Title: The Frosted Quest
------------------------------
Characters: Warren Foster, Myk
Warren Foster must post first, outlining a story on the following theme (feel free to get creative):
Setting: A frosty pine forest
Backstory: The group were out (alone or together) enjoying some down time (some or all characters).
Occurance: government agents approach and ask for something very unexpected.
Variable: You feel something is amiss.
Participants: 2
ARES: no
Speed: slow
Chapter: no
Minimum Words Per Post: none
Maximum Words Per Post: none
------------------------------
This thread was generated via the Roleplay Matchmaking System.
The Frosted Quest [MM]
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Warren Foster (DELETED 13133)
- Registered User
- Posts: 3
- Joined: 17 Mar 2020, 17:03
Re: The Frosted Quest [MM]
"Crunch crunch crunch says the feet to the ground. Munch Munch Munch says the bear to the hound. Little birdy and a little wormy. Eat eat eat." The ramblings of the wraith weren't the quietest, for a being as invisible as he was, he was not always hard to track. His nonsensical speech and absolute ignorance to any actual trouble his existence meant he put zero effort into hiding who or where or what he was.
"Shiny and brittle says the leaf to the air. But the air just does not care." He muttered, "It's too busy being breathed by the bear."
This was a part of the deal between him and the vampire. Mason, yes, that was the name. Mason Dunn. Dun dun dun! Freedom for him, and an extra pair of eyes and ears for her. All agreed. She was the one with the power, but he was permitted his freedom. He could see and hear. But was rarely seen himself. But he was heard, oh yes he was heard indeed. The wraith Warren Foster had not the time to shut his mouth, whatever size it might be, whether it existed or not. He didn't care. It didn't really matter if he did anyway.
"They are how they were and always will be how they are. Something eats, something breaths, something dies, something lives. Little bit of death, little bit of love, little bit of meat on a stove, haha! But it won't really matter will it? We're all dead anyway, Be it now, or before, or after? Because there is no after is there. I am alive, I will be, and I was, and yet I am not and it wouldn't matter if I ever was." The ramblings were followed by the whistling of a tune that seemed to start out with a pattern but then would drift into a totally different style of song mere seconds afterwards.
Warren was an old wraith, not the oldest, not at all, but an old one. And whatever mind he used to have had been quite lost, if he'd had one at all. If he did, he'd say it wouldn't matter anyway.
"Shiny and brittle says the leaf to the air. But the air just does not care." He muttered, "It's too busy being breathed by the bear."
This was a part of the deal between him and the vampire. Mason, yes, that was the name. Mason Dunn. Dun dun dun! Freedom for him, and an extra pair of eyes and ears for her. All agreed. She was the one with the power, but he was permitted his freedom. He could see and hear. But was rarely seen himself. But he was heard, oh yes he was heard indeed. The wraith Warren Foster had not the time to shut his mouth, whatever size it might be, whether it existed or not. He didn't care. It didn't really matter if he did anyway.
"They are how they were and always will be how they are. Something eats, something breaths, something dies, something lives. Little bit of death, little bit of love, little bit of meat on a stove, haha! But it won't really matter will it? We're all dead anyway, Be it now, or before, or after? Because there is no after is there. I am alive, I will be, and I was, and yet I am not and it wouldn't matter if I ever was." The ramblings were followed by the whistling of a tune that seemed to start out with a pattern but then would drift into a totally different style of song mere seconds afterwards.
Warren was an old wraith, not the oldest, not at all, but an old one. And whatever mind he used to have had been quite lost, if he'd had one at all. If he did, he'd say it wouldn't matter anyway.
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Myk
- Registered User
- Posts: 2433
- Joined: 17 May 2011, 15:58
- CrowNet Handle: Thread_Slayer
- Contact:
Re: The Frosted Quest [MM]
“You could try to be a little nicer,” Myk said and as the words left his rose-painted lips in such a scolding tone, they didn’t really sound anything like him.
Of course, those words had sounded like him - as much as anything that the white-haired Vampire said without an illusion being performed could sound like him. For the man had been born of unorthodox heritage and had experienced a range of cultures during his upbringing. Before he had even become a Vampire, Myk had lived something of a gypsy’s life; travelling from city to city across the globe and absorbing and assimilating himself into the civilisations he was subject to. He was also the heir to a Criminal Lawyer and a Psychiatrist who spoke four languages fluently and several more not so fluently between them - so he had curiosity and the capability to learn in absolute spades. He had bent that ambition toward perfecting and understanding accents, cultures, and the Human psyche even before he could dabble with supernatural tricks. And now that he had been a Vampire for nine years, he realised that his limits were only in his mind…
So, while those words had physically sounded like him - in a raw, English accent with his deep purring tenor of a voice - it was the impression that his words had left on him that felt out of place. For a moment, he felt and heard an echo of somebody else in his words; somebody who didn’t fit inside any of his own personalities. As a matter of fact, in that tiny moment, he reminded himself of his mother. The Telepath felt sick to his stomach at the acknowledgement. His nose crinkled and he forgot that he was chastising the Wraith, Rutherford, for misbehaving once again. This was, as it happened, just as well because said Wraith was quite happy to ignore the scolding of his charge regardless. Its shadowy body had turned away from the street to address the treeline, where the pine forests bent like matchsticks in the gusts of the unseasonal wind.
“I know you don’t like him,” Myk continued, seemingly remembering where he had stopped. “But you don’t happen to like anyone, do you.”
Rutherford continued to ignore him and Myk sighed, pewter eyes focused on what he supposed was the Wraith’s back because who could even tell. After all, the Wraith looked just like a semi-physical shadow; a flat black shape with willowy arms and hands that were more solid than the rest of him. He didn’t walk or even stand, but floated about, even on the spot – a man-shaped silhouette that was roughly six feet in height. Rutherford had legs and those legs did reach for the ground, but never seemed to connect with it. Like most other Wraiths, Rutherford was there and yet he was not. Unlike most other Wraiths, Rutherford’s mind appeared to drift in and out of this realm and the next. There were times when he was helpful and took orders, sometimes he even took the initiative to lend his aid to Myk and his companions. However, there had also been other times when he had tormented, challenged, and sabotaged others - including his charge. The only consistent behaviour that Rutherford seemed to keep was his outright disapproval and derision toward Myk’s more intimate relations - regardless of their gender.
“Fine. Have it your way,” the Telepath groused.
“There is a voice coming from the trees.”
Rutherford’s own voice sounded as though it was coming from the trees; it was distant, ethereal, yet wooden. Pewter eyes assessed the source for the Wraith’s comments; the wilderness that boarded the path they were standing on, and all of Harper Rock. It was a territory that few of his kind dared venture into as fables of invisible monsters and vengeful spirits put shackles on the boots of otherwise hearty adventurers and killers.The treeline ahead drank the last of the light so that the bark of the visible trees were like charcoal sticks against obsidian. The soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in the ears, but he couldn’t hear any voice. The loam in the earth and the decomposing leaves made the atmosphere close and thick, but he couldn’t detect the scent of anyone close by either. Myk frowned at the floating shape before him and began to twirl a lock of platinum hair around his fingers.
“What do you mean?” Myk asked, his voice a low purr on the night air.
“A voice,” Rutherford repeated and his upper body twisted. “From the trees. It says… the most peculiar things.”
Of course, those words had sounded like him - as much as anything that the white-haired Vampire said without an illusion being performed could sound like him. For the man had been born of unorthodox heritage and had experienced a range of cultures during his upbringing. Before he had even become a Vampire, Myk had lived something of a gypsy’s life; travelling from city to city across the globe and absorbing and assimilating himself into the civilisations he was subject to. He was also the heir to a Criminal Lawyer and a Psychiatrist who spoke four languages fluently and several more not so fluently between them - so he had curiosity and the capability to learn in absolute spades. He had bent that ambition toward perfecting and understanding accents, cultures, and the Human psyche even before he could dabble with supernatural tricks. And now that he had been a Vampire for nine years, he realised that his limits were only in his mind…
So, while those words had physically sounded like him - in a raw, English accent with his deep purring tenor of a voice - it was the impression that his words had left on him that felt out of place. For a moment, he felt and heard an echo of somebody else in his words; somebody who didn’t fit inside any of his own personalities. As a matter of fact, in that tiny moment, he reminded himself of his mother. The Telepath felt sick to his stomach at the acknowledgement. His nose crinkled and he forgot that he was chastising the Wraith, Rutherford, for misbehaving once again. This was, as it happened, just as well because said Wraith was quite happy to ignore the scolding of his charge regardless. Its shadowy body had turned away from the street to address the treeline, where the pine forests bent like matchsticks in the gusts of the unseasonal wind.
“I know you don’t like him,” Myk continued, seemingly remembering where he had stopped. “But you don’t happen to like anyone, do you.”
Rutherford continued to ignore him and Myk sighed, pewter eyes focused on what he supposed was the Wraith’s back because who could even tell. After all, the Wraith looked just like a semi-physical shadow; a flat black shape with willowy arms and hands that were more solid than the rest of him. He didn’t walk or even stand, but floated about, even on the spot – a man-shaped silhouette that was roughly six feet in height. Rutherford had legs and those legs did reach for the ground, but never seemed to connect with it. Like most other Wraiths, Rutherford was there and yet he was not. Unlike most other Wraiths, Rutherford’s mind appeared to drift in and out of this realm and the next. There were times when he was helpful and took orders, sometimes he even took the initiative to lend his aid to Myk and his companions. However, there had also been other times when he had tormented, challenged, and sabotaged others - including his charge. The only consistent behaviour that Rutherford seemed to keep was his outright disapproval and derision toward Myk’s more intimate relations - regardless of their gender.
“Fine. Have it your way,” the Telepath groused.
“There is a voice coming from the trees.”
Rutherford’s own voice sounded as though it was coming from the trees; it was distant, ethereal, yet wooden. Pewter eyes assessed the source for the Wraith’s comments; the wilderness that boarded the path they were standing on, and all of Harper Rock. It was a territory that few of his kind dared venture into as fables of invisible monsters and vengeful spirits put shackles on the boots of otherwise hearty adventurers and killers.The treeline ahead drank the last of the light so that the bark of the visible trees were like charcoal sticks against obsidian. The soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in the ears, but he couldn’t hear any voice. The loam in the earth and the decomposing leaves made the atmosphere close and thick, but he couldn’t detect the scent of anyone close by either. Myk frowned at the floating shape before him and began to twirl a lock of platinum hair around his fingers.
“What do you mean?” Myk asked, his voice a low purr on the night air.
“A voice,” Rutherford repeated and his upper body twisted. “From the trees. It says… the most peculiar things.”
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Storyteller
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AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENT
==========AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENTS SYSTEM==========
Myk catches sight of a hard looking human watching them, who quickly moves away from the area.
Myk catches sight of a hard looking human watching them, who quickly moves away from the area.
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Warren Foster (DELETED 13133)
- Registered User
- Posts: 3
- Joined: 17 Mar 2020, 17:03
Re: The Frosted Quest [MM]
"Little bunny choo choo hopping through the forest, picking up the train station and cockadoodldoo." Even Warren himself seemed to stop at his own ramblings that time, his voice coming out with simply, "Er, what?" followed by the ever present, "Oh well, it doesn't matter." before moving on.
However the wraith was heard, not just by himself but by another of his kind. And by some...unexpected guests. Trying very hard to spy on the less than physical being were three men, Two remained alone, one actively taking care of communications, the other watching the third very intently as he tried to pinpoint the origin of the sound. They didn't come out yet, but they were there. Waiting and watching, not that watching would do them any good. They knew that too. They had a very specific assignment, one that had to do with the elusive beings called Wraiths.
Something was odd to Warren, about everything really. But when wasn't something odd to him? He found himself odd. And managed to find everyone else even more odd. Today simply felt especially so. He drifted somewhat from the forests edge. Still not fully aware of Myk and Rutherford, nor the agents, aware of his presence. Even as he thoughtlessly drew closer to them, "Where trees die and water glistens, where eagles hide and rivers listen. Where birds silence their songs. Where the grasshopper for food, he longs. There's a little of it everywhere. Where is it, here!" There was a long pause as the normally invisible, but quite hearable, creature waited and realized his mistake, "No that's the wrong where, the where is gone, or is it? She'd say it is. Or would she? I see shivers but I don't see many more than normal. What is normal here? I don't belong here. But here I am. But I didn't belong there either. I'm gone now though, and I will be soon. How soon? Who knows? Not me."
However the wraith was heard, not just by himself but by another of his kind. And by some...unexpected guests. Trying very hard to spy on the less than physical being were three men, Two remained alone, one actively taking care of communications, the other watching the third very intently as he tried to pinpoint the origin of the sound. They didn't come out yet, but they were there. Waiting and watching, not that watching would do them any good. They knew that too. They had a very specific assignment, one that had to do with the elusive beings called Wraiths.
Something was odd to Warren, about everything really. But when wasn't something odd to him? He found himself odd. And managed to find everyone else even more odd. Today simply felt especially so. He drifted somewhat from the forests edge. Still not fully aware of Myk and Rutherford, nor the agents, aware of his presence. Even as he thoughtlessly drew closer to them, "Where trees die and water glistens, where eagles hide and rivers listen. Where birds silence their songs. Where the grasshopper for food, he longs. There's a little of it everywhere. Where is it, here!" There was a long pause as the normally invisible, but quite hearable, creature waited and realized his mistake, "No that's the wrong where, the where is gone, or is it? She'd say it is. Or would she? I see shivers but I don't see many more than normal. What is normal here? I don't belong here. But here I am. But I didn't belong there either. I'm gone now though, and I will be soon. How soon? Who knows? Not me."