#bonfire stories: manifest horror

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

So I know I made a post recommending my top-favorite Hidden Object games of all time. But. I forgot to mention a big one.

Bonfire Stories: The Faceless Gravedigger

There are technically 3 games in the Bonfire Stories series. But Faceless Gravedigger is my favorite among them, the ending was cool and had me POGGING!!! The title screen looks sick too. All in all, a great game!

I also loved Heartless, it was my first play of the Bonfire series. Title screen is great too. Big recommend, especially if you happen to be a furry(just trust me on that one). I'm so glad I found the series through this game.

...I didn't like Manifest Horror, and it's probably the worst of the three. It feels too convoluted to me, and fell short on my expectations. If you want to complete the series, feel free to try it out, but I only recommend playing Heartless and Faceless Gravedigger.

These are kind of expensive games on Big Fish, so get them if they're on sale, or check out some playthroughs on Youtube!

[capacle]

20 Brazilian TTRPGs I wish also existed in English

Today I offer you:

20 Brazilian TTRPGs I wish also existed in English (because I want the world to know about them)

Buckle up, because you won't BELIEVE the diversity of our indie scene.

[presented in no particular order, and only one per author]

1. Meu Brinquedo Preferido ('My favorite toy'), by Eduardo Caetano

A metaphor about a child's growing process by deconstructing their fears through playful situations.

2. SeanchaS, by Jorge Valpaços and Jefferson Neves

A game about myths, construction of identity and narrative around bonfires, about the time of ancient stories and the present time.

3. Gatunos, by Tiago Junges

A GMless/Solo game in which you play as cat thieves and mercenaries doing the dirty work of the five big factions that run the city.

4. Nômades (Nomads), by Marcelo Collar

A card-based RPG in which you play as beings who have the ability to find and pass through the cracks in the veil that separates the universes.

5. Infaernum, by Caio Romero

Create your own apocalypse while playing the game, and interpret characters who experience the last days of all things.

6. Áureos, Os Dançarinos da Lua ('The Moon Dancers'), by Rey Ooze

A game of fight and freedom where dice play capoeira. You play as an 'Áureo', a former slave who, in a fantastic colonial Brazil, receives the blessings of his Orisha to free his people from slavery.

7. Veridiana, by Alan Silva

You play as creatures that live in a large tree, embarking on a deeply sentimental journey in search of a cure.

8. Karyu Densetsu, by Thiago Rosa and Nina Bichara

A game inspired by action anime and manga, with tactical combat, philosophical conversation, and passionate ideals.

9. Imperia, by Jonny Garcia

A game of politics and intrigue in a medieval court, inspired by Game of Thrones. Create a kingdom collaboratively and assume the role of the most influential people in it.

10. Goddess save the Queen, by Carol Neves and Julio Matos

A pulp adventure game in which you play as secret agents of the British Crown during the interwar period, with their own agenda connected in some way with their home nation.

11. Abismo Infinito ('Infinite Abyss'), by John Bogéa

A narrative game of psychological horror in which the protagonists are astronauts, far away in space, involved in a web of lucid nightmares and manifestations of their own fears.

12. Mojubá, by Lucas Conti and Lucas Sampaio

An Afrofuturistic urban fantasy game inspired by Yoruba and Afro-Brazilian mythologies. Play as a person with fantastic powers who descends from the Orixás, fights evil spirits, and occasionally gets into a rap battle.

13. Chopstick, by Igor Moreno

A game inspired by action movies of oriental martial arts, gang fights and crime, with a twist on Fate Accelerated.

14. Contos do Galeão ('Tales of the Galleon'), by Encho Chagas

Create together the legend of a vessel that would have existed during the Golden Age of Piracy. Players will create the ship, its pirates, as well as its enemies, challenges, and rewards.

15. O Cordel do Reino do Sol Encantado ('The Cordel of the Kingdom of the Enchanted Sun'), by Pedro Borges

A narrative game set in the northeastern 'cangaço' region at the beginning of the 20th century.

16. Através das Trevas ('Through the Darkness'), by Ramon Mineiro

A post-apocalyptic fantasy game inspired by The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Witcher and Diablo.

17. Nihilo, by Andre Osna and Gustavo Rolanski

A world very much like our own—yet bigger, deeper, and stranger. Secret banks are run by Urban Dragons, Infernal mafias terrorize slums, interdimensional portals open in the basements of abandoned pizzerias.

18. Caçada ao Colosso ('Hunt for the Colossus'), by Jairo Borges Filho

Reenact stories such as Siegfried and the dragon Fafnir, the Greek Odyssey or legends centered on the opposition of two primary forces of humanity.

19. Perdidos ('Lost'), by Marcelo Paschoalin

Inspired by Bloodborne and Dark Souls, a world in ruins, fragmented to the point where only memories remain. You'll find relics of yesteryear, monstrous beasts, beings that have forgotten their purpose, and devious paths to tread.

20. Hitodama - A jornada das almas ('The Journey of the Souls'), by Alexsander Araujo

You are Shinigamis: creatures half divinity, half Yokai, who must carry out missions through different worlds, fighting formidable enemies and saving lost souls.

[cozza-frenzy]

The Magbox Christmas Speech (or something like it)

So it's been a little over a month since anybody new showed up in the system. If there is anyone else to find, now is obviously not the time to find them... so for all intents and purposes, this may as well be it. Putting this under a cut because it's long. But if you want to know what life has been like as a system since we discovered ourselves 6 months ago, go on ahead.

I've seen things happen in our inner world that you wouldn't believe. The ways our mind acts out the struggles between parts, the struggle to redefine ourselves, to try and find meaning in something that's been suppressed for 35 years? We don't just tell ourselves a story, we live through it. We drink deep from the well of our subconscious, we feel the arms of our loved ones around us as much as we feel every blow in a fight. I've tried to fight it and our brain won't let me. It just makes things more and more real; taking away control over things like my in-system ability to change size, and feeding me dizzying sensations of rising and falling in our body until I get pulled "out of front" abruptly. And I know, once I'm no longer looking through the eyes but stuck in that far-too-real dream, that I'm either too big to touch our "control desk" or I'm too small to reach it.

It's not all bad, though. We've learned to co-operate with the whims of the subconscious and reap the rewards, finding sanctuary, finding community, finding wonders we've never lived but often dreamed of. I've eaten fruit that tastes like chocolate pudding, dived into streams and caught fish with my teeth, dug up sweet potatoes with my hands and roasted them on a bonfire. I've danced in a moonlit field, on the deck of an airship, and at a spiraling rave in another dimension. I've jumped into a carbonated lake in a volcano, been on a low-gravity spacewalk, and flown through the clouds of what we call Dreamscape. I've seen the magenta moon rise for the first time over the Village Green like a flag of victory, and the Deepwoods so full of glowing flowers - how our system interprets hope - that it looked like it was on fire. We have a pub, a park, a cafe, an arcade, a ballroom for celebrations, we have an adult-size "funhouse" full of things to climb and ballpits to fall into. We've dined under a sky full of stars and seen it light up with fireworks. Our world is equal parts magic and mundane. But I've also held the parts of us that never got to grow up, as they cried and screamed and revealed horrors we'd long forgotten. I've felt one of our own try to jump on my back and control my actions like a puppet, because they were the one keeping the system suppressed, and they were convinced everything had gone to hell because of me. I've felt the sheer existential terror of a deeply blurry front, where everything you know gets lost in the fog, and you suddenly realize you don't know who you are. I've seen alters try to tear each other apart with teeth and claws, try to ruin our realspace life by hurting other people, try to hurt our shared body because it feels like there's no way out. I've wept over what happened to us and what we never had, knowing that the ones who made us this way would never believe us, never mind apologize for what they did. And I've enacted Operation Kaiju; a contingency plan we hoped we'd never have to use. I've grown to a huge size, and faced down the giant amalgamation of every bit of trauma that didn't get to form an alter over those three and a half decades, that was so big it could only manifest as a place inside our head - The Red Forest. Full of eerie silence, an endless layer of fallen leaves on the ground, trees with white bark like stripped bones, always cold but devoid of wind or snow. And after it trapped one of us inside it, the first thing that alter said on getting out, covered in cuts and scratches, was "don't go in there, it hates us". It hated us because how dare we do this, how dare we pull ourselves away from it so it becomes less and we become more. And I've shouted at it, screamed at it as it rose up out of the world and tried to claw at us, told it no, you can't have them back. They are mine. I don't want to fight you but I will not let you take them from me. And I've put my hand on the wall that kept it separate from us; comforted it, listened to it, until it was finally ready to lay down peacefully and let itself die in order to become the rest of us.

I've known joy and I've known fear, and so has everybody else. I've seen the paths between our domains crumble from stress and cut us off from each other for weeks. And the system raised its voice in song, as one, to tell me they're okay, because we will never be alone again and that is a promise. There is no going back. And now, at the end of the year, we're here. Who knows what our system will look like in a year, or in 10 years. Over the course of the rest of our shared life. We've desperately searched for our missing parts together over the past six months, and now that search could very well be coming to an end. Our total headcount, 39, doesn't seem like it'll go up but might actually go down. This has already happened three times; Roxxy fused with Rosie and gave us Roxanne, Rakugaki and Charlie became Anarchy, Yvonne and Harvey created Nocturne. Maybe more will happen, maybe they won't, but whatever their choice is we know that nobody will ever go dormant again if we can help it. There will never be a time where someone faces such overwhelming despair, they go to sleep and hope they never wake up again. But here's to the start of a new chapter. Here's to moving forward as one and as many at the same time. We're done digging in the depths for whatever hurt might lie in there, and we don't need to just survive any more. We don't need to keep settling for something to kill more and more time, feeling neither highs nor lows, expecting nothing and never being disappointed. We can do better. We have to start figuring out how to thrive. Happy Holidays, from all of us to all of you. - Terry & The Alters Of The Magbox System

[wormsin]

I did pre-orders for this in February 2020, and then the pandemic started and this was in dev hell for the next three years. it was really weighing on me. but it's finally done! and I'm really, really proud of this game.

the gameplay is basically: you're telling scary stories with your friends, and trying not to look at a certain spot in the room where an unknown Horror is manifesting. if you look at It, acknowledge It, even think about It too hard, It will Get You. get scared about things that aren't It to keep It at bay. don't remember the night at the bonfire and how it got [REDACTED].

would appreciate spreading the word! there's a cheap digital PDF and two print zines. if u can't afford it or want a review copy, lmk! (free copy and you write a review.)

DON'T LOOK - The Scary-Storytelling Game Where Fear Keeps You Alive

It's all for fun. None of the stories are real. You don't talk about what is really there in the shadows. Not in the shadows beyond the campfire, and not in the closet behind you, and certainly not growing on the ceiling above your head. There's nothing there. And even if there was, you wouldn't know what It is, because you have never looked at It. You can't know what It is.

Don't Look is a simple game that supplements any ghost story. all you need are a few friends, a mirror or camera, your own scary stories or the interactive ones in the zine, and 13 easy rules. the game comes with two zines: The Game, a rulebook, and The Tales, a collection of 3 interactive scary stories.

get the physical zines

get the digital version

[marjoange34]

[Objets Caché,Point'n Click] [EN] Bonfire Stories: Manifest Horror Éditi...

[melishade]

Attack on Prime Halloween Anthology: Mae Nak

Main Story  

Yuki-Onna

Owia’s Revenge

“We’re almost there!” Sasha cheered as they all sat around the bonfire once more.

“Oh, thank god it’s almost over,” Eren sighed with relief.

“Again, I am informing you all that I will not be doing this again,” Optimus declared in his holoform.

“Oh, c’mon. You must be having some fun with this,” Hanji retorted.

“No,” Optimus stated rather bluntly.

“What’s the story going to be about today?” Mikasa asked the Prime.

Optimus thought it over. “I suppose it will be another ghost story.”

“Is it revenge?” Connie asked.

“It is more...unrequited love,” Optimus answered.

“Intriguing,” Hanji commented as Optimus stretched the holoform arms out and stared at the fire.

“A woman named Mae Nak lived with her husband Tid Nak. They were recently wedded and happily in love, with the two of them expecting a child on the way. However, Tid Mak was drafted into a war with a neighboring country. He was worried about this prospect. He was afraid he would be unable to see his family again, but Mae Nak had promised that she would be in there home when he returned. Both her and her child. Tid Mak had left for the war, feeling a little hopeful at his wife’s words, but still afraid of the prospect of dying and never seeing her again.

A few months later, Tid Mak was able to return home to see his wife and child. On the way back, he noticed the villagers whispering. About him. One of them, an old man, had approached Tid Mak and warned him not to go back him. He proclaimed that something had happened to his wife and that she wasn’t what she seemed. Tid Mak accused the man of lying about his wife, believing he meant that she was unfaithful. He pushed passed him and approached his home. When he opened the door, he found everything was alright. His wife was alive, happy, and healthy, and so was their newborn baby. Tid Mak told his wife about what happened earlier, but she shrugged it off.

For the next few days, everything was quite well between the couple. But Tid Mak still heard whispers everything he went through the village. He assumed the man was spreading rumors about him and went to knock on his door, but there was no answer. When he assumed the man wasn’t home, he decided to return to his own home. He had talk to his wife about it as she was making dinner and he was holding their child. Mae Nak proclaimed that she already took care of it and that he wouldn’t bother them anymore.

As she continued cooking, she dropped a lime and it felt right through the floorboards. Tid Mak could only watch in disbelief as she reached right through the floorboards and picked up the lime with ease. Tid Mak felt his stomach drop, remembering the man’s warning and the whispers and stares throughout the town. Holding the child suddenly felt...wrong. He turned to his wife and hesitantly asked what she had done, but she played coy, pretending that nothing was wrong. But he could only see unholy faces manifesting on his wife and the child. 

So Tid Mak ran out the house as fast as he could. He heard his wife calling out to him in anger, proclaiming that the two of them would be together. He had promised. He looked back and watched in horror as the woman he once loved was now a skeletal-like monster, towering over homes and causing havoc in the village. Tid Mak had made it to the temple and told the priest what had happened. When the spirit reached the temple, the priest had used his gifts to seal Mae Nak away in a jar. 

Tid Mak had later learned that while he was away, his wife had died during childbirth, but she had returned, not wanting to break her promise and be with her husband. But Mae Nak was not human, not anymore. She is now sealed away in the temple, watched heavily by the priest to ensure that she will never be released and cause havoc once again.”

“Damn...that’s actually pretty sad,” Jean admitted.

“And terrifying!” Connie added, “He was living with a dead person and a dead baby for a few days! How did he not know?!”

“Didn’t she need to eat to convince her husband?” Mikasa asked Optimus.

“Did they get...you know-!”

“Sasha!” Armin yelled.

“What?! It’s a valid question!” Sasha proclaimed.

“How did someone manage to seal a spirit away?” Eren asked. “If they’re an other worldly entity, how could a human seal them away.”

“Usually with something of equal power or an opposing force,” Optimus answered, “The Autobots and I sealed Unicron away in an indestructible relic of the Primes. Although, I do not know where they are keeping it.”

“Wait a minute,” Hanji caused Optimus to pause, “Isn’t Unicron the equivalent of the devil on your world?”

“Yes,” Optimus answered.

“You sealed the devil away in a jar?!” Jean asked incredulously.

“Have I not told you that story?” Optimus asked them.

“There’s a shit ton of things in your life that you haven’t told us,” Levi declared.

[yourwitchmama]

Full Moon on Samhain, October 31st: The Hunter’s Blue Moon With Horoscopes

For the first time since World War II, people in all parts of the world will be able to see the Oct. 31 display. Samhain's full moon will be a blue moon. What is a blue moon? A blue moon occurs when there are two full moons in one month. We are halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice, a turning point in the season when we prepare for the cool months and shorter days. This is also a point in time where we turn our focus inward. How are we doing in our relationships? How do we feel about ourselves? What do we have to learn from our shadow self? This full moon falls under the sign of Taurus. Since the sign Taurus is powerfully rooted to the earth, this will be an ideal time to preform earth magick. Take this time to reflect on the magick and mystery of nature. This moon, though in Taurus, will inevitably shake things up in your life where things have been stagnant. Below, I am going to touch on the influences of this blue moon on each sign. Remember that it is important to know other signs in your chart, because it does affect your main sign.

Capricorn (December 22- January 19)

You may feel as if you want more attention or prosperity for the work or energy you have been putting out into the world. You may feel like you are fading behind the scenes, or maybe you aren’t getting close to desired achievements. This moon will reveal why you are feeling this way, and will bring you the boost of creativity you need in your life to move forward in what you are wanting to do. Meditate this Samhain, have a bonfire if you can, and add herbs and incense to set the mood. You aren’t alone, there are many spirits, for this is the most spiritual time of the year. If you are looking into spellwork, doing a spell on boosting creativity and insight on how you can get things done is going to be highly effective on this full moon.

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

There are two polar ways you will be feeling during this full moon. You may feel overly excited and you may want to go all out with the decorations and costumes. Do it! This full moon is activating your inner child, so don’t feel weird if you have an urge to trick or treat or watch a kids movie. If people give you weird looks, so what! You want free candy! In turn, you could be feeling bleak or depressed, stuck on your past and how you were robbed of your childhood. Don’t let any of this get you down. Inner child work is going to be very beneficial this Samhain. You will easily see into your past, and if you don’t have clear memories, feelings will guide you through your inner chid work. Nurture yourself like a child, but don’t coddle yourself. You are allowed to feel however you want, but like all things, in moderation.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

If you have been feeling stuck lately, look forward to a burst of inspiration and motivation. It might come out of nowhere, but you will feel ready to take on a new project or feel motivated to get things done that have been sitting for a while. You may feel inspired by those around you, or spirits could be putting subconscious information into your head that will inspire you. This is a highly spiritual time for you, and you will benefit from doing manifestation spells during this full moon. Remember to not take too many things on at once, and little steps are what you need to take to get where you want to be. Use this motivation to make a vision board.

Aries (March 21 – April 19)

You might feel like you are financially tight this year, which is understandable. Know that you are worth much more than you think you are, and you can get a job that you might not think you can get. If you couldn’t get fun decoration or a costume, don’t be upset! Samhain isn’t all about superficiality, it is about connecting to the other side while the veil is thin. Write down what you should be spending your money on vs. what you should not be spending your money on. Focus on what you can do to really save money, even if it is a few cents, it adds up. Consult your ancestors on what to do about money. You could use a ouija board (please use the proper precautions when doing this) or tarot cards to do this if you do not have the ability to talk directly. This is also a good time to cast money spells.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20)

You are going to feel much more energized than normal, but don’t let this scare you! You aren’t manic, you are extremely excited and ready to take the day, no, year on. This energy will be intense since this full moon is in Taurus, but it will not be a bad intense. Choose wisely where to put your energy. This is also a good time to examine the rules you set for yourself, and try to see if there is anything you need to change. Try to step out of your comfort zone, and realize that you are capable of much more than you think you are capable of. This is going to be a good time to think about all of the things you are capable of doing, so write down ideas for yourself and focus on each idea, exploring the possibilities that are available to you in this life. Charging crystals or any magical items will be highly effective for you on this full moon. Hold whatever you want to put energy into, and tell it what you want it to do. Let your items soak up the full moons rays all night.

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

You have been wanting to explore your creativity more and open your mind to something new. This full moon is a perfect opportunity for you to get lost in your thoughts, take a magical bath, and curl up with an interesting book. You may want to watch horror movies or halloween movies from when you were a kid. This will bring a lot of inspiration and energy that you can harness for your creative journey. Any blocks you will be having will clear with this Samhain blue moon. You will be able to come up with new ideas and break out of your box to explore new creative things that you can thrive in. Crystal magick is going to be the best way to harness this creativity. Use crystals such as lapis lazuli, jasper, blue lace agate, herkimer diamonds, and tigers eye to help boost your creativity. You will also get signs from spirits as to what you can do, so look out for any symbolism or repeating numbers this Samhain. 

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

You are feeling upset that this Samhain isn’t going to be a normal one, but that isn’t stopping you from indulging in the Samhain spirit. You may feel lonely or like something isn’t right, and that can lead to depression. Call some friends and talk about your hopes and dreams together, and delve into spirits and ghost stories as well. The goal of this Samhain Reflect on your ancestors and their accomplishments, and how they may affect your DNA. You are a collective being of all of your ancestors, so look at what runs in your blood. Know that you are not alone, and your ancestors and other beings are around you in spirit. You can talk to them, though you may feel crazy talking out loud to the air, they can hear you. You may receive signs that they are there, like something falling off a shelf or a knock on the wall.

You should focus on divination, talking to your ancestors through candle scrying, ouija boards, and pendulums.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)

This year has made you restless and ready to get things done. This full moon is going to amplify those feelings, so you may feel frustrated that things aren’t going back to normal. Luckily, the stars are aligned for positive change, so making a move now is going to land you in the right place. Try to get some of that pent up frustration and energy out by carving pumpkins, making a vision board, deep cleaning your house of any residual energy hiding in the dust, and anything else active you can think of. If you play an instrument or sing, do that to your heart's content. This Samhain, focus on your higher self and try to take advice from it. If you get tired from all of your physical activities, sit down with a good book or watch a movie that brings nostalgia and motivation. 

Virgo (August 23 – September 22)

You may feel like your world is upside down, and you don’t know what to do with it. You could be feeling depressed that this Samhain isn’t going to be normal, but know that you are not alone, spirits are all around you. Try to connect with them to get rid of that loneliness. Try scrying, ouija boards, and pendulums to connect with those beings around you, you will feel less lonely. You also might feel that this year has been against you, and you are stuck in a rut. This full moon will give you inspiration and motivation, getting you out of this rut with new solutions to old problems. Journal and try to figure out what you need to do to get out of this rut. You can try automatic writing to see what spirits are trying to tell you to help you as well.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

Your highly empathic feelings have been hurting you this year, and you might feel sorrow from the deaths, fires, riots, corruption, and disease. Your highly sensitive heart needs a break, and this Samhain, you will get it. You may feel more empathic than usual, but focusing on what you can do to help yourself is going to be important. Go for a walk under the moon, take a long bath, watch some movies, and indulge in good food. You will learn how to feel for others without it harming you, bringing you motivation to help the world by donating, praying, and getting active in your community if you can. It is important to cleanse and cord cut this Samhain, focusing on taking negative energy out of your space and inviting healing energies in. Cut yourself off from negative people and thoughts with cord cutting. It will also be helpful if you place bowls of salt water around your space (don’t do this if you have animals or a way to get animals out of the space you are putting the bowls in) to soak up the negative energy. 

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

You are fully immersed in the autumn spirit, embracing your birth month to the fullest, and revving up for a full on Samhain. It won’t be like other Samhains, but you don’t care. You are going to make the most out of this holiday, and it will bring you satisfaction and coziness like no other time of year. Watch nostalgic movies and embrace the colder weather. Drink some hot cider (you could add a little spiced rum if you are about that life) or smoke a little thc (if you are about that life). If you haven’t set the mood yet, what are you waiting for? Go get a cheap tiny gourd if you are out of money, and try to carve it. ANY squash will do, so don’t feel upset that pumpkins might not be in the cards because of the price tag. Have some pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, candy, any kind of food that will get you into the fall mood. If you don’t have fall room spray, boil some sticks of cinnamon in hot cider, the smell is heavenly. Spiritually, focus on your shadow self, and try to communicate with the spirits around you. Make sure to use black crystals for protection.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

You are feeling EXTRA spiritual this Samhain. You may not even feel like yourself, but that is normal to experience on the most spiritual day of the year. You are more psychic than usual, so divination is going to be highly accurate and easier to perform at this time. Give out free tarot readings, read friends who don’t know what tarot is, chant, drum, sing, and get fully immersed into the spiritual side of this Samhain. You might feel to magickal to participate in more materialistic things, so make this Samhain your own. There is no right way to celebrate. Let the spirits guide you in your actions, and maybe do some rituals if the inspiration strikes. 

Get a psychic reading here

[echodrops]

My KH3 Fix-It Dream

(Warning, long post is long because part way through I just started writing bits of the actual fic, oops.)

There’s a lot of people complaining about this and that with the KH3 plot, but I honestly don’t have too many complaints because the story we were given was about what I expected (did anyone realllyyy believe that Kairi was going to become a badass Keyblade wielder? Search your heart, you know you saw this travesty coming), except on one front: Vanitas was tragically under-utilized. After being hyped up so much in the trailers, you’d think that he would have at least had a go in the game that was worthy of his character. But KH3′s Vanitas was little more than a shadow of BBS’s, and that’s a darn shame.

So, I present to you: a fix-it fic plot bunny that fixes several things at once:

1) Vanitas doesn’t die. Okay, actually, it still works fine if he does die, but we’ll take his “I’m always with you” suggestion literally--Vanitas is a heart of Darkness wrapped in a body made of bad feelings, and that final battle was one brutal attack on the feels after another. The fear, anxiety, horror, and desperation the Lights, especially Sora upon witnessing what happens to Kairi, manifests as so much accumulated negativity that Vanitas--even though he actually wants to!!--can’t stay dead, and his heart, which naturally lingered with Sora and Ventus even after his defeat, gets shoved back into another body made entirely of other people’s suffering and pain, now even more unstable and dysfunctional than before.

2) The final battle happens. Kairi is saved, but Sora disappears. While the finally-reunited good-guy crew are busy coming out of shock planning how they’ll inevitably rescue Sora, they’re also struggling with another major issue: what to do about Vanitas, who is as comatose as Ven was at the beginning of BBS, a broken heart in a broken body.

3) Nobody wants to say “mercy kill”... The idea is there, but none of the gang is really willing to do it barring maybe Roxas, whose practicality is actually alarming (”You’re not going to be feeling so sympathetic when he wakes up and stabs somebody, you know. Don’t say I didn’t warn you”). Even Aqua, who knows as well as Ven how much of a danger Vanitas is, can’t really convince herself to attack someone who's completely helpless. But what to do, if not that? He isn’t waking up, and anywhere they leave him, he’ll have to be guarded around the clock--he still, technically, has the ability to trigger the apocalypse if left unattended to chase hearts of light, you know.

4) It’s Ven’s idea to take him to Destiny Islands. That was Master Xehanort’s plan for Ven, after all, when they were first separated: let Ven’s empty body waste away, forgotten, in a backwater world. Instead he’d made contact with Sora--and nobody wants to say that either, that maybe there’s the tiniest bit of hope: somehow, some way, maybe Sora can still be reached, maybe the call of yet another heart in need will be irresistible enough to make the unfailing hero claw his own way back from the brink...

5) What really happens is this: Sora’s mother has had MORE THAN ENOUGH. Spaceships start dropping out of the sky, the deserted play island is somehow brimming with grown men and women running around, she sees Kairi of all people wandering right back into town as if she hasn’t been inexplicably absent for months... So where is Sora? Where is Sora and why is he not coming home? Finally, after three days of radio silence from Kairi and Riku (Riku’s been gone for years, and now he’s suddenly here, without Sora? When has there ever been a such thing as Riku without Sora?), Sora’s mother prepares a scolding on the level of God casting humans out of the Garden of Eden and indignantly rows her way out to the play island. It seems there’s a whole crowd gathered at a bonfire down the beach, but she never makes it there. Because there’s Sora right there on the paopu island, there’s Sora, only everything’s wrong--who let him dye his hair like that, what is he wearing, why won’t he wake up--”Sora? SORA!”

6) It’s Riku who tells her the truth. That Sora is gone, in the wind, not even a body to bury except this one, this boy who’s wearing the face of the son she hasn’t held in her arms in ages--maybe never will again. This is what he looks like now, Riku says, but this isn’t him. (How? How is this not her son? Under his bangs there’s the same freckle at the edge of his forehead she used to give good night kisses to--)

7) They make several attempts to stop her (”Ma’am,” the man with brown hair and guilty eyes says, “Ma’am, you really can’t--he’s a danger to--”) but none of them stopped her son either and if they’ll stand by and let the light of all the worlds extinguish itself, let’s be honest, they’re just not that good of guardians. She takes Sora the boy named Vanitas home. In Sora’s old bed he looks comical, the only time, maybe, that he’ll ever look tall, and the shadow of the toys and clutter she hadn’t had the heart to clean (not after the day she remembered that the room up the stairs wasn’t just sealed up storage, that a boy had lived there, that his worn clothes were still strewn across the floor, that she’d had a son at all, Sora, for a whole year she’d forgotten the name, the sound, the jut of his lip in a pout--) falls over his face. They say he’s not her son.

8) Well, she thinks, we’ll see about that.

And lol I know that was a million words but like that was the prologue and the actual rest of the fic goes like this:

Sora’s mom takes care of Vanitas’ comatose body because hey, she’s a pediatric nurse, that kind of thing is literally her job. Riku and Kairi try to bodyguard her for a couple weeks, but the longer Vanitas stays asleep, the less and less often they come around--they’ve got to find Sora, after all.

The longer she takes care of Vanitas-not-Sora though, the worse her loneliness gets, until the deep vein of Darkness sadness (she lost her son not once, not twice, but three times) resonates with the shattered remnants of Vanitas’ heart and she forcefully because Sora got his busybodiness from somewhere generously connects with him enough to wake him up.

(“Go away,” answers a voice without speaking.

“Why?”

“You’re annoying me. I’m tired.”

“You’re hurt.”

“That’s what I said.”

No it isn’t.

There’s a certain sort of sadness only people who’ve lived through losing the light of their lives will ever know. There’s a kind of kinship in surviving separation. Her heart aches, goes out of her all at once, reaching--

“I made my decision. Leave me alone.”

"Did you make that decision because you were alone?”)

Only, you know, Vanitas doesn’t want to be awake or even alive now that he has absolutely no purpose, no master, no X-blade, no mission, nowhere to go, and no chance of ever reuniting with Ven--so fuck off, he’s not going to eat those home-made muffins and he’s not going to go take a bath even if he does stink, and he’s not going to talk, and he’s not coming out from under the covers for anything less than the sweet release of a swift execution.

...But that’s so boring.

So he insults her instead. And threatens her and mocks her and knocks over the water glasses she brings and lets the Unversed chase her out of the room and picks out all the stitches on this ugly hand-sewn quilt and asks her why she’s got a room full of toys but no kid to go in it.

No sell: she’s a pediatric nurse and dealing with sick, miserable, screaming children is what she does every day. And anyway, from seven to eight Sora threw a year of temper tantrums that make this boy look positively mild.

There’s one more thing working in her favor: he’s still curious. She learns: he’s never had a fruit smoothie, read a comic book, or slept in sheets fresh from the dryer. Sora’s old action figures aren’t played with so much as dismembered in effigy (is it that Vanitas is vindictive or that he’s jealous?), but the new electric toothbrush somehow wins grudging approval. The vacuum cleaner startles him the first time she turns it on, but one night when she goes for a drink at 3am, she discovers he’s been teaching himself to use the TV. Finding out the water can come out of the taps already hot buys her a whole seven minutes of intrigued silence, but the existence of ice cube trays might as well be a mortal offense. (”Don’t tell me you people actually wait for the water to--?” Given that he then summons a block of ice longer than the dining room table out of thin air, she thinks on this occasion he might be right though when he leaves said ice block to melt, her charitable feelings dry up.) He has to watch her pick herbs from the garden and cook with them before he can be convinced that the “weeds” are food. In short, he’s barely half way back from feral, and if the man who made him wasn’t already dead, she’d happily go kill that piece of shit herself.

It turns out, with spit, polish, and proper motivation (read as: bribes, read as: hot pot and honey castella), he’ll do the things she asks (sometimes). When he actually commits himself to a task, he’s focused to an alarming degree, meticulous and self-critical, and he stubbornly refuses to give up until he’s content with the results, which means that sometimes on her way to work she finds him where she left him the night before, still glaring, bleary-eyed and bratty, at the broken stand-mixer or mantle clock or book spine that she hoped he could fix with magic. If he spitefully tracks mud all over the house after he relentlessly weeds the whole garden, well, she’d say the benefits still outweigh the costs.

The hoard of creatures that follow him around (”They’re my feelings,” he says, and kicks one without the slightest hesitation) take getting used to, but it’s easier to share space when they make themselves so useful--sometimes even when he can’t be badgered into work, he’s willing the boss the underlings into action: the crooked door on the backyard shed finally gets rehung thanks to a towering brute with a banana peel on its head, and once she opens a jar in the kitchen she doesn’t remember buying and finds it full of rich, warm apple pie.

He gets... better. It’s not linear. They have bad days, days when he breaks things without warning and won’t talk except through stinging barbs, one day so bad he let a flock of his worst feelings pound enormous holes in the living room walls, burns up her favorite rose bush--but they have good days too. Some days he laughs and it isn’t malicious at all; some days he eats with her at the table without even being asked; some days she comes home late to find he’s still awake, ready to poke fun at the tired way she toes off her shoes, and it takes everything she has to keep from saying You really didn’t have to wait up for me.

One day he smiles for no reason at all, and she thinks: The boy’s going to be okay.

(But how in the world is she going to explain all this to Sora?)

And there’s sooo much else I want to write but I can’ttttttt, I don’t have time, so here’s a bullet list of “also featuring:”

Vanitas being a natural Heartless deterrent because none of them want to mess with the biggest Darkness on the block.

Ven, Terra, and Aqua sniffing around trying to figure out whether they need to take Vanitas back (just to make sure he’s properly under watch, of course); Sora’s mom giving them the politest “Fuck you” this side of the universe.

Kairi and Vanitas friendship. Vanitas doesn’t even know it’s happening. Kairi is devious. Vanitas taking over Kairi’s training even though they can’t physically spar because they’ll literally end the world if they fight lol. Kairi taking advantage of Vanitas’ lack of interest in social cues to get him to do things none of the other boys will do with her like clothes shopping.

Kairi and Axel friendship with Roxas being the weird middle man who doesn’t know why they can’t just text each other instead of sending handwritten letters back and forth through him of all people.

Vanitas and Roxas reaching grudging levels of respect because sarcastic bitches gotta support each other.

Roxas and Sora’s mom being hilariously awkward because Sora’s mom doesn’t know if she should also be claiming responsibility for this child too and Roxas is absolutely clueless about the concept of having parents in the first place.

After many chapters of redemption arc, Sora’s mom taking Vanitas with her to work at the hospital so he can turn the sick children’s negative feelings into Unversed and then defeat them. She doesn’t know this hurts him and he sure as fuck isn’t going to tell her.

Everything going to shit when Chirithy shows up, insisting Vanitas is its master and calling him “Ven.” Vanitas was getting better--he was getting over the fact that he’d never be “Ventus” again--

Discovering memories of Daybreak Town and the first Keyblade War with Chirithy’s (and Namine’s!) help. Remembering the existence of old friends--Ephemer, Skuld, the other Union leaders--and the realization that they might still be alive, trapped in a timeless world of sleep.

Vanitas and Riku teaming up after someone (Mickey? Yen Sid?) suggests that Sora’s heart may have returned to the place where all hearts eventually go--the core of light that lies sleeping in the deepest depths of the realm of Darkness. Realm of Darkness road trip! (This is just my excuse to wax philosophical about how being made of Darkness doesn’t actually make anyone evil.)

Finding out that saving Sora will mean finally, actually opening the door to the true Kingdom Hearts, which can only be accessed via Scala Ad Caelum, or, more specifically, the ruins of Daybreak Town that lie beneath it.

Insert some Nomura-esque convoluted plot here about how the clock of Daybreak Town isn’t actually a bell tower but the mechanism for protecting the original X-blade and the door to Kingdom Hearts, and Daybreak!Ventus’ very existence was somehow tied to this clock tower--that’s why Ventus’ and Vanitas’ Keyblades form the two halves of a broken gear: they’re maybe literally the gear that turns the hands of time in the world that once lay closest to the heart of all things. The bell, the sword, the door--they’re all linked, and the only way to save Sora--to save everyone, including the sleeping Dandelions--is to reunite (to wake) their fractured dream of Daybreak with reality, restore the X-blade, and retrieve Sora’s wandering self with the power of Kingdom Hearts’ connection to all worlds and all hearts.

In short, like Nomura, I don’t actually know how I’d ever make it make sense, but the X-blade would get forged by Ven and Vanitas in a safe and sane way (this is just my excuse to give Vanitas a scene where he finally recognizes that he is content to be a separate being from Ventus; that he wants to stay his own person)... Kairi wields the X-blade because fuck you KH3, and everyone gets the damn happy ending they deserve--but most especially Vanitas, who gets to be the big damn hero to finally bring Sora home safe to their mother.

Like guys, I just need Vanitas’ narrative arc to feel coherent and complete. I need to know why he and Ven have a gear motif. How they’re connected to the Dandelions. Whether or not Ventus and Vanitas could ever both simultaneously be at peace despite remaining separate people. Whether Chirithy would have recognized Vanitas. Why Ventus alone had the power to forge the X-blade by reuniting with his other half when it would otherwise have taken 13 Darknesses and 7 Lights. What Sora’s mother would say finding out her son has like five clones now. If anyone would ever recognize that Vanitas had never been shown basic fucking human kindness.

Nomura. Plz.

[proxylynn]

Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #1

Chapter 1: Death is Not an Escape

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I DON'T OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, THAT BELONGS TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). WHAT I DO OWN IS MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND THE LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR A ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT, SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

Life can be a little unfair at times and very lonely. So seemed to be the case with a nutty woman named Lynsie. Her life was fairly typical, uneventful as most would say. Growing up poor? Check. Middle child issues? Check. Parents divorcing due to reasons they couldn't explain to a child but as an adult were simple/retarded in hindsight? Check. No friends because all the world is a bunch of scummy assholes so why even bother? Check again. That is probably what someone would say if you could find anyone that knew her. She kept to herself and that was her biggest flaw. Though to her credit, there wasn't a time when she needed anyone. If a problem came to her, she'd think up a way overcome it, whether it was the right way was up to interpretation. Being alone made her mind work in ways normal people didn't understand. This was only an issue when in social situations as, used to only fending for herself, she was not a team player. Her antisocial tendencies only pushed others away more, leading her to delve deeper inward and eventually crushing her under the weight of loneliness/depression. This would get her to seek ways to fill the void in her soul where companionship had shriveled to death, and that thing was getting lost. Now that isn't some cute clever thing. She would literally go out into God only knows where, stay there, and then only when the need to return home came would she find her way back with nothing more than knowledge/skill. This behavior was concerning at first. I mean, wouldn't you be worried too if a family member vanishes for days on end? Even when she left blatant clues and information behind, her family would still go nuts till she came home. She was never gone for more than a few days to a week. Something about being away in nature, places with no humans to remind her of the emptiness inside that others were able to avoid with ease, just brought a sense of peace to her wary soul. She could forget all the worries, cares, and pain even if only for a little while. Though perhaps this was one escape too many for her. For this time...she wouldn't be coming back.

Cold. Dread. Smoke. Something...unsettling. These odd senses start to come to me as I stir from the blackness of unconsciousness. There's an eerie grip on my heart that slowly crawls over my skin as it fades yet lingers while my eyes strain to open. I can hear muffled voices, some male and some female. But there is one more that I can't identify. This soft guttural groan of a voice that whispers in my skull like a fleeting memory. I swear it says something half-way between language and pure terror. He's dead? Something like that. Maybe? A blur moves into my line of sight, what I can only guess is a hand waving in my face. Recalling that I was alone in the middle of the woods only moments ago, I understandably slightly overreact and end up grabbing this blur's arm before punching their gut as hard as I can in this fogy state. The blur falls over and I see more move in to help the downed one. My dull senses try to process everything around me as definition resets sluggishly, such as making out a bonfire and the chill of the wind rustling the trees around this unfamiliar campsite. Suddenly I'm grabbed from behind, arms looping in my own to lock them behind my head, restraining me for their safety. I snarl, making the one holding me fidget in concerned confusion. My senses begin to get better enough as one brave more human-shaped blur moves to stand in front of me. It looks timid but they are at least trying.

"H-Hey...just calm down. We're not here to hurt you."

My snarling increases as I bare my teeth threateningly at this wimp of a man, judging by the voice.

"Please?"

"*annoyed groan* Let me give it a shot."

Another figure approaches and slaps me across the face.

"Hey, bitch, you're outnumbered. If we wanted to fuck with you we would've done it by now. So get your panties out of a bunch and stop being a huge cunt."

This woman pisses me off.

"I'm going to rip your throat out with my teeth!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Hey!"

Another woman, based on voice, comes over and shines a flashlight in my eyes, making me hiss in harsher blindness.

"You need to settle down. We aren't your enemies. And you...Your attitude isn't helping."

"*scoff* Whatever."

Their bickering allows the spots in my sight to clear and now I'm back to clarity. The pissy one was right, they do outnumber me. There are seventeen of them, ten guys and seven girls. Another thing I notice is the area. I have no clue where this place is, but it's not where I was before. This area of the woods seems to have no day or night, just a perpetual intolerable gloom in the form of a miasma that blankets the woods yet doesn't touch the campfire zone. What the fuck is this? My visible confusion makes the man holding me let go.

"I know, this is very weird. But we'll explain it as best we can. Just promise not to hit anyone, okay?"

I have no real choice here. I'm in an unknown location with random unknown people. Any explanation would do me wonders as the moment they ask if I remember how I got here I draw a complete blank. Once gathered around the fire they proceed to inform me that this is not Earth anymore, but a fake realm made by something dubbed the Entity. The Entity is a nameless being that lives in the space between our world and our imagination, the kind of place only revealed in dreams. To obtain its source of sustenance, The Entity reaches out into the hearts of susceptible victims and corrupts them into performing hideous acts of violence, because the only way for it to manifest itself in the real world is through an act of violence so extreme, that it results in fatalities. Once this event has taken place, The Entity has a handhold into our world, being able to pull people through this weak spot into its nightmarish construct, the Realms of The Entity. The first victims are the corrupted ones, those pushed to do the deeds that summoned this ancient evil in the first place...the Killers. Prey for The Entity comes in the form of uncorrupted victims...the Survivors. Normal people who stumble into these corrupted areas and are pulled through by The Entity with no memory of how it happened. Once they awaken by The Campfire in the nightmare, there is no escape for them anymore. The Entity builds a reflection of the real world in its construct to confuse the Survivors. Unable though to understand the true nature of the world it touches, it tries to replicate it as best it can, although it never quite gets it right. As a result, the world is an ever-changing nightmarish fusion of familiar and strange elements as The Entity makes up what it cannot comprehend. In its Realm, The Entity is everything that one sees except for the Killers and Survivors, meaning it is part of what it creates. In this bizarre world, there are several familiar parts. The areas and their Realms are based on the world it infects and there are strange mechanical Generators that the Survivors can power up to open two Exit Gates or a hatch that will open when only one remains. If they succeed they will escape, although only back to The Campfire that they started from. The Entity feeds on strong emotions, for example, the Killer's rage, the Survivors' desperation, hope, or even affection towards other Survivors. Sort of like an Emotion Vampire. The easiest way for it to procure those strong emotions is through the never-ending trials, invoking hope in Survivors towards an escape from the nightmarish construct. The actual process of feeding itself comes in the form of the sacrifices. It is through that bizarre ritual that The Entity can extract the nourishment it needs to increase its power and sustain itself. With each passing death, a little of the Survivor's soul is lost. Eventually, as all hope evaporates, the Survivor becomes less and less useful to the Entity, slowly devolving into a cold and emotionless shell. These lost Survivors, whose hope has long since left them, are eventually thrown into what is known as "The Void", a limbo full of such empty shells. A weird thing is that once a year, The Entity undergoes a purge, which infests it with blight. The blight manifests itself in the form of cankers spawning throughout the Realms, which bloom into pustules from which a mysterious nectar can be harvested. Escaping from the grounds always takes the survivors back to the campfire, and offerings can be created to be burnt at it and appeal for the Entity's favor. Since the Entity feeds off the hope of the survivors to escape, it helps them just as much as the killers, acting as an impartial observer of the hunt, stepping in only to claim those hung on its hooks.

Needless to say, I find this a bit much and call bullshit. I attempt to leave them by finding my way back into the woods to a more familiar place. They warn me not to do this. That to leave the fire means to put yourself in great danger, possibly even running into one of the killers that like to taunt and freak out the survivors. Again, I claim this as a massive steaming load and enter the foggy woods.

This does not end well.

I tried to march my way out of these forsaken woods to no avail. Aside from the fog being super thick and nearly impossible to see in, but the sounds are disorientating as hell. From the echoing caws of crows to indescribable growls, I regretted this choice quickly. Then I saw something I can't explain. Something was stalking in the darkness, a being in a human form, even though "human" is an exaggeration. No, this thing was a monster. A shadow of its former self, a horrid shadow. I just manage to escape by dropping to the ground and creepy crawling back following my footprint impressions. Back at camp, I am more willing to believe them and their odd information that they themselves got from a journal left by a man named Benedict Baker whom they've never seen. Yeah...They really make it hard to believe shit is real with things like that. They swear the guy is alive out there somewhere even though they told me the guy's been in this world since 1956 and I'm from 2019. They tell me that means nothing as the Entity can rip anyone from all across time which sounds like a lot of convenient bullshit. But what the fuck do I know? I'm no interdimensional god expert. I don't know of its powers.

Lame exposition aside, I introduce myself to the group and they do the same back. The timid mad from before is Dwight Fairfield, a nervous leader and possessing a purple soul. Dwight was geeky and scrawny through high school. He always wanted to be one of the cool kids, but somehow never had the charisma. He tried out for the football team but was cut, the basketball team didn't even take a look, and his grades were distinctly below average. One weekend, on a team-building exercise from his dead-end job, Dwight's boss led them deep into the woods before breaking out his family recipe moonshine. Dwight remembered taking the first sip before waking up late the next morning all alone. During the night, the others had abandoned him. Once again, the laughing stock of the community Dwight tried to hike his way out of the woods. That was the last anyone ever heard of Dwight Fairfield. Dwight isn't the typical guy you think of when someone says "Survivor". He lacks that certain pizzazz and without his glasses, he's more or less blind. But as the sun sets and the woods come alive, Dwight clasps to his rat race life, making sure that he'll live to see another day even though something unimaginable is after him. Dwight won't stop. He'll survive no matter what. As others spent hours being seen in high school. He spent hours becoming invisible and avoiding danger. And it doesn't matter if it's dangers in the hallway or dangers in the woods. Survival is key. As other employees panic when terror infects them, Dwight makes use of his disturbing teen experience. The tables have now turned and now others need to follow to Dwight's firm directions if they are to survive as he knows how to disappear.

The pissy cunt is Nea Karlsson, an urban artist and possesses an orange soul. Nea is of Swedish descent, a tagger and a bit of a troublemaker. She started rebelling when she was 16, she dyed her hair black and cut it in a way she liked it. In her early teens, her parents thought she lacked that thing that makes everyone else "normal". She may have gone too far when her friends, not thinking well, dared her to tag the old asylum. She was never seen again and now tries her best to survive the Entity's dangers. Nea grew up in the small town of Hjo in Sweden. She had a happy childhood even though her mom and dad worked hard. As the opportunity to move to the US became a reality she started acting out. Her parents didn't pick up on this as a reaction to their move. Nea was forced to leave her friends and life behind. Nea shied away from what her parents considered "normal". Instead, she took refuge in skate parks, and her tag "Mashtyx" was seen more or less all over her new hometown, and Nea made a sport out of tagging government buildings. Finally, Nea's parents became used to Nea disappearing for a few days on end. As she's nimble and almost catlike, she's able to evade deadly dangers. Years on skateboards have proven worthy training. And keeping her head down, avoiding the fuzz can be applied to all dangers. The only question is whether she has some interest in not giving up.

The woman of reasoning that blinded me is Laurie Strode, a determined survivor and possessing a red soul. You never know what matters in life until you've realized it might end soon. Laurie is one of those who just want a quiet life in the suburbs, hanging out with friends, family and maybe go on a date or two. Laurie is a typical teenager. You could pass her on the street and not think twice. She does her homework and is liked by her friends, teachers, and family. A simple night of babysitting turns into something that will forever change the course of her young life. A knife swooshing through the air. Screams from afar. Noises that plays tricks with her mind. But not Laurie, she's made of something stronger. Something that won't give up.

The man that held me back is William "Bill" Overbeck, an old soldier and possesses a blue soul. It took two tours in Vietnam, a handful of medals, a knee full of shrapnel, and an honorable discharge to get William "Bill" Overbeck to stop fighting and try to live a peaceful life. He hated it. After decades spent drifting aimlessly through dead-end jobs, Bill went in for a routine surgery and woke up to find the world he knew was gone. A plague was turning normal people into mindless killing machines. Naturally, the first thing he did was fight his way home and put on his uniform. Making his way through rural ghost towns and pitch-black forests, he found other Survivors, and together they fled from the infected hordes. In the end, Bill sacrificed himself to ensure their safety. Bill was left for dead. No one knows that he still has the only thing he ever wanted: an enemy to fight endlessly.

The tired-looking man is Quentin Smith, a resolute dreamwalker and possessing a red soul. When he heard that his friend Nancy's mother had disappeared, Quentin Smith knew instantly that their success had been short-lived. Although their plan had seemed to work flawlessly, Dream Killer had beaten death yet again. But Quentin wasn't about to give up. It may take many attempts, but he vowed that somehow they would find a way to beat it, once and for all. If he didn't, it would only be a matter of time before that thing would win and Nancy was lost. Someone like Quentin never attracted attention in a library, no matter how strange the texts he requested. He devoured all the information he could find, on shared dream worlds, lucid dreaming, and the methods to control the dream space. Forcing himself to stay awake, via a steady diet of pills and energy drinks, he searched through dusty volumes, finding myths about the demons that live in dreams, trapping their victims in limbo and feeding off their terror. He worked quickly as he knew that the killer would soon be coming for him. It wasn't long before that moment arrived and it began appearing in his dreams. He stayed at the periphery at first, taunting Quentin, seemingly hoping to tire him out. Using all that he had learned, Quentin was able to see flaws in the dream; cracks where escape routes could be formed. He tested this skill carefully, not wanting to show his hand, hoping that it would give him some kind of advantage that he could use to defeat that thing. Then, one night, he found himself in the familiar environment of Badham Preschool. the killer had tired of the taunting and had finally decided to gut him. Quentin ran through the school, his quick eyes scanning for something useful in the maze of rooms. He found a can of paint thinner and quickly formulated a plan. Once the trap was set, he waited, acting as the lure to draw the murderer into the right position. And there it was, claws scraping on metal as he closed in for the kill. Quentin allowed himself time to enjoy the surprise on that thing's face as the corridor ignited and then he was away, running through the building, heading for the exit that he knew existed. If he harried it, weakening it and then escaping the dream, surely that would defeat him over time? Before his eyes, the cracks in the dream closed and his escape route was blocked. He was in the killer's secret room again, and there was nowhere to run. As it closed in, a broad grin spreading across its ruined face, Quentin was consumed with a need to see this thing finally obliterated. He wished it had been him, not his father, who threw the gas can that ended it's life, that it had been him who cut its throat. Perhaps that desire would be enough? This was a realm of the mind after all. He let it consume him, concentrating all his thoughts on wishing it gone. His vision was obscured with roiling tendrils of fog and, when it cleared, he was somewhere else. In another dream? If so, it wasn't his; it felt cold and unfamiliar. A flickering drew his attention and he realized he was by a campfire, and he wasn't alone. Other people were trapped here too, and they needed his help.

The man in the police get up is Detective David Tapp, an obsessed detective and possesses a yellow soul. Detective David Tapp was one of the good guys. His determination to see Killers brought to justice and their victims avenged had led him through a long and respected career. When he first saw the details of the Jigsaw case, it seemed like many others. More grisly and macabre, sure, but just another lunatic with a penchant for the over-dramatic, who would soon be behind bars. A stroke of insight brought Tapp, and his partner Detective Stephen Sing, to an abandoned mannequin factory, where they discovered Jigsaw's lair. They apprehended the man but he managed to escape before being unmasked, slashing Tapp's throat as he did so. Leaving his partner, Sing went in pursuit but fell victim to a booby trap. Tapp had failed to go by the book on this one occasion, entering the lair without a warrant, and it had resulted in a Detective's death. He was discharged from the force and left with a ruined throat and crippling guilt. He channeled that guilt into an obsession: he would find the killer, stop the murders, vindicate himself, and avenge his friend and colleague. Following the evidence trail brought him to Dr. Lawrence Gordon and he staked out the doctor's apartment, sure that he would find some evidence of guilt. Then he saw a stranger at Gordon's window and heard gunshots. Tapp confronted him and the man fled, with the pursuit leading to an industrial building. Tapp's age caught up with him, a fight that he would easily have won in his younger days ended with Tapp taking a bullet to the chest. Slumping to the floor, he saw only failure. He had failed his partner and the other victims. Whoever the killer was, Tapp had been unable to stop him. More would die and it would be his fault. He let the rage and guilt consume him and closed his eyes for the final time. Beneath him, the concrete floor softened. He dug his fingers into the ground, feeling dirt and leaves. Where his chest had been wet with blood, the shirt was now dry and the pain had gone. His eyes opened onto a darkened sky and the jagged, searching fingers of branches. Screams echoed through the forest and a new determination filled him. His mind was clear for the first time in months. Victims needed to be avenged, killers thwarted. He didn't know what this place was, but he was still a cop, and he always would be. He had a job to do.

The brooding loner that isn't me for once is a man named Jake Park, a solitary survivalist and possessing a cyan soul. Growing up the son of a wealthy CEO was always going to put pressure on Jake Park. When his brother graduated with honors from Yale, the pressure on Jake intensified. Jake just wasn't the academic type, but his father never really understood his refusal to embrace the expensive education he lavished upon him. Eventually, Jake rebelled by dropping out of school entirely. Now, Jake lives off the grid on the edge of the woods. It's been years since he spoke to his father but his mother checks in once in a while. It was she, who eventually called the police. The cops said he got lost in the woods and a search party looked for days but gave up as bad weather rolled in. Despite passionate pleas from his mother, they never resumed the search and Jake went down in history as another casualty of the woods. Jake's destiny was set even inside his mother's womb. Heir to wealth, noble manners and caretaker of the family reputation and legacy. During torture it's not the pain that breaks a man, it's immense pressure. And Jake couldn't handle any more pressure. Instead, he sought the opposite of fine dining and maids. He left the grid and ended up with a forest as the closest neighbor. A self-made outsider, Jake understands nature. He's not there to tame something - rather him becoming feral. Remove the brutal Killers that seek out blood to drain and Jake would feel just at home. No Wi-Fi. No Fortune-500 companies. No father nor mother. Years away from modern life has given Jake a new feel for problems. Pain is just an obstacle that hinders you from getting fed. No matter what is hunting you, you need to stay one step ahead. Struggle, blend in, adapt. Just don't make it easy for others to erase you from the Earth's surface.

The red-headed girl making me want a Wendy's burger by just looking at her is Meg Thomas, an energetic athlete and possessing an orange soul. Perhaps it was her mother that had instilled the fierce streak in her or maybe it was her father that left them when she was a baby. Meg excelled at schoolwork but she was off the rails. Fortunately, an athletics coach encouraged her to channel her misspent energy on the track. She motivated herself into becoming a high school star and earned a scholarship to college. When her mother fell ill, Meg decided to give up her chance at college to care for the woman who had raised her. One summer's day, on a long run deep in the woods, Meg vanished. Search as they did, they never found her body. Meg is one of those who is just simply filled with energy. Unfocused and uncontrollable energy that had to come out. As a kid, it came through rowdiness and rebellion. Someone had to focus Meg before something went wrong. Fortunately, someone did. She started to run. Maybe from something undefined that fueled her energy. So to run equaled life. But to run now might attract those beings that crave the pain of others. But as she runs from something, instead of towards it, she understands something. She understands that speed is not of the essence. It's reaching that finish line. Rather last but still breathing. She deludes whatever is out there as she glides through obstacles and fear, thus managing to stay alive.

A man with an old flattop haircut is Adam Francis, a resourceful teacher and possessing a purple soul. Adam was born in Rollington Town in Kingston, Jamaica. His father died in a car accident when he was two, and his uncle took him in. His uncle was a strict, but fair man, who raised him to value education. At Kingston College, Adam discovered his father's published works, which triggered his passion for literature. His campus, however, was known for its focus on athletics. As a shy teenager with his nose stuck in books, he was the perfect prey for bullies. What he lacked in sports, he made up in grit. He learned to defend himself in the thick of it. It's during his years in college that he started to imagine his life elsewhere. While his close friends orbited the music industry, he followed a surer path. His grades granted him admission to higher education, and there was a demand for teachers abroad. After graduating from university, he taught extra classes to afford applying fees overseas. He had a steady diet of long commutes, grading piles, nightly lesson plans, and early classes. After a year, he managed to apply for a position abroad. His first plane ride took him to Southern Japan for a new start. His life in Kagoshima was hectic. There was little time to do everything he took for granted back home. His Japanese was elementary at best, which slowed him down. Buying groceries took hours, long commutes had to be planned, and lesson plans relied on Japanese notions, which he had to learn. But after a few months, he found his rhythm. He reflected on it one morning while riding the train to work. He no longer had to study the Kanji characters filling the map. He knew his way. His language skills had improved, he felt connected to his students, and he'd treat himself to luxurious restaurants on weekends. He even had his first vacation planned. Within seconds, Adam's world was brought down to slow motion. Rails hissed, bags came pouring down, and the floor trembled before the hit: Adam crashed forward as the train flipped upside down. He landed on a windowpane as an unhinged door came flying at a passenger. He rolled over so that the door would hit him instead of the girl. He shut his eyes as he braced for impact, but nothing happened. He squinted one eye open and he saw nothing but darkness. A heavy Fog had taken over the train. Ice seemed to flow through his body, reaching his lips first, then the tip of his fingers before spreading to his legs. Lulled by the warm hum of the dark whisper, he closed his eyes, drifting. No one truly knows what happened to Adam Francis. The school teachers imagined the worst when they watched the train derailment on the news and saw he was missing. Their fears seemed to be confirmed when Adam's bag was recovered from the crash site, but his body was never found. To this day, his uncle believes that Adam took off after the train crash, alive still, somewhere out there.

The quite gal staring off into the brush is Claudette Morel, a studious botanist and possesses a green soul. From the day that her parents gave Claudette her first science kit, she loved experiments. Her single-minded pursuit lead to an early scholarship at a great college. It was a huge decision to leave Montreal, but the chance was too good to pass up. Her introverted nature means that chat rooms and forums are now her best source of social interaction. Her new favorite activity is to answer botany questions for others under her new moniker of Science Girl. One evening, during a long bus ride back from the city, Claudette took a stroll that would change her life. It only took a minute for her to get completely disoriented in the thick woods. She never found her way back. Her forum only started to wonder where she was a week after she stopped posting. Claudette is not the outgoing type. Her brilliance provided her with a social handicap and she has fled the real world for chat rooms and forums. Botany and studies fill her life and even though she yearns for something else - it won't come via a modem. Being thrown into a real-life situation can feel awkward and forced. But as she is used to shutting out the world, she suddenly finds hope in this unexplained darkness that is slowly devouring her. A plant. A tree. A bush. Simple greenery that might save a life. She hides within and amongst them. Her knowledge and skills flourish as gruesomeness roams free around her.

The sleazy man that appears to be taken from a shitty casino is Ace Visconti, lucky gambler and possesses a cyan soul. Ace Visconti is one charming guy. With his sharp Italian looks, grey-streaked hair and silver tongue, he could pass for an aging 50's movies star. His heart has always belonged to the cards. From his roots as a poor boy in Argentina, he gambled, scammed, seduced and smooth-talked his way to a life of luxury as a high roller in the land of opportunity. Despite money always having a way of slipping through his fingers, Ace always figured he could win more. He never fulfilled that ambition; eventually, he racked up too many debts with the wrong kind of people. And when they finally came to collect, Ace was nowhere to be found. No one knew who tipped him off or where he fled to, but anyone who knew Ace Visconti can agree on one thing. He will survive: against all odds.

The ray of sunshine woman strumming softly on a guitar is Kate Denson, a hopeful songbird and possessing a green soul. One of Kate Denson's earliest memories was standing in front of her family, singing a song that she'd learned that morning at school, and watching smiles spread across their faces. Seeing how something as simple as a song could make people so happy was the moment when she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She practiced, learned the guitar as soon as she was big enough to reach over it, and was performing in front of crowds by the time she was eight years old. Her mother did everything she could to fulfill Kate's dreams, taking her all over their home state of Pennsylvania, then across the South, and even to Nashville itself. Kate won folk music competitions and talent shows whenever she participated, but for her to win others had to lose, and that wasn't in her nature. She only wanted an outlet, a way to touch people's lives. To make them forget the worries of the world and just enjoy themselves, if only for a while. With age came new-found freedom. She bought a battered old Chevy truck and was able to travel around by herself, meeting fans and making new friends wherever she stopped. Hers wasn't a story of rock excess though: just the road, her guitar and maybe a good bourbon to end the day. From sun-baked festivals to dark and cozy bars, people flocked to her voice and her self-penned songs of friendship, family, love, and home. These sentiments weren't just lip-service: she made sure to return home as often as she could, to help out in her community and entertain the local children with her tales of the wider world. She saw it as a way of giving back, of supporting others in the same way she had been. It was home where she found most of her inspiration as well. She had always loved to take long walks in the woods around her town, exploring off the beaten track, finding a quiet spot to play and write her songs. She had a favorite location she returned to time and time again, a natural hollow, encircled by trees, that looked almost as if it had been blasted out of the rocks thousands of years ago. Here she felt a strong connection to nature, and to the Earth itself. She let her mind be enveloped by the forest and it rewarded her with constant inspiration. She picked up her guitar and played, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. The music that she made this time was unlike her usual uplifting tunes, being much more melancholy, even dark. Still, something compelled her to continue, to finish the song. Around her, the leaves vibrated in unison with the guitar strings and the boughs of the trees lengthened, coalescing into a living form. Spider-like legs descended from the canopy above, grasping for her. Regaining her senses, she grabbed a rock and tried to beat them back, but their skin was as hard as iron and the rock simply bounced off and skittered away. The legs coiled like tendrils around her limbs and lifted her towards the darkness overhead. Fog rolled across the clearing, obscuring both Kate and the creature of nightmares that drew her up towards itself. When the fog cleared, there was no sign of any struggle, or life. Just an acoustic guitar, the scratchplate engraved with flowers; as well as the initials KD, inlaid in mother of pearl.

Another keeps to themselves type is Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen, a quiet artist and possessing a green soul. Jeff Johansen was born and raised in Ormond, Alberta. He grew up as a quiet, only child with an aversion for large crowds. During High School, his anxious nature was mislabeled as shyness, which he covered up with a tough, stoic persona that intimidated bullies and teachers alike. At home, he discovered an interest in heavy metal and started a vinyl collection. The evocative symbolism on the covers inspired him to make some art of his own, which helped him cope with his parents' constant fighting. To escape his parent's increasingly recurrent blow-ups, Jeff started working at a video store. Few customers passed by, so he had a lot of free time to draw. A late-night regular noticed his sketches and asked him to do some artwork for his gang at the abandoned lodge up Mount Ormond. Jeff accepted the challenge and painted a large mural depicting "The Legion" in runny, bloody letters. He was given a fifty-dollar bill and a 12-pack for his hard work. It was his first paid commission, a milestone to be proud of. After his parents' divorce, Jeff was forced to move with his mother to Winkler, Manitoba, which was miles away from his home town—and his dad. In Winkler, Jeff was more isolated than ever, except for art and music. His solace came shortly after graduating from High School when he started working at a local bar with live music performances. He found a roadie gig shortly after, leaving Winkler behind. A few years later, Jeff got injured after getting involved in a fight during a concert. He was told he could lose part of his eyesight, so his doctor asked him to stay in town to monitor him. It was a difficult time during which Jeff re-assessed his life choices. He went back to school—art school. His eyesight slowly returned, but he had to be careful. He took a few courses, experimenting with a wide range of mediums, ultimately choosing oil painting and digital art, the latter of which offered paid internships. He took up a desk job and found his calling in designing labels for microbreweries. He led a quiet, simple life: he brewed beer, took-in a rescue dog, designed tattoos, and freelanced album covers for bands he liked. All until one morning, when he got a phone call from Ormond saying that his father had passed, leaving a few things to sort out. Jeff drove back to Ormond. He felt a pang of nostalgia when he reached his late father's house. Inside, there was an old guitar case sitting in against the wall. It held a black, vintage model with a sticky note that said, "for my boy." He stayed in town longer than he planned to, reminiscing about his childhood. Driving by his former High School, he remembered the mural he painted up Mount Ormond. He bought a 12-pack and headed to the lodge. After weeks of not hearing back from Jeff, his colleagues assumed that grief had gotten the better of him. His neighbor got tired of sitting his dog, which became more and more agitated as days went by. The dog became a stray again, erring while seeking the familiar trail of Jeff's malty scent.

The on her guard woman in a team outfit is Feng Min, a focused competitor and possessing a red soul. Feng Min was a young girl when she first picked up computer games, and she was instantly hooked. The brand new worlds enchanted her with colors, sounds, and explosions – a chance to be somewhere else, or someone else. Her parents saw no wrong with a few minutes in front of the screen, but as minutes turned into hours and sometimes days, they finally decided to pull the plug and force Feng Min to put more efforts into her studies. She felt smothered by her parents who refused to see the potential of a future in games, so she left home and spent her time in internet cafés and LAN parties where the old rules didn't apply. She spent hours playing, streaming, competing to rise to the top. Her parents became what she called "holiday parents" as she never saw them outside the holidays, and she became the black sheep of a one-child-family. In the gaming world, however, she finally found respect. Nicknamed the "Shining Lion," she was invited to join a prestigious e-sports team and to live in their dorms, where she found a sanctuary free of the misconceptions and prejudice she had felt from her parents and the non-gaming world. Feng Min pushed her limits to prove she was the best. Sleep was less important to her than training. At the top of her game, she filled stadiums with fans who adored her. But it couldn't last forever; The pressure to be the best grew stronger and stronger. She pushed herself too far, slept too little, and her performance began to slip. She started to lose. At night, she would stay up, tormented by the thought of disappointing her parents...and her fans. She spiraled out of control and fell into a pattern of self-destruction. She started wandering the streets and visiting bars, where no one knew of e-sports, waking up in places she didn't remember. One day she woke up somewhere completely different...in a never-ending nightmare. Feng Min did not despair – as she learned more about the challenge she was up against, she realized this was what she had been training for her entire life. Now, she was going to win.

The man making flirty eyes at me is David King, a rugged scrapper and possessing an orange soul. The single child of a wealthy family, David King seemed destined for greatness. While growing up in Manchester, he demonstrated serious potential in both sports and academics, and with his family connections, all doors were open to him. He could have succeeded at anything if it weren't for his combative nature. David lived for the adrenaline rush of a good fight and would go out of his way to get into one. His robustness and athletic abilities led him to rugby, where he could cut loose and cause a ruckus. King excelled and gained a reputation as a promising, if somewhat reckless, rookie. His meteoric rise came to an abrupt end when he lost his temper and assaulted a referee, earning himself a lifetime ban from the league and cutting short what most people assumed was going to be a long, successful career. King was unconcerned; money was no issue, so he took it as early retirement and focused on other fun things to do. Free from the constraints of career and enabled by the wealth of his family, David King spent most of his time at the pub, drinking, watching games, and getting into fights. Some might say he was wasting his life away. Not many people knew that he was an occasional "debt collector" or that he fought in clandestine bare-knuckle fight clubs. When David King stopped showing up at the pub, the few friends he still had were not surprised. They figured he had finally picked a fight with someone stronger than he was. In a way, they were right.

The last of the women is Jane Romero, an influential celebrity and possesses a red soul. Jane Romero was the daughter of the famous actress, Loretta Lawrence, of whom she had no memory. Her parents had separated when she was still a baby, mainly since her mother was often away filming. Jane was raised by her father, a struggling visual artist. She grew up torn between resenting her mother's absence from her life and admiring her presence on screen. As a teenager, Jane secretly wished to emulate her mother's talent. She would direct and perform in plays, audition for TV commercials and help her father at his studio. During her senior year, she entered a national oratory contest and won first prize. Her performance attracted the attention of a radio station that contacted her for an interview. During the live show, her natural charm and repartee impressed the staff, who offered her a part-time job at the station. After graduating from college in Communication, she quit her job at the station to work for a trendy variety show. But her frank delivery and ad-libs were not appreciated by the show's executives, who fired her after five months. Desperate for another opportunity, Jane pitched a show at the radio station she used to work at, only to be turned down, her proposal being too risky. Four months later, she received a phone call from a producer who had seen reruns of the show. He was looking for a co-host to spark up the failing show Quick Talk. Live television meant long hours, a low salary, and no stability, but it also offered a platform to broadcast her views. She disputed the crude inflammatory tone of Quick Talk and pushed for a relate-able coverage of personal issues. Her honest delivery resonated with her audience and within weeks, the show's viewership was steadily growing. After two years, she launched a full-hour segment called The Jane Romero Show, which was broadcast nationally and covered tabooed topics, including her struggle with abandonment. Her show broke records and her initials J. R. became synonymous with products ranging from beauty creams to fashion accessories. But Jane needed more; she wanted others to follow her in her footsteps. She published a memoir that covered her childhood with an absent mother. Her book was an instant best-seller but was reviewed harshly. Critics called it "a serving of sad anecdotes seasoned with bland, generic self-help tips." Jane took this criticism to heart since, despite her success, a voice in the back of her mind was starting to doubt her achievements. Her success also generated an increasingly demanding schedule and a growing pressure to entertain constantly. During a particularly tense week, she canned an episode and instead launched a two-hour-long special on divorce. Her stress peaked when she learned that her mother had agreed to star in her show. Jane put on a brave face and began the show. Most of it went without a hitch, but her mother walked on set, smiling warmly at the audience, Jane's stomach lurched unpleasantly. She was consumed by violent envy that had been festering. Yet she carried on with a strained smile, until Loretta interrupted her, saying that they were not related. The interview went haywire after that. After the show, Jane was driving to her father's house in New Jersey. She needed to talk things over with him; she had not been feeling like herself lately. She turned on a free-way along the coast to avoid major congestion and popped some painkillers to numb the throbbing pain in her temples, which had been nagging her all day. Then she started to relax and turned on the radio; classical music was playing. The drive was slow. Black ice covered the highway, which was packed with cars on their way back home. Night fell. A darkness began to blur the corners of her vision and turned the headlights into swirls of red. Jane blinked to sharpen their outlines, but each time she closed her eyes, her eyelids became heavier and heavier until they remained shut for a moment too long. The following morning, authorities were fishing out Jane's car from the water. Despite leading a meticulous search for weeks, they were unable to retrieve her body. The airing and production of The Jane Romero Show was suspended until after her funeral, which both her father and mother attended. As the public grieved for Jane, there was a surge of orders for J. R. products and all her episodes were re-released a month later, with an opening credit that wished her eternal peace.

And lastly for the men is Ashley "Ash" Joanna Williams, an alone wolf and possesses a blue soul. During a weekend at a cabin with friends, Ash Williams uncovered the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis (The Book of the Dead) and awoke something dark in the woods. Evil possessed his friends, whom he was forced to kill, and his right hand, which he sawed off. For the next thirty years, Ash ran from his past, working at a Value Stop department store and seducing women in dive bars. But he screwed up one night while being high when he read from the Necronomicon to impress a woman. Evil found him once more, wrecking the life of those around him. But his co-workers, Pablo who was raised by a shaman and Kelly who was orphaned by the Deadites, helped him put up a fight. While battling Evil, Ash was reunited with his long-lost daughter Brandy, who encouraged him to embrace his role as savior of humanity. After a terrible fight with a fully formed demon, Ash, drawing his last breath, was taken by the Knights of Sumeria and transported into the future. Ash wakened to a voice, his head throbbing. Since defeating a gang of Deadites a weak ago, he had been in a perpetual state of hangover. He heard the voice once more; a woman singing, sensual and inviting. Stepping into the corridor in his boxers, he strode towards the voice, which lead to the public locker room. As Ash pushed open the door, the singing stopped. There was a rustling of curtains. He called out, entering the change room. His voice reverberated off the moldy tile walls. He pressed on, reaching a shower that was still dripping wet. Cold, humid fingers ran down his bareback. He turned around. A woman stood naked, her skin glistening in the morning light that streamed in from high windows. Ash recognized her instantly: Linda Emery, one of his former high school flings. They had gotten back together years later while saving their home town from Evil. He had ended their relationship soon afterward, preferring to indulge freely in his new-found popularity. Linda winked at Ash, who closed the distance between them. He caressed her cheek wistfully: What was she doing here? Did she know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter? And Pablo and Kelly? A sharp blade dug into his hand, making him jump back. Linda slid a finger across the edge of her blade, collecting Ash's blood on her fingertip. She smiled, and her skin shriveled, her hair faded, her shoulders stopped, and her curves sagged, aging decades older in a matter of seconds. She attacked Ash, who poorly managed to block, being half-naked. Every blow she delivered earned him a new wound. She slashed his bad knee and he fell to the floor. As she jumped on top of him, Ash shrieked in disgust, knocking the knife out of her grasp. Her varicose hands wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Gasping, he outstretched his arm, hand landing on a soap dispenser. He spurted out some liquid on his fingers and poked her in the eyes. The elderly woman winced, weakening her hold, and Ash elbowed her in the face, knocking her back. He rolled over and grabbed the knife on the floor. Just as he was about to plant it in her chest, he stopped. There was something else he wanted more. He pressed the blade against her throat. Let's make a deal, demon. In exchange for not killing you, you portal me back to my friends. The demon agreed. She began reciting the incantation, instructing Ash to repeat after her, which he failed to manage. When nothing happened, Ash threatened the demon, who argued back, blaming his poor pronunciation. Their combined exchange of Sumerian words triggered a hiss from the shower behind them. The wet tiled floor darkened, and the pipes burst. A whirlpool of dirty water, shower curtains, and used toilet paper swallowed the demon, while Ash held onto a locker door, which slowly slipped from his fingers. FFFUUUC- ...Ash landed flat on his chest in the Realm of The Entity, sputtering grass. He got up, brushing off the dry clothes he suddenly had on. Then he looked around and his grin fell. It was the kind of place that made two things obvious: one, there wasn't any bar for miles, and two, he was going to need his shotgun and chainsaw, both of which he lacked. As he started to walk towards a glinting light ahead, a scream rippled through the trees. Groovy.

As for me? By comparison, I feel a sense of relating to some and others I just can't get a feel for. Mostly because we nearly all come from different points in time that makes no sense to each other, aka Bill and Ash. Bill comes from a zombie-filled time and Ash a demonic one. So add alternate timelines to the fucked up mess of things. Other than that we all seem to have the unfortunate thing in common of going to areas where we shouldn't have to wind up here. My role and soul have yet to be determined due to just arriving. Only after a trial are these things discovered. Though they tell me there is some time before the next trial starts. Seems when the Entity drops in a new survivor, it gives them a chance to get their bearings before sending them off to die. Apparently, it doesn't do that with the killers which have lead to random encounters and sudden deaths of unsuspecting survivors. Though from what Jake tells me, even though the killers brought here have done terrible things, not all of them easily bow to the Entity's will. The Killers are made to do the Entity's bidding, which is to relentlessly hunt and kill the Survivors. Many Killers do not do so willingly, although some are happy to sate their Bloodlust. Some have to be tortured over endless years to be coerced into doing what The Entity wants. The Entity is ever patient and the torture ever more severe. Eventually, they all cave in and start the hunt for the Entity. To mold these unwilling ones even further and strengthen the willing, the Entity has embedded its power into them, changing them to beasts that are no longer human. The killers are monsters, both figuratively and literally. For successfully sacrificing to their master, the best Killers are granted the sweetest reward of being able to slaughter Survivors on the spot without hooks. Either way, everyone on both sides loses and only the Entity wins.

Suddenly there's a deathly chill in the air. The tops of the trees sway in the opposite direction. And the fog thickens to the point the glow of the fire reflects off of it. My puzzlement grows when four of the group (Nea, Jeff, Bill, and Feng) stand up and become engulfed in black smoke, disappearing from the camp without a trace.

"They've been called out to trial, Luv."

David voices as he plops himself down beside me.

"No worries though. They'll be back. Though if those soddin' monsters hook'em up, they'll be takin' a bit longer."

"Why?"

"Because they'll be fed on by the Entity."

Meg states.

"It takes its time to feed and restore our bodies. We take a lot of damage in trials. Stuff you shouldn't live through. Not even Claudette's healing skills can fix everything like the Entity."

"But don't let that bug ya, Luv. Even if we die, we never die. Think of it as a fucked-up version of immortality."

I look into the fire and smirk.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die."

My words make Ash flinch.

"Whoa...That sounds familiar. And by familiar, I mean, sounds like some Necronomicon type shit."

"It's a quote from an H. P. Lovecraft book. He wrote a lot about Elder Gods, demons, and messed up stuff from other dimensions. Heh...Kinda fitting considering this whole thing."

He shakes his head and waves off with his metal hand. The hell kind of prosthetic is that?

"If you have more questions, you don't have to hold back. It's best for all of us to have a full understanding."

Laurie interjects.

"Well...I know you said the killers sometimes roam the woods but is that a permanent thing? Like, is that where they live?"

David scoffs a laugh.

"Oh, that's fuckin' cute."

"Don't be such an asshole."

Meg moves over solely just to punch his shoulder.

"What? It was cute."

The guy is ridiculous. Though I'm a cliché for digging his English accent.

"What he means is, no. The Entity picks the killers before it chooses survivors, but it lets the killers roam around to mess with us, maybe even pick which of us they want like lobsters at a restaurant. Though they can't come into the campsite. It's off-limits and the Entity prevents them from coming in."

"We found that out thanks to that twat, Nea. Damn bird kept tauntin' the monster till it got fed up and charged for all of us. All these black throne riddled vines encased the camp like a dome. And when they came down, the monster was gone."

"But while the killers do sometimes come to our forest, they don't live here. There are sixteen killers that we know of right now. They have territories that relate to them and they often choose to stay there. Some even sharing the area because the Entity put it's belonging there. Though it's those territories that we get sent to for the trials and sometimes it's not even that territories killer that hunts us."

"Agh...So much info-dumping. It's making my head hurt."

"Easy, Luv. We just have a little bit more to share."

I groan and give into this.

"Fine."

"There are twelve territories we've seen so far. These territories are pockets within The Entity, who constructs everything from itself except for the Killers and the Survivors. The Realms do not co-exist at all times but are rather created whenever needed. The location of the Campfire is also located within such a pocket. The Woods and Fog beyond the Trial grounds represent the boundaries of the pocket and are just a façade. The MacMillan Estate is home to the Trapper. The Blood Lodge around Autohaven Wreckers is where we guess the Wraith to live. Coldwind Farm is home to the Hillbilly but is shared with the Cannibal. The Nurse shares her home turf of the Crotus Prenn Asylum area with the Clown who stay in a carny's caravan around Father Campbell's Chapel. The Shape lives on Lampkin Lane, Haddonfield. In the Backwater Swamp there is the Hag and a shack called the Grim Pantry is where she resides. The Doctor can be found at Léry's Memorial Institute. The Huntress resides in the Mother's Dwelling and the Plague in the Temple of Purgation, both are found in the Red Forest. The Nightmare lives on Elm Street, Springwood. The Pig hides out in the Gideon Meat Plant. The Spirit is at her Family Residence of the Yamaoka Estate. The Legion is found in the Mount Ormond Resort. And Ghost Face...doesn't really have a place as far as we know."

"The narcissistic fucker likes to roam apparently. No one place is ever good enough for long."

"But even with all these zones just for them, there is one place they all have control of. The Killer Shack and it's Basement. Down there is a room of pure hell, the closest point to the Entity itself, what with all the freaky unnatural lights and sounds found there. It's packed with memories of endless suffering and torture. The smell of dried blood and bowels stays with you even after death."

"Huh...Maybe it was him out there then."

"You saw one?"

"Why else do you think I came literally crawling back? I'll admit that sometimes I can be crazy, but I'm far from insane. If I see something weird, I don't stick around like a dumbass in a horror movie."

"Clever girl..."

David's arm rests over my shoulders.

"If you're smart, keep your 'ead down, and can move fast, you should 'ave no trouble avoidin' those creeps."

I give him a funny look which has him looking back at me in playful confusion.

"What? What's with that face?"

"...You're lucky I have to save my energy for not being killed or that arm would be up your arse."

I use the British word for ass hoping it would make it sink in. It has the opposite effect, as he smirks.

"You got spunk, Luv. I like it. Nothin' more attractive than a woman that can kick some arse."

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Dude, I'm giving you ten seconds to back off before you find out just how spunky I can be."

"Is that a promise?"

I can hear the bones in my right-hand pop as it clenches into a fist. Though this is made for nothing as a hand on my shoulder keeps me just levelheaded enough to not punch David's teeth in. It's Quentin, and a simple shake of his head is all he needs to do to say so much. I sigh and stand up, walking towards the outskirts of the camp.

"And people wonder why I don't socialize."

Leaning on a tree that just barely stands within the glow of the fire, I hear the petty squabbling of a few of them berating David on his actions. Honestly, they're wasting their time. I don't blame David. Dude's honestly got a nice cut of jib. I'm just not used to having attention. Especially THAT kind of attention. It makes me feel awkward.

"Are you okay?"

Adam comes close but not very, wanting to stay in the light and not be so close to the forest.

"Yeah, I'm okay. No harm, no foul."

"Are you sure? You looked pretty upset."

"Why is it that when someone says that they're fine, the questioning party always repeats the same question again but in a different format?"

"I'm just trying to make sure..."

"I said I'm fine! I don't need to be babied!"

I can't stand this. There's too much pressure. Bad enough I'm in a huge group. Bad enough this whole Entity and killers bullshit. But I don't need someone thinking I need help or pity.

"Okay...You don't have to snap."

I growl at him and myself.

"Don't do that."

"Huh?"

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy. I told you I was fine and you kept at it like somehow my answer would change. I don't need this. Fuck this shit! I'm out!"

Fuck the danger. Fuck these people. Fuck everything! Nothing matters! I storm off into the woods, ignoring the shouting of warning, I just want to be alone and away from all this fuckery. So what if I run into a killer? Big whoop! They claim to die all the time by these monsters and they're still kicking. Bet the only inconvenience will be the pain. To quote a famous movie killer doll..."Go ahead and shoot! I'll be back! I ALWAYS come back! ...But dying is such a bitch". Geez...How long have I been walking now? If I keep going would I end up in a loop or possibly wind up in one of those other areas they told me? Why is it that all the cool stuff always happens when you have no means of recording it? Then again, who would I be recording for anyway? Wait...Is this really the direction of thought I'm having while all of THIS is happening? What the hell is wrong with me? I mean...

*CRUNCH*

Uh oh. That wasn't me. Maybe? Just to be certain, I won't move.

*CRUNCH*

Yeah, that wasn't me. Did someone follow me out here? No, they're too fearful to do something like that. I'm the idiot with a death wish.

*CRUNCH*

It's getting closer. Whatever it is. Damn fog. Can't see a thing it's so thick. Okay, keep calm. Don't panic. Just stay low to the ground and scurry into some shrubbery till it goes away. Then run like hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Is that...Is that my heart beating in my ears? Wow, that is clear. Also creepy as hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, really don't like how that's getting louder.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

What the fuck has my heart going nuts?! There is nothing out here! What kind of crazy bull...

*CLANG-CLANG*

Shit?

The sound of a bell tolls and a figure materializes from the shadows. A tall imposing thing now stands not far from my little hiding bush. This thing is draped in a faded black hooded tattered cloak smeared with ash or dust traces, it's face obscured from sight with only the tiny glow of white coming from its eyes, and bandage wrappings around the mid to lower torso region along with parts of both arms. On its waist are two pouches, one large on it's right and a smaller one on it's left. I can't see its legs but going off on how it walked I'd say this thing is barefooted. There's strange scarring on what I can see of its right arm, this arm also holding a very macabre and deadly weapon. What looks almost like an ax but made from the skull and attached spine of a human that has three wickedly sharp blades coming down from the teeth. Its left arm seems to have wire or ring-like bangles along the wrist, and in this hand it holds the source of the ringing. A heavy-looking cast iron bell that is also made of a human skull. I'm seeing a theme here.

"Tra la la. Come on out, little one..."

That voice...like a quiet garbled growl, as if it has a congested throat.

"You can not hide forever."

The hell I can't.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Man, that is getting old. Am I only hearing this because it's so close? Gee, that would be useful knowledge to have. Thanks, teammates! You spam me with all sort of crap about your lives and you leave out the essentials. I hate people.

*CRUNCH*

It stomps harshly into the ground and it makes me flinch, which makes the blush rustle faintly. Too bad for me that this slight rustle is enough for the creature to notice. A sudden red glow coats the ground in its line of sight and it covers the bush I'm currently in.

"Found you. Tra la la."

My choices for moves at the moment are limited and time-based. I have to pick something. Instinct and pure randomness kick in. Making me pull one of the weirdest moves out of my zany bag of tricks.

"*sheep bleats*"

Arguably not the smartest sound to make but the effect is what I was praying for. This odd sound coming out of a bush confuses this killer. This momentary mind fuck is just the slight advantage I need, using its daze state to dash out of the shrub on all fours. This also adds a bit more confusion to the killer but not for long.

*CLANG-CLANG*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, still beating hard but not booming crazy like before. No doubt it's giving chase. Only things I don't know are how fast it can move, if it can flank me, and which way is camp. Best to serpentine as much as possible.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

It's settling down? Is it not following me? No! Don't be stupid. Don't slow down. Don't look back. Keep going forward and never stop.

*CLANG-CLANG*

The red glow suddenly flashes at my left side. I do my best to dodge out of the light's radius and I do manage to keep my vitals from harm. That, unfortunately, didn't mean I avoided the attack. No. While still in its reach, this creature took great aim and swung it's weapon down hard to stick its blades deep into my left leg's calf. The sound that escapes me becomes a haunting roar that makes the forest even more spooky than it already is. I skid across the ground into a tree, a trail of crimson highlighting my path, the weapon of my crippling still jammed in my flesh and possibly bone.

"Poor little lamb..."

Please don't rub salt in this wound by gloating.

"You should've stayed in the corral with the rest of the herd. Tra la la."

Don't do something stupid brain. For the love of God, do not do something stupid because you're distracted by that somewhat adorable speech tick it has.

"*wincing* I can't help...that I'm sheepish."

Okay, that wasn't doing something stupid. That was saying something stupid. Good job. You found a loophole. This stupidity puzzles the killer. I know I'd be questioning so much if I was in its place.

"You are a strange one. Tra la la."

I meekly shrug.

"*wincing* I prefer...quirky. *whimpering chuckle* Oooh...fuck that stings!"

That gets it to snicker lightly as it approaches.

"Quirky? Heh...I suppose that is more fitting for an oddity such as you."

I can't move. I mean, I probably can, I still have three working limbs. But I can't make myself move. Its aura is smothering enough to hold me down. So when it reaches for the ax handle I nearly bite my tongue off to keep under control for when those blades are yanked haphazardly out of me. Though my attempt is a failing one. Another eerie wail cries out of me and into the forest as more blood is spilled.

"Such odd sounds you make, little one. But a refreshing change none the less. Tra la la."

Thank you I guess? Honestly, I can't tell if it's complimenting me or dicking around. Either way I'm in too much pain to care and I'm fairly sure the bone in my calf is broken.

"Till we meet again."

For a moment I swear it was going to leave. To spare me this one freaky encounter since this wasn't a real hunt. But that is wishful thinking on the hopeful part of my soul. For these monsters aren't called KILLERS for no reason. In that fraction of a second where my hope had spiked, I fail to take note of the dark whispers in the wind and the violent swinging of the ax to my back. The first strike alone paralyzes me as it's a direct blow to the spine. Blood splattering in a vicious burst across me, the area, and it. The next three are just overkill and break my body's necessary connections to keep it going. Regrettably, I'm still alive. Bodily functions are coming to a slow stop and I'm bleeding out rabidly, yet I'm still very aware of all of it.

"Maybe next time you will remain in your pen like a good little lamb. There are wolves about. Tra la la. It would be a shame to see such innocence strewn about like a gutted corpse on a hook."

I want to say something. Anything. But all that leaves my mouth is blood that is flowing out of my deflated lungs.

"Tra la la. Let this be a lesson, little one. Learn it well."

My unblinking eyes lay their sight on that dripping ax once more as it's lifted high and comes crashing down like a merciful gift to my skull. Because all pain stopped the second darkness takes me.

[The Entity is pleased! The meat. It bleeds. Wiggle, little worm. Wiggle. Do not waste precious time! Find others! Quickly! Kill more meat! Catch meat. Sacrifice meat. Appease The Entity. Do not let the light in!]

I bolt upright with a sharp gasping breath. A cold sweat coats my skin and my heart is pounding a million miles a minute. I don't get the chance to question if any of that was real, for the first thing my eyes see is the campfire and then the people around it giving me weird looks. All seventeen are there now so I guess the trial ended. I instinctively feel around for damage I know happened but find none. There's no ripping of my clothing or even a drop of blood staining it. It's like...nothing happened. The only odd thing, the thing they're all looking at me funny for, is my exposed soul. It's not a single color like theirs. Hell, it's not double, triple, or even a handful of colors. This heart-shaped soul floating out of my chest is a fucking rainbow of ten, yes, ten colors all sloshing about in a torrent of colliding waves. Black, purple, blue, cyan, green, yellow, orange, red, pink, and white. Three of these colors I don't think they've ever seen before. Not liking their staring, plus this soul exposure makes me feel naked, I force the heart back inside my body and react as one might do in such a situation.

"The fuck are you looking at?!"

That bark gets a good chunk of them to turn away. Yet some don't and one has more balls than the rest to come near me...David.

"You don't look so good, Luv. Did one of the monsters moris ya?"

I'm sorry, Brit boy say what now?

"Come again?"

"Memento Moris. It's the killer's ability to kill Survivors while skippin' the whole stick you on a 'ook thin'. A neat little trick they don't often get to do."

"Oh...Yeah. That happened. Not sure if how far I got or if you lot heard me at all."

"We didn't 'ear any screams. But we did 'ear some messed up shit. Was that the killer doin' all that?"

Alright, that makes me laugh. They thought that was a killer? Can't blame them. I don't make human sounds when in pain. My amusement puzzles him and even more so when I pat the spot next to me, giving him the okay to join me. He does so but cautiously.

"What's so funny?"

"Those sounds you heard...*giggles* That was me."

The "what the fuck" look he gets is priceless.

"You? You made those monster noises?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit."

"Dude, why would I lie about that?"

"I...How?"

"I don't know how to scream."

"...Okay, now I know you're fuckin' with me."

"Dude, I literally woke up here growling and snarling like a beast. Are you sure I'm yanking your chain?"

He ponders this a moment.

"I guess not. Still a bit nuts though."

"And what isn't in this place?"

"Good point, Luv."

Maybe David isn't so bad in small doses. At least now he isn't being a flirty douche and I can take note of the two tattoos he has. One is behind his left ear of a Rose and the other is on his right forearm of a Lion. From what he spoke of in his past, that rose is from his Rugby Union Jerseys.

"So...Which of them freaks was it that did ya in?"

"The hell would I know? You were all so busy tell me your life's stories that you didn't give me info on the killers other than names and territories. Which, by the way, thanks for that. Real fucking helpful."

He chuckles as I glare. Though it doesn't hold much attitude when he pats my head apologetically.

"Sorry, Luv. But to be fair, we didn't expect ya to run off a second time."

"Yeah yeah. Excuses excuses."

"If it 'elps, I'll make it up to ya."

This shouldn't get to me but does get me curious.

"How?"

"If we get paired up on a team for a trial, 'ow about I watch your back?"

I shoot him a look.

"What?"

"You're just going to check out my ass the whole time."

That catches him off guard and he laughs loudly.

"Oh man...I fuckin' love it..."

"Come on, you know you totally would, Mr. English ball buster."

It takes him a bit to settle down. Though when he does, he pulls me into a playful headlock and nugies me.

"Not gonna lie, Luv, I would. The tail around 'ere ain't really fair game. I mean, all but one or two of you birds aren't of jail bait standards. Little Laurie is only seventeen. The oldest one is Jane but that duck ain't my type. Everyone else falls somewhere low but older than Laurie. It's a real minefield."

I feel like lying about my age would be a smart move on my part. Too bad I already gave that detail out when we did our whole "hi, my name is" thing. Curse being 32.

"You, on the other 'and, I like."

I'm starting to think I had it easier with the monster in the woods.

"Now spill it, Luv. What did this monster look like?"

He stops the nugies and I growl at the rat nest he made out of my head. That's going to be a bitch to fix.

"I couldn't see its face. Just the eyes. Though if it helps with knowing what it was, it had a bell."

He nods with recognition.

"Ah. The Wraith. Soddin' tosser can go invisible with that bell. Can't attack though till it's visible again. But it's much faster while 'idden."

"Again, really could've used that info before. Explains how it caught up to me so fast."

"And again, we didn't expect ya to leave."

"Well, now you know. And knowing is half the battle."

"G.I. Joe is still a thing in 2019?"

Laurie chirps.

"If you think that's weird, so is Cabbage Patch Kids dolls."

She gets this look that says "why" very clearly.

"How?"

"Some things just can't die no matter how much time passes."

That innocent yet ominous statement sets a chilling mood. The others keep away from me for now, only speaking to me if needed. David remains with me and aside from a few random blunt flirts here or there, his willingness to chat gives me a little more details on this bunch. Laurie and Quentin are the same age, making them the youngest ones here. Bill, even though he's been pulled from 2009, is the oldest here at the ripe age of 80. No clue how he's so damn spry for that age and managed through a freaking zombie apocalypse. In second place is Ace at 63, followed by Detective David at 58, and Ash at 57. David swears that Jane is in her 60s, yet she looks to be in her 30s, but it's always hard to tell how old a person is in the entertainment industry. They seem to defy aging...just like Madonna. Everyone else is all scattered between 19 and 40. It makes me think. I mean, I get why some of them are here. They went somewhere that was tied to a killer in some way or were with the killer when they too were picked by the Entity. But some of them...Why are they here? Were they pulled in because of crazy strong wills? Did the Entity taste something it liked and was like "sure I'll take that"? God, I have so many questions and I doubt I'll ever be able to even begin to scratch the surface for answers. There is however two questions I don't want answered...When will my first trial start and who'll be the killer?

[Elsewhere: Killer Shack]

*CLANG-CLANG*

"Tra la la. Meeting will come to order."

Wraith materializes and gets the other killers attention.

"Ah, so I was thinking...Tra la la...If we all stop wiping and griping and looking at our weapons after we hit one of those little squirts. We'd probably kill them a lot faster. What does everyone think? Tra la la."

The fifteen other monsters make sounds of agreement.

"Any questions?"

A hand is raised by the Huntress.

"Is it true that a new punk has been brought here?"

Wraith nods.

"Yes, dear. As some of you may have felt, the Entity has brought in a new Survivor. Tra la la. One that I have had the pleasure of finding in the woods outside of the campfire."

"A new human, you say?"

Ghost Face toys with his knife.

"Tell us, darling, what manner of prey are we getting to enjoy this time?"

"A new female has been added to the group. Tra la la."

"Heh...Another bitch that needs to be put down like the rest of the dogs."

Nightmare says with a menacing grin.

"I am not so sure she will be as easy as you think."

That gets some notice.

"AND WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

Trapper, understandably, questions.

"Do not toy around with riddles, friend."

The Nurse makes a good point.

"Just tell us what you know already, bellhop. Some of us have kills to be ready for."

However, Hillbilly is more blunt about it.

"Very well. Tra la la. While I did kill her, she was not without some odd tricks. She did not act like the other humans. Nor did she move like them either. Tra la la. If it weren't for her inexperience, I most likely wouldn't have caught her."

"Sounds more like you're losing your edge. *coughs*"

The Clown interjects between hacking fits.

"There is more. This human also is in possession of a very...how to put it...perplexing soul. Tra la la."

Interest is now at its maximum level.

"hag wants learn. hag learn ALL THINs!"

Hag, for the better part of it's effort, is eager to learn.

"Upon killing her, I managed to glimpse her soul before the Entity could take her away. This soul is unlike any I've seen before. Tra la la. It had multiple colors."

This gets some chuckling out of the Legion.

"heheheh...really trying to hype up this girl, aren't you?"

Wraith shrugs.

"I am merely informing you of what I know. Tra la la. Do with this knowledge what you will."

"then in that case, i choose to call dibs on the new meat."

The others voice out in disapproval.

"🕈☟✌❄ ☝✋✞☜💧 ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟☜ ☼✋☝☟❄ ❄⚐ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✡⚐🕆 👍✌☠ ☺🕆💧❄ 👍✌☹☹ 👎✋👌💧✍" (WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO THINK YOU CAN JUST CALL DIBS?)

The Doctor asserts his authority.

"..."

The Shape is very displeased.

"Deary, as much as that tough act is cute, there is a pecking order. Newer killers like us can't claim things willy nilly."

The Plague seems to know her place or just doesn't care.

"screw the rules. i have numbers."

"*snarls*"

Cannibal grips his chainsaw tightly, ready to have it's blade feed on the nearest flesh it can touch.

"I-If you think y-you're good enough to have a s-shot at the new meat. M-Maybe you should p-prove it."

The Pig isn't very menacing when she speaks.

"If anyone should call dibs IT'S ME! I need TENSION! CONFLICT!"

Spirit twitches violently, it's body trying to keep itself together.

"the way i see it, this bull your calling me on is moot. everyone here is gonna vote for themselves to go after the new meat, that is obvious. but what you dorks fail to remember is i don't have just one vote. there are four of me. and last i checked, four beats out any of your ones."

The dirty looks given to Legion would be worth their weight in killing potential if looks could kill. Yet he shrugs this off with a cocky grin and tucks his hands into his pants pockets while heading for the stairs leaving the basement.

"welp...catch you guys later. i'm gonna see what's so special about this human. wait...scratch that...my human."

He mockingly laughs as he ascends the stairs and the remaining fifteen are all glaring at where Legion once was.

"Can we end the meeting on agreeing that the Legion is an arrogant prick? Tra la la."

The resounding agreement is unanimous.

"Very well. Tra la la. Meeting adjourned."

*CLANG-CLANG*

With that, Wraith vanishes and takes its leave along with the other killers. Returning to their areas to prepare for the coming trials. For soon they will be unleashed upon those poor unfortunate souls. And there will be much bloodshed, for some Survivors more than others.

Let me know what you think. And I'm so sorry for all the info-dumping in the beginning. I personally hate it but there's no other way to describe the Survivors. Now...Some of the Killers aren't set in stone yet, but here's the idea for each killer and the monster they are.

Trapper = Fell Papyrus Wraith = River Person (AU determined later) Hillbilly = Flowey (AU determined later) Nurse = Horror Toriel Shape = Undertale Grillby Hag = Horror Temmie Doctor = HorrorFell Gaster Huntress = Fell Undyne Cannibal = Asriel (AU determined later) Nightmare = Napstablook (AU determined later) Pig = HorrorFell Alphys Clown = Asgore (AU determined later) Spirit = Mad Mew Mew (AU determined later) Legion = Sans (tale,fell,swap,horror) Plague = Undertale Muffet Ghost Face = Fell Mettaton (Yes, I'm aware of two more killers coming soon, I'll plan them out when they appear)

Also, you may have noticed I didn't say Freddy Kruger during Quentin's backstory even though his game bio dose. There's a reason for it and it fits with the lore. Nightmare is Freddy, no doubt...Now you're picturing Napstablook as Freddy and it's fucking cute...But, thanks to the Entity, he doesn't remember that. During a Q&A with game creators, they were asked this question..."CAN THE KILLERS REMEMBER THEIR PAST?". They answered..."It depends on the profile of the killer. Some of them do. Some of them don't. And remember might not be the right word. Have access to... maybe." This means that even the willing killers can be altered by the Entity to make it easier for them to be used and kill for their master. So if the Entity can mess with the killer's memories, why not the Survivors? So I'm making it that none of the Survivors that knew a Killer before the Entity got them remembers that Killer's past identity. This makes them true monsters. I'll also be editing the Killers lore to match the monsters a bit better, Legion for one in the game is comprised of 4 souls (2 male, 2 female), but in this story, the 4 souls are all male (4 different Sans). Needless to say more, that needs some tweaking. Thanks for reading all this. Have a good day or night. Laters. ^_^

[lysandra-vanburen]

Fated Meeting

The following tale is written in the third person for maximum depth to the characters and their shared story. This tale has been written by the talented @itraeis  and myself!

The sun had slowly begun to set on the horizon of Kul'Tiras. The chill of the night air carried with it an unspoken whisper of fortune, the promise of change lingering in the atmosphere as the two unsuspecting nobles drew closer and closer.

What had essentially drew Lysandra nearer the Upton Borough bonfire lounge was unknown to her, alas the pull was irresistible and enticing. There was familiarity to the outdoor patio, and she couldn’t deny that it was one of her more favorite spots to linger for it provided a perfect meld of out-doorism and posh comfort, too it provided a fine mixture of fresh air but lavish luxury such as fine wines and, if desired, a meal provided by an ever cheerful staff.

Having finally gotten a little more accustomed to life here in Boralus, the young lordling Itraeis Holt decided to go for a walk about the Upton Borough. It was the closest thing to home he could think of, other nobles and wealthy individuals enjoying the evening air without a care in the world.

It was a few twists and turns later and the lad found Itraeis at an outdoor bonfire. It was a homely place complemented with comfortable couches and attendants serving drinks and hors d'oeuvre to the wealthy patrons. The area seemed rather quiet, only a few patrons scattered about. For now he'd keep quiet and enjoy a glass of wine on one of the couches as he casually eyed the other patrons in attendance.

Despite the exhaustion of her days worth of work weighing her body, Lysandra dared not to deny the universe it’s game. She followed her gut, her boots heels thumping against the cobblestone path as she moved through the dim street lights, her eyes lifted  skyward to marvel the beauty of the stars daring to peek out through the sunset’s fading lights.

Lysandra’s walk proved to be quick in unveiling intentions.

That same persistent breeze, which guided her, manifested once again -- carried from the seas -- and managed to  catch the particularly unsuspecting noblewoman mid walk. Her hat was completely snatched from her atop her head, allowing her long wavy brown-red hair to whip about in the breeze as she gasped out in horror. Her gloved hands clung to the scarf which, too, flung around her slender neck threatening to fly off just as her hat currently had, and too she held the opened flaps of her coat closed so as to protect her torso from the chill of the ocean air. "Damn!" Lysandra cussed, her slender features grief stricken as the black cap flung through piles of fallen, dead leaves and puddles of water left over from the previous rains. In the wake of the flying hat had a saggy and greying hound begun to bound after it with newfound vigor, barking loud enough to rattle even a passer by's ribs, his massive fangs glinting from beneath his massive jowls which -- quite like Lysandras scarf - bounced and flung about, wads of collected slobber flinging around carelessly.

It was hard for Itraeis not to notice the commotion of the greying dogs deceitful youth and the chorus of greeting nobles and attendants a like. A mildly amused Lysandra brought a hand to cover her nude lips, hiding her grin and muffling her giggle at the old dog's antics, momentarily impressed with the burst of youth that urged him to chase her surely mucky and dirty cap. She followed him closely, surely passing her most frequent hang out -- which would bring a handful of the regulars and the staff to raise their hands and express greeting toward 'Miss Vanburen' whom in return would raise a hand and wave in her relatively chipper attitude.

Looking around, it seemed Itraeis alone was the only one who didn't greet her when compared against everyone else.

Miss Vanburen he thought. That's the second time he'd heard that name in recent days. Though this woman seemed much more mature and proper than the one he had met before, not that he minded. Without warning a slobbering, soaked, dirt riddled and leaf-clinging cap would splat at the woman's black leather booties, bringing her golden eyes to drop down and inspect the heavily panting hound.

"...Good boy, Olaf," she confessed, bringing a hand down to pat the old man's head affectionately.

The Lord’s eyes darted down to the old, droopy-jowl canine companion. A short smirk and accompanying laugh as he watched the exchange. It had been some time since he'd even seen such a friendly dog. It was rather heart warming to watch the interaction.

His eyes lingered on the two for perhaps a bit longer than he would have intended.  But between the jovial dog and the lovely woman, it was hard to look away as he took another sip of his wine.

Huffing gently Lysandra squatted down to gather her cap between her forefinger and thumb, holding it out in show of her disgust whilst turning to enter the outdoor center. Instantly an attendant approached and, with a hearty laugh, retrieves the cap and exchanges it for a scotch glass of what she expressed to Lysandra, "Your regular, miss Vanburen.” Providing the helpful server a hearty smile the older Vanburen took up her cup of dark liquor and offered a final nod to answer her, followed by an exasperated, “Thank you."

It took mere seconds for Itraeis to become rather entranced with the woman. She seemed to have everything he had always desired, but always lacked. The attendants respected her so highly, they waited on her every word with out question. They did so with a smile even. The young lord could scarcely get his family's underlings to lift a finger at his command. All this woman need do was smile and they flocked to her.

Holding up the cap would prompt the staff woman to ask, "Shall I see this is taken to the cleaners?"

“Promptly, please,” Lysandra offered a nod in response, taking a moment to fish three gold coins from her pouch before offering it to the bright eyed servant. With this both women part ways, Lysandra moving toward the couches set up to face the warm bonfire placed in the small pit in the middle of the wall-less room. Before she sat Lysandra set her cup atop a table near her chosen couch to begin shedding the most unnecessary layers, her gloves and coat removed to exposed manicured hands and a dark olive green long sleeved fitted sweater hugging her average sized figure. Alas, while she was average her bosom was anything but, being just one size larger than typical for a woman her weight. Her hips and long legs were dressed in equally form fitting dark brown trousers.

Watching her undress only strengthened his interest. She undoubtedly wore her age well. Her mannerism, fashion, and -lets be honest- her bosom were all captivating to the mainland noble.

He had to talk to her. Downing his glass of wine, a shot of liquid courage, the young lord dared rise to his feet and begin his approach, maneuvering around of patrons and couches which stood between them.

Neatly, an unsuspecting Lysandara folded her coat and draped it over the arm of her couch, her tumbling brown locks falling over her slender shoulders now that she has settled atop the gentle cushion. "Mmh, come boy," she coos to her dog, the old man inching forward before slumping onto his belly at her feet, laying down and immediately falling into a deep sleep. Sound of mind a content Lysandra crossed her left leg over her right thigh, leaning heavily into the back of the couch whilst sipping her liquor.

Midst gingerly sipping from her cup the woman was, at best, entranced by the natural beauty of the dancing flames, her eyes twinkling with some unspoken thrill with the warmth it radiated and soaked upon her chilled flesh, warming her to the point that goosebumps would appear on her exposed skin. "Excuse me, Miss Vanburen, was it?"

From Lysandra’s legs Olaf stirred and perked his upper lip over his teeth in a growl, much too old to jolt upright and begin snapping at the man. So gentle rumbles worked. Upon being addressed, alas, Lysandra was torn from her day dreaming and left momentarily speechless after angling her head to see whom was begging her attention. What made her so breathless was, initially, the overall handsomeness of the gentleman. His youth was quite apparent with how lacking he was in the years of weight and trial baring upon his features, and for some reason she couldnt help but find that to be terribly appealing. She'd lower her cup wielding hand to rest atop her second hands wrist, both folded arms propped atop her left knee whilst flashing the Holt boy a startling bright grin, "Well," she hums, "Hello there, dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I don't mean to intrude," Itraeis replied, though that seemed as if it were more addressed to Olaf than Lysandra herself. But his eyes returned up to hers once more after his apology to the dog was made clear.

Momentarily the woman was most amused with the careful attempts to reassure her hound. Simply had she lowered a hand to comb against the grain of his shaggy black, white and brown fur, thus soothing the dog and assuring him that she wasn't in immediate danger. "My name is Lord Itraeis Holt of Duskwood," he introduced with a proper bow, "I'm rather new to Boralus, I'm one of the visiting nobles from Stormwind, and I couldn't help but notice you as you and your young hearted friend here came around. If it's not too forward of me to say, but you're quite captivating." In tandem with his words came the flash of his boyish smile; bright and white enough to match her own. He extended out his right hand in polite introduction for her to take should she so desire.

As Olaf's head sunk low to rest atop his paws would Lysandra finally bring her hand to rest gently in the offered palm, the very tips of her fingers lingering against his flesh -- in such a bold gesture to beckon the more typical route of greeting in which the man would delicately kiss the woman's knuckles.

Of course the young lord would follow through with tradition. Leaning forward as he brought her delicate hand up to his lips, Itraeis placed a delicate kiss on the back of her knuckles. "Well mainlander," she provided him a cheeky grin, "You certainly are ever the charming debonair, I do imagine you and I shall get along if you continue to lavish me in those compliments--," for a moment the woman bit on her bottom lip before motioning toward the cushion beside her with her other hand, "Would you care to join me, Lord Holt?"

"It would be my pleasure," he answered as he smoothly sat down on the plush cushion beside her, "Lavish compliments cast upon such a beautiful woman is but my humble duty. Why someone of your grace and status should have a dozen or so young lads paying you such praise daily." If there was one thing Itraeis loved to do, it was flirt. Being the only active bachelor he knew, it a fun past time that always ended with more fun in return. The best investment. "You know, Lady Vanburen, you're the second one of your name I've met since coming to Boralus. I get the feeling your family is a rather well known one. You especially, with how the other patrons and attendants here light up on your arrival. Beauty and status? quite the double threat. I imagine I could learn a fair bit about Kul'Tiras from someone as integrated as you are."

For the time during which the gentleman was talking Lysandra coukdnt help but marvel him longer, her lingering attention disguised as intentive listening. Upon the ending remark the woman aimed to mask her bashfulness by tilting her head away to watch the fire whilst tucking a chunk of her wavy hair behind a jeweled ear. Her lips carried an astonishing smile which carried the warm" romantic glow of the fire. "Awh, yes.. The Vanburen have been established in Kul Tiras for many a-years," Lysandra bowed her head for a moment, just after sipping from her cup, "You may have met one of my nieces, or even my mother depending if she was an older, more frightening individual. Alas," Lysandra gained a cheeky smile once more, turning to eye Itraeis once over, "None of them quite know Kul Tiras as intimately as I do--," with a pause she'd add quietly, "Save mother, though I imagine my company would be more likely to sate your appetite."

"Oh I am positive your company will sate my appetite many times over," he dared advance with a teasing wink. "I do believe it was a niece of yours I met then, Karlotta was her name. Nice girl, seemed rather entranced with the idea of travelling to the mainland of the Eastern Kingdoms. Could make for a decent friend out here. Though, in truth and if I may be so bold, I think I'd enjoy your company more. The way the people seem to love you, surely it's not just your beauty alone that has them smiling so. It's obvious even to an outsider like me, that you're a beloved soul for many reasons. Such a rare gem should be cherished. So perhaps a bottle of your favourite drink and a few stories between new friends tonight? If you and your guardian here have the time." he requested with his boyish smile, flashing those pearly whites as he flirted so.

"Aha," Lysandra guffaws, bringing a hand down to rest upon the boys knee whilst she shakes her head, clearly amused with his misconceptions, "I'm hardly the saint you are painting me as, sweet boy. The reason the staff here love me so much is I tip generously," she waggles a finger toward him, having removed her hand from his knee.

"A woman after my own heart, money truly can buy anything it seems." he replied with an honest chuckle. His own hand now coming to rest on her knee, though he didn't remove it as swiftly as she did her own, instead it rested there unless she gave reason to move it, gentle strokes of his thumb along her knee adding to the intimate gesture.

Midst their conversation had Lysandra's eyes fallen to inspect the oddly misplaced hand currently making home atop her pants concealed limb. Though if she were being true to herself she wasjt terribly unnerved by the brave gesture. If anything it gave her a surge   of confidence which showed in how her features gained a look of youth, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I admit I have my brash tendencies, my nieces and nephews have appointed me the title as Nosy and over all overwhelming in all things, alas..  If you still are willing to give me the chance to make your own opinion..," she'd provide him a smaller, more genuine smile, "Id be delighted to share the evening with you dear." "Nosey? Well that just means you have that many more stories to share. An inquisitive mind is an attractive one. So I definitely think I'd enjoy the opportunity to make my own opinions. Tell me about yourself then, what part of Kul'Tiras do you call home?"

Lysandra gave a soft chuckle for a moment.

"I, like the many Vanburen before me, hail from Drustvar. Dastardly drab in the fall and winter, although if I'm being honest it can give a sense of forlorn and melancholy at all times of the year," she'd scoff then, bringing her cup to her lips one more time before setting it atop the table entirely, freeing both hands. "Though that doesnt stop me from making my home lively with colors other than dark and dull tones like my brother Silas. He has embraced the darkness of our homelands alittle too much, his home looks like that out if a thriller novel,” Her teasing her brother was followed by a titter of gentle giggles, her teeth soon to bite on her bottom lip in effort to swiftly silence the noise, her eyes growing a distant and longing expression.

"Too, I am a horse breeder, of both war and palfrey horses. Infact, a majority of the equine in the guards stables have come from my brood mares! Gloriously magnificent beasts they are. Simply love their power and beauty.”

Clearly she wasnt shy about divulging in her life with a perfect stranger.

Damn Vanburen’s narcissistic gratification.

Itraeis listened with honest interest as the woman spoke of her home, her family, and her pride. He'd chuckle along with her as she made fun of her sibling, smile with her as she gushed over her horses in the guard. He was wholly invested in each and every word she spoke.

"Well then, you truly are an intricate part of this culture. Kul'Tiras is lucky to be blessed with such a woman," he praised. With a slight quirk of the brow Lysandra angles her head to better face Itraeis, desperate to not present herself as so self absorbed by inquiring, "What of you, dear? You said you're from Duskwood? What is it like?"

"By the sounds of this Drustvar, it's much like Duskwood is back home. The woods are thick and blot out much of the sun, leaving it to be a rather dark region year round. It's been prone to a less than bright history. Many cursed creatures roam the darkest parts of those woods these days. Though my family has been there longer than they have,  so we've learned to live in relative peace. Enough magic and steel keeps even the foulest of monsters away." he said with a soft smile, though to the trained eye, the topic of home seemed to cause him a little anxiety all around. "I can't say I have such a established life as you though. I am a lord by birth alone. No lands or great assets to call my own as of yet. Truly, I've only just begun my mission of building myself up to be more than the bratty youngest brother. Invested some money in my cousins shipping company here in Kul'Tiras, and a theatre troupe back home with a rather famous actress. But I suppose we could say I'm still finding my way in the world."

Carefully Lysandra placed her hand upon that of which rested on her own knee, her fingers curling around his thus to squeeze his palm, aiming to provide the young Lord a bit of comfort. All the while she wore a reassuring smile, her tone gentle, "I know best of all what it is to be the youngest bratty sibling, thus I encourage you to keep your chin up, darling. There's still time to rebuild yourself, there's still time to make amends and find yourself. Quite honestly when I was in my teens I had only just begun to come into my own, and when my sister ran away... I felt forced to take on her role as well as my own to try and fill the hole she left in our family's' hearts. It wasn't until I was in my thirties that I really began to take my own shape."

Sighing wistfully the maiden would draw to a halt, her eyes narrowing now. "Pardon me, I seem to just be realizing... You are a Holt? Are you kin to a Cedrick Holt?"

Itraeis bore a soft smile at her reassurance. Though his demeanor quickly turned to that of caution and fear at her final query. "Oh fuck..." he mumbled under his breath. It would figure his surname would curse him as it always seemed too. "Yes... I'm one of those Holts. One of many it seems. Cedrick is my cousin. I'm well aware of the less than stellar reputation my family seems to have across human kingdoms. Though, for what it's worth. I'm something of a black sheep in this family. Hence being here, alone, and not with any of them." he explained, hoping it would afford some repair to the damage his namesake may have caused already.

If there was anything that put off Lysandra most it wasn't the house name itself, it was how quickly Itraeis felt the need to defend himself. She'd hesitate, letting out a faint exhale of a chuckle before patting his hand once more, "Fret not, dear, I am not going to ridicule you. I'll be the first to admit I've heard enough of the Holts to know they're a prestigious family, alas their short comings or accomplishments have not been a topic of conversation in Kul Tiras. You are free to relax now," she'd follow up with a faint giggle.

A quick sigh of relief escaped him at her positive reassurance. Looks like he jumped the gun. Though after so often being looked less than fondly upon for his name sake, it was hard not too make such a reaction his default. "Nay, what I was saying before was Venreena Holt is my niece!" "My apologies," he said, offering her hand a soft squeeze of appreciation in response were it still there, “But my, what a small world we seem to live in then," he replied with a chuckle, "Venreena's business venture is the one I invested in. I had heard through the family grape vine she had hit a few snags with enemies. So I offered her some coin to bolster her fleet in exchange for a small percentage of the company. Nothing large, just something to build a profit off of and pass on to my children if I ever make it that far. Though, I do hope my relationship to her husband won't make my flirting off-putting, because I wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon."

"Fret not, harmless compliments never hurt anyone. I'll not stop you any time soon if you wish to continue-- like I said, it's not very often I'm dotted upon so fiercly. When my nieces all came of age is well around the time the bachelor spotlight turned away from me. It doesn't help that bachelor's became aware that I was firm on my decision that I do not wish to conform to socieities norm regarding marriage." With the little bit of information regarding Ven's business's issues Lysandras mind had begun to wander, hoping her and her brothers investments would be enough to help. At last, whilst snickering, Lysandra took this moment to beckon a nearer server, turning to address Iraetis with a questioning: "Do you prefer red or white wine? I imagine Id like to extend thks evening as much as we are able, you are particularly wonderful company to keep.  Tell me, Lord Holt, do you have any pets?" Now she was eager to delve into the more intimate details. It was in that moment, infact, that she realized how invested he was into her words. He had simply listened to her ramble, wearing a patient expression. Upon her final remark, alas, he’d dare to speak up… To her that was the most overwhelming show of a man’s character. He was listening to her.

"Societal norms are boring. If the bachelors turned away from you to chase your nieces, then I feel sorry for them. They've all made a terrible mistake, but their loss, is my reward." he flirted some more, "I think red will do us both nicely tonight. I'll trust your decision on which you feel would serve us best."

With the answer provided had Lysandra addressed the server with a casual, "Being red, you know exactly which one I want, dear," and instantly the server bowed his head and turned to depart from their couch. "And... I can't say I've been blessed with any companions. I've thought about getting a dog or cat... or a bird. But I'm not sure I'm ready for the responsibility just yet. I much prefer the freedom of riding my bike off into the sunset on a whim."

With her full attention upon Itraeis Lys takes a moment to point out, "Dogs, cats, falcons.. They're all giving companions, I imagine you might feel... Fulfilled if you gain any one of them as a pet. They can provide you yeara full of amazing memories... Even Olaf here," Lysandra smiles down at the old man, "I've had him for nearly twelve years now. He's been my hunting companion, my protector... Infact he provided me great protection recently on a hunt..." Instantly Lysandras mood would shift, her features sagging into a darkened hatred, "Damn Horde troll had enroached upon my lands... Dared to send her raptors after me and my beast, alas I had the ultimate advantage--," and she nearly revealed a dire Vanburen secret, visibly hesitating aa she stared down at the sleeping old man. "I..," she huffs, "I know my forest better than most. Its my life, the thing which I love. Thus I was able to out.manuever two raptors, one of which I now have its head as a trophy in my den. The third raptor nearly got me. But this old man here... He willingly leapt into it's path." She'd sigh, sinking back into the couch, "I decided then it was time to retire him. He received substantial wounds protecting me, I never should have put him in harms way."

Slowly Lysandra smiled toward the boy, "Aha... My apologies, I'm ranting... Uhm, my point is companions can make a grand difference!" Then would the server return, providing the duo individual cups after placing the bucket of ice and wine bottle atop their table.

Itraeis graciously accepted the goblet with a nod to the server as they departed. "That's quite the harrowing story," he answered, both shock and awe at how well this woman handled herself in her tale, "I know many of my family's soldiers fought in the Siege of Lordaeron this past summer, and continue to fight against the Horde in Arathi and across Zandalar. But to fight back a Troll just the pair of you, with a pack of raptors no less." he looked down at Olaf with a smile, "I'd say he's earned his heroes retirement, and I'm pleased to see he still manages to act the young pup when the moment suits him." In that moment, he raised his cup up in a subtle toast, "To Olaf," he proposed. Taking a sip, he looked back at Lysandra with a twinkle in his eye.

In this time Lysandra sipped from her glass, musing gently, "To Olaf," beginning to adjust so as to slip her right leg over her left thigh this time,turning her torso more easily face the fellow. "Perhaps, some day, you'll let me see this trophy of yours,” Itraeis claimed, “I've never seen a raptor before. I can only imagine what a terrifying trophy it must be."

Momentarily Lysandra wore a bashful smile, "Any time you'd desire to make the trip to Drustvar I'd be honored and would love to host you, aswell... Just say the word! You might be invited to stay as long as you desire," she winks slyly.

“I most definitely think it would be lovely to roam this land of Drustvar and spend some time at your home. For as long as you'd have me." he finished with a teasing wink in return.

For a moment Lysandra was silent, mulling over the memory of the troll and her raptors… It truly was more terrifying than she was able to ever convey in words. The tale wasn’t quite as glorious as she made it out to be.

"I'll be honest, it's such a surprise how quickly the factions fell into war after the horror of the Legion... Though knowing how hot headed our men and women can be and how bloodthirsty the Horde can be it's... Almost anticipated," Lysandra confessed.

"I suppose after so many decades of aggression with each other, it's not terribly surprising," he said with a shrug between sips, "Let's just hope it ends with us the victors."

In this time the maiden lingered for a long while, her eyes soft as she peered toward her companion. He truly was a strikingly attractive young man… She  promptly scolded herself internally, confessing how terribly wrong it was to be lingering on how attractive he was… He was so much younger than she! It felt completely inappropriate!

"I assure you I'm a wonderfully polite house guest. I'll even be sure to bring a gift, bottle of this fine wine here I presume would be acceptable?”

Itraeis broke the woman’s internal struggle, her eyes widening as she returned to their reality.

"Well like I said, I would love to host you. I can already see it, forcing you on horse back to tae a tour of the grounds, joining the shooters out to gather game to eat that evening if you're at all interesting in hunting. And too, wine is always acceptable -- In general, every Vanburen seems to have their vice, for myself it's either wine or bourbon. Can never seem to find myself without a cup in hand," she muses out loud before drinking the remainder of her cup and plopping the glass atop the table. Sitting upright and at the edge of the couch cushion would Lysandra linger here, her lips weighed by a frown upon listening to the words which she just spoke. It was a disappointing sentence to relive. With a roll of her shoulder the woman aimed to leap out of her concerned state, desperate to now weigh down his evening as well. "So, what else would you like to talk about, mmh?"

"Vices are only a problem when they hinder us. I dare say if a drink in hand is your biggest problem, it's not problem at all." he attempted to reassure her. "I suppose I could try my hand at hunting, though I'll admit I'm a terrible shot. I'm better with sword than I am with bow or gun. But I'll give it a try to impress the lovely lady." he flirted, "I'm still very curious about you, however. The raptor slaying noblewoman of Drustvar. This might be a silly question, but being from Kul'Tiras and related to Venreena, does that mean you have a passion for sailing as well? Or is that just a trope-misconception we have of all Kul'Tirans?”

For a moment Lysandra was simply lost in the younger lord's eyes, finding immense comfort in his presence alone. Thus, she settled herself back into the cushion of the couch once more, this time inches closer to her current conversational companion. All the while he spoke she wore a dashing smile, finding herself doubting his motives the longer they sat.

Itraeis smirked some at her admission, and her distaste for the common sailing culture around her. As she inched closer towards him, he took that as the cue that he could do in turn. Daring even so to sneak an arm onto the back of the couch and around her shoulders. It was an odd feeling, being so dotted upon as religiously as Iraetis made a point to be. Especially dotted upon by a man far younger than herself. "Ahh, yes..," Lysandra gained a noise that of a groan before regarding, "The majority of Kul Tiras are lovers of sailing, I cannot deny that with a straight face. Myself, however... Not so much. I prefer horse riding to sailing, too I'm... I'm not necessarily a fantastic swimmer. That's assuming I can swim."

"Are you?" She'd inquire after a time, "A fan of sailing, that is."

"Can't say I've done much sailing... ever. I rather enjoy being on firm land personally. Though I do swim for fun down in Booty Bay. Perhaps, if you ever find yourself interested in some time in the water, we can go for a swim together?" he suggested with a playfully flirty wink. "I can teach you to at the very least, not sink."

With a soft chuckle the older woman would accuse the lord, "Really? You can teach me to swim-- Am I too bold in believing that your desire to swim with me isn't necessarily to only just be helpful, but to see me half dressed? You cheeky lil' blighter," she'd bring the back of her hand to smack against his gut in a playful swat, leaning forward a moment to regather her cup of wine before settling back into the enticing young man's arm.

"You caught me, I really just wanted an excuse to get you in your swim wear," he confessed with a cheeky grin. Her hand slapping against his torso only caught him to laugh that much more, "But I suppose tanning on the beach will reward me all the same." She felt so many years younger being all cuddled up with a gentleman. It was such a satisfying emotion, one that almost completed her.. Alas even Lysandra knew it would take alot more than some handsome younger man's touch to heal all her wounds. But atleast for right now she was ultimately at peace! "Though I am comfortable with my lacking skill with swimming.  I have no reason to fret, I'll do well enough on my own darling. If ever come a day I'm required to go near a pool or the beach I'll opt for tanning over splashing around with the family. And I am comfortable with that idea." With this she'd begin to sip at her cup of wine, wearing a small smile that slowly would begin to sag into a doubtful frown, suddenly aware of how pathetic she must look. An old woman in the arms of a young boy. A boy old enough to be her son! Oh, it twisted her gut with grief...

But the way her smile turned into a frown quickly caught his attention.

"Are you alright, Lysandra? You suddenly appear rather distraught. Wine not sitting well?" he asked in honest concern, gently stroking her hair as he tried to sooth her.

"This... Isnt--..." Instantly hundreds of goosebumps overwhelmed her with the gentle coil of fingers toying with her hair, and thus she'd force herself to stand. Setting her cup atop the table and taking a moment to compsoe herself, the woman would address Iraetis with flustered bright red cheeks. "I... This isn't appropriate, Lord Holt," she sounds alittle more hesitant, as if there was nothing more she wanted than to settle back into his arms, but she was quick to move on by regarding, "I need to away, anyways... And again I... I welcome you to my estate, alas I must resume with my evening now."

Itraeis rose with her, though he was still cautious not to give Olaf reason to get aggressive. "Lady Vanburen... Lysandra," he whispered, raising a hand up to brush along her cheek, "If you need to go, I won't stop you. But I want you to know, I find you both captivating, beautiful and brilliant. After all, you yourself said not long ago you weren't one to conform to societies norms. So while I won't hold you here against your will, I truly hope you won't deny my advances solely because others might deem it 'inappropriate.' And... if I may be so bold, one kiss before you take your leave?" he dared. Though he didn't make the move in just yet, only continued to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

Instantly her cheeks flustered, her gaze drifting around a moment. But his words seemed to shoo away her own attempts to disparage herself. It hadn't been so long since she was a with anyone, and as she so recalled a kiss was as chaste an action one could participate in. Thus, while alittle hesitant, Lysandra would turn toward Itraeis whilst her lips would apart to exhale a slow and shaky breath. Midst reaching up to caress the back of his hand upon her own cheek she'd bring her other hand to rest atop his upperarm, lingering close now. Her body language alone was enough to reassure that she was willing to receive a kiss, but it came out in a soft, "Yes..."

It was gentle, soft, almost timid, the way Itreais leaned in to Lysandra. His hand that stroked her cheek took on a gentle grip as though to pull her closer to him. His other hand resting respectfully on her hips, daring not go any lower than the small of her back. Their lips locked in a tender kiss. Not the rough aggressive tongue invasive action of a man and woman in the throws of passion. But an innocent kiss from an entranced young man to show his interest and affections to the woman before him.

Midst the kiss it was as though Lysandra had simply melted. Her years of shaping herself into a woman of dignity and grace disappeared as her knees becamr shaky, her figure swaying gently against his. All of her attention and thoughts went toward memorizing the warmth of his body, how his lips molded against her own. How soft they felt, even....

After a few moments, he pulled back and looked deep into Lysandra's eyes. Moonlight sparkling against the dark brown of his own.

The moment he'd pull away was when the reality became suffocating, her brows furrowing and bottom lip puckering in a pout. Although Lysandra did not keep this pitiful expression long, soon straightening herself to her full height, taking a moment to use both of her hands to adjust and smooth over Itraeis's torso wear... And then she'd step back, turn to gather her coat and gloves, then nudging her dog awake… All the while remaining ever flustered. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Lady Vanburen. Get home safe, and I look forward to seeing you again."

"Thank you for providing me this unforgettable evening, Lord Holt. I certainly look forward to--," she'd hesitate before providing him a smile, "To whatever the tides may bring for us."

"To whatever the tides may bring for us," carried his wishful tone -- or was it even wishful?

Did she just imagine that? And with this she'd step away, adjusting her coat back onto her figure just after she’d tug her gloves onto her shaky hands. At her side shuffled the worn, grumpy old man of a dog, his tail wagging in a slow, gentle sway.

As her feet carried her across the cobblestone pathaway it took everything in Lysandra to not burst into a fit of angry, shameful tears. She felt responsible for the strangest things all of a sudden -- she felt as though she had compelled that young man… Forced him, in some way, to feel obligated to soothe her ego…

She felt so disgusted with herself, she even hated Itraeis some for making her feel so vulnerable and open… She was a fucking Vanburen! She was a woman of pride and grace, a successful woman who had years of experience in the courts residing under her belt, a prestigious elegant lady of well refined decorum…

And he made her feel like a teenager all over again. Like a girl who was experiencing her first crush.

“Deplorable,” she’d hiss to hersel, finding it equally unforgiving that she was genuinely thrilled by the idea that maybe, just maybe... He might truly write to her.

[wherescleo-blog]

~time may change me~

Cleo has only been an in-game presence since the Autumn Festival, so everything up until that point will be fairly vague. If you’d like to fill in any details and if there’s anything you’d like your character to have done with Cleo, let me know and I’ll edit it in!

Pre-Durham: The defining point in Cleo’s life was, of course, the night her mother disappeared when she was eleven years old. By the time she entered sixth form, though she didn’t realise it, this event had greatly affected her ability to bond with others. She found herself positioned as the mother figure she herself craved in almost every friendship she forged, offering warmth, comfort, and a listening ear, but seldom burdening others with her own struggles. When she finished school and prepared to travel north to Durham, it was almost with a sense of relief that she left her old friends behind. She was ready to start fresh, free of the burdens of others that she’d shouldered, yet tingling with guilt for experiencing that sense of relief.

First Year: Cleo’s first year was fairly uneventful. She kept her head in her books, for the most part, but she also managed to get a little voluntary job doing one of the weekly graveyard shifts at Durham University’s radio station. Figuring nobody really listened to some random local radio station between 1am and 4am, Cleo took it as an opportunity to play just whatever the hell she liked, and say whatever she felt like between plays. One night, about thirty minutes after reading some poetry she’d written in a fit of boredom, she heard a bang on the door of the outbuilding where the studio was based. She looked out the window to see a very drunk, dark-haired girl at the door. Figuring the girl to be harmless and possibly vulnerable, Cleo let her in, and a beautiful (if kind of weird) friendship with Imogen Song was born.

The Beach (March 2017): At times, Cleo has been prone to wander, particularly at night when her thoughts and memories become too loud to be contained in her little bedroom. This was one such night. Cleo lost track of time on a scale that felt eerie, almost supernatural, and found herself wondering how she had made it all the way to the water’s edge without realising where she was walking. It was then that she noticed others gathering there, and curiosity drove her to move closer and watch to see what was going on.

She recognised her strange little friend Imogen among those gathered, and considered going over to speak to her until she realised that the girl was having what looked like an extremely serious conversation with a boy Cleo didn’t recognise.  She hung back, waiting for the conversation to end so that she could ask Imogen what was happening, but Imogen ran off. Uncomfortable, Cleo left the beach and found an all-night coffee shop to hole up in until dawn.

Durham university (March - June 2017): Cleo’s powers began to manifest almost immediately, first announcing themselves late one night while Cleo was enjoying a horror movie alone in her flat. This first time, she put it down to a hallucination borne from exhaustion, but it continued to happen and Cleo began to get scared. Her mother had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Was she finally cracking and imagining that she herself was disappearing, too?

Cleo received answers one evening when a boy turned up at her door, introducing himself as Jude. She had absolutely no idea how he found her, but he seemed to be in the same boat, suffering strange, unexplained happenings over the last number of weeks. More pressingly, he had been at the beach on the night she’d wandered there on a whim. She could have kissed him, so relieved was she that she wasn’t going mad, but she settled for ushering him into her apartment and putting the kettle on.

Jude explained that on several occasions since that night, he had been able to heal himself of injuries. Cleo shared her own experience of vanishing and reappearing again, and Jude explained his suspicious that the others who had been on the beach most likely had similar stories to tell. They talked late into the night, and Cleo went to bed that evening, not necessarily with answers, but with reassurance that she was not alone. The two of them continued to meet regularly at her apartment to discuss developments and theories on their supernatural experiences… and eat delicious food, of course.

Bonfire Party (June 2017): Cleo came to the party, but mostly kept to herself. She only really knew and trusted Jude and Imogen, and both were social butterflies and she didn’t exactly want to cramp their style. She watched the others, building up a small profile in her head of each of them, and wondered if such a group would ever be able to work together effectively for long enough to get to the bottom of the mystery they shared. 

Brighton Beach (July 2017): Cleo was reluctant to attend the group holiday to Brighton. She felt that she had very little in common with most of the other attendees. Still, she was of the belief that she would need to get to know the others if they had any hope of resolving their common problem, and if nothing else she wanted to find out more about what they could do.

As it was, Cleo ended up forging connections after all. While going about her usual party-guest business of drinking wine and watching from the periphery, she found herself in the company of a forlorn looking blonde girl she knew to be called Faye. Faye appeared to be troubled, worrying that she was socially stunted somehow because she wasn’t as experienced in the world of sex and dating as other girls in the group. It transpired that Faye had been hoping to win Jude’s affections during the course of the holiday but had no idea how she could go about it. Cleo admitted that she’d never had sex either, and that she had very little interest in doing so. They chatted for a good few hours about themselves, and discovered a shared solitary nature and slight culture shock at being landed in this motley little group. The two left Brighton as good friends.

Durham University (September 2017): Cleo returned to Durham to find her apartment condemned due to flooding. Rather than find temporary accommodation while her landlord resolved the issue, she got out of her rental agreement and moved in with Faye instead. it was a mutually beneficial arrangement; Cleo had somewhere to stay and Faye had help with her own rent of the two-bedroom home she was renting (and extra excuses to casually bump into Jude during Jude’s regular visits to eat with Cleo).

Durham University Autumn Festival (September 2017): Cleo got together with a few of the radio hosts to run a gin tasting stand at the festival. She enjoyed it, for the most part. There was a small incident involving Imogen attempting to stuff money down her top and get her drunk - the whole thing ended with a frustrated Imogen and a teary Cleo - but as usual with the two of them, they recovered from the personality clash quickly enough.

She also had the pleasure of greeting Faye at her stall. As her friend was something of a gin virgin, Cleo enjoyed introducing her to some flavours she thought Faye might like, before helping her work out what she might order at a bar. Bolstered with confidence, Faye went into the Union bar, promising to meet Cleo once she was relieved of her responsibilities. Unfortunately, the poor girl got more than she bargained for at the bar, and Cleo walked the girl back to their house for some tea, toast and bed.

At Faye’s puppy-kissing booth, Cleo bumped into Des. She’d had very little to do with him besides a few half-hearted attempts by Imogen to set them up with each other, but they bonded over the cute puppies and shared a little about their own experiences with pets before coming to Durham. Cleo decided that she liked Des - he seemed sweet and like someone who’d be a lovely friend.

The closing party wasn’t really Cleo’s thing, but she was persuaded to stick around for a while when she met up with Jude. They decided to mess about with the photo booth, and Cleo decided to see if she could become invisible in photos as well as in real life. Instead, she appeared as a blur of pixels. This excited Jude, and he began to explain his theory that Cleo was not, in fact, turning invisible, but rather erasing her image from people’s perceptions.

Power-Up (September 2017): Cleo is no stranger to dreams, but the images that began to plague her in the new semester had a very eerie feel to them that told Cleo that all was not normal.  She had, in fact, received her power boost in the form of being able to enter dreams. The person dreaming had to be somewhere nearby, and the dream had to be particularly vivid in order to reach her, but it happened often enough to act as something of a drain on Cleo. She has also experienced dreams belonging to Sam, Jude, Faye, and Des. She doesn’t feel particularly good about invading their privacy.

October 2017: The very day after finding herself in Des’ dream, she runs into the man himself. Over coffee, he confesses that he’s actually lost his powers. He alludes to something from his past that may have triggered it, but the conversation goes no deeper as the two don’t know each other well enough to get into the deep stuff. She offers comfort and a listening ear, and hopes that Des will come through this.

Halloween (October 2017): Being the only loser who had no plans for Halloween, Cleo was chosen by the station manager to broadcast from a haunted hotel through the night… you know, for other losers who had no plans for Halloween. She was allowed to bring a friend, though, and Cleo chose her room mate Faye. The two began a lovely evening, sharing a bottle of wine and some sweets while they sifted through the catalogues of music on the station’s cloud, but things soon began to take a spooky turn in the form of thumping noises, whispering voices, things moving to where they shouldn’t be, and the undeniable feeling that they were being watched. The girls stuck it out, but they left with countless questions and no answers.

The Authors (November 2017): The groups meeting with the Authors filled Cleo with a sense of determination that she hadn’t yet felt towards her powers. Burdened by the looming deadline imposed on them, the increasing frequency of the dreams that plagued her, and her own insatiable thirst for knowledge, Cleo pressed forward with the one person she knew for sure was on the same page as her - Imogen. They worked together to begin their Grimoire, on some simple spells as they shared stories of their pasts, bonding over the experience they shared of losing their mothers at a young age. This proved beneficial to their magic, as their bond offered stability and effectiveness to their joint attempts at spells. They grew an enormous plant. ENORMOUS.

Exeter (Christmas 2017): Cleo went home to spend Christmas with her father, but even from the moment he picked her up she knew something wasn’t quite right. Her father, always warm and talkative, seemed simultaneously withdrawn and clingy towards her, never seeming to want to be away from her but also tense and quiet. She began to worry that something was terribly wrong, even convincing herself that he might be ill. He was also having some disturbing dreams, though she couldn’t exactly confront him about those. 

Jude and Imogen’s Housewarming (January 2018): This was probably the most uncomfortable party Cleo has ever attended. Faye, having apparently been rejected by Jude, turned up in some very unvegetarian leather leggings and decided to spent a huge amount of the evening draped all over Sam in a most un-Faye-like manner, prompting Cleo to try and make sure her friend was okay. Faye dismissed her concerns, then Cleo herself when she refused to get wasted with her.

Then Jude got up and began to tell them, at last, what he thought of the authors. Cleo, a little taken aback that she and Imogen had been doing magic all while Jude sat back convinced that it was potentially dangerous, challenged Jude on his sudden desire to lead the group again while trying to diffuse Imogen’s anger, but failed to help the situation. Imogen stormed out.

Cleo received a text within the minute telling her to keep everyone in the room - no mean feat all things considered. She did her best to keep up a dialogue that would cause everyone to hang around, but honestly it was a relief when she received a second text asking her to come and meet Imogen. It turned out she’d been attempting (unsuccessfully) to find the locket. Cleo and Sam had discussed Runes earlier in the evening, so they recruited him to help them find the locket.

Instead, they found another Grimoire, belonging to a group of students who did not appear on the university’s student records. Though they relayed this suspicious information to the group, Cleo continued to work on magic in private.

Cleo’s Birthday (February 2018): Cleo’s dad came to stay for a few days over her birthday, and Cleo was determined to enjoy the time together. After all, they were due to die exactly two years from this exact date, so she only got one more uninterrupted birthday after this. She and her father kept things simple and traditional, getting some chips and driving to the beach to watch the sea. Despite feeling a similar tension to the one she felt at Christmas, Cleo allowed herself to relax… for a while.

The cracks began to show at the mention of her mum and Cleo began to quiz her father on what was troubling him - outright asking him if he was ill or seeing someone or anything else that he didn’t want to outright tell her. As it turned out, shortly before Christmas, a man had died in jail, disclosing her mother’s burial place in a confessional, along with two other murder victims, and the location of their hidden personal items that he’d stolen from them as “trophies”. The location turned out to be legitimate, thus ending the long wait for news on Cleo’s mother. The rest of her father’s visit was something of a blur, but before he left, he gave her a gift: her mother’s wedding ring.

Durham University (February / March 2018): Cleo decided that she simply didn’t have time to deal with the news about her mother as she has Faye to worry about. Her friend’s emotional state is getting worse and worse, and Cleo has been experiencing the same dream from her almost constantly, on a hideous loop. Faye is vacant and snappish at home, and sometimes completely unresponsive.

Cleo meets with Jude to discuss her concerns, hoping that two heads will be better than one and they will be able to help Faye. She fears that her friend is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

She is building towards asking Jude for the pendant. She is having no luck getting through to Faye at home, and hopes to gain more power over Faye’s dream and possibly break the cycle so that she can communicate with Faye there.

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

So, you said you've played a ton of hidden object games, so I was just wondering if you have ever played Cursery: The Crooked man and the Crooked Cat or the Bonfire Legends? Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night!

!!! Yes, I've played Cursery: The Crooked Man and the Crooked Cat! But I don't remember how long ago it was and how far I got into it. I'll Wishlist it on Steam to buy later so I can replay it. I'll post about it when that happens!

Also, if you mean Bonfire Stories, Faceless Gravedigger and Heartless are two of my favorite hidden object games of all time! I don't like the third game(Manifest Horror), and it seems to be the weakest out of that series. But I'm in LOVE with those games, and I ought to post about them more because they're amazing!

Have a wonderful day/night as well, anon!

[biofunmy]

JFK Jr., Carolyn Bessette secret wedding tapes revealed on TLC special

CLOSE

Secret tapes of JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette’s wedding have been released. Buzz60, Buzz60

As America’s legions of Kennedy fans and foes are no doubt aware, next Tuesday is the 20th anniversary of the shocking deaths of John F. Kennedy Jr., his wife Carolyn Bessette, and her sister, Lauren Bessette, when the light plane he was flying crashed into the Atlantic in fog off Martha’s Vineyard. He was 38, his wife was 33, her sister was 34.

American TV is well aware of the anniversary, so get ready for “specials” devoted to the tragedy, just as TV reacted in 1999 when this latest horror struck John’s sprawling Kennedy family. (The couple were headed to his cousin Rory Kennedy’s wedding at the Kennedy compound at Hyannis Port, an occasion transformed by grief and later postponed.) 

TLC’s two-hour special, “JFK Jr and Carolyn’s Wedding: The Lost Tapes,” which aired Saturday, focused on the couple’s wedding three years before on Sept. 21, 1996, in a tiny, candle-lit wooden chapel on a remote Georgia island with more feral horses and armadillos than islanders.

The tapes weren’t exactly “lost,” but they are previously unseen by the public. They are from camcorder video shot at Kennedy’s request by one of his wedding guests, longtime pal Billy Noonan. (TLC licensed the footage for the special, spokeswoman Danielle Matlin told USA TODAY.)

Using these tapes, the special shows how Kennedy managed to organize an intimate, secret wedding outside the gaze of the media constantly on alert for details about his private life.

He was used to the scrutiny, Carolyn was not. She was so unnerved, she hesitated when he proposed, so he promised her a wedding just for them and their closest friends and family, about 50 people in total. The lengths to which he went to achieve it are both touching and farcical, but it worked. 

The tapes are practically antique, not professional: The lighting and audio are terrible, and it’s difficult at times to see what’s going on or who is on camera, except for the best known of the guests, such as family patriarch, then-Sen. Ted Kennedy. (He died 10 years later of a brain tumor.)

But the tapes convey an overall impression of a joyous celebration that transcended some bumps along the way. They bring tears to the eyes of the people interviewed for the special – including hard-nosed tabloid reporters who covered John and Carolyn. 

Here are some highlights:

The First African Baptist Church on Cumberland Island, Georgia National Seashore, where John F. Kennedy Jr. wed Carolyn Bessette in 1996. It’s now the most popular visitor destination on the island, according to National Park Service resource manager John Fry. (Photo: CHRIS VIOLA/ ASSOCIATED PRESS)

A Kennedy Wedding? What wedding?

To keep the lid on about the nuptials, John gave guests only a few days notice there was to be a wedding and instructions on getting airline tickets. Noonan, one of two friends interviewed for the special who was actually there (the other is John’s high school buddy Sasha Chermayeff), was on the jet John hired to fly the couple and some of the guests to an airport in Jacksonville, Florida.

“We knew we were going to a wedding but we didn’t know where,” Noonan says, noting that John and Carolyn were giggling during the flight. The destination on the manifest said Florida “but John said, ‘We’re not really going to Florida,’ so we had no idea where we were (ultimately) headed.”

Jodee Sadowsky, the chef hired to cater the wedding, didn’t have a clue who was getting married until he arrived. He was stunned when he found out. “I got goosebumps,” he says. (Also interviewed: David R. Davis, the gospel singer who sang “Amazing Grace” at the wedding, who said he didn’t do weddings but got talked into this one.)

Getting on the island  

From Jacksonville, the guests and the couple drove a few miles to the Florida-Georgia line where they caught a former fishing boat that ferried them to Cumberland Island, a barrier island about 20 miles from the coast of southeast Georgia.

John had vacationed there before with another girlfriend and knew it was wild, with only a few dirt roads and covered by a thick canopy of trees – perfect for hiding from paparazzi in helicopters if it came to that, which it did.

Who was invited to JFK Jr. and Carolyn’s wedding?

Not every Kennedy. For one thing, there’s way too many of them for an intimate wedding. So John chose at least one member of every family on the extended family tree, those who were closest to him. 

Anthony Radziwill, his first cousin on his mother’s side and a best friend since childhood, was his best man, as John was at his wedding two years earlier. (The TV news producer was to die of cancer just a few weeks after John’s death, in yet another family tragedy.)

Plenty of room at the old inn

John and Carolyn had hired out the only hotel on the island for three days , ensuring maximum privacy. The Greyfield Inn, built as a family home in 1900 by members of the Carnegie family and later turned into a luxury hotel, had plenty of antique southern charm but no air conditioning and only bathtubs in the rooms. The only shower was outdoors. But the beaches were grand.

The covered front porch is where they held the candlelit rehearsal dinner, as seen in the video, when Uncle Ted and cousin Tim Shriver gave the usual jokey-but-loving toasts, and later the reception, which had better lighting.

After the rehearsal dinner, the guests gathered around a bonfire on the beach where they consumed gallons of Cognac and Armagnac until the wee hours. The next morning, with bleary-eyed Noonan still recovering, John grabbed the camcorder in his friend’s room and started filming him.

Far from the usual overblown attempts to depict John and Carolyn as “American royalty,” these video tapes show that their wedding featured the hijinks typical of any wedding. As Noonan says, they both sought normality, to have lives “like everybody else.”

“What I liked about John and Carolyn is that there were like everybody else in general,” Noonan says.

The Greyfield Inn, where most of the Kennedy/Bessette wedding attendees stayed, on Cumberland Island, Ga. (Photo: M. JACK LUEDKE/ Associated Press)

Getting to the church on time

The First African Baptist church (more like a chapel) where the ceremony was held was even older than the inn, built in 1893 by the descendants of former slaves and unused for decades.

Located about seven miles away from the inn in the middle of a muddy field, guests were transported in the back of jeeps and pickup trucks down rutted dirt roads. Noonan says some of the pickups also ferried antique chairs from the inn to the church. 

But the one-room church was still unready. As the guests arrived, the video shows a workman carrying away a ladder, another sweeping and white paint blocking the windows of the long-closed structure. This was a problem because there was no electricity and the sun was setting fast. Thus, the candles.

“It was so John (to say) we will ‘light candles instead of cursing the darkness,’ ” Noonan recalls. 

The groom was late. The bride was later.

When the guests arrived, the video shows, John wasn’t there and neither was the bride. He was habitually late for everything but when he finally turned up he had tubs of ice-cold beer for the parched guests.

Meanwhile, Carolyn had a dress emergency that delayed her for two hours. Her famous silk crepe slip dress (by her pal, designer Narciso Rodriguez) wouldn’t slip easily over her head; adjustments had to be made to her hair and makeup.

On the video, you can barely see her standing with John inside the darkened church interior but the candles light up her face draped in a veil. They recite their vows and then she pats John’s shoulder for reassurance when he fumbled with the ring. And is that John’s sister Caroline standing behind her? It’s not clear and she is little seen in this video footage.   

John F. Kennedy Jr. and his wife, Carolyn Bessette, leave their New York apartment Oct. 6, 1996, the day after returning from their honeymoon in Turkey. (Photo: LARRY LEVINE/ Associated Press)

Miracle on the island

There was one moment when the couple and their guests feared the media had found them. A helicopter appeared and circled as guests were departing for the church. Was it the paparazzi?

“They just ruin everything!” Noonan exclaims on the video. But, he tells TLC, he knew it was the “biggest story in America,” one that every journalist and photographer wanted to get. The guests headed for the trees as the chopper circled and eventually flew away.

“And all of a sudden they weren’t there anymore,” Chermayeff said. “It was a miracle.”

In fact, America didn’t learn about the wedding until it was over and a picture of the bride and groom emerging from the chapel – he was kissing her hand, she was smiling happily – flashed around the world.

Noonan makes a poignant point: “No one ever expected that three years later we’d be in another church for another reason.” 

Autoplay

Show Thumbnails

Show Captions

Last SlideNext Slide

Read or Share this story: https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/celebrities/2019/07/14/jfk-jr-carolyn-bessette-secret-wedding-tapes-revealed-tlc-special/1705902001/

Sahred From Source link TV and Movies

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2NTYC4g via IFTTT

[gamzilla]

Lets Play Bonfire Stories 3 Manifest Horror CE Full Walkthrough Longplay...

[entergamingxp]

Inside gaming’s least safe safe rooms • Eurogamer.net

Via Facebook group chat, I’m speaking with Suguru Murakoshi and Hiroko Usuda from the now-defunct Team Silent. We’re talking about their time working on Silent Hill 4: The Room as director and designer, respectively – diving into the creation of Room 302, the apartment that kicks off the story and remains ever-present in the narrative.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR SILENT HILL 4, DOOM ETERNAL, DEATH STRANDING, WARHAMMER END TIMES – VERMINTIDE, FATAL FRAME 3: THE TORMENTED, AND AMNESIA: THE DARK DESCENT.

It’s the only save point in the game, naturally turning it into a safe room. Over time, however, this initial promise of safety is broken by a series of increasingly dangerous hauntings, turning your home into an unfamiliar and hostile space.

“The concept of Silent Hill 4 was clear from the early stages of development – the fear of eroding the safest places,” director Murakoshi tells me. “Three teams came up with a plan, and the concept of a room was chosen because it was the scariest of them. Since then, rooms have always been at the core.”

Room 302 is terryfying from the off because it doesn’t let you unlock the door from the inside. But at least the room is presented as your sanctuary. It’s only halfway into the story that things change. Looking back, Usuda considers this a “contrasting expression”.

Silent Hill 4’s Room 302.

Safe rooms have long been present in video games. Survival horror has treated them as a tradition over the years, offering players a shelter to save their progress, resupply, and regain their breath. They are great motivators to continue venturing further in Resident Evil games despite the unforeseen horrors waiting on the other side of the door. Iterations on this idea can be seen in other genres as well, present in the likes of Dark Souls’ bonfires, Darkest Dungeon’s camps, and many others. Although the purpose of each safe room may differ, the expectation from players is the safe room is, in fact, safe. But some developers have subverted this expectation, finding a new way to expose horror in previously guarded spaces.

We all broke a sweat after hearing the news Nemesis was now able to break into safe rooms in the Resident Evil 3 remake. The news turned out to be untrue, thankfully, but other video games are not so reserved. Unsafe rooms, as I like to call them, have slowly emerged throughout the years. Illusions manifest themselves as psychological torments in Death Stranding’s private rooms. Doom Eternal’s hub area, being the most recent example, suffers an unexpected attack at one point during the story. “This stronghold will now serve as your prison,” speaks the voice of Khan Maykr, now infiltrated into your navigation system. Demons quickly reveal themselves to be lurking in the shadows, ready to attack.

Doom Eternal’s safe room goes from this…

To this.

These moments can leave a long-lasting impression on players, but timing is everything when it comes to surprising them. Warhammer: End Times – Vermintide’s The Red Moon Inn was created as an interactive space in which players could spend time in-between missions. Over time, the inn became a community hub, and studio Fatshark added special events and interactive elements to capitalise on this.

Fatshark unexpectedly threw all that out of the window via a free DLC mission in which the hub is overrun by Skaven. “We had a door to the cellar from the launch of Vermintide, and the community speculated about what was behind it,” producer Mrten Stormdal tells me over email. “We wanted to create an element of surprise, and the players’ interest made it more fun for us as developers to come up with the story.”

This sudden outburst had a positive reception from the community, which Stormdal remembers fondly. “Watching streamers playing through it for the first time was priceless, they never knew what hit them. This is probably partly because it took so long before we did it. It needs to be introduced very carefully, and very scarcely, since it is supposed to be a safe room first and foremost.”

Videocult co-creator and composer James Therrien argues for and against adding these events into safe rooms, both from a developer and player perspective, based upon the news around Nemesis allegedly infiltrating them. “For me, it depends on the game’s intention. For a dynamic, unfair game like Rain World I believe it could fit well if done smartly, as with horror games where an encroachment of the in-game narrative into the ‘safe space’ of the UI can be used for solid and terrifying dramatic effect,” he explains.

“But that’s me speaking as a creator, enthusiastic to use and subvert whatever tools are available [for] me to convey emotion and narrative to my audience. As a player, I would absolutely throw my controller and complain on Twitter if I had just completed some long game passage and then died unexpectedly, when my heretofore established ‘safe space’ suddenly isn’t and I have to start the section all over again!”

In the early iterations of Rain World, a survival game in which you play a nomadic slugcat who must hunt enough food to survive, hibernation dens were planned on being fewer in numbers and larger in size, leading players to make them their home for some time, bringing supplies and resources. But as the world grew bigger, the idea of counting with just a few central safe nodes became impractical. You can still store food and items in the final dens, but it’s more of a hidden mechanic than an overt one.

If you end up hibernating while lacking the proper amount of resources, however, the process will carry on as usual, but not without consequences. You are unable to save your game until you rest in a new shelter with enough food, and the slugcat will look thinner and weigh less during the so-called starvation mode. Midway through development, the studio had the idea of letting creatures invade these dens, forcing the player to find a new one.

“We allowed for that behavior to take place in the game’s architecture, but then in testing it became a nightmare, they liked the dens too much!” Therrien says. “Eventually we had to hack it a number of ways to prevent hostile creatures from entering dens, as often the game would save that state and then a player’s save file might be ruined by them waking up with a hungry lizard… permanently! Even the layers of hacks we put in are not always successful, and a player will have to deal with an irate scavenger or lizard roommate. But it’s worth it because players can also intentionally hibernate with tamed or befriended creatures, which adds so much to the game.”

Rain World.

Silent Hill 4’s Room 302 isn’t the only famous unsafe room. The mansion in Fatal Frame 3: The Tormented also serves as a shelter for most of your time in the game, since it’s only when you dream that ethereal beings manifest themselves in the Manor of Sleep. But over time that protection begins to fall apart as paranormal presences bleed into reality. Looking over your shoulder becomes mandatory.

Fatal Frame 3: The Tormented.

Another known example is the Back Hall from Amnesia: The Dark Descent. After escaping the archive tunnels and witnessing first hand some of the horrors that await Daniel in the story, you find yourself in a big, surprisingly illuminated room. There’s an eerie fountain in its centre that doesn’t give much confidence, but it’s the soothing music (the track is fittingly called ‘Safe Ambient’) and the sudden change of environment that provide a feeling that wasn’t in any of the rooms before it.

Such feeling is later swept away by the presence of The Shadow, an invisible enemy who is constantly chasing Daniel around the manor and its whereabouts. The water in the fountain turns red and organic residue invades the hall completely. Another safe space mutates into anything but.

“A core element of the game is being hunted by this vast horror that destroys everything in its past,” creative director and Frictional Games co-founder Thomas Grip tells me. “So we wanted to make sure the environments had this sense of changing as this threat grew. Players were unlikely to revisit many of the levels, so the hub levels felt like the right place to do this.

“We didn’t want players to become too used to the environments, as that kills that sense of uncertainty you want in a horror game. You get good horror when people look around and don’t know what they might find. If players feel their surroundings are very stable and familiar, you won’t have that. So, the trick is to always keep changing.”

Amnesia: The Dark Descent

Looking back, Silent Hill 4’s use of room 302 as the only recurrent save point was a gamble in terms of player exhaustion. “At the time, I didn’t intend to put save points outside the room,” Murakoshi continues. “However, it’s insanely inconceivable in recent games. 2004 was different from the current game situation. [Taking it into consideration], I think it was not balanced, but for me the difficulty before returning to the save point was not so high.” He adds that in today’s context, Silent Hill 4 would need to be more kind towards the player, but most of the choices made back in the early 2000s would remain, such as expressing a normal daily life on the outside as much as possible, granting the illusion that one day you might resume your routine with the others.

This included the neighbors occasionally appearing in the door’s fisheye, along with everything you could see from the room’s window. (Usuda based the window on Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window.) I also asked Murakoshi if the shifting house from Kojima Productions’ horror tease P.T. could be considered a safe room, which he immediately denied, recalling the initial sense of shelter in room 302: “That house is not safe. It doesn’t have any elements to give you a sense of security.”

Gloomwood’s developer Dillon Rogers has been documenting these spaces on Twitter for almost two years now, and argues disrupting a safe room doesn’t involve just timing, but also the consideration of what comes next, based on the effect it has on the player. Knowing that a safe room no longer holds its initial purpose can be good tension in its own right, but periods of time dedicated to allowing players to let down their guard are equally important to prevent exhaustion.

Room 302. Silent Hill 4: The Room. (Team Silent, 2004) pic.twitter.com/1OLZTPUEiX

— The Safe Room (@TheSaferooms) May 9, 2018

In his game, phonographs serve as the typewriter equivalent, and players can tell when one is nearby because the devices play music. Depending on the difficulty, wax cylinders also need to be used to save their current progress. As of now, Rogers doesn’t want to reveal if the game ever disrupts its rules, which is probably for the better. “You have to be quite careful about breaking the sanctity of the safe room as once that bell has been rung, you can’t unring it,” he tells me.

The first memory he has about a traditional safe room being broken comes from the original Resident Evil 2. There’s one moment in the utility building behind the police station where two zombies attack during one of the series’ iconic door opening sequences, which were only supposed to be a stylish way of presenting loading screen transitions between rooms up to that point.

“I don’t think that moment would have worked as well if the original Resident Evil hadn’t built up a full game’s worth of expectations,” Rogers says. “The player entered the sequel knowing the original game always assumed the door sequences and safe rooms were off-limits, and when the game broke both rules at once – it was frightening.”

Now that’s a contrasting expression.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/04/inside-gamings-least-safe-safe-rooms-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=inside-gamings-least-safe-safe-rooms-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net