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Thread: Friday the 13th - October Vignette

  1. #1
    Some Filthy Casual

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    Lye's Avatar

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    Lichensith Ulroke
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    Friday the 13th - October Vignette

    Theme: Horror

    Prompt:

    It is Friday the 13 of October, one of the most harrowing and spooky days of the year. Black cats, restless ghosts, and bloodthirsty killers are in abundance. Wherever it be, your character feels the needle pricks along their spine. Their hairs stand on end and something has got them unnerved. Is it of the living? Of the dead? Whatever is is, they have reason to believe the only way out is to run. If they can...

    Checklist:

    - Your character must experience fear or restlessness at least once during the vignette.
    - Whatever has them rattled cannot be concluded. It should end in a cliffhanger or "to be continued" vibe.

    This Vignette concludes November 13th at 11:59PM EST.

  2. #2
    Super Moderator

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    Garron's Avatar

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    Garron Ivari Cadeyrn
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    Human
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    Corone

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    The dream had been ripped away from him to be thrown into an unwelcoming awakening into reality. Garron shifted slightly within the crumbling straw pallet he had awoken on top of, seeking strength in his right arm to rake over where the pain trumpeted loudest. Every muscle ached tremendously and the sleep from his viridian eyes had been difficult to shake. An attempt in sitting up failed, causing a wake of straw dust to cloud around him and the hateful protest of crunching straw and strained wood to whine beneath him when his back anchored the pallet once more. He hurt. He hurt badly. The sheer pain from his abdomen nearly sent Garron into the swirling abyss of dreams once more.

    He would have welcomed that graciously…

    Garron struggled to breath, and each pull of air felt like a Skavian dagger thrust deeply into his lungs. Otherwise accommodating body failed the Son of Winter, laying helplessly atop his uncomfortable pallet. The swirling emerald and sapphire of his eyes hungered for some sort of hope to focus as he lay dormant. Rich rustic aromas of a fire had smuggled the atmosphere, causing his already shallow breathing to depart, and the entrancing crackle of wood burning somewhat hypnotized Garron like a warm and inviting campfire roaring on the Peregrine Reach. It reminded him of traveling to Salvar with his mother as a child. He had to be inside some sort of structure with the way sound echoed, he kept telling himself, trying to find some hope of reality to grasp a hold of, keeping his mind from submitting to conscienceless reprieve.

    His large hand struggled to pull away from his abdomen wet through bandages that felt like soiled ancient gauze. The smell of corruption lightly wafting with the aroma of aged wood, lichen stone and a sweet smell he recognized but couldn’t quite remember. The warm slick viscosity of what he felt between his fingers told the story of the agonizing wound his body lay dormant from. Garron hated to be unable to control his own body, but the choice has long drifted away.

    “What is that familiar sweet smell that tugs at my nostrils,” Garron whispered to himself, trying to fit the puzzle piece into the correct place within his memories. ‘That damnable cave I ducked in to to escape that torrential thunderstorm only to be thrust into a swirling vortex of chaos. Where not a damn thing made a bit of sense…’

    At that moment it struck Garron full on, and the feelings he drowned from midst that dreadful cave came rushing back. His sun-kissed skin began to prickle. His chest tightened as breathing deepened more so. Stomach stirred like a streaming cauldron worried by an impatience witch. ‘Trying to get out of that cave is the last thing I remember…’

    The sweet smell lingering strengthened while he was lost in his thoughts, and a strange scraping sound that resonated much like hollow iron over stone in an enclosed limitation drew near. Slow and determined it grew a higher pitch. Each struggled breath Garron attempted to reel in swelled. ‘What is that…’ His nerves flared unto their fraying when the cloud of straw snuffed out any oxygen around his large frame. He attempted to summon a burst of energy left to his nearly depleted, rattled and broken body. He crashed onto cold stone under his full weight.

    Garron scrambled to find his feet. Clouded vision restricted a viable exit. Skirmish to the opposite direction of eerie sounds was all left to him. Adrenaline raged and the blood poured out of his abdomen so much so that the increased heart rate was felt in his eyelids. When his right foot planted into the solid terrain for escape, an unshakable snag…
    Last edited by Garron; 10-21-2017 at 03:05 PM.
    "My life is simple, my food is plain, and my quarters are uncluttered. In all things, I have sought clarity. I face the troubles and problems of life and death willingly. Virtue, integrity and courage are my priorities. I can be approached, but never pushed; befriended but never coerced; killed but never shamed."

  3. #3
    Member

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    The Crooked Knight's Avatar

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    Sketch had run out of Nevin’s sleep aid days ago, and he was feeling the strain of sleep debt he was accruing. Traveling away from Stonevale was always a gamble for Sketch, as his friend was the only source of the drug he had. When he couldn’t get his hands on the potion, which put him to sleep so quickly that he didn’t dream, he had terrible nightmares where the forces of the Grym invaded and tormented him. Something about Sketch drew the Grym to him, it gave him the ability to summon and command them, but also made him an unwilling magnet for them in their natural state.

    Sketch hated sleeping without Nevin’s tonic, he’d had to spend years getting bits of sleep between being tormented by the monsterous little blighters. He’d been avoiding sleep ever since he’d run out of the medicine, and he could feel the toll taking it’s due on him. He’d been traveling between villages, looking for information of the Grym, and days of walking were exhausting.

    Sketch was starting to get sweaty and anxious from the lack of sleep, it was all he could do to keep walking forward through the woods. The sun was setting and it looked like Sketch was going to be walking all night again, the next village wasn’t for miles, and Sketch didn’t want to stop or he’d risk falling asleep. He stopped briefly to light his lantern, the glow of the soft light was the only thing that showed the way forward for Sketch.

    Sketch had been walking in the dark woods for over an hour since the sun had set, his tired mind was racing between thoughts at incomprehensible speeds, frantically trying to grasp on to anything it could to find stability.

    As Sketch passed a bare spot in a copse of trees, he heard a loud “SNAP” amongst the dry foliage, causing Sketch to twist in the direction. He held his lantern out to try and see, but there was nothing his eyes could find. He’d had a bad experience with wolves before, and this time, he didn’t think he’d be able to think of a strong Grym on the fly with his mind as tired as it was.

    He stopped walking, wanting to be absolutely sure that there wasn’t something stalking him, wolves or otherwise. Seeing absolutely nothing in the light of his lantern, he continued on.

    After another couple of minutes, he heard another sound from the woods, more crunching among the dry leaves. Sketch was becoming unwound at this point, he held the lamp outwards again, seeing nothing again, picked up his pace, wanting to try and get to the next village and feel safe.

    It was less than a minute before Sketch heard another loud sound from the woods, at this point Sketch broke out in a run, attempting to outpace whatever was out there in the darkness. As Sketch ran, he heard sound coming up from behind him, which prodded him to run faster. The sound behind him was like a train whistle blowing, the sound echoing off the trees around him.

    Sketch kept running, gods he was tired. His legs felt heavy, his breath was coming out in gasps. He could see faint lights coming from in front of him, maybe 200 yards away. Sketch was having trouble keeping his heavy eye lids open as he ran, but he could still hear the sounds coming from behind him, so he kept running. Sketch could swear that the lights in front of him were dancing as he sweated profusely.

    Sketch was only steps away from the lights of the town, suddenly his foot slipped out from under him and he fell, his lantern falling out from his hand as he went down, flying off into the night. Sketch scrambled forward, trying to claw his way towards the village, he felt something snag his pants, and with his mind swimming in exhaustion, he turned around and saw-
    Last edited by The Crooked Knight; 10-28-2017 at 09:24 AM.

  4. #4
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    Nevin's Avatar

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    What had been done should never have been tried. Things outside of this world are meant to stay there, not be invited in with a crimson welcome mat. But invite something they had, through a long process that dragged on literally for years before reaching now, the final night, the culmination of all of their efforts. Tonight, they would invite their guest in, with a prepared host primed to be occupied to give their guest form.

    At least, that had been the goal. They didn't know that their ‘host’ was far from willing, and that his rejection of their gruesome guest would result in….

    Blood dripped from an outstretched claw, the appendage seeming to writhe in the dim light of the fallen torch. The villagers’ clergy had long told them that this night would be filled with screams, of pain and delight, so those who hadn't yet been visited ignored the sounds, putting them out of mind. This served the unintended one just fine, as it's claw split apart into a squirming mass of tendrils that sank into the blood that was pooling from the corpse, absorbing the red fluid into itself.

    Buried away, a man screamed, his mind refusing to believe what was happening to him. Nothing he tried could stop it, it just kept going on and on, claiming more and more as it progressed. His fears had overwhelmed him now, his mind on the verge of breaking from the atrocities his body bore.

    This slowed the creature down not in the slightest. It advanced through the dark night, long, thin, red worms snaking away from its writhing skin. It continued its hunt, its questing, seeking tendrils slithering under doors into houses, finding people - and piercing them, draining them dry into little more than husks.

    The man struggled, desperately trying to stop what was happening - he hadn't wanted this, never desired this, this slaughter that was happening. He couldn't tell if it was his own, unknown desires driving it, or if he was already lost - and the thought that he would never have control again sent a fresh bolt of terror through him.

    Another flash of red as a man came out of his house, arms wide open in invitation. The guest paused, studied the man for a moment - then its arm spread open like a flower unfurling, a wide net of threads woven together into petals of a rose. The net shot forward and wrapped around the man, and for a moment he seemed delighted - and then his skin was pierced, and he could feel his blood being drained from his body, and his voice became just another cry in the copper-scented air.

    Through the night the unintended guest went, stating its thirst and hunger on the ones who had opened the door and let it in. It could feel its powers waning as the dawn approached, so it sped up, intending to finish its bloody work.

    But it stumbled, fear thrown at it finally as its host figured out how to use his terror against the invader. Red tendrils burst forth, hurrying to take the last few lives, splitting apart -

    And then in a shower of red, the mass of tendrils fell away, scattering to the ground. Left behind was a shaking, shivering figure, his body trembling, vibrant red lines crossing his body in every direction. He thought he was free, his body shaking as fear drained out of him.

    And then something red thin and wet traced against his skin. The man twisted his head and screamed -
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    Current threads: I give up on keeping this updates.

  5. #5
    Cinnamon Smol

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    FennWenn's Avatar

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    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
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    The Fungus Among Us

    Bare feet slapped against the dried leaves in an uneven rhythm not that dissimilar to the way to the way the boy’s heart slapped against his ribcage. His breath burned in his chest. Fenn barely noticed the thorny branches tearing at his face and cloak as he fled through the undergrowth. Nor did he notice the clouds of fog that he dashed through, beads of water freezing to his skin at a worrisome speed. His magic pulsed at his fingertips, frightened frost coating him from nail to elbow.

    Were they still behind him?

    A root met his toes — and held fast. All the momentum of his flight carried him flat onto the ground. Fenn lay amid the dead leaves a moment, wheezing, wondering why staying alive had to be such hard work. Aching numbed him, head to toe.

    It was impossible to pull himself back to his feet. At the least, he managed a trembling slump against a nearby stump.

    He flicked limp hair out of his eyes. Coming to a standstill like this was not ideal. Yet… Honestly, he needed rest. Technically, he had left the monsters behind. Theoretically, he was safe. Really though, the puck was frightened out of his damn mind.

    Were they still there? Were they still behind him?

    The Clemonts mansion, the Clemonts mansion. A part of him was sure that somehow, what he had just encountered had to do with it. What else brought visions of breathing, writhing fungus to mind? Fenn‘s eyelids slid half-closed. He could almost fall asleep now. Almost, except for the images that clawed his eyes each time they closed.

    Slimy skin, and the teeth rotting out of their heads. Human faces smothered by grey-green stalks of mold. Chittering amongst each other.

    There was a rustling in the undergrowth. Ponderous footsteps crushed the leaves — he could hear it, and his heart rushed back into his ears. The crunching, the snapping twigs. His ears swiveled toward the sound.

    And… Fenn squeaked at the dark, bulky creature that stood out against the undergrowth. Sweet relief! It was his merely his mutt. Now that they were reunited, they could run the fuck out of this nightmare land. But instead of greeting him with her typical reassuring “wuff”, the black beast simply stepped out of the bushes and turned to face him, quiet as a mouse.

    The stalks protruding from her eyelids swayed in the breeze.
    "I'm funny, so they let me live." - Skippy's List

    The Wiki Matriarch, the Vignette Enthusiast, your friendly neighborhood Cinnamon Smol, and very excited to roleplay!

    I play all these Wenns, so take a look at them if you'd like!

    Fennapping Tally: 13 instances thus far

  6. #6
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    Philomel's Avatar

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    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
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    Friday the 13th Vignette
    Participants: Garron, The Crooked Knight, Nevin and FennWenn

    Commentary:

    Garron:

    Plot:
    Overall a tense slice of life that fits the prompt well, with enough depth of fear. There is some lack of back story to this, however, though not having can be said to add to the sense of confusion. There is clear sense of the unknown, which is a classic addition into a horror story.

    Character:
    Good building of character, with a strong sense of identity for your character. I would not quite understand how he was the “Son of Winter” without knowing that Peregrine Reach in in Salvar. There was clear thoughts and feelings of Garron's in this piece, and actions that made sense in the circumstances. Him wanting to succumb to sleep makes sense.

    Technique:
    You start off with a small spelling mistake (“breath” should be “breathe”) but overall you have excellent sentence structure. You have a good hold of technique that shows, with some fantastic use of words, as well as descriptors like colours, and repetition to build clarity (“He hurt. He hurt badly.”)

    The Crooked Knight

    Plot:
    Definitely fitting the brief you write a good well-rounded story with a strong beginning and middle. The end is definitely on a cliff-hanger. Good steady pacing with reminders of time (“another couple of minutes”) though in some way it would have been good to see a better rise in tension towards the end. This can be done with use of shorter sentences, words and paragraphs.

    Character:
    The reader can feel the character of Sketch through the piece, and understand his feelings. The explanation of not having the sleeping draught and his need for it helps to build a picture of the situation he is in. Clear sense of thoughts and feelings, though a little hint of communication (reactionary sounds) may have helped.

    Technique:
    You had a good consistent technique, though overall I would have liked to see use of more metaphor, simile etc. You started a lot of the paragraphs with “Sketch” which is not a strong point, and there are lots of other options. Try adding variety by changing around the pattern of the clauses in your sentences, and in general try avoiding using numerical values - "200" - to a prose piece.


    Nevin

    Plot:
    Plot is your strongest section here, with an intense, enrapturing story that draws the reader in. You introduce an idea of what has happened first, and led up to this particular scene in a suitably short few sentences, and refer back to it throughout. You have a steady pace, and mix long and shorter paragraphs well, rising when the tension needs to.

    Character:
    Character is slightly lacking here compared to Plot and Technique for you. Though there is a few central characters, and from knowing your character's personal history Nevin is involved, but he is not mentioned by name. Instead you focus on others individuals (the man suffering, the beast and the man who comes out of the house) who show some persona, but could do with some development in terms of possibly a stronger focus on one.

    Technique:
    With a good use of such things as hyphenation you build a strong basis for showing strong mechanics. Similarly you have no spelling mistakes and have good descriptions such as “copper-scented air”. From here you could try building some simile and metaphor into your writing and experimenting with even shorter sentences.

    FennWenn

    Plot:
    You have a good strong plot, with intensity and fear written through word use and use of punctuation, building tension as you go. It starts well, although has a unexpected ending, which unfortunately does not quite fit the brief of ending in a cliff-hanger. Still, it was warming and satisfying to read.

    Character:
    For you writing your character is definitely one of your strong points, keeping it in a consistent way with tone of voice, speech patterns, persona and way of acting/reacting. Thoughts in this piece help to convey the frightened side of Fenn, and I could definitely feel the emotion from him. I would like to see this strength carried on in larger pieces.

    Technique:
    You have some good base descriptions, with use of sound and feeling to add strength to your writing. Overall I would encourage more use of commas (for instance, the first sentence is a full run-on) and trying such other adjectives such as a further use of colour, although you have some amazing alliteration: “fingertips, frightened frost”. You write clearly and without spelling mistakes, showing a care for your work along with excellent practise of varying punctuation.

    Rewards:

    1st Place: Garron
    2nd Place: Nevin

    Judge note:
    This one was hard to judge, as everyone had strengths and weaknesses, but everyone did a really good go at it. Well done!

    Garron receives:
    300 EXP
    200 GP
    1 AP

    The Crooked Knight receives:
    200 EXP
    1 AP

    Nevin receives:
    560 EXP
    150 GP
    1 AP

    FennWenn receives:
    400 EXP
    1 AP
    Last edited by Philomel; 11-23-2017 at 06:20 PM.
    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

  7. #7
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    Philomel's Avatar

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    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

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