Pep — Roleplayer Guild

Louisiana summers have always been humid, but this year seemed worse than usual. Hands felt sticky to the touch, like tacky wounds that haven’t been cleaned. Sweat drips down the base of your neck and a heavy fog rolls in off the bayou. There is no comfort to be found in St. Vienne, only redemption.

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Group A:

You remember arriving in St. Vienne, seeing the aged welcome sign, then watching as the thick fog overtook you. Everything after that is gone. When you awaken you’re not at home or in your car or anywhere else familiar, instead all that makes sense right now is your splitting headache and the scent of blood and cleaning products.

Olive:

Olive awoke to darkness, but this in itself wasn’t alarming, due to the fact that she was already blind. Rather it was the unfamiliar scents and noises that threw her off. She was in some sort of musty old bed, and after feeling around, she could tell there were a few old iv stands beside it. Had there been an accident?

“Hello?” She called out in a nervous squeak, listening as her voice echoed down vacant corridors. What responded was the sound of metal dragging over broken tiles.

Devon:

You wake up on a surgery table. A large light flickers on and off pointed down at your face. Your wrists and ankles are strapped to the cold slab but your right wrist can be freed with enough tugging. Beside you is a small cart with several rusted surgical devices, most fairly useless but the scalpel still appears sharp. Down the hall you hear a woman call out ‘Hello?” followed by the sound of metal dragging over broken tiles, moving very close to the door of the old abandoned surgical hall.

Riley and Shiloh:

The two of you wake up together in a dingy old padded room. The door is firmly shut and seems to be rusted closed, which is odd since there would have been no way for you to come in from that direction. Upon closer inspection, you see that one of the padded corners is speckled with blood that’s still wet to the touch. If you pull at the fabric you’ll see a hole in the wall just large enough to crawl through, but the floor is covered in broken glass. It’s hard to see what lays beyond it, but you briefly hear footsteps in the room above you.

John:

You wake up to the feeling of water rushing into your lungs as your head dips below the surface of an old claw footed tub. It burns to cough it up and breath again, but there’s no lasting damage. There are two rows of these tubs, most filled to varying degrees with rust stained water, nearly impossible to see through. One of which has been covered by an old tarp. The tarp stretches just slightly as you see what appears to be fingers pressing against the underside of it, running slowly down it’s length.

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Group B:
You remember arriving in St. Vienne, seeing the aged welcome sign, then watching as the thick fog overtook you. Everything after that is gone. When you awaken you’re not at home or in your car or anywhere else familiar, instead all that makes sense right now is your splitting headache and the scent of blood and the sound of a piano playing in the distance.

Jonas:

When Jonas woke up, his legs and arms ached painfully. He didn’t know where he was but the space was the size of a large cardboard box and his limbs had been pressed against him for seemingly hours. It was only when he heard the piano that he could tell which way was up, and with enough pushing and prying he felt a door to the box slide open. Apparently he had been crammed in a dumbwaiter of some sort.

After getting out and stretching, he noticed he was in some sort of hotel, but it looked long abandoned. The carpet was stained and smelled of mildew, and the walls all suffered widespread fire damage.

“Anyone here?” He slowly began to walk down the hall, but stopped after a few feet when he heard a ding from the elevator.

Maria:

The taste of metal fills your mouth as you wake up and feel something large between your tongue and your cheek. If you pull it out you’ll discover it’s a room key with the number ’33’ engraved into it. Looking around you find yourself in an old fashioned nursery. Porcelain dolls, half scorched by fire, and badly damaged teddy bears line the shelved. A wicker rocking chair in the corner slowly moves back and forth. Outside in the hall, you hear the ding of an elevator.

Cassidy:

You have a hard time waking up and it takes a real effort to pull yourself out of the groggy haze. Your limbs are cold and your fingers are numb as you find yourself on the floor of some sort of walk in freezer. Several old rotted cow carcasses hang on hooks above you, though one is far smaller than the rest and looks vaguely humanoid. There’s a note attached to the torso via a long serrated knife, that seems pretty dull but could be pulled out and taken. The note reads ‘Dinner starts at 9pm sharp. Late comers will not be allowed entry.’

Nadia and Chris:

The two of you wake up in a small hotel bedroom, each on a separate twin sized bed. If you get up, you’ll notice the beds are blacked in the shape of a human shadow on the bedding and mattress, right where you were sleeping. The windows are boarded up and the light don’t appear to be functioning. Outside in the hallway you smell the scent of chorine and hear some splashing from what must be an indoor pool located a few rooms down. Before you can investigate you hear someone call out “Anyone here?” around the corner and hear the ding of an elevator.

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