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chrisairgames · 1 year ago

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Time to Play Curios: Albrecht Manor

When it's Halloween, I like to play creepy Halloweenie games. Ok, well I might like spooky games all year-round, but for the horror season it's time to pull out all stops. When I received this package in the mail last month, I knew it'd be perfect for the weekend before Halloween:

Curios: Albrecht Manor is "an epistolary horror mystery experience" by Seb Pines, the first in the new Curios series from Good Luck Press. There is no single person who runs the game. No one knows what they're about to open, other than what you see on the blurb.

The notion of the game is that the players are "Researchers" of "The Archive" who receive evidence and ephemera leftover after the appearance of supernatural phenomena. The details on the Archive is sparse, but you an unbothered dayjob vibe oozes from the tone. This manila envelope is all you're going to get, and your job is to make some declarative statements by the end of the research.

It's a fun space to play. I could see the experience of play spanning the spectrum between a total LARP and completely player-facing. For our game, we were closer to the player-facing end of that spectrum, and had a fabulous evening.

What's inside?

The Albrecht Manor manila envelope contains 11 letters and two postcards, along with a short mailing notice and the "Archive" report card. Like any good horror story, the letters start off tame with bits of weird, yet quickly start including photos, newspaper snippets, blueprints and administrative papers.

From tearing open the letters to the difference in paper textures, styles and handwritten bits were thrilling to handle. We were surprised how each piece, and sometimes innocuous details at first, came back to have us rifling back through what we'd read before.

Play Experience

With the stack of letters in the center of the table, without prior discussion, we naturally began to play by each picking up a letter/postcard, and circling, writing notes, and sharing weird details. This created a fun, anachronistic revelation of details, as sometimes one bit would go unremarked earlier would pop up in someone else's letters.

When an important detail came to the forefront of this developing narrative, I appreciated how the spotlight would pass around each of us adding more context or details or asking questions we weren't sure how to answer. But it's extremely difficult to discuss direct details without spoiling the contents of the letters. The discovery of certain documents and finding the inter-connectivity is the fun of this game.

The game comes with a single paragraph of instruction, which can seem daunting, but I was in awe of how the physical presentation made space for our own curiosity to define the bounds of how we approached the mystery. We examined photos under different types of lamplight, tried using the zoom on our smartphones as impromptu magnifying lenses, and folded paper in all sorts of ways. Most importantly, we were enraptured by this game for nearly three hours and were astonished at how fast the time passed.

We all appreciated how there is no direct, singular answer, and that we the players were the ones to define the story from our collective interpretation. It's not a good mystery, especially a ghost story mystery, if you're not left with more questions by the end.

Spoilers at the next heading!

Three specific moments literally gave me chills. I don't want to spoil those here. After the photo and line break is the report that was sent to the Archivist at curiosarchive.net. I realize now that we didn't "even "formally" discuss how we would classify the Albrecht Manor phenomena, but the classification is hinted at.

While I don't intend to spoil specific details in the letters, the submitted report has major spoilers. So if you haven't played this game, don't read any further!

Submitted Report to the Archivist

29/10/2023

Dear Archivist,

The first sentence on the first postcard, unwittingly, says it all, "the house is a dream."

This group of Archive researchers have deemed this household, built by one Damian Albrecht, to be a spiritual machine. This trap inhabits the mind of its occupants, and grows and shifts according to its creator's and past occupants' hopes and dreams of a warm household. The researchers are even hesitant to call this a haunting, but agree the house appears to be a spatio-temporal machination propelled by the spirits it is required to consume to keep operating. The fire, in this interpretation, is a convenient excuse for the house to re-enter its slumbering stasis. The researchers' consensus is that there must be only one true fire, but could not access WHEN that may be.

The researchers agreed, though without substantial evidence, the purpose of this machine is to sustain not only long life to its creator, Damian Albrecht, but also to impose HIS dream onto others, and subsume their dreams to feed his own. Again, the fire is a convenient cover-up for the displaced spirits Albrecht has trapped.

The researchers were divided on several facets, foremost questioning the actual existence of the principal figures: Alex Dunn and Anne Wilson. Could it be that Alex Dunn is in fact Albrecht? Has the persona of Alex Dunn created the character of Anne Wilson to represent the inhabitants of St. Ann? Will there be an all-consuming fire that destroys the town, and this house (and letters) are calling the community to action, as a sort of warning? Does Albrecht Manor's machinery twist and channel the powers of the Catholic Saint Ann, whose emblem is a Door, to imbue itself with supernatural power? If Alex Dunn is/was a real person, were they drawn to the house due to past trauma involving Anne and the implied kitchen fire that took place in the past? Did this oft-alluded-to fire kill Anne?

Many loose ends remain, but these Archive Researchers remain confident that the initial readings of the Albrecht Manor as deviating from the traditional haunting are correct. The "ghosts" are most likely Albrecht himself, and the temporal echoes of the Manor's past occupants. We put forth that through mechano-spiritual insights, "Damian Albrecht" built Albrecht Manor to trap people into its/his dreams of a perfect home. As a single household can never be "perfect" in his madness, the Manor and its master yearn to consume more ideals to feed this imperfect spiritual machine.

Thank you for reading, dear Archivist.

All best, Chris Air & Friends.

#indie ttrpg #indie games #horror #ghost #role playing games #tabletop #ttrpg #rules lite #spooky

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nightmarewritings · 2 years ago

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I'm not really back to taking requests, but I finished a fic and figured this would be a good place to share it too! It's for the game Outlast, and is a Richard Trager/reader f/m fic.

This fic is NOT Worksafe and contains mild blood, dubious consent, and sex.

The People Pleaser

It was dark, you had lost track of everything; your phone, your flashlight, even your glasses had become lost not long ago. Hell, the only other safe person you had met in this hellhole, an equally terrified man clutching a camera, had no choice but to leave you while the two of you were chased down opposite hallways, though he promised to come back and find you, that was before you got lost, before you passed through the twisting corridors and blocked off staircases.

You couldn’t see anything in the darkness, your hand tapped along the wall beside you, hoping to not somehow wind up more lost than you already were. It had been a while since you last heard anyone near you, as if the danger had passed, but you remained vigilant.

It would only take the tiniest slip up to be caught, to be tortured and gutted and eaten or any manner of other horrible fates. But that wasn’t going to be you. As terrified as you were, you were a survivor, you told yourself. You would live. You would live. You would live. You repeated it over and over, hoping to steel your nerves and fill yourself with determination. You weren’t quite sure it was working, but you didn’t exactly have any other options.

Light slowly began to appear as you continued on, you paused for a moment when you noticed movement ahead, but a strange sense of relief passed over you. They were strapped to beds, squirming in pain and agony, but a part of you was just glad they weren’t trying to rip you apart too. You had to get out of the asylum, being chased for as long as you had been was having a clear effect.

Taking a deep breath, steeling your nerves, you walked past them, keeping your eyes locked dead ahead. Some struggled, some screamed, some could do nothing but scream. Pain was starting to stab its way into your brain, an unfortunate side effect of your eyes straining to see without your glasses. A promise was made; when you got home, you would order a spare pair.

Home. The thought made you smile. Though you had only been in the asylum for likely a few hours at the most, it felt like it had been days. In hindsight, agreeing to pick up a friend from his security job was a bad idea, but you had always been somewhat of a pushover and a people pleaser. No use in dwelling on it. Now, the only thing on your mind was survival. You even briefly considered picking up a weapon, but most things that seemed as if they could work were all either too heavy or already in use.

A sound clattered forth from somewhere to your right and you jumped, clutching your, now sadly ripped and stained, cardigan tightly in your grasp. It appeared as if one of the unfortunate patients had managed to kick over a metal tray. You breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that you were still safe.

“I swear, you can’t get any peace and quiet around here, if it’s not one thing, it’s another!”

A voice, surprisingly calm despite the circumstances, came from behind you, right as a hand grabbed your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. You couldn’t get a good look at him, he was just a tall blur, but from the way he paused, you had a feeling he was getting a very good look at you.

Despite the circumstances, you could feel your racing heartbeat slow somewhat. He didn’t sound dangerous, though you knew that was hardy an indicator of safety, and he wasn’t instantly trying to rip your guts out.

“When I heard someone running around here, I didn’t think it’d be a pretty thing like yourself. C’mon, it’s dangerous out there, you stick with me and you might keep your head on your shoulders.” He released his grip and his hand migrated down to your back, continuing lower until it stopped right on the small of your back. He pushed gently, guiding you along. “Though, you’ve been wandering around like it’s already been cut off, what’s the deal with that?”

True, you didn’t exactly feel safe around him, but it was beginning to sink in that you really had no choice but to go along with him. A sniffle pushed its way out of you as you tried to speak, your voice hoarse from earlier screams. “M-My glasses… I dropped them somewhere up here, but it’s just so… so dark.”

“Lemme guess, can’t see without ‘em? What a shame, you’re really missing out on the scenery here, believe me.”

His joke wasn’t all that funny, but you laughed politely anyway. You walked with him, fully aware that every step would only result in your becoming even more lost in the labyrinthine halls, and you didn’t exactly expect him to show you the way out.

Soon, the two of you reached a room, more brightly lit than the ones you had passed through, though the light held no comfort as it illuminated the copious amount of blood splattered throughout.

“You tired? Just hop up on that bed, take a rest.” He didn’t even bother letting you try to climb up, not that you would have if you had a choice, instead he leaned down and scooped you up, placing you exactly where he wanted you to go. Before you could even begin to protest, your legs were strapped down. “Just a little insurance, can’t have you running off again or bumbling around and knocking shit over.”

“Wait, what? That’s not fair!” You knew something wasn’t right, that it was a stupid idea to trust him, your optimism had always been as much a curse as it was a blessing.

“Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you. Well, maybe a little, we’ll see how the night goes. Truth is, I’m a bit rusty, it’s been a while since I last got to wine and dine, and this isn’t exactly Dorsia, but old habits die hard, and it's been too long since I last saw a pretty face.” As he continued muttering, mostly to himself, he turned away from you and headed towards a table, where he lifted something up. You weren’t sure what it was, but your heart began to race as every possible, horrible, painful option passed through your mind. You closed your eyes, if he was going to cause you pain, you didn’t want to watch.

Instead, you felt something very familiar, the feeling of your glasses being slid on. Your eyes snapped back open. Aside from slight smudges, your vision was restored, the persistent blur was gone, and now you saw the man in front of you. You liked him much better with your glasses off.

“There we go, with your glasses on you look almost too cute for surgery, maybe you could be my little nurse instead? Or maybe, maybe you could be something a bit more.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and his hands closed around your thighs, clamping them down to the table. “I’ve had all sorts of girls in all sorts of places, but you’d be my first in here.” His grip tightened, and you knew it would be best to go along with whatever he said. You would live.

You gave him a nod, and he removed his hands from you, quickly turning around back towards the table. Good lord, was the whole asylum allergic to clothes? The question left your mind quickly, when you saw him raise a pair of rusty shears. "Lemme help you out of those clothes, buddy."

“Wait! I can just take it off, okay? Let me keep my clothes intact, and I'll.. do what you want.” You tilted your face up towards his, batting your eyelashes and playing at everything you could think of to help you live through the night with all your limbs intact.

“You drive a hard bargain, shredding that shirt would do the world a favor, but alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Though he didn’t place the shears down immediately, he did cross his arms and take a step away from you, giving you room.

The cardigan fell away first. Your fingers trembled as you undid each button, slowly revealing more of yourself to the man in front of you. The shirt fell to the side softly, barely hanging on the rusty, blood-stained bed and leaving you vulnerable. His eyes didn't leave your body for a second.

"You shouldn't be shaking, come on, buddy! I could've just left you out there alone with all those wackos, feeling around in the dark like a helpless little bunny. Don't you think you're much better off here?"

"Mister, I-I wouldn't feel safe in here even with a bazooka." Honestly, he didn't make you feel safe in the slightest. You had absolutely no doubt that he was responsible for the mutilated patients you passed in the hall, and his friendly demeanor only put you more on edge.

He laughed, it sounded as warm as everything that came out of his mouth. "That's a good point! Oh, and don't call me 'mister', makes me sound old. Call me 'Doctor Trager', or 'Rick'. 'Mister Trager' was my father." Another small chuckle came out, as if he was an actual licensed medical professional, you didn't believe that man had ever been to medical school.

The rest of your clothing soon went the way of your shirt, the release of your ankles from the straps helped, each discarded item of clothing only brought more interest, and increasingly lewd comments, from ‘Doctor’ Trager, making you wonder why he was taking his time. Did he really like the sound of his own voice that much?

“Not normally a leg guy, but you’ve got some grade A gams on you. I need a closer look, you understand, doctor’s orders.”

He climbed up on the bed, straddling your body. Your hands shot up to his chest, trying to push him back, but it was no use, he was stronger than he looked. Trager was close enough that you could see his face in all its torn ‘glory’, you hadn’t even noticed before that his lip had been partially torn off, the scars criss-crossing his head, or how deeply that lens was embedded in his eye. Before you could say anything, however, you were met with a very unwelcome intrusion, his fingers pushed their way past your lips and into your mouth. You could feel his nails scratching as he felt around, paying particular attention to your tongue. There was a copper taste in your mouth, and it dawned on you that Trager had not washed any of the old blood from his hands. It took all your willpower to not gag.

“That’s a good girl, warm and wet. Let’s get those legs of yours up and- nice, nice.” Your legs were wrapped around his waist, with only his stained apron between your bodies. His skin felt unusual, textured in a way unfamiliar to you. It was almost a blessing when he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, even despite the unpleasant scraping of his teeth against your skin, it beat hearing him chatter on.

You couldn’t help but feel your body respond to his touch as his hands roamed every bit of your exposed flesh, he did indeed seem to know his way around a body very well. Still, the thought that you were doing something wrong lingered in your brain, that you were taking your people pleasing, passive nature too far, that you needed to fight your way out of Mount Massive with a merciless fury or die trying.

But what you were doing seemed safer, easier, and it had kept you alive. If you had to let him have his way with you to survive, why not try and enjoy it? At least that way you would get something out of it beyond a good reason to see a therapist.

Like it or not, you were getting wet. Your body wanted him, and not just for his surprisingly skilled fingers moving over your skin. Maybe you could let yourself go, to give yourself over to him and forget about the horrors that surrounded you. His hands went to your hips, you could feel his fingernails dig into your skin. The kiss broke, and you were left with no choice but to hear the satisfied groan leave his ragged lips as he pushed his cock inside you.

"It's been too fucking long..." He muttered. Trager didn't even wait until he was fully inside you before he began to speed up, his hip bones slammed painfully against you, but he barely seemed phased.

His mouth moved down your neck, his teeth sank into your skin as he bit down, though he stopped before he drew blood, it still caused you to yelp. The friction of his movements against your insides sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He seemed to perfectly hit that bundle of nerves inside of you that your fingers couldn't reach, knocking little gasps out of your lips every time. You could feel his hot, wet breath on your neck and his heart pounding in his chest.

One of his hands left your hip and gripped your hair, forcing your head to tilt back. He stared into your eyes, watching them dart around as you tried to avoid making eye contact with him. "You look me in the eyes when you cum, got that?" You nodded, and he gave you a quick smile. "I can bet it won't be long now, not with how you're clamping down on me. You want this."

You wouldn't say it out loud, couldn't say it, but he was right. You did want it. Trager was making your body feel too good, better than it had any right to in the situation you were in. Your legs rubbed against his waist, pulling him closer despite the rational part of your brain still telling you it was wrong, he was dangerous, you shouldn't enjoy yourself with him. Perhaps you could rationalize it away as adrenaline? You had been chased around for hours prior, your body needed some release.

"Atta girl, nobody likes a cold fish." He teased you, and released your hair from his grasp. Instead, he maneuvered you around once more, bringing your legs up to his shoulders. You could feel his thrusts even deeper than before. The sensation was so intense, you wondered if you would be able to handle it, if you would break if he kept going.

Your breaths were coming faster and faster, your fingernails dug into your palms as you tried to keep yourself from cumming. That would only make it worse, make it harder, but you were desperate for it. "Let me help you there, buddy..." Trager said, and you felt his fingers against your clit. Like it or not, you knew he would make you cum.

You were right.

With a few quick circles of his finger, he sent you over the edge, your resolve shattering into a million pieces as waves of pleasure rolled through you. You kept your eyes open as best you could, locked on his like he wanted. He kept up his frantic thrusting, holding you tight as he worked your body through it, he could feel how tightly your cunt gripped him. "That's it, that's it!" Before you could even finish your own orgasm, he pushed himself as far inside you as he could, filling you with his own release.

He pulled out and watched his semen ooze from you and puddle underneath your body. "You're on the pill, right?" He asked, though it was much too late for that question. You gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Can you… help me get out of here now… please?" Your voice was barely a squeak. Your legs were sore and wobbly, but you were certain you’d make it out safely with his help.

Trager climbed off of you and brushed his hands against his apron. "Well who said I was going to do that? I told you already, you're staying with me, I could use an assistant. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get some decent help around here? I ask for forceps, they give me clamps, it's a whole thing. Now-"

He began to ramble on again, but you had already tuned him out. He wasn’t going to help you out, and with how long it had been since you last saw that cameraman, you had a feeling no one would. Maybe staying with Doctor Trager wouldn’t be so bad after all? At least, until you could find another way out. You were a survivor, you would live, no matter what.

#outlast #Richard Trager #Richard Trager x reader #horror #not worksafe #lite work #fanfics

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