The Strange Straw Man (Open)

[Shadow Reaper]

I've not been on this place for a few years now.. Thought I'd give it a go again. I've got a vague idea for a story for this and.. open to whoever wants to join. So yeah, do that! ^^



“There were once words to a song, I sang them so long diddly-day ago.
The song of the siren said the lady sing, sing, sing sing-”

A strange voice in the air, rasping words in a tone deaf way that should be sending all the local wildlife scampering for the hills. Yet it doesn’t. The straw man currently sports a half dozen critters of varying sizes and forms. A squirrel by his boots, brown mice in his battered and beaten coat, a crow upon his hat, are easily visible of what still remains.


“-The lady fair, she did sing the song. The song I couldn’t sing. The words I couldn’t say.”

The words are nonsensical, the song changing half way through its lines from one ditty to another. The voice that carries the words cannot hold a tune. The sounds scratch at the inner ear and should by all rights be giving any who hears a Gods awful headache.
Yet still the song is alluring, it brings those who hear it towards the singer. A strange thing indeed.


“Funny the words the song was sang, singing the song of sing.
Sing, sing, sing. Lady sing of songs and sirens cry of-
Dally the dandy of my loving lady, she who-“

J has been watching the strange singing... creature. He’s uncertain what to make of it. The man who stands there pinned to a wooden cross, head lolling as the badly stitched seams of his maw make a mockery of a man’s singing. He’s been doing it for some time now. The sun is once more disappearing towards the earth behind the trees. There is some daylight hours yet but they are becoming short.

The pale young man is standing not so far from the scarecrow, unmoved from the spot he’d claimed in the shade of an ancient oak the moment he’d appeared before the noise. The Dark Places had almost made him miss the strange entity. Their usual cries and insistent chatter numbing J’s ears to the sound of much else.
He’d paused. He wasn’t sure why. Racing along a path long past forgotten by the more common travellers through the forest There had been something that had made him pause. Pause, stop, turn and... stare. Like he remains doing so now.


“Pleeeeeeeease my lady dear! My dear of the doe, the buck, the prolific symbol of my heart’s desire.
Pleeeeeeeease my lady dear! I hear the cries of the wolves, the bay of the cows on the farmer’s field.
Milk my lady deaaaaaaar!”

There’s a fence, broken, fallen apart and covered in creepers. A field long retaken by the forest that surrounds it. Hints of a farmhouse in the form of blackened stumps and the remains of a chimney, burnt and crumbling. There’s the dusty road J had been travelling along that flows past the field, the house and onwards into the ever darkening forest. An average looking forest. No more dangerous or scary than you would expect. Nothing magical or mystical about it. For that matter there is nothing special about long forgotten farmstead.

Then there’s the scarecrow.


“My, my, my, my,
Please don’t hide those lady eyes,
I see the words you say,
I hear the tastes you feel,
Please, oh dear of May,”

The weather is pleasant. A breeze faint, but there. Perhaps things are beginning to cool. The large trees of the forest shadowing the area as the sun does fall. But it still remains... pleasant.


“Oh, my, oh my!
Please do hide my light from those who would see me,
The demons dark and scary,
Oh, my, oh, my!
The shadows they do call,”

J appears a man. A young man, early twenties perhaps? Hair to his shoulders, wavy and a greying dirty blonde. A white shirt, undyed leather pants and bare feet. His form is slight, tall but lanky, his features more pretty than handsome. Red eyes are vague, lost to the scarecrow’s song as he stands and listens. Stands and listens as he has been for hours now. Long untiring hours. Enraptured.

The scarecrow lolls his head, flinging it every which way with the influence of the words he sings. Occasionally a hand waves, a leg vaguely kicks, his entire body jolts as his voice raises, flakes of long rotten straw falling out of loosening binds. Limbs boneless but stuck to his post, he does his best to share the feeling of his song. Discord and confusion reign supreme.

The field sports nothing living that is not green.


“You know the one?
The one they call the son,
The son that fears the moon,
Remembering the warning the stars, they bring,
The master calls agaaaaaaain..”

Peeking out here and there from a thick carpet of leaf matter around the scarecrow’s post small bones litter the ground...




For anyone who wants to join, scarecrow's singing doesn't really mean anything, so you're welcome to make up whatever verses/phrases/etc you want for it to say at this point.

[Melancholy]

Azel strode chipperly through the forest, her faithful companion by her side. On occasion he would soar skyward or chase after a field mouse, but always he returned to her. She hummed softly to herself, a song with no words, but the beauty of her voice painted a majestic picture for anyone lucky enough to be listening.

"Oh Sven... I wonder if we'll ever find civilization." She broke her tune with a tired sigh. "We've been walking for days now. At least, that's what it feels like." The girl turned her blind eyes to the sky. The raven cooed a response, and Azel felt him ruffle his feathers against her cheek from his perch on her shoulder. She giggled and leaned her head against the bird's plush body. "You're right. I'm sure there's got to be someone close by."

Sven released a caw and leapt off her shoulder to take to the sky. Azel, though she couldn't see him, heard every swoop and dive he made, and effect of his wings slicing through the still air. "It's such a beautiful day." She smiled, using her cloth-covered spear as a walking stick, helping to guide herself. Sven squawked, a noise he didn't make often. She knew it meant that something was out of place. Azel paused to listen and sure enough, she heard something in the distance. It was... something, at least. She couldn't quite make it out exactly... Azel quickened her pace, growing more and more excited as inch by inch passed.
And suddenly, she could make out the noise. It was singing! Very poor tone, but still fully heartfelt.

"Tweedley two, the house and the hull.
The silvery piece of the sun.
A cricket he calls, revenge is disdain,
and I owe you a bucket o' paint.

-And the words made absolutely no sense. Perhaps it's a folk song? She pondered as she closed in on the source. The voice seemed to be reeling her in, drawing her to the singer. It might have been slightly disturbing to her had she not been headed there already. He sounded somewhat forlorn and lonely, if she had to guess, but there was much more emotion buried under it.

"H-Hello?" She called, knowing full well by the range of his vocals that she was now close enough to be within the field of sight of this optimistic lyricist, yet still with enough distance to get a good running start if she felt endangered. "Good sir, could you help me?" She held her voice high and strong, yet inside she was shaking. She had never been good at socializing...

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Nearby to the trio, Alberdyne Cormyr, house of Cormyr, was walking along the road. The road lead back to Underwood from a nearby mine that was positioned somewhere in Concordia Forest. Dyne was a hard-worker first, and a well respected member of Underwood's community. After joining the watch, he had made several trips to The Citadel in Radsanth with varying degrees of success per venture. Dyne had grown powerful in a short period of time and tutelage. He was growing eager to test his skill level. But first, he had to take the latest stash of ore back to Underwood along with a small group of fellow miners. There were five of the workers in all, all employed by Underwood proper.

Dyne was not a ranking foreman, he simply liked to work his lot. The road from the mine lead Dyne and his group right through the old road, the road that was seldom traveled by the folks of Radasanth or Underwood. No carts or carriages ever made their way out there any longer. Dyne could see the old specters that still clung to the former territory of Underwood. Long since prior, the ruined farmstead had once been a hub of Underwood, an extension of the small community. Dyne knew that because it was Underwood history, and he was a student of philosophy. As Dyne walked, something caught his attention in the air. It was a foul voice that was faint at fist, but the closer they got to the farmstead, the stronger the voice became.

Dyne did not like the singing that was produced by the whatever. He couldn't let the mystery stand. Looking to his compatriots, Dyne conversed with them and said that he would be a little longer on the return to Underwood. They parted ways, probably the last time he would see his friends. As an employee of Underwood, Dyne worked with a mining team. Mining outfit three was the largest single operation that worked out of Underwood. They brought back iron and other ores. In Underwood, blacksmiths like Dyne could manufacture steel and other alloys. As Dyne approached the farmstead, he came upon Azel's person looking as confused as he.

The terrible singing became louder as he got closer and it was already giving the psionic a migraine. He looked at Azel as he tried to figure out what to do in a situation like the one that had just presented itself. Then, he saw the source of the singing. At first, Dyne thought that the creature on the cross was just a man singing. Then, he saw bits of straw and other parts of the scarecrow falling off the creature. Dyne's face cringed up in disgust as he looked at the singing scarecrow. He ten observed Azel. He called out to her.

"Hey you! I wouldn't get too close to that thing." Dyne warned sensing an unmistakable feeling in his gut. He was a guard of The Watch after all, and he wore a guard's clothing. Dyne clenched his fists as he walked towards the civilian. "Don't get too close it." Dyne said again, his voice filled with concern. "I sense something foul afoot."

[Shadow Reaper]

“Come, come my lady of the tightly woven tree,
This is the day the fire bends the earth,
My gosh, the goats that went a galloping,
Round, o’ round o’ round..”

A voice. Well, another voice.
J snaps out of his reverie instantly at the intrusive sound of the woman. Red eyes darting from the scarecrow to the figure that’s approaching. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t even indicate he’s there. Mouth hangs open and there may of been a whisper of words but for the fact another body appears behind the woman.

Is there more? Will there be more? He falters, uncertain as he watches the man in his strange uniform wander up from further along the road. Casting a warning to that ahead of him? That’s a warning right? He’s heard such things before, though more often in relation to himself. Not that J understands what exactly it is that others fear about him. Well.. other than himself. He fears himself often enough... but others shouldn’t know that, or the reasons why. Brows crease over fine features and he steps further back into the shadows of the tree he stands within. His lower body almost fading away into the dark, blending into the deeper parts of the shade. The benefits of being a creature literally made of shadows, no?


“My laaaaaady darling. My laaaaaaady dear,
Please sing upon the lords and ladies,
They who hear the man’s song of the sighing sun..”

The Scarecrow’s voice is suddenly louder, ringing in the ears of all those that can hear it. Head rolls, tilting heavily to the side, allowing glistening black eyes to stare not-quite lifelessly at the two humanoids just down the road. With the movement the Scarecrow’s hat flops, dislodging the bird that’d up until that point been quite comfortably perched upon it. A messy tumble of feathers and a moment later the crow hits the ground with a dull thud and a crunch of small bones. It remains devoid of further movement past the slight ruffle of feathers for the evening’s breeze.
The squirrel at the Scarecrow’s feet doesn’t even flinch.


“Come, come to me. My pretties fair.
Come and join us in the dance to the Night Mare’s Fair.
Oooooh the sights we’ll seeeee...”

Eyes stare, unblinking, unmoving at Azel and Dyne as the Scarecrow sing’s it’s off key melody, attempting to draw them under it’s sway. Two life forces! Strong! Worthy opponents for that such as he! Not like the beasts of the field and forest. Pathetic sparks, life so fleeting, so weak. An hour, two.. a half day and they are defeated. But ones such as these? Oh they are much more of a challenge! To lure them in and bind them to his spell, to entrance them until they desire no other.. Oh the joy, the fun of it all! The challenge. If it had teeth the Scarecrow would be baring them in a morbid grin.

J watches this. Curious. The Scarecrow had taken no such interest in himself as it has with the others... Then again, the creatures under the Scarecrow’s spell had not acted as beasts are want to do around the Shadow Reaper either. None had fled at his presence or hid in fear for their lives. Odd. Very odd. Not as odd as the straw man’s reaction to the other humanoids, but odd none the less. Unusual for J. Why had it not turned it’s song on him when he appeared? As far as J could tell it’d continued much the same as it’d started between the time before he arrived and the time that he did.. Strange, very strange.

Of course, if J had someone to tell him that the Scarecrow’s spell only truly works on the living he may of had an answer to such questions. What use is there to draw the dead away from your fields? It’s the living that do damage.


“Oh come the daughters, draught the son.
Mark the man of the bear and the bear’s only-
This I say of thy world that sings the merry tune,
Merry the world, merry the men, merry o’ merry o’ my,”

Degradation is a curious thing. Especially in the world of magic where a spell can find itself changed in unforseen ways when no longer maintained, controlled by those who originally cast it. A spell can take new roots, form new paths and divulge from it’s original intentions in ways one could never imagine. Not to say the Scarecrow’s magic is so hard to believe, or even imagine should one of asked in the times long gone when the spells were first made.
Still, what farmer expects a plight upon house and home when all he wishes is to save his crops from the pests of the forest that surrounds? Especially when... well... He was an honest man. Why must bad things happen to honest men? Then again, the world is littered with the bones of honest men living honest lives. More the pity.

A red glint shines in a fading beam of sunlight upon the Scarecrow’s chest as he sings. Material and stuffing dislodged by the scurrying feet of a small critter some point in these last few days. The jolt of it’s body as the Scarecrow attempted to turn to the humanoids stretching the material further and letting the sun’s light where it’s not shined for only the Gods could know how long. There’s something deep inside the straw man. Something hidden... something that doesn’t quite glow, but hums with a life force of it’s own. Strong, like a heartbeat of a healthy man. Well, a healthy man who’s heart sounds more like a motorised engine. Odd that. Magic that.


“Teeeeeears, tears of the tiring single tune,
This my belief of the world they hide,
Shadows of the sun, fear the world of the song,


I will see them, them that hide from my gaze,
Make them come to my arms,
Watch them fall to my lies,

I saw them,
They see me,
This is the song of my words that casts them to my will,
Come, come to me my darlings pretty, keep my fields full and free...”

The Scarecrow laughs as his words finally hold a true tune, come back into key with each other and the melody soars through the air despite the rough voice that sings. Magic swells, teasing on the breeze, reaching out to draw any and all those with a heartbeat near... Draw them to the scarecrow, bring them into his power.

Hands twitch, arms tug... A faint tearing sound as something rips... Yet the voice sings on, eyes staring dead on to the Scarecrow’s desire.


“Come my pretties..
Come to me, dance and play,
Dance the day away,
No fear to the light’s sway, the starlight’s fleeting day,
Simply stay, stay and be with me,
I’ll hold ye close, an embrace like none other,
Come, come to me..”

[Melancholy]

Azel was startled at the deep voice behind her. She hadn't heard him approach, yet it was probably because she had been so intrigued by the tone deaf soprano. "Wh- Whats going on?" She backed to the side, away from both the singing before her and the warning behind. "What do you mean foul? I'm only looking for shelter. Please-" Before Azel could finish, she heard Sven utter an awful noise, something laced with fear. Her head immediately jerked in the direction of the singing. She heard the raven's wings stroke circles above and around the emitter of the sound.

"S-Sven! Get back over here!" She stepped toward the melody, no longer caring if he had foul intentions. She had to be sure her best friend was safe. Then, suddenly, his tune changed. It was less innocent and lonely, to menacing and greedy, yet beautiful. Azel took a small step back, suddenly frightened. After several moments, she began a slow meander toward the singer of such lovely songs, almost as if she were being lulled to him. Deep in her heart she felt, oddly enough, the urge to sing along. Her white eyes glazed over, she parted her lips to utter a perfectly pitched note. Her voice remained gentle, yet still steady and strong.

"In love and lust you bear your guilt.
Your madness is never the key.
A lullaby soothes harsh-spoken words tonight,
But my lady will always be free."

Wondrous wings of pure golden light formed behind her, joining at her shoulder blades and peaking toward the sky a foot or so above her head. The marvel, though, was her voice. Melodious, soft and luxurious. Simply listening to her sing was like being a child again, in the place of all your wonders and dreams, or basking in the warm glow of the first rays of sunlight peeking through a long harsh winter.
Sven cawed and she heard him swoop toward her, feeling her own pull to the man break slightly. She stepped back with a small yelp, her wings fading, and she lunged at the man behind her. "What is this? Is- Is he using magic, or..." She took a quivering breath, clutching the strangers shirt as if he were a dear friend. She felt the ravens wing brush her ankle, realizing he had landed beside her. She felt slightly relieved, though still afraid.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Magic. It was a strange thing indeed.

Many forces struggled for the soul of men, but where did Dyne's destiny lay? With his psionics' senses, the youth was capable of seeing the foul energy in the air. The morbid corpses of both farmer and animal alike. There was a negativity in the air, and a lingering danger that the guard could not ignore. Dyne's eyes narrowed. He was a gifted psionic and represented an off-shoot evolution to humanity. Evolution? Dyne would laugh at that notion. He just did what he thought was right. So when the singing touched his head, he began to shake against the power. There was something familiar about the power within the scarecrow, but Dyne was no magus.

So he had no such ability to detect magic. However, he could tell that the creature meant them harm. When the girl transformed before him, Dyne felt awe at the wings that had sprouted from her back. He sighed with sadness at what was happening around him. Then, he prepared himself. Dyne was growing strong. The sound was hurting the psionic's head. It was not pleasant at all, loud, it was causing him undue agony and making him over-analyze the situation at hand. Looking at the girl before him as she grabbed onto him, Dyne struggled against the pain he felt.

"We can't leave this be." Dyne said. "I sense a great deal of danger here." Dyne added, he touched his own skull for emphasis. "It is all up here."

Dyne suddenly shifted to his oldest power. The ability to peer into the anti-firmanent, gray world of the dead. He could see the ghosts and shades that danced all around them, many writhing in agony. The source seemed to be the scarecrow. Dyne considered that the creature before them was an enemy, however, he did not want to screw matters up. Lives were on the line. The dead could not rest if the creature had a hold on them.

"There are ghosts here, mi'lady." Dyne told to Azel. "The dead cannot rest when something keeps them tied to the Firmanent." Dyne said carefully, in simplistic layman's terms. His eyes were glowing green as he studied the scarecrow. "We must defeat the magic of this creature..." Dyne said in a hushed whisper. "But if you wish it, I can take you to Underwood where you will be safe. I do-not wish to see harm fall to a civilian."