫ̈ͭͩ̍̏ő̞̭̪ͭ͗̓̐̊̕e͈ͨ̌ͫͯͅͅs̲̳̱ ̧̟̘̺̠ͧ̓̆̑ͤ̃ͪh̲̝͈̘͉͒͗̈́̐̅ͨě̷̬͓͎̇ ̢̠̞̋̃͌̽̽ͨ̂ḩ̣͆̌ȁ͍̹ͬ̀v͈͚̰̳̽͟ͅe̦̬̺̯̰̤͓͗ͦͨ͌̔̔͐
͍͉̫̬̻͈͖̽̈̇̕s̷̤ụ̪̫̰͔̯̈́͂p̦̭̲̙̺̎͟p͚̗͔̮͍͎̦ͨ̊͛̉̿ͧḷ̙ͯ̾̎͜e̠ͮ̎͆̇̓ ̆͆ͯ̉͂ͧ̅s̝̘̠̹̱͉̈̆͟k̢̟̠̥͍̩̠̤ͦ̍ḯ̥̰͔̬͒̕n̜̦̭̗̬͉ͧ̔̈̽ͤ͡?̙̈́ͧ
̥̮̔̅̎̈́͗̚͝Cͧ̂͌͏͎̼̪̮͈ͅâ̈́̎̍̈҉̮ń̲̫͓̺̜̜͠ͅ ̶͔̎̓̔w̨̳̲̔̈́̔͑̾̌e͓̟͎͇͍̗ͮ̑͡ͅ ̯̰̻̣̒ͮͦ͌m͍͈̜̱̹͛̆̓ͨ̓͠ä̝͖͚̟͚̙͍́k̩̖̣̇̀̓̒̒e͖̪͙͍̖̥̅͒͆ͩ
ͯ͒̑ͪ͘s̡̺̻̜͓͚̖̖͒ͤͤ͆́͛ò̲͇͙̜͖̱̲͜m̢̗͓̳͎̓̈́e̊̏̀̓̚͟t͓̻̒̄͜h̀ͬ͊ͣͬ͐̐͏̫͔͖̦͓̝͍i̭͕̙ͧn͖̺̯͎ͫ̂̊͌ͯg̴̘͎ͮͪͪ̅̚
̭͗̽o̧̙̘͖̫̹͊́ͣǘ̦͚͙̙̻͛̒͊̌̀̾ṯ̥̤ͯ̓͡ ̻̱̭͉̼o͆͗ͤfͨ̓̓ ̸̖͉͚̬͔̖͚ͤͭ̏ͩ͐h̛̝̰͈̜̘̮͔i͍͔͐ͮ̚͝m̗̤̙̰̯?̡̩̦̗͋̀̀ͩ̆̔ͅ
A man’s voice.
H̖ͩ̇̆I͎̮͙̮̣͒͊̄̉̾ͥ̚Ŝ̢̱̥̣̫̠̹͉̐͂͋̚͠ ̹̬̰̹̗͖ͬͪ̍ͫ̒͌̾͞M̢̫͎ͪͦ̓̎̌̇̇I̺̼͈͈̍̄ͮ͊͠͠N͚̠͉̫̟̟ͤͬ̓̌ͧ͋̏͋͘D̴͓̳̮͇̼͕̩͑͘͢ͅ ͕͍̝̗̪̤̣̿̅̒S͓̬ͮ͘Ṱ̡̜̮̊͆̋̔Ḭ̛̗͍̺̩̇̒̑̈̾̏ͣ͑̚R̜͕̟͈̦̫̫̲̃̋͒ͅS̵̬͍̄ͣ͢.̷̧̘͖͈̯̼̳̗͌̆͝
ͣ̎͐̄ͬ҉̧̮̖͕̼̕ͅḤ̷̲̜̞͌̆̂̏̑̌̋͢Eͤ͑ͯ҉̼̖͈̦̰̳̬̪͞ ͖͓̐̒ͥ̆͐̚͝I̗̻̰̫͙̝͖̳̲͑̉̒͢Ŝ̵̯͈͔̄́̉͜ ̸̢̯̘̘̦̤̝̻ͥͨ̐ͦͯ̍͝C͇̫̞̿ͣ̈́ͦͮ͐̈́̑͟͝Oͭ̅̄̉͊ͪ͏̡̬͍̟͚̕M̺̠̜͍̖̱̹ͮ͛͛̌̂̆̑̎͠I̩͎̠̫͈̹ͧͨ͢͡N̴̬̹̹̻̗̝̭̦̾͜͜G̴̥̟̠̟̣̬̞͔͓̍͊͗.̡̹̾̀͑͌͟
̵̶̣̩̤̈͊ͣ̌̐̎̍͌F̥̬͉͉̜͔ͥ̇͛ͦͣͥͫ̍́̕͢O͉̼͓ͭ̇͜R̨̛̩͖̼͉̲̭̼̍̏̊ͭ̐ ͎͋́́͠T̷̬͇͖ͫͫ̐̇H̖̰̯̥̮͎̹̫̚E̛̟̮͖̯̼͇̙̿̈́́̂ͭͅ ̛͚̤̝͗́Ç̡̪̾̿͂̈̽̊̍R̸͇͕͕̰̈́̀́ͮ̎̎Ǫ̹͓͍͍͕̬̂ͭͤͦ͂̇ͬ̍͡Ǹ̶̤͔̩̟̦̠̺̂̊͂͒̎̀E̶̘̩̱ͥ̉̃̀ͧ̾̽̈́̕.̢̢̬̪̳͐̇̊͑̍͐̈̐
A demon’s voice.
Ÿ̰̩́̆̄̔̾͞e̞̣̤̐͒͝s̤̩͕̩͎̉̃ͦ̊̑.̛̐ͨ͊̒̊.̟̙̍͑.̴̿ͧ̓ͦ̏ ̷̘̺̜̫̖̜͉ͭͩͥ̓c̷͎̥̠͉̦̠͑̋o̴̦̰̟͈̤ͦm̯͈̤̲̹̽̾͡e͙͓̟͂̽͞ ̝̩͍̠̪ͅt̡̺̦̔o̶̬̊ͭͦ ̴̪̟̫̳̣̝͔ū͕̓͐͊͌s̴̳̗͎̥̜ͭ̉́ͤͦ̇͑,̥̖̝̻͈̅̇ͧͨ̚͜ ̠͍͎̺̜̈́̃̊̏́̏l͎͎͍͈̓̕i̪͈̥̦͚ͤ͞t̵̪ͧ̚ṱ̥̯̼̯ͥl̹͓̤ͫͥ̃͂͐̏͘e̢̠̺̠ ̮ͩp̑̆͛͆i̴̩̦̜̙̙ͧ̾̀̊̃͂̌g̛̲̼͐͛ͦ.̪͆̑ͣ̐
̪̤̺̙W̪͊̈́͋̏̅ė͖̟̬͎̦̎́͛ͬ ̰̰ͤͦͭ͞w͙̺̲̠͔ͩ̾̎͢a͍̱͓͌͑ͥn̥̦͕̫̫̞̍͋̽̎t̵̙̦̣͚͈̙͕ͥ ͈̯̻͎͚͓͑t̙͓̤ͨ̆ͅo̶͎̲̘͉̰͔̍̽ͥͧ̐̑ͩ ͔̯͚̆̈́͛sk̃͛̎̋͡i̩̻̼ͫ͑̎̋̀͡n̫͠ͅ ̵̞̩͍̟̩͑ͧ͌̽̆̂y̮͎̞̫̖̏̅ơ̺̝̦̔u͕̩̺̞̺̼͒̉ͭͬ,̪̿̈́͗͛͢ ̷̬̭̜̥̣̜͗̂̊͐a͔̣̥͙ͦͪ͢n̜̲̺̭̺͚ͫ͐̿͌d̟͇͇̝͖̪͔̊̍̓ͮ͡
̳̖̈̓͋ș̨͚̹̤̝â̸̺͔ͩ̇͗l̴̝ͭͧ̓̍ť͔͖̲ͮ͊͜ ̩̘̝͔̎ͩ̄̚y͎͇ͤ̊̈́͋ͧ̍̎o̺̬ͤ͌̃ͤ͑̽͌u̇̐͊,̛̤ͭ̉̐ͯ̆̇ ̬a͈̙͎n͈̜̝̞̬̿̈́d͈͚͈̭͂ͅ ͉͒͆̅̾͗̒͝ḷ̛̳̳̖̭͚͗̇ͦͮͤ̚i̢̫̬͌͂c͔͚̰̬̙͔͉͆̚͠kͥ̅ͭ̋ͨ҉͖̳̗̥ ̤̻ͣ̏ͣ̋ͨ͢a̳̖͕̍̉͐̆ͮļ̫̼̗̝̑͗́̓͐̾l̬ͪͨ̽́ ̿͗̌̒ͥͮ̉t̺̗̱̣̬̝ͪ̉̉̒ͯ͢h̳͇͍̺̠̯̪͒ͮ́̀̀ė̞̯̘͔̬̭ͤͤ̀
̡̏b̸͍̫̬̺̤ͥl͐ͭͭ͗͛̏́҉̬̖͍̘ͅͅȍ̳̇͠o̱̗̹̒̍̔̃̉̎ͨd̵̖̻̺̄̓ ̡̝͈͎̃͛̿͆b̫̰͎͓̹̳ͦ̇͐è͕̳͒͋̍̂̋f̘͓̟ͤͬͥ̑͌͢ọ̲̜̱̜̾͗r̳͖͒ͤ̔͑͒͛ẹ͔͔̫̤̥̰̇͘ ̵͉͈̦̩͚̻̀̀ỉ̖͉̗ͣ͒̅́ͅt͚͉͍͕́̈́ͦ̀̚ ̐ͤ̔d̝̳̼̟͈͖͞ṛ̭̮̘͟o̼̼̞͙̜̲͉ͫͪͪp̍̒̅ͣ̑̾͝s͓̻̲̘͔̽͊͆́ͥ.̙̂͗͌͐͋͘
I didn’t listen to them. I wasn’t supposed to. I kept onward, disregarding their jokes, and their threats, and their inhuman growls. I didn’t know who they were, but their existence, albeit with some hesitance, reassured me once more. I walked forward, never deterring. Even when I began to feel the legion of eyes in the dark peering at me from afar. Amidst the voices, I heard sounds of leaves rustling wildly, as if something were dashing forth to eviscerate me. I paid it no mind, as I was instructed. But I will admit, it was difficult. They all intensified in strength as I continued forward. The chilling breeze, the voices, and the presence of something… else. At their peak, they all culminated into a whirlwind of impeding hatred, trying with all their might to halt me, to destroy me. But as I saw the light in the distance, none of their attempts mattered. I saw my destination, and I made haste. The breeze became a gale, and the voices began to shout violently. I dodged tree after tree until the moment I stepped into the clearing, and then... it all just stopped.
The breeze had died. The voices, silent. I could not feel a presence behind me anymore. And it caused me to breath a sigh of relief.
I looked forward. I saw the mansion, with its decaying walls and broken windows. If ever I could believe it to have been a normal abode, it would have looked like a lavish paradise isolated from the world. I saw the soft, somber beauty in it. And then, I saw her.
The Crone.
I stepped forward, towards her. I remained silent, and I turned off my flashlight, and let her lantern guide me instead. I climbed the steps, and stood before her as she rocked slowly back and forth in her chair made of twigs and splintered wood. I waited for her to begin what I could only describe as a ritual. She slowly raised her head and gazed at me, filling me with unease as her beady glass eyes pierced mine. Her mouth, it stretched into a grin, as if with a sense of sick pleasure, and she said to me...
"What story will you tell me?"
I hesitated, for I had thought for many days what to tell her at this moment... and I was still unsure. But I suppose the first thing to come to mind was better than no thoughts at all.
"He used to be... a little boy." I said to her.
She kept her smile.
"He lived in a lavish house with his strict and arrogant guardians. He had a pet whom he loved, a little mouse he found in the fields near his home. He fed and cared for it, and called it his friend, but when his parents found it, they took it away from him. “Filth!” They said, “Filth that does not belong in this house!” The boy was distraught, but he found another mouse to call his friend. Every time his parents would find his new pet, take it away, and kill it. But he just kept finding more. Eventually, the two had enough. They dragged the boy to a graveyard, and imprisoned him within a crypt vault. With the intent to leave him there to be eaten alive by rats, they drove away and returned home."
Her smile grew.
"The boy was scared at first, but soon he found many, many rats within the vault. They were larger, and more menacing than the field mice he was accustomed to, but they treated him like a friend just the same, for the mice had put a good word in for him. But the rats were… malicious beings. They told him to do away with his clothes, until he was left with nothing but a loincloth. They fed him rancid meat from the recently dead brought to the graveyard. And though it took time, the chain of his iron collar was bitten and chewed through, and he was free. By then, he was no longer a little boy. Many years had passed, and the vault had changed him. He was tall, and he had spindly limbs and jagged, filthy hands and feet, with prickly fingers. He was emaciated, living on nothing but the meat of the dead. His eyes became wide and their lids shriveled, leaving him blind. His nose became flat, but still worked as it was intended to. His grin stretched into a thing of evil, never dropping, and his teeth became giant and menacing."
And grew.
"One night, when his parents were old and withered, the boy – now calling himself “the Rat Man” – returned home with his many rat companions, all of them quite hungry. They laid siege to the parents’ opulent mansion, infesting it, and devouring them in their beds. The Rat Man merely stood there and watched. As he left the mansion, he saw the field mice, and approached them. But they fled from his sight, horrified by the monster the rats had turned him into, no longer the little boy they called their friend."
And grew.
"The Rat Man, disheartened by the mice’s’ retreat, returned to the crypt vault, and-"
She raised her hand at me. I stopped immediately, having satisfied her requirement. I held back my own smile as I listened to her say, "That's enough. Go inside."
The double doors in front of me swung open, nothing but darkness lying beyond their frame.
This was it.
I was either to leave now... or go inside. And meet him.
The Rat Man.
Perhaps, to many others, the prospect of coming face-to-face with someone or something they feared... dissuaded them. But I was anticipating this. Ready to feel the fear. Maybe that was my problem, deliberately seeking something to frighten me... but I couldn't help myself. I believed in the fantasy, and the horror. I was ready for it.
I stepped inside, and the doors closed behind me.
CaptBoobgrab said
Awesome then. Now I don't have any idea what comes next haha.
I'll be posting in a bit. Really, anything that comes to mind is acceptable. If I'm ever in the TitanPad chat, let me know if you need suggestions or anything, and I'll be glad to help.
CaptBoobgrab said
Made my IC! I don't have a character sheet yet (I wrote the IC first, the story was more important.). I'm gonna write one if you need to see it, but if you read my entry, you'll see why I didn't write an IC first. Hope I did it right :D I don't think I did, but that's the first thing that came out when I started typing..
It looks great to me. I'm not really into character sheets myself because I prefer a brief description over lists and bulleted items. You can post either in the OOC whenever you want.
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