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My Dance My Adventure
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@praynot It was a simple matter to feel fear. The quakes that lay hold of shoulders, sundering, rending—tearing the heart's fancy and pulling one from reason. More often it was the better part of valor to flee, but he had seen the ones who would remain behind. Like piddling beasts undernourished of the strife of nature, shot in the wane of a quickly encroaching peril—yes, they were the ones that were simply easier to kill. Pride in the face of such situations, so his smile was a chillingly scarce one—cutting softly into features porcelain, his outward expression was a vacillating chain of concern, a ball-dance of emotional balladry.
Thick with unnatural dread, the air hung over Bright Falls—a quiet town always living under twilight. The already breath-taking, dense-forest and mist-covered landscape was now breathless, perhaps in cognizance of the horror that had occurred. A local journalist, notoriously headstrong and always on a quest for the truth under any circumstances—her name: Sarah. Her body was found in the woods near an old coal mine, long deserted land and covered by local legends of evil spirits. The scene was grotesque: a macabre tableau that seemed to mock the serenity of the surroundings.
Her body lay in a deliberate pose, limbs splayed out in some twisted parody of a star. Deep gashing crisscrosses on her skin, precise and cruel, looked like an artist's rendition of malfeasance. Her eyes were wide open, wide with the last remnants of terror, staring blankly into the void. There was a message left, sketched in blood on the bark of a nearby tree: “The darkness is coming.” Alan Wake, the writer, found himself drawn to the scene. He felt the oppressive weight of the dark presence that had been stalking him—not an amorphous dark thing, but the shadowy figure of a person lurking just beyond perception. It was more than a crime; it was the message that this murder, this grotesque display, was directed at him—a taunt and, to his mind, a threat of more to come.
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Here, in this forsaken place, there was no longer any distinction between the real and that which belonged in a nightmare; each manuscript page became an entrance to another layer of darkness. The shadows, now more than mere absence of light, took life, moving as if with their own purpose, edging away the sanity of any who tarried too long.
A place where knowledge came at the dangerous price of peril, and every answer revealed even more chilling questions. The library, once a beacon of enlightenment, had now given way to a mausoleum of the mind, symbolizing the insatiable hunger for truth, a force that could throw you over the brink of madness. Nestled within the dark, sprawling woods of Bright Falls, the library stood as a forgotten relic, shrouded in mystery and shadow. Its grand, gothic architecture, now decayed and overrun by creeping vines, loomed ominously against the backdrop of the perpetually overcast sky.
Here was Alan Wake, the hunted writer, skulking through the oppressive gloom with a mind full of single-minded, wary resolve. The lines etched into his face over so many sleepless nights reflected nothing compared to the haunting landscape of his mind. This place he had seen in his dreams, a twisted reflection of reality in which words held power and darkness thrived. "I feel like .. I've been here before." The atmosphere almost went out of hand; it was so strong and pressurized, like some kind of living entity feeding on fears and secrets buried deep within its walls.
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Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win. Independent Alan Wake from Remedy Entertainment.
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He took a step closer, his ██████████ establishing the room in the midst of the strange climate. "... Your energy is commendable," he proceeded, his voice nearly a whisper. "But I need you to keep in mind to keep ██████████. Appreciate the work, not fair the individual behind it. Utilize that motivation to fuel your claim inventiveness, to discover your claim voice within the tremendous world of narrating."
Alan's eyes met hers, filled with a blend of thoughtfulness and ███████████████. "In case cherishing my stories brings you bliss, at that point keep that fire lively. But continuously keep in mind to cherish your possess travel, your possess life exterior the pages of fiction. That's where your genuine story lies." She, out of all those whom he had met along his ███████████████ journey, where his kindled roads were brimming with the clinks and hums and roars of countless beasts and men of learning that never once denied their will to know his fires.
██████████ He finished with a tender, knowing smile. "Your concern touches me deeper than you could possibly imagine, but promise me this: continue to be a weaver of words, not just for my sake, but for your own. Your writing has a profound power to inspire, much like a beacon in ██████████, just as my words have done for you."
a face flickers in and out but she could never forget a most handsome face like that. it was her writer. he who would be the catalyst for her obsessively great dedication for such a great many years. she built a beautiful shrine in his name one compact with much of her lovely fanfiction. he made her a better person and she has no intention of letting him not know of how much she adores him. ( heck , he might as well be the reason she breathes air ! ) " alan wake .. o-oh .. ! ██ my god ! " a soft squeal escapes her. she can hardly contain her excitement. her heart has already taken the leap out of her body. she might as well hand it over now. bloodied and all. it might be kind of romantic. " alan --- i've █████ your ██████ ! i feel so █████ that i ██ to be your ████ in this ███ ! " she doesn't even mind the fact that half of what he has said was lost in the void. this is alan wake ! her writer ! in the flesh !
" i was thinking about █████ what we █████ name our kids █████ ! " was that too forward ? yeah , maybe. she doesn't really mind though. would he mind ? she should stay focused. < if loving you is wrong , alan , i don't want to be right >
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In a Violent Nature (2024) dir. Chris Nash
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Manuscript # ██████████████████
He battled his way through ████████████, feeling as though his legs were constantly engulfed in oppressive shadows. The flashlight he was holding wavered weakly, casting a shaky, warped light in his ████████████ direction. Beyond this heavy darkness, he could feel someone, but the gap seemed unbridgeable. His voice, lost in the darkness, reverberated into nothingness.
"Can ███ hear me?" Those words echoed in a vacuum, being lost in the whisper of the wind and the rustle of unknown horrors. Yet he went on, motivated by a need, a frantic yearning to reach the other one and warn him of the impending ████████████disaster. The forest was alive with danger all around him, yet he refused to stop.
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Author's Note:
Within the leaves of these ████████████, a tapestry of shadows is woven—interwoven with threads of dread and stitched with the whispers of the uncanny. There are such things in this tale where borders blur and the everyday crashes into the monstrous that a dance of darkness calls the bravest souls to venture deeper. Gear yourself up, for this roller coaster ride will lead you through the hallways of fear, where every beat echoes in ████████████ with the pulse of the unknown. Here, the secrets of the night are dark compared to the spaces between stars, and with each turn of the page, an unquiet terror grips the ████████████.
However, in the ████████████ of the chilling chapters, there blooms a fragile beauty, a beauty born out of tested courage—that of characters who refuse to succumb to shadows cast upon them. They are our guides in this labyrinth of fear; their struggles are attested to by the indomitable spirit of man. So, reader, take heed as ████████████ upon this odyssey into the realms where nightmares reign. Let your mind's eye see the images the words paint, and may the chill in the air be but the whisper of the unseen, leaving tales inside that will leave an indelible mark upon your imagination. With a typewriter and a ████████████, Alan Wake. Written by echo.
Publisher's Note
These stories are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of remedy games' and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Graphics by kaisercomms. Their exceptional artistry and keen eye for detail have brought the visual elements of this page to life, enhancing the narrative with compelling and evocative imagery.
This page does not have a "Do Not Interact" policy. Anyone is welcome to join and participate here, as long as it remains decent. Mature content is allowed here and at times even integrated directly into the stories themselves. It can range from graphic language, gore and violence to sexual themes.
Participants should be 18 years or older and comfortable with such material. But most importantly, remember that role-playing is about fun and creating memorable stories together. Embrace creativity, enjoy the journey, and support each other in creating an interesting and vivid world.
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