Laguna
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World Traveler
Mythstar
Posts: 514
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Abigaelle Gauthier
OOC Username: Magnere
Arena Points: 0
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Post by Laguna on Jun 7, 2024 14:03:32 GMT 9
The Abandoned Village stands empty, a ghost town populated by nothing more than the fish that swam beneath its docks. Small waves brushed against the old, rotting boards as seaweed clung to the poles. The smell of rotten wood, salt, and something indescribably fishy filled the air. Sticking to one's nostrils, impossible to ignore. On first glance, once might presume that it was just another set of ruins made when the corruption claimed the whole of UNOVR for itself.
That was almost certainly wrong.
All known lore about the village claimed that all the residents turned into Magikarp in the middle of the night, without a single sound to stir. The entire place empty in one single night, leaving everything behind just as it was. Pots still on the stove of half-burnt homes and food left to rot, personal belongings left scattered everywhere, and boats filled with fishing gear and rainwater left abandoned.
The place appeared as if it was dead long before the corruption hit. If that was true, the only question then became, why?
That very question seemed to be why players all seemed to suddenly gravitate to the Village. Those with a curious mind seemingly drawn like a magnet all at once to a place where things didn't add up. A desire to know, a desperation to learn what happened, to discover the truth by whatever means necessary.
A silent Quest would suddenly appear in every player's journals upon entering on this particular cloudy summer evening, with no warning or HUD visual of gaining the quest. No flashy announcement, just as silent as the rest of the village. No quest description, no information given, not even a quest name. Just a single objective counter and nothing else.
? ? ?
Notes Found: 0/4
{OOC Notes!}Welcome to The Shadow Over Asper! This Scenario is as much a writing challenge as it is a roleplay prompt! Players will be working together as a group to collect different written notes throughout the town, in an attempt to discover what happened here. Every round, Players will be searching through the Abandoned Village for a series of notes, letters, journals, books, etc, all written by an NPC of their own creation. The focus of the Scenario is writing these different Notes in a unique manner and telling a story through it all. However, all notes after the first should slowly grow weirder and weirder, as if something strange is happening. And by the last and final note, the writing should indicate that they have lost their minds in one manner or another! Something has happened, whether by their own actions or something else unseen has the notes growing more and more deranged. It can be as slow, or fast a progression as it needs to be! The Scenario prioritizes on writing the notes utilizing some horror tropes, but don't be afraid to let your characters share notes, collaborate together, and ultimately be spooked! There will be a few surprises along the way after every round, so keep your eyes peeled! Things might happen to change aspects about the scene and dangers might make themselves known that should be avoided as you continue to scout for notes, as examples! Feel free to write whatever within your Notes! Just remember, some mysteries should perhaps stay mysteries! Not everything should be answered, leave some of it up to the imagination! If there are any questions, please feel free to ask! The First Round ends June 14th, 11:59 PM EST. There will be 4/5? total Rounds! Optional Mood Music.
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Mimiqueue
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Weekend Warrior
Player Character
Posts: 18
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Micheal Elouan Tengrove
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 80
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Post by Mimiqueue on Jun 8, 2024 4:22:40 GMT 9
Mimiqueue walked, through the foggy Timberland, walking and walking until forest and fog gave way, feet finding not loam, but wooden planks. She blinked, a bit, surprised, eyes casting over the village. It looked like a medieval fishing village, complete with shops and nets and fishing rods, still bobbing in the water.
Tentatively, she moved forward, wood creaking and groaning with every slow step. The air, though clear, was haunting- eerily quiet and still. The water scarcely moved, and no one else was making a sound.
Was she alone, here?
Part of her wanted to call out, but fear choked her voice, and she simply paused at one of the buildings. TAVERN, it read, in blocky letters, and Mimiqueue cautiously pushed the door open. Tables and chairs laid bare, dressed only by plates with rotted food, dust, and cobwebs. Mimi shrank back, but crept in. Had something happened? Had there been an attack?
She moved to the bar, eyes flicking over shelves of dusty beer, finally finding a logbook, flipping it open with effort. Most of it wasn't useful- just names and orders and costs- but as Mimi flipped to the end, there were only blank pages. Huffing, she flipped back, trying to find the last entries.
Mimi frowned. This... wasn't helpful. It didn't explain much. Her eyes skimmed lower.
Mimiqueue frowned, gently closing the ledger. What did that mean? Had someone... drowned? A shiver went down her spine. |
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Cypress
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Player Character
Posts: 88
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Felicity LaChance
OOC Username: Mel
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Cypress on Jun 8, 2024 4:40:04 GMT 9
It started out as a normal day.
Cypress had just obtained one of the more familiar tools in a Pokemon game - a Fishing Rod, and was asking around Briarbane if there were any good fishing spots nearby. Some spoke about some lakes near town, others about rivers in the Birchwood, or even small lakes unmagnetized in the Steppes.
Though one place that always seemed to be met with whispers was the Timberwood. Always met with a concerned look and a quick change of subject, it was when the hybrid opted to talk with a man, hair peppered with gray streaks and his eyes seeming far older than how he sounded, that she got answers.
"Aye, the Misty Timberlands...there's one place you could go to fish - has all the gear for it too, if yer looking to make a living, but...I wouldn't."
Curiosity reared its cat-like head.
"Where?"
"...the Abandoned Village."
And so, the wolf heard the tale of a small town, somewhere in the Misty Timberlands, who's residents just suddenly became Magikarp.
A town, once full of life, suddenly became a shell of itself - pots on a stove, food left to spoil, belongings scattered about, rainwater left to stagnate...it was a mystery as much as any. So, when Cypress asked why, he shrugged. "Who knows. All I know is that the town must have been abandoned for a reason."
And so, here she is now, approaching with care and caution - a cloudy summer night made even more mysterious by her intended destination, no Pokemon following behind her like usual.
'A lone wolf by any other name,' her mind sighed, before she scrunched up her nose.
Salt and seafood smells - a familiar feeling for one living in a coastal state - combined with the visuals, and the seemingly pungent smell of rotting wood, a question lingered within.
She had to figure out what happened. If not to put a rumor to rest...then to at least understand, to figure out the truth.
...?
A small note laid by her foot, almost stepped on - torn at the edges, it seemed to be from some sort of...book. Carefully, she picked it up, and began to read.
{Note 1; or, a aspirant, a librarian.} xxx xxx, xxx.
Dear Journal,
It's quite strange to be writing in you, after all this time, but I dare say I may need your company more than ever.
After my grandfather's untimely passing, may he rest with the Legends, I not only inherited his house, but also his fishing gear - so long as I move into his home, as the will decreed.
The rest of the family refused to go with me despite his last wishes, so I decided to leave on my own, despite their firm requests to ignore the inheritance and stay.
I do hope they can forgive me for leaving so suddenly, especially with no warning.
But I cannot stay home, not when my grandfather's last written words rings in my ears. For it is my right as a Sinclair to do the best I can for those I love...even if they're gone.
But, regardless of the...ascertaining circumstances, I have prepared to settle in my grandfather's home, carriage ride and all. With me, I have taken my collection of novels and books, as well as my family heirlooms - though, I suppose I'll get back to the latter when the time is right.
And thus, I write to you, as we make our way to the village of [the words appear waterlogged, worn by time and seasalt - impossible to read.]. - fishing industry.
I dare say that my journey is almost at an end - I smell the familiar scent of salted water, and the cool breeze of ocean air. I will write to you anon, when I have become settled in.
Sincerely,
Philo Sinclair XIV
Reading through the entry, Cypress's ears pricked up at the sudden creaking of planks and wood. Despite everything, the note seemed...normal. A man, a librarian, moving into his grandfather's home here. Was that all there was...or was there something else?
Looking up from the note, her eyes seemed to widen.
? ? ?.
NOTES FOUND: 1/4
That...wasn't there before. Did it appear when she was reading, or when she had approached?
Either way, there must be more notes inside the town proper.
So, with a inhale and exhale, Cypress entered the town - wooden planks creating familiar creaking sounds underfoot.
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Josh Devlin
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Lionheart
The Creed
Posts: 1,216
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Josh Devlin
OOC Username: RaikouRider
Arena Points: 38
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Post by Josh Devlin on Jun 8, 2024 13:39:40 GMT 9
Josh and Raiden were forced to slow down as a light fog rolled in, Goroh dropping onto his wheels and screeching forward. "Wait up, Goroh! Don't leave us behind!" Too late; the Cyclizar had already done so; while he didn't roar like a motorcycle, he was just as fast as one, disappearing from sight. Picking up the pace would be dangerous with slightly reduced visibility. There was a reason even light fog caused auto racing events to be delayed or even canceled entirely; at over two hundred miles an hour, every split second of reaction time counted.
The worry of an accident overtook Josh when he heard a loud screech of rubber on pavement, Goroh rapidly coming back into sight. As he and his bounding Zebstrika approached the dragon-type, the fog began to clear, and the Cyclizar began to shake. Not one hit point had been removed from the Pokémon, but his stamina bar seemed to recover much less quickly than it did in the plains. "You okay?" Josh asked.
The Cyclizar shook his head, shivered, and pointed toward the ABANDONED VILLAGE along the coastlines. Josh did none of the sort, but he did cough and hack at the overwhelming scent of rot.
Mold allergies were the pits.
As the sun began to set, Josh checked his map, noticing a hole in his Quest list. Where a Quest would be listed, empty space. Highlighting his cursor over the empty space and activating it, an objective counter appeared once he was near where Goroh was at, the Cyclizar trotting down the village's isolated streets.
Josh's heart began to beat like he was in a high level zone and didn't belong. He didn't belong in a medium level zone as of yet, only approaching the end of early game. His heart continued to rush as he slid down from Raiden's back, securing the Zebstrika's reins to a post before entering what appeared to be a saloon.
Josh gagged as he peeked inside a building that was almost the spitting image of Briarbane's Firewater Saloon. In heaps next to the chairs were bone-dry human remains, on their plates bones completely stripped of meat. Poker chips and playing cards were chaotically strewn about one side of the hall. On the floor beneath one of the tables was a crumpled up Wanted poster. On its back was a chilling message, written in blood:
{Spoiler}{NOTE 1: RANSOM}To the staff of the Thundercat's Den:
I have your head cooks and daily patrons at Sceptile-point. 50,000 BYTES, cold hard cash, is my price. Bring it to the Forbidden Crypt, and I release them all. Every sun-up, high noon, and sun-down I don't see you, I put BULLET SEEDS in one of their heads. Capiche?
-- Bristly Bill
His heart continued to beat fast. What had Josh gotten himself into?
{Spoiler}{Party}
Goroh the Cyclizar -/-/- Classless
Raiden the Zebstrika - 3/3/3 Sweeper |
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Altair
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Sky Trainer
Mythstar
Posts: 521
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Evert Steilsson
OOC Username: Akivili
Arena Points: 59
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Post by Altair on Jun 12, 2024 5:59:50 GMT 9
It was actually Hanzo the Greninja who’d spotted the—well, more like smelled the very distinct ‘rot’ of the location; and had pointed it out to his companion.
“Yikes, what the hell is that stench?!” he would exclaim, wrinkling his nose at the malodorous decay that washed over them as they entered the boundaries of what appeared to be an abandoned… village.
Strange, why did it look like it had been ripped out of another setting and had been awkwardly slotted here?
‘Nobody’s around… I’ll keep an eye out in case we get snuck up on,’ the Frog Pokémon muttered quietly while he approached a building that looked like it was the town’s own grocery store—or something close to that equivalent.
The dust clouds kicked upon entry caused him to squeeze his eyes shut for a few moments; while the Greninja kept guard outside; once the dust had somewhat settled down, he would reopen his eyes and look around.
What was left on the shelves were crumbling paper, rusty cans that had no labels (so who knew what was inside of them); most everything of value looked to have already been taken at this point.
Well, most everything until he spotted something that looked to be stuck under a sales ledger… lifting the ledger carefully was just as pointless because it crumbled to dust under his fingertips; however there was another piece of paper (the thing he saw in the first place) which he immediately grabbed.
While this piece of paper didn’t crumble, he would unfold it carefully, blowing off the thick layer of dust and then bringing it outside to read as there was no light inside the darkened husk of the store.
{stock reminders}‘Running low on canned tomatoes, canned corn, and pickles. Have to place the order on the next drop-off, and to add new stock to the shelves. Everything else is just fine, although the lemons haven’t been touched—are they just that incredibly sour? I quite like them, puts a bit of a kick into the alcohol I drink from time to time when nobody comes around.
Also, get Charlie to come in to help lift the stock when it arrives, the lazy bum.
Milo’
“…what the hell? So this was just a short inventory reminder?” he would muse once he was done reading the note.
note: 1 out of 4 |
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Celeste
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Player Character
Posts: 33
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Celeste
OOC Username: Magnere
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Post by Celeste on Jun 14, 2024 18:25:14 GMT 9
Celeste carefully stepped across the rotten boards of the dock, her feet careful and light as her cane clacks against the wood, echoing across the otherwise fairly silent village. It seems they weren't entirely alone, hearing the odd mumble in the distance from person and Pokémon alike.
Or perhaps that was just ghostly whispers playing with her, who could truly say?
The place intrigued her greatly, having never found a place like this before. Ruins were one thing, supposedly Ostelia were full of fallen human buildings. But this was something else entirely, something far more... unknown.
It went without saying that she just simply had to learn for herself. Turning into fish? If that was true, then just how much else of the world could be places like this? Abandoned villages where fact and fiction were nearly one and the same?
Moving rather stiffly, she propped open a door to a nearby home and looked inside. It was filled with books upon books upon books, many of them scattered all across the floor. Many ruined by the weather and age, pages faded, covers torn, water damage, it was an incredibly sad sight to behold. The very essence of it all had a slight frown twinge at the corners of her lips.
"Well, this is oddly depressing. More horrific than anything else at this point." Celeste would mumble to herself, searching about for a tome that might perhaps still be in readable condition. It wasn't until she found the small sleeping quarters that she discovered what she had been looking for. The bedframe was in ruins, snapped in half and on the floor as if a great weight had broken it. The mattress long destroyed, holes in the fabric and springs poking through and paper being shoved inside of it.
How peculiar.
She slowly kneeled down slightly, pulling the paper from the mattress sheet by sheet until she eventually came across a small tome in decent condition. It seemed whoever left this here attempted to not only hide it, but protect it.
"Oh, tome of knowledge. Bequeath unto me what secrets you keep." She mumbled to herself, feeling oddly poetic as she opened it to its first page, finding a seat in the house that still wasn't ruined to sit down on. "Grant me the wisdom of the ages thine has kept safe from time itself."
On first glance, it was a hand-written book. Someone was writing a story, with many tiny little writings in the margins as if comments on the tale. Presumably, from the author themselves proofreading it all.
PROLOGUE
Waves crashed against the sides of the boat like a hammer being taken to a skull. It wanted inside, to crack everything open and suck everything out. (Gross analogy.) The ocean craved death this day, it was not kind.
Lightning clashed in the heavens as twin swords strike against one another, (ugh, this metaphor sucks. Find a new one.) illuminating the sailors struggling to hold their ground against the endless storm.
It had been two days since the rains had begun, the winds threatening to rip the sails off the masts. Two days of no breaks to allow the few soldiers remaining to sleep longer than just two hours, two whole days of barely any rations left to sustain the journey home. Two whole days of the end of the world. (Bluh, gonna take me two whole decades to finish this book.)
(Isn't this not how sailors handle storms anyways? I'm hesitant to change it. I like how it sets up the story, but I might have to for realism in case Dad complains about it being all wrong again.)
(I hate realism.)
"Captain!" Shouted the youngest sailor boy, clutching to a frayed rope that was wrapped around his torso, struggling to tie the knot as his rough, bleeding hands fumbled in the constant rain. "We're not gonna make it! Are we?"
Silence is the only reply for now. Thunder crashes against the heavens, and another wave of seafoam washes aboard the ship, nearly sweeping the sailors overboard.
"You'll make it, boy." The Captain finally spoke up once more. A rough indivdual, the lightning illuminating their face for a brief moment beneath their cap, held tight to their head. "Your daughter shall not grow up fatherless." (Uggggggh I hate this line. Change change CHANGE! I can't believe I thought this was good last week.)
"But- Sir!" The young lad replied, srambling to his feet after he finshed tying the knot. "The storm isn't stopping!"
"That's because they're angry." He called out, a deep frown etched into the man's face as he steps out further into the light of the lanterns barely staying lit. His beard is intensely soaked from the storm, and a large burn scar covers nearly half of his face. (Not a huge fan of the burn, but its better than him being stupidly handsome.) "We're at High Tide, boys, and she's not letting us go. "
"Who's angry?" He cries out, fear evident in his tone. "What do they want with us?"
"Calm yourself Davy. It's not you they want."
"Then, what do they want?" (Might cut this line out. Pacing?)
"They want me." (Please find a better way to make this sound more dramatic. Brainstorm with Laura?)
Silence fell over the ship, only broken up by the creaks and groans of the ship, the crew, and the thunder up above.
"Sir, you can't be serious-"
"I'm fucking serious!" (Ugh. Remove the swear. Crude.) The Captain barks back, stepping forwards and across the deck of the ship, dragging his dead leg with him. "It's me she wants. I'm the one who took the ocean's treasure." (What was the Ocean's Treasure again? I actually forgot. I wrote it down in another book.)
"What do you want us to do, sir?" The young sailor felt a heavy weight settle upon his sir. (Did I really write Sir instead of "Soul"? I hate writing in Ink. How did I not notice this until now?) There was only a few directions the captain could be leading with this. "What about your own-"
"This isn't about them." He interrupted with a somber tone, looking over the edge of the ship. His decision clearly made, soul at peace with his own choice, even if it wasn't one he wanted. He had to do it.
For the good of the crew. For the good of the ship. For the good of his daughter. (Find some other way to foreshadow the protagonist.)
"Sacrifice me. Throw me overboard. The Goddess shall not suffer anything less."
All the sailors stumble, had their captain gone completely mad? They didn't know what to do, nor say. Realistically, one of them should say something. Anything to convince him to stay on board. They needed him! And yet, one by one the crew all seemed to make their mind up silently. (Wording.)
Water rushed around the captain as he instantly sank straight down into the briny abyss, sinking down and into the darkness. The crew couldn't see him after he passed beyond the light of the lamps.
And yet, despite all expectations, the storm suddenly began to let up. The winds died down, the waves settled, lightning all but stopped. It had become a clear, starry night in the matter of but moments.
(Don't start a paragraph with the word And two times in a row, please. You're better than this Kara.)
And despite relief, not a single man cheered. They lost a good man today, the best of them. Bloody, bruised and beaten, all remaining sailors just simply cried.
The tears for a lost man joining the rest of the salty sea. (I like this line, but I wish the build up to it had more oomph.)
CHAPTER ONE
Reminder: You used a new book dummie! Don't keep using this one. It reeks of the sad smells and bad letters. You can do better! Love yourself. Never give up!
-Kara
Celeste paused after finishing the tome, unable to help but frown at the ending. While she certainly agreed with many of the author's comments, she had sadly been expecting the rest of the novel. It seems the most interesting stories were always meant to just be works in progress.
Perhaps if she couldn't end up finding the rest of it, she might write a small short story about the concept itself. A fitting tribute if there ever was one, to a lost artist. |
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Cardinal Glace
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Player Character
Posts: 60
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Bill Anderson
OOC Username: Ladybug
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Post by Cardinal Glace on Jun 14, 2024 23:29:55 GMT 9
The blacksmith's shack was full of salt. It caked the doorjambs, filled the cracks between ancient floorboards, and stuffed the furnace to bursting. It looked like fake snow for a Christmas that had never been.
Bill nudged a chunk of pale grit out of his way as he probed the place for answer. He had been drawn here by the question of what, and been hooked by the tiny slivers of how he had been finding along the day.
Something about this scene worried at Bill's brain like a buzzard at a corpse. He picked up a set of iron tongs, their preciously crafted outside now brown-flaked by the rusting salt. "Find anything yet?" he asked Popplio.
The creature slithered through gaps in the walls and roof, peeking into the unseen spots and filling its nose with the clean, high scent of distilled ocean. Nothing yet.
Bill found a broom of brittle wood and brushed off the blacksmith's workbench. Half-finished pieces and a hail of salted rings clattered to the floor. They were trash, clear as ice, but underneath the salt and workman's garbage were papers.
He pulled at the rust-stained sheets and found the earliest one.
{Blacksmith's Papers{/s}Grief is a helluva thing. Sharper than anything I've made, and you tougher to chew than my best mail. I want to wrap it up in my leathers and just toss it into the lake. But then where would I be? I'd just be giving the only thing I've got left of her right back.
I'm thinking of selling the house. It's all filled with her stuff. And our stuff, which is even worse. I need something new, but everything just reminds me of her. Even the bloody lake which she loved so much. How can I sleep with it right at my door? All it does is slap against the struts and beach, giving me no rest.
They say that nothing ever leaves the lake. It just floats on forever. What if she washes up some day? I don't think I can take that. |
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Laguna
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World Traveler
Mythstar
Posts: 514
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Abigaelle Gauthier
OOC Username: Magnere
Arena Points: 0
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Post by Laguna on Jun 17, 2024 3:53:09 GMT 9
One by one, the Abandoned Village slowly becomes less and less abandoned as individuals dig through the rubble and long-forgotten abodes. And yet, no amount of life can shake the foreboding air that lingers in every square inch of the place. As if to represent it, a fog begins to slowly roll in, rising up through the creaky boards of the settlement.
The sun begins to set across the horizon, but the beautiful orange hues that would have warmed hearts and soothed souls are hidden behind the growing cloud cover like an oppressive wall.
Rain begins to lightly drizzle down from above, but every drop is ice cold, soaking to the bone. It stings far worse than water should, like something has twisted the very essence of what rain is. Every drop like a butcher's knife piercing through the carefully constructed walls of the soul as it lands on you, uncaring and uncompromising.
This weather is not natural, and clearly readying to grow even worse as thunder crackles from up above. Long, echoing rumbles that crack windows as one passes by, shakes books down from shelves and knock individuals off their feet. Many of the buildings are not protected by the elements anymore, and those wishing to remain within the Village to continue their explorations should attempt to find places that they can safely continue their reading.
And yet, beyond the ominous weather, it seems even more has yet to be explained. Seaweed clings to the boards of every dock in heaps of massive piles that were not there just mere moments ago, as if they are growing at a rapid pace. So much to be found, that the clinging seaweed has begun to be found during searches in the oddest of places.
Inside cabinets, atop rooftops, some might even found their shoes currently filling up with these strangling weed.
As the loudest crack of thunder yet rattled the village, night has properly begun. The Abandoned Village has never been so loud, and yet so quiet, in a long, long time. {OOC Notes:}Players should follow these guidelines for the next reply. - Find Seaweed Somewhere Unexpected- Find Shelter With 1+ Other Player(s) - Find Second NoteOptional Guidelines: - Find ? ? ? Written AnywhereOptional Mood MusicDeadline is June 23rd 11:59 PM EST |
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Josh Devlin
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Lionheart
The Creed
Posts: 1,216
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Josh Devlin
OOC Username: RaikouRider
Arena Points: 38
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Post by Josh Devlin on Jun 19, 2024 13:58:13 GMT 9
On the inside of the saloon, fog began to rise up through the floorboards, making it difficult to read without putting his head right next to the poster. A chilling drizzle, coming down upon Josh through holes in the roof, made him shiver. It was a kind of shivering that no fire Pokémon could fix, for a fire Pokémon would faint from environmental damage long before it could make its trainer comfortably warm. Though the rain didn't grow in intensity, the wind and thunder did. A thunderclap so loud that made Josh's ears ring caused the floor beneath a drum set to give way, the musical instrument falling through it. It seemed there was a hidden passage somewhere leading to the basement, and the fastest way to find it was to head down there through the makeshift entrance. Thankfully, the floor was subtly tilted in such a way that the cold rain wouldn't easily collect on at least one side.
Josh grimaced as he saw three sets of skeletal, seaweed-wrapped remains. Peeling parts of the foliage back, he observed each with bloodstains in different areas. With how long they had to have been there due to the lack of flesh, the maddening notes written in blood had to have been from many moons ago. Likely from before Josh even started playing. This note had Bullet Seed holes in it, though it still remained mostly legible. What was curious was not the front, which was just another note asking for 55,000 BYTES with threats of shooting more workers to death... but the back. The entire page looked like it had been torn out of a book rather than having come from a ream of paper.
The rest of the note was illegible. Had this "Bristly Bill" become so deranged that he could no longer think straight? And just what caused his mind to deteriorate?
Finding the staircase and pushing its floorboards up, he was met with a bigger problem: the weather was growing nastier yet, and it was clear that the first floor would not hold up if it got much worse. Rubbing his eyes, he thought he had seen a familiar face. Could it be? Altair ?
"Altair !! Altair !!" Josh waved and cried from the saloon's entrance, taking a small amount of environmental damage from the hazardous weather. "The basement of this saloon should hold up! Get in here before you freeze!"
{Party}Goroh the Cyclizar -/-/- Classless
Raiden the Zebstrika - 3/3/3 Sweeper |
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Cardinal Glace
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Player Character
Posts: 60
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Bill Anderson
OOC Username: Ladybug
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Post by Cardinal Glace on Jun 25, 2024 12:27:10 GMT 9
Shivering sleet dripped through the rotted ceiling, washing away the piles of salt. Glace climbed onto the workbench and leaned against the groaning corner to continue reading.
{Blacksmith's Papers}I see your face in my cold coffee. I feel your breath in the heat of the forge. And I swear I can hear your voice when I wash in the lake.
Are you out there? Calling to me from the sodden depths?
I started working again last week. A commission for the mayor. Some silver chain for his latest betrothed. It curdles my heart to see love so flippant and wan. My distaste must be coloring my work, for every link I beat into the accursed chain comes out more crooked than the last.
The metal won't sit. It bends like waves. Twisting and near-breaking as my hammer crashes it against my anvil rock.
Each link sits wrong, and yet I can't help but see it as better than straight. The off-kilter curves look like fish scales. Bloated crescents that slot together with natural symmetry.
I'm using merchant silver, but the color is off. It sheens blue, like a cloud with hail in its belly. Was it mined too far inland? Laced with some cheap half-measure? Perhaps I can fix it, boil out the problems in my crucible.
With the second page finished and the rain worsening, Glace opened up his inventory and stored the notes, protecting them from the worsening weather. "We should find shelter," he called up to Popplio.
The blue creature was busy circling in the air high above, curling in high loops like a vulture. Rain splattered on its rubbery skin, whitening and falling like powdered snow.
Glace watched it wheel as droplets of almost-ice plinked at his face. He opened his mouth and caught a few, letting them gather until his teeth hurt to their roots.
The pair made along the docks, following the boardwalks and seeking shelter in alcoves and half-collapsed domiciles. Tendrils of seaweed pushed from the lake surface like breaching whales or bloated corpses. Glace kept a side-eye on the growing weeds, but was caught off-guard when it sprouted from cracks in the crumbling waterfront facade. Was it fast-growing? Activated by the winter rain? Was it a creature of seabed-slumber, come to entwine the city in its rising limbs of rotted sea-leather?
He pushed into a cluttered home filled with toppled piles of empty or senseless books. It was a site of madness and futility. Infinite pages rot-gone and faded by time. It seemed that this village held sense like hands can hold sunlight, with every drop of personage or history quickly trickling away into the sandy floorboards.
Glace opened one of the buried books and checked the contents. It was a scrapbook of sorts, containing clippings from various magazines and [tangent=Article adapted from London Times 1840]newspapers[/tangent], though the text was printed in complete gibberish.
{Glvdsshdudqfh lq wkh Vdujdvvr}
D vlqjxodu idfw kdv wdnhq sodfh zlwklq wkh odvw ihz gdbv. D odujh Ndorvldq yhvvho, erxqg iurp Ndqwr wr Vlqqrk, zdv phw eb rqh ri rxu vpdoo frdvwhuv, dqg zdv glvfryhuhg wr eh frpsohwhob [tangent=Eua]dedqgrqhg[/tangent]. Wkh juhdwhu sduw ri khu vdlov zhuh vhw, dqg vkh glg qrw dsshdu wr kdyh vxvwdlqhg dqb gdpdjh. Wkh fdujr, frpsrvhg ri hyroxwlrqdub vwrqhv, gulhg ehuulhv, Whfkqlfdo Pdfklqhv hwf., zdv ri yhub frqvlghudeoh ydoxh, dqg zdv lq d prvw [tangent=gxk]shuihfw frqglwlrq[/tangent]. Wkh fdswdlq’v sdshuv zhuh doo vhfxuh lq wkhlu surshu sodfh. Wkh vrxqglqjv jdyh wkuhh ihhw ri zdwhu lq wkh krog, exw wkhuh zdv qr ohdn zkdwhyhu. Wkh rqob olylqj ehlqjv irxqg rq erdug zhuh d Phrzwk, vrph Iduihwfk'g, dqg vhyhudo Slgjhb [tangent=hkotm]kdoi ghdg[/tangent] zlwk kxqjhu. Wkh fdelqv ri wkh riilfhuv dqg sdvvhqjhuv zhuh yhub hohjdqwob ixuqlvkhg, dqg hyhubwklqj lqglfdwhg wkdw wkhb kdg ehhq rqob uhfhqwob [tangent=cgzinkj]ghvhuwhg[/tangent]. Lq rqh ri wkhp zhuh irxqg vhyhudo duwlfohv ehorqjlqj wr d odgb’v wrlohw, wrjhwkhu zlwk d txdqwlwb ri odglhv’ zhdulqj dssduho wkurzq kdvwlob dvlgh, exw qrw d kxpdq ehlqj zdv wr eh irxqg rq erdug. Wkh yhvvho, zklfk pxvw kdyh ehhq ohiw zlwklq d yhub ihz krxuv, frqwdlqhg vhyhudo edohv ri jrrgv dgguhvvhg wr gliihuhqw phufkdqwv lq Vlqqrk. Vkh lv yhub odujh, uhfhqwob exlow, dqg fdoohg wkh Urvholdq. Ri khu fuhz qr lqwhooljhqfh kdv ehhq uhfhlyhg.
As Glace read, he felt his vision swim, as if his eyes had been plucked from their sockets and tossed into the lake outside. His skin prickled and the pale hairs raised on his neck, and in that moment he felt another presence shift in the cabin. Was it a creature from the lake? Could it be some survivor from the great disappearance, or perhaps another player come to ransack what detritus remained in this cracked shell of this once-living hamlet.
Glace turned around, pulse high, and was greeted by a familiar face. "Celeste?" |
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Cypress
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Player Character
Posts: 88
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Felicity LaChance
OOC Username: Mel
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Cypress on Jun 26, 2024 16:16:32 GMT 9
Rain leaps down to the ground as fog slithers into the area, and Cypress lets out a small yelp as a drop of rain hits her back - its cold, too cold, cold like freezerburn must feel like in the frozen aisle, and it takes all that she has to not abandon all hope and leave - she needs to know the truth. Right?
A crack of thunder, loud like a whip, snaps the hybrid out of her reverie, and she runs into the first place she sees (if any more rain falls on her, she may freeze herself - for this rain feels oh, so, unnatural) and Cypress can't help but wave frantically to the first player she sees - someone named Mimiqueue - holding the door open for them to rush into if desired.
Afterwards, the wolf runs into the foyer - a home that still held a roof over its head, its entranceway cluttered with old pages of novels and books, and Cypress can't help but notice the seaweed. Curling upon some of the books themselves, some lodged in-between pages like makeshift bookmarks, staining some of the pages with deep, deep green.
A scrap of paper though, catches her attention - laid away from the rest with almost a sense of care, it appears torn from a journal as well, like the previous. The scrawl is a bit more messy, mistakes being made more frequently, as if one's hands had frozen to the pen, writing in the best scrawl they could manage.
{note 2: or, the rain, eyes, the first heirloom.}
For a moment, Cypress stared at the new page, only glancing up to the almost dutiful tracker (2/4 notes collected), mind rolling around with worry and terror and pity.
...Poor Philo. First leaving his home for his grandfather's home, and now headaches and...the weather?
And then there's that note...being watched...eyes...needing to stay quiet...
A crack of thunder seemed to knock something down unseen, and the woman bristles, suppressing the urge to yelp in fright.
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Altair
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Sky Trainer
Mythstar
Posts: 521
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Evert Steilsson
OOC Username: Akivili
Arena Points: 59
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Post by Altair on Jun 27, 2024 6:58:23 GMT 9
The Greninja would be standing guard by the entrance, looking up toward the skies before noticing that something was terribly off.
‘Don’t you smell that?’
“Smell what, Hanzo?”
The Greninja would then proceed to hop down several steps from the storefront, before feeling something sticky get stuck between his own webbed toes…
‘Ew, what the hell?’ the dual-type would continue; making him race over and watch as the Greninja pulled out… was that… how in the hell was there seaweed out on the ground, so far from the closest body of water?
“Huh?!” he would exclaim; before the rumbling thunder overhead was their only warning.
‘We better get the hell out of here—’ the Greninja rumbled; before a familiar voice cut through the gloom—was that—
“Josh?!” he would exclaim; looking up from his musings and seeing that the other was waving to catch his attention.
“Alright, I’m coming!”
Both Greninja and his human companion would bolt across the open way; both realizing—why was there more and more seaweed seemingly ‘washing up’ on what appeared to be a major thoroughfare that was well-away from a lake’s waterside edge?! Was it raining seaweed, or something?!
The two would scramble towards the saloon before the weather truly turned for the worse; him taking a flying leap just before the nastiest disturbance shook the area.
“Do—do you have any idea what’s going on here?!” he would exclaim; while the Greninja helped him up.
“What’s up with all these notes?” he would ask the other afterward; before the dual-type would stop and hand him something that the other had seemingly picked up while they were running across the way.
‘I found this stuck on my other foot…’
“You what?” he would continue as he made to grab for the piece of paper and read it under the worsening light conditions:
{uhoh}‘fnd the stpid Chalie at th alOon, drinking hs as off even whyl a new shpmnt came erlyer tday.
Y ddnt he cOm rnnin whn I skd him tO? wht an idiOt.
Myb I shOldn’t py hs as. LazY-as.
mlO’
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Celeste
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Player Character
Posts: 33
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Celeste
OOC Username: Magnere
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Post by Celeste on Jun 27, 2024 12:03:15 GMT 9
The rain was getting worse. All it took was one single drop for Celeste to realize how drenched she would be in a matter of moments. How the cold claws of Mother Nature would claw their way into her bones and demand a sacrifice. Today was not a day for sacrifice, and the earth would not be the being to claim her today or any other day.
As a Swimmer, the rain would drip off her body harmlessly without ever getting her soaked, but the cold stings like a frozen bug biting away.
It was time to get out of the rain.
Rather than dash across the pier and desperately search for a new place to hide, the building she had just been in seemed to suffice and she promptly turned around and went right back inside to continue searching the home. These books were ruined by both Father Time and Mother Nature both, but at least the leaky holes were isolated mostly to specific places in the room that she was able to slip around safe and sound.
Curiously, she'd slowly step around the books as she peeked through a small doorway that seemed to lead into the kitchen. Seaweed spread across the floor and crept into the cabinets like some kind of reaching tentacle of something larger, attempting to force its influence upon everything it can reach. It was disturbing the way it filled the lower cabinets like someone had balled it up and shoved it deep inside, but that exact fact only made it even more interesting.
It seemed Mother Nature's oddities were not limited to simply the weather.
"This abode holds mysteries upon mysteries," Celeste would mumble to herself, continuing to look around the chamber as she stepped insde and began to search it properly. "I wonder, what answers thy shall grant upon me in turn? Or perhaps, what further questions will I have when all has been revealed to me?"
She slowly kneeled down, checking each cabinet with a careful gaze. It didn't take long for her to find something more, another tomb tucked inside the old wood stove. It appeared half-burnt, but it resembled the same hand-written journal she already had in her posession. A frown formed on her face as she pulled it out, carefully dusting it off.
"I see the weather has been unable to claim thee, little one." She mumbled to herself, ever so slowly opening to the first page. "By why, oh why, did one attempt to destroy this tome?"
Prologue
Waves crashed against the sides of the boat like a hammer being taken to a skull. It wanted inside, to crack everything open and allow the insides to bleed out. The ocean craved more than death this day, it craved destruction. (Much better. This opening feels like a punch in the gut. That's what I want.)
Lightning clashed in the heavens like knives ripping open the clouds and briefly revealing the furious sky above. A ship sailed across the starless sky, struggling to hold their ground against the storm that never seemed to end.
Two days since the rains had begun to threaten the live of every man aboard, two days without any proper rest without being soaked by the rain leaking through the wooden boards, two days without any clean water or hearty food to fuel the bodies that kept the vessel afloat. Two days since the world decided they deserved to perish. (I've spent two days locked in my room writing. It's raining outside, this feels like my fault.)
"Captain!" Shouted a voice from on the deck on the ship. A young lad clutched the ends of a frayed rope, attempting to fight against the storm. His hands already rubbed raw from the rope, blood dripping onto the ground before being washed away by the torrential downpour. "We're not going to make it!"
The thunder that echoes against the heavens is the only reply for a few moments. It wasn't until a wave of seafoam crashes against the ship, sweeping a one of the few remaining sailors clean off the deck within a matter of seconds, that the captain finally replied. (Is it worth it to have a sailor die so quickly? It feels rushed, but it reinforces the danger of the situation.)
(I'm keeping the death. I'll reference them later on. They can be the father of someone later.)
"You'll make it boy." The captain stepped out onto the deck, his feet standing firm against the swaying of the ship. A man who knew how to live with the violence of the seas, regardless of the horrific swaying and water. "I'll see to it that you return home safe and sound, I can promise you that."
(Much better. I hated the last line I used. Gives me ideas on how to use him later. I think I can come up with a place to add him in the story, and for his eventual death to fuel the narrative.)
"But- Sir!" The young man replied, scrambling to his feet after he finished tying the knot. A rope had been wrapped around his waist, keeping him from falling overboard. "How can you promise that? The storm isn't stopping! It shows no sign of slowing down."
"That's because she's angry." A deep frown etched into the man's face as he stepped out further onto the deck. A lantern in his hands slightly illuminating him, revealing the soaked and blood-stained beard. An old wound had reopened above his eye, blinding him with his own blood and the rain. "We're at High Tide boy, she won't let us leave so easily." (Reminder: High Tide. Have this come back later.)
"Who's angry?" Another crack of thunder echoes above as the young man grips hard onto the railing to keep his footing. "What do they want with us? Does this have to do with what the treasure you keep talking about?" (Find a better way to introduce the treasure. This is better than what I had before, but I don't like it. Not good enough.)
Silence fell over the ship, only broken up by the creaks and groans of the ship and the crew. (The crew are the ship.)
It seemed he had hit the nail on the coffin.
"She wants me dead." (Not just dead. Tortured.) The captain finally replied, clutching something close to his chest. "The great mother of the sea won't be satisfied with anything less." (Laura was a huge help. It was nice that she was able to help me before she left. I'm going to miss her.)
"Sir, you can't expect us to let you just die." A heavy weight had settled upon his soul, even as a stubborn determination rose up. "Just toss it back in! What about your daughter? Are you going to make her an orphan without a second thought?" (Much better way to introduce the protag. Still not satisfied, but better.)
"This isn't about her. This is about my mistakes." (Love this.) He immediately replied with a somber tone, looking across the horizon, seeing the lightning flashing even more violently up ahead. His soul was at unnease, knowing the pain he would suffer at the hands of the ocean's cruel waves, but what other choice was there? To let everyone else perish because of him? He had to do it. (Even good sailors could be scared. He should be terrified. I would be.)
His sacrifice would not be in vain, many have already died for his mistakes. It was only fair that his time had come now before even more could perish. (Establish a death count? Might not be important. Could be. I'll brainstorm.)
"Sacrifice me. Throw me overboard. The Goddess shall not suffer anything less." (Really liked this line. Kept it.)
The rest of the sailors aboard the deck who overheard the conversation were stunned, listening to their captain seemingly go mad. And yet, not even seconds go by before they make up their mind. These men desperate for an answer, a solution to saving their own lives. The death of one man to save the rest of them no longer seemed like an easy choice.
All except the young sailor. He could not take part in the slaughter of an innocent man. (He was not innocent. Poor boy.)
The man was lifted up, almost ceremoniously tossed overboard with desperate chanting and prayer filling the air as he was dropped down into the briny abyss. Water rushed around the captain, being tossed and turned into the waves as he was brutally drained of his strength. And yet all the while, he clutched his hand to his chest, refusing to drop the Ocean's Treasure, even in death. She would have to pry it from his cold, dead body after he grew stiff and lifeless. Eventually, the captain was pulled beneath the waves as he was drowned forcefully, water entering his lungs swiftly, unable to fight any longer.
He didn't even get to have any final words.
(Is this too violent a description? I want his death to have meaning, to clutch at your soul. The writing should make you feel what he feels. To know his pain for a moment. But I worry it might turn people off my writing.)
(They're just not my target audience then.)
It took a few moments, but the storm did begin to let up. The winds began to die down, waves settling, and the lightning all but stopped. Within the hour, it had become a clear, starry night with no signs of the ocean's wrath before, except the blood still staining the deck.
Most of the sailors cheered, the Captain's Curse was no longer upon them. (The CC is a good name. I like that.) There was only one man who truly cried, kneeling over the edge of the ship as tears poured from his eyes almost just as hard as the storm had rained down above.
The young man's tears joining the rest of the salty sea. (Much better build up. Really makes this man important, huh? Realized I didn't say Davy's name in this draft. Might have to edit that in somewhere so the name drop later hits harder.)
CHAPTER ONE
LEAVE RUN FLEE HIDE GET OUT GET OUT
GET OUT OF HERE GET OUT
DONT STAY
YOU ARE NOT SAFE DO NOT STAY
IT IS COMING YOU WILL DIE IF YOU STAY HERE YOU ARE BEING WATCHED
IT SEES YOUR EVERY MOVE
DO NOT MAKE A SOUND DO NOT LOOK DO NOT SPEAK
DO NOT APPROACH IT
LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK IT CAN NOT DIE
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
I DO NOT WANT YOUR BLOOD ON MY HANDS
The first "chapter" seemed to be nothing more than frantic, paranoid scrawlings on paper. Everything else within the book had been ripped out violently or burned from the furnace. A frown formed on her own lips, this mystery was growing stranger and stranger.
The story had improved, this was true. But it felt... darker. Like the innocent soul who wrote the first tome she found, full of hope and desire to make a fun story, had to indulge in the darkness. Kind of reminded her of her own writing when she started when she was young. Far too edgy for her own good.
And yet, the paranoid writings had her on edge. What was "it?" She didn't like this, not one bit. It was like a chill had crawled up her spine and wormed its way into her brain, making her uneasy. What could have possibly happened to the poor woman? And why would she leave a note to address someone who found her tome, in the furnace? What was she supposed to be warned of? She couldn't blame her unnease solely on the rain now. And so when she suddenly heard her name being spoken out loud, her eyes grew immediately wide. The book slammed shut in her hand as she looked over, not sure what to expect.
She wasn't expecting to see a familiar face so soon, and certainly not here of all places. Celeste let out a soft sigh of relief, giving the man a soft smirk in response as she spoke with a clearly teasing tone. Comedy the solution to her nerves, after all. "Why, I wasn't expecting you to visit so soon. Allow me to put on some tea, hmm? The two of us can sit and chat as we hide ourselves both from the rain, and ourselves at the same time."
Celeste carefully picked up an old abandoned teapot from the counter, only to flip it over and dump a mass of seaweed down onto the floor. "Ahh. Messy. Perhaps tea another time then? It truly is good to see you Cardinal Glace . This place is very strange. A good thing we both quite like strange, yes?" |
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Laguna
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World Traveler
Mythstar
Posts: 514
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Abigaelle Gauthier
OOC Username: Magnere
Arena Points: 0
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Post by Laguna on Jul 3, 2024 10:26:56 GMT 9
Thunder continues to crack, echoing across the sky as individuals take shelter from the cruel rain. Clouds obscure the moon and the stars up above. The village has swiftly become dark, with no sources of natural light to speak of. It's an oppressive darkness, shadows that seem to stretch out like reaching, grasping hands attempting to steal away what does not belong.
One will need a source of light if they intend to stay longer.
The village feels different at night. The emptiness speaks so loud, it practically overpowers the waves crashing against the docks. Louder than the heavens splitting apart and more intense than the strikes of lightning that briefly illuminate the sky.
The Empty speaks of Intruders. It speaks of walls being torn asunder, revelations discovered. It speaks of those who know too much already, even as they know so little.
Even as the oppressive droplets pierce the skin and soak the bones, the village remains ever as it always was. Empty. Your presence is but a temporary change, and perhaps you too will become like this place if you stay long enough.
Empty.
And yet, beyond the haunting silence, it seems even more has yet to be explained. Upon Finding a second note, things become visible in the darkness that were glossed over before. Writing on the walls in spaces you've already seen, but did not recognize before. Symbols of eyes are carved and painted almost everywhere one looks, always visible somewhere, somehow.
Carved into the pillars of the dock, the floor as you walk, the walls. Painted upon rooftops and within tomes, these eyes seem to stare. Their presence unnerving, unknown and unnatural. For none of them were there mere moments ago. Or perhaps they truly were, and you are only now beginning to see the truth?
For those who had discovered the warnings, it is unnatural, but the eyes appear to watch your every step. They seem alive out of the corners of your eye. They should not be.
Regardless of the truth, the village clutches to its secrets like a corpse might to its dearest possessions. It shall not give them up so easily.
Maybe that's a good thing. OOC Notes:
Players must follow these guidelines for the next reply.
- Find A Source Of Light
- Find An Eye Everywhere You Look
- Find Third Note
Optional Guidelines:
- Find Her Eyes ? ? ?
Optional Mood Music
Deadline is July 13th, 11:59 PM EST
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Josh Devlin
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Lionheart
The Creed
Posts: 1,216
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Josh Devlin
OOC Username: RaikouRider
Arena Points: 38
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Post by Josh Devlin on Jul 12, 2024 2:33:16 GMT 9
The thunderstorm grew in intensity, Josh able to feel vibrations from how near its claps of thunder were. His skin tingled, the deafening noise making him unable to understand Altair . "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the storm! Could you repeat that, please?" Provided the flying-type specialist would oblige, he would share the notes he had found. "Do you think... these two both worked here? Or were even co-owners?" the young man speculated.
Before they could compare notes any further, the clouds had covered the sun completely, plunging the duo into darkness. Josh fumbled about, reaching for a Poké Ball. He accidentally released his Cyclizar, Goroh, before withdrawing him and sending out the Pokémon he intended to. "Raiden!" Josh shouted perhaps a ltitle too loudly, the electric horse appearing from his Poké Ball.
His white, glowing mane shed a small amount of light around them -- just enough for him to see a lantern in the corner of the room. There wasn't much oil in it, and with how much static the equine was discharging by serving as a light source, it wouldn't be long before a surge flew from the creature, electrocuting them both. He had to ration how much he used the Pokémon to see. Fiddling with the lamp, Josh got it burning. "I don't think there's enough in here to last us through the night, but it will have to do."
Turning around after reading the note, his lantern's beam caught countless eyes staring at him, in a myriad of sizes and shapes. Every single one of them seemed fixated on Josh as he twisted his wrist about. His beam reflected off the bottom of a locked cash register, beneath it yet another note from the mysterious Bristly Bill:
{Note 3}Only essntial stff remain t the Thudercat's en now. The orbidden rypt's trasure is he only hpe remaiing for m family. I'e already aid my godbyes to hem. My tie in Aspe is comin to a clos. And I woud rather ie to som Pokémon n a tomb tan rot in a ail cell. f it's my tme, Arceu, take me t Heaven.
"Arceus..." Josh swore after reading the sad tale aloud, taking his time due to needing to fill in the blanks. "A man driven mad by his own desperation to save his family from his business debts. It's why I'm a CSR and not an entrepreneur. I don't think I could live with that risk."
Altair{Party}Goroh the Cyclizar -/-/- Classless
Raiden the Zebstrika - 3/3/3 Sweeper |
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