Bay 12 Games Forum
Finally... => Forum Games and Roleplaying => Topic started by: Splendiferous on August 22, 2009, 02:49:13 am
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Basically a story-rant, similar to my earlier "noir detective" endeavor
Anybody knowledgeable on Lovecraft lore is free to join in. Just create and be a character that would fit in the story. Use your best Lovcraftian verbage and style. and have fun.
We're all basically killing each other, going bat shit, or stumbling upon terrible and/or awe-inspiring secrets that would melt the pinstripe slacks off of anyone slightly less badass.
And we all are seeking the Necronomicon (which we never find)
when talking to another participant, speak normal
when furthering the story, use Italics
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Name: Chester J. Lunatirus.
Profession: Investigator
Bio:A man accustomed to lurking in the dark places at the edge of the world, he is one who has grappled with insanity before. He is a man who is not likely to give in to the eldritch and the strange. But what hope does he, a mere man stand against the dark forces that tear at our reality and would devour the world of man if they were to notice it?
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Dammit man! You get me all excited and then you make it so you have to have the slightest clue about the subject of the game to actually play!
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read the stories I showed you, and you'll get better as you go.
You can also just imitate our style.
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Aha! Flattery!
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As I sit here at my computer, the last of my precious laudanum coating my drink, my revolver on the table, I think of all that has happened in these past few days; the grotesque and malign twistings of fate that have scarred my memory forever. I know that there is no hope left for me, that I will soon be set upon by the denziens of that wretched place under Arkham university, and they will drag me back into that place of terror and force me to aid them in their awful quest. So, before I am forever lost into that place, I must write quickly of what I have seen...
EDIT: several spelling errors.
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Well, I don't know much about Lovecraft, but I'll start reading up on him now.
I'm just gonna go for a 'noir detective' yet with dark influences. I'll probably start off writing like 'Shadow in the North'. That's a good read.
Name: Caino De Bacciaci
Profession: Officially Unemployed
Born in slums, Caino was raised in the brutal backalleys of Chicago. Then he disapeared. Nobody knew where he went, nobody knew he existed. But out of the shadows of the world he came, a dark, haunting look in his eyes, the look of one who has tasted madness and power, of one who seeks something, of one with a palpable aura of torment. This man holds many secrets, yet desires so much more...
Phew, is that alright?
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I have never read any Lovecraft, but I do get a warm fuzzy feeling from things that mankind was not meant to know. I had probably better just lurk for now...
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If you are reading this journal, I'm dead. Probably. If I'm not dead, give it the fuck back.
This is my journal. Once I have completed it, if I'm extremely unlucky, it will recount the horrors I have endured, and my eventual death. For reference, if the diary is covered in any kind of fluid apart from water or alcohol or is torn or burnt, you can probably guess what happened.
I'm sitting at my desk whilst writing this. I don't know what I've discovered. It's mind boggling, it shouldn't exist. I can't begin to understand it and something tells me that if I do, I'll go insane. I need to buy a gun, if only to make a brief impression on the world before my demise at the hands of unspeakable horrors. Why did I become a scientist? I wanted to understand the world, but when I finally did, it was terrible. What unkind God made us? A beacon of light in a sea of impenetrable darkness, darkness in which things swim. It's seen me. I'm doomed. At the very least, I want to find out more about this thing, these things before I die. I take a swig of coffee whilst writing, the bitterness mingling with my own. I thank God, though I no longer believe he exists, that I have no family. I'm off to buy a gun.
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Assuming that your character is male, Jackrabbit:
I knew it was him. He carries himself well, but I know what he thinks. His mind lies open like a map, like a book or a scroll to read. In his head, I see the torment. The fear. The anticipation. He seeks knowledge, he seeks protection. No cold piece of metal will protect him, no matter how hard it is. This man, his heart is true. True atleast, in his fear. He does not wittingly carry the burden... A wise choice. There must... Be a way.
I know there is way.
I hold the key to his sanity, to his life, to his soul.
And now, I approach. I just pray to what ever gods that will accept me that it is not too late.
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I don't know why I'm writing this.
I've gone nuts, over the hill, brought the damn funny farm, and the worst part is: I still can't believe myself. I'm sitting here, in a padded room in Arkham Asylum writing this, and I'm terrified. The man across from me talks about the rats running through the walls, while the one in the cell to my right screams at all hours of the night in the tongue of the strange intellects beyond this frail reality that we hold so dear to ourselves. At least I'm not that bad, mentally. Physically is another matter, my hair has gone white and is falling out at an alarming rate. Every time I bring my hand to my head it comes back with a great matted chunk of my silvery, fading hair. My eyes are very slowly falling out, every time I blink I can feel them sliding inextricably outwards. It is only a matter of time before I go blind. I'm not even going to start on the horror of what my joints are becoming.
This may all be in my mind, but that won't make my memories any less real, and I feel that someone has to know of what I've seen, even if that person is the next resident of this cell. Now, where to start?
It all began some time ago, on that fateful night. I was leaning against a lamppost, clutching my side. I was running to the apartment of one J. D. Mortimer, last known possessor of a book of ancient lore known as the Necronomicion, when I had gotten inexplicably winded. The Man had been murdered in a grotesque fashion, hanged from the ceiling, his skin stripped off, and his blood used to make a strange sign, shaped like an eye inside a star, inside a circle. Things would only get worse from there...
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--PRELUDE--
As in, before what I last posted.
He has aged. His sanity is fading. That much is straight away visible. He will of little use to anyone, I must not allow him to degrade further. Yet, outside his cell, I can see him. He is writing something now, mumbling incoherently, revisting that fateful night.
Alas, again, I was too slow. He had hanged himself. There was little for me to do but defile his corpse. My heart burdened and my cheeks burned with shame as I was forced to destroy the peace of my friend's afterlife. I spread his blood into the Eye, all the while chanting. Just another crime against the sanctity of God.
I will make sure what ever forces responsible... Will pay for this.
Even worse, the Necronomicon was no where to be seen. I can only believe it vanished to avoid certain destruction at the hands of those... heretics.
I have to put things together. I must make them meet.
I must send them to their doom, or else we all perish.
Why God, am I tasked to do this impossible errand?
EDIT: My guy sounded like a necrophiliac.
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I still have no idea why I'm writing this, but someone should know, even if it is only me.
I escaped. There was a... a tunnel... I think. No way to tell if it was something else. Bastard in the cell next to me died overnight. Used his corpse to fake death. I have no idea where I am now. Too dark to tell. Seems hot and squishy, and outdoors as I can see the stars overhead. I think I'm okay, as I managed to find my things -I am unsure of how that came to pass, but I'm grateful for that.
It seems that the things happening to me were just hallucinations, except for the terror of my joints. Oh god why, why must that one be true? In any case, I've got to get back on the trail, even if finding out the truth will break me down to further depths, I must go on; Because they'll kill me anyway.
In any case, I feel a bit better, mind feels more complete, and I think I know where I am now. I'm on the outskirts of the city, about a mile from that accursed asylum. It may have been the one place able to protect me from them, but I don't need protection anymore. I'm prepared to give my life to take those bastards down for what they've done to me and the others.
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There he is, just on time.
I walk up to him and grab his shoulder.
"Your life will jeopardy if you continue to pursue them. Your soul will be forfeit."
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(Who are you talking to?)
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You, of course.
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(But doesn't your character think I'm dead?)
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He is... An agent of those that we are not supposed to know.
Caino knows many, many secrets.
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I turned to face the sound of a voice, familiar to me. I saw it was none other then that bastard Caino.
"My life's already in danger and there's no such thing as a soul."
(Note: There are no greater powers who are sympathetic to humanity in this setting. That does not mean that they don't hate each other, though.)
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Sympathetic? Who is to say that we are not just pawns, being manipulated at their every whim?
Think 'Lucien Lachance', but farrrrr more mysterious.
I grin, slightly pleased that he recognises me.
"A soul... Can be many things. But, I have answers for your questions, which you will ask in due time when you go waltzing off to death. But... There are greater forces at play here than you and I. No need for arguing, just come with me."
I don't expect him to listen to my advice.
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I would have ignored him, and gone off to get my revenge. But I had no idea where they were now, as their previous place of residence was now nothing more then another burnt-out shell in the decaying slums of the city.
"Very well then."
So I followed him, and I watched out surrounding. The things at work here cannot be understood by mortal man, but that shall not stop me from destroying their pawns, and stopping their work.
Oh no... It's happening again.... my joints are -JANBAJFGGAGFBBLLLL*splatter*
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Went to buy a gun. Children on the street, dancing futilely under the water of a broken fire hydrant. They'll grow up, their dreams and hopes maybe turning into reality, maybe not. They'll die leaving no lasting impression. In less than two thousand years, a blink of an eye, nobody will remember them.
Little bastards.
Come to think of it, nobody's going to remember me either. They'll come back. Resting, sleeping then waking. They'll come back. The world will die, mankind will know a new kind of pain.
One involving tentacles. At the very least.
Man wouldn't sell me a gun. Said I was shaking, looked like a ghost. Also something about a waiting period. I could be dead, devoured by eldritch abominations tomorrow. I'd hate to think I'd die without a fight, just another snack. He tried to sell me a switchblade. Better than nothing he said. No. no it isn't.
Stopped off in a diner and bought a chicken salad. Waitress said I looked pale as well. I'm headed somewhere tomorrow. I'll figure out where later. Probably England. It's not like I have a job anymore.
Huh. Kinda sounding like Rorschach there. Oh well, I'll work on it. And no, you aren't getting a name.
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(Is that in the past, or the present?)
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Present. One thing I know about the stories is that people have the ability to write as horrible things happen to them.
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Oooh dear god... my joints have gone off again. That was painful, and now I'll have to clean up all my things. Again. Why the hell did this have to happen to me? Anyway, that Caino guy disappeared, and I've gone into town. Sitting in a diner now and- wait, that's that guy from the university! He's just left, and I have to let him know that his life is in danger!
*Chester catches up to Jackrabbit's character outside the diner*
"Sir, I have something of grave importance to tell you!"
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Being molested by a man with half a head of hair, popped eyes and something disturbing going on with his appendages. I really don't know if I should listen to him.
Hold on, he's looking at me funny. Maybe I shouldn't be writing whilst being talked to. I wish I had a gun.
"Yes? What? I don't have any change on me, I'm sorry."
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(The eye thing, as well as the hair were hallucinations, and he's wearing standard detective clothing, covering all his joints. His clothes are actually rather clean, as they have been in the care of arkham asylum.)
"Sir, are you the man who was assisting the librarian exactly one month ago today, at Arkham University? we were there to see the books that one Professor Mortimer had donated just before his death. If you were, and I am fairly certain that you are, there are many things that you have to be told."
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Huh. The man seems sane now. I wish I had an eraser. How did I see that? Am I going insane so soon?
Wait. What did he say? Oh man, was he an inmate? Is he stalking me? Sh- he's looking at me again.
"Uh... Y-yes. Yes! I am. I am he. That is, that person. Uh. You want to tell me something? Could we talk in my office? I'm feeling exposed."
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Oh no, it's happening already. Damn, those people work fast. Too fast. Soon something terrible is going to happen. He already looks pale, and weak. I'd better get him something to defend himself, like a gun, perhaps.
"That would be a pertinent course of action. Let's go."
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((gonna sleep now, sorry))
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Meh, what the hey, better to crash and burn then to miss out...
The travelling journal of Archibald Wellington, former apprentice to Professor Mozart
"Find it!" Find it! there is something about that note that intrigues me, it is the last thing the professor did but, I, I just can't let it go, I, find it...
The Professor had always had his quirks, but that book was special. It was merely a collection of myths, stories of various imagined relics, it sounded like sensational nonsense full of supernatural powers, imagined secrets and all manner of fantastic creatures, but the Professor was entranced by it. When he first arrived with it he dove directly into his study and only emerged hours later, after dawn had broken, desperate for food. Over breakfast he spoke of nothing else, detailing stories of apparently great and momentous things. I was, of course, dismissive of all of it, but then, well, then he simply retired to his study. I didn't think of it till nightfall, but he had been studying the book for a full day without sleep or rest or sustenance aside from that one meal.
I went to check on him but the door was stuck, more than stuck, it didn't move at all, I thought it barricaded at the time... I called to him but all I heard in reply was desperate scribbles and indecipherable mumbling. I was going to seek help, but I didn't, he was about important business, so I waited. I don't know how long I waited, it didn't matter, I vaguely recall getting food and water, keeping myself alive, but it was unimportant, so long as I waited.
Then it was time, I opened the door, a beautiful layer of dust covered the room, the book was gone, but it had never been important, it was simply a guide that had done its work. The Professor was gone too, his body remained, and, perhaps, his spirit too, but his being had been undone, consumed by his final works. I took his map without looking, I mustn't look, it isn't time yet, it will remained sealed. I don't even know why I think it is a map, but it is, and if I don't dwell on such things they won't get me. But I wouldn't anyway, I don't have time, I have to find it...
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We're going back to his office now, as I walk past the faces of the people or Arkham, the ignorance of the things we've experienced.... and done is splayed across their faces, showing the uncaring world that they are innocent. That would not stop it from tearing open their dreams, and eating their futures. They remind me of when I was like that, all that time ago....
I was at the scene of the murder, having just vomited up upon sighting the corpse of the late Dr. Mortimer. To my confusion and horror, his study was empty, devoid of his prized collection of tomes of ancient lore. Except his journal, hidden in a secret compartment of his desk. What I found in there changed me, but not as much as what I would experience later....
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Hmmm, this really isn't my thing, so I am kind of dreading it, but it is an interesting idea...
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It's really not my thing. This was really boring and uninteresting for me, so if this is necro'd count me out.