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lostbird · Aug 19, 2024

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SERIES

DEAD BY THE THIRTEENTH

A horror and mystery roleplay based on Dead by Daylight's lore, premise, and locations with elements taken from the Friday the 13th game. JOIN OUR DISCORD SERVER HERE.

TV-MA

SEASON 1 EPISODES:
Play

+

100% Match
2024
TV-MA
1 Season

TOP
10
#1 in RPNation Today

Genres: Angst, Horror, Mystery, Adapted from Video Game, Action
This Show Is: Violent, Mature. Scary, Dark, Monsters, Gore, Disturbing, Psychological Thriller

BROUGHT TO YOU BY
LOSTBIRD & ANYASJOY

The Entity is evil in it's purest form. The creator of realms, intent on trapping survivors and killers into an endless cycle of entertainment, feasting off the remains of all that's left at the end of the trials it forces upon its victims.

SURVIVORS: For what ever the reason, you have found yourself stolen from your life and pulled into one of The Entity's making, not entirely accurate to the world you know; a flaw of The Entity, it cannot conceptualise what it doesn't understand. But you're here, arriving at the campfire after finding yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, swallowed into total darkness.

It isn't clear yet what will lay ahead of you as you notice others in the surrounding area, perplexed and horrified by what it all must mean. Multiple unmade strewn tents littering the forest floor and trees that stretch on for miles. For an eternity. You have the sneaking suspicion that one thing is clear: if you tried to leave, you'd end up right back at the campfire.

KILLERS: After committing an unspeakable atrocity, with or without the total influence of The Entity, you have unknowingly surrendered yourself to its grasp. Pulled through the fog and into a realm befitting of you, now you have a place to do what you do best: kill.

Maybe you are grateful to The Entity, giving you a place to call your own and participate in the trials with endless blood to shed. or, maybe you don't want to be controlled by anyone but yourself and instinct tells you to fight back, no matter how much The Entity tortures you in the process just to throw you into the next trial, daring you to fail and face death, the same you inflict on others - just to be dumped back in your realm, waiting for the next one.

Hi hi ^.^ time for some typical GM waffle.

If you aren't familiar with the game DBD, the premise of the game is going to work exactly the same in the RP with players (that's you) creating both a survivor and killer. In-game, 4 survivors and 1 killer will be chosen per trial to do a number of objectives (not just gens, courtesy of Friday the 13th) with the survivors aiming to escape with their lives and killers to end their hope. All in service to The Entity (our baddie).

Selection will be through a random-generator where we will then have each player role for probability (our server has a dice bot to handle this so we can all fairly see). Killer will get to roll first to secure at least one kill and from those chosen four survivors, choose the one they want to kill. Then each survivor will roll a dice for their chances of escaping, resulting in the five players creating a group post for a very very fun trial ^.^

In the meantime, any survivors and killers that aren't participating in the trials will be Exploring which is part of the mystery! The Realms of Killers all exist in its current state, whether being used by killers or not and will have free reign of the place. Survivors are not beholden to just the Campfire in which they start and live, if they wander far enough away they'll discover all sorts of landmarks... and killer realms. Meaning plenty of chances to uncover the truth about the Fog, about The Entity, where they've been trapped, and each other. Maybe a chance encounter between a survivor and killer in their free-time could make all the difference in ~~tentatively~~ working together against a common enemy. OR the killer can chase them away and stake their territory one last time ^,^

Our discord server has been prepped for sometime and includes a lot of extra ~~and not too overwhelming~~ information. Please feel free to join the link listed to at least check it out before deciding whether or not this RP is for you!
survivor

~~ACE IN THE HOLE~~

(RESERVED) lucky break, deliverance, wicked:
dumb luck, agile and precise. it seems the entity favours you.

goal: get caught! and start making a home in the basement, cause you're the only one able to break out. so meticulous that it was like they were never there to begin with. a second chance is what you are, but can you bring that luck to your peers as well?

type. unbroken.
item. flashlight.

survivor

ADRENALINE

resurgence, balanced landing, low profile:
fuelled by hope and a desire to live, your escape is inevitable.

impossible odds have never stopped you before and they won't stop you now; somehow always finding a way to keep moving and pushing forward, even when severely injured. agile as you are fast, falling from heights doesn't phase you as much as others, even able to take a beating or two and still, your feet will carry you towards the main objective: escaping. if you're the sole-survivor, even better. you know how to disappear.

type. evader.
item. map.

survivor

BOTANY KNOWLEDGE

better than new, camaraderie, for the people:
reinvigoration and teamwork, time heals all wounds.

armed with an understanding of medicine, you are invaluable to the team. when you're nearby teammates trapped in the basement, your presence fills them with hope and buys them more time. you won't hesitate to take the hit for someone else, ensuring their timely escape.

type. benevolent.
item. med-kit.

KILLER

BARBEQUE & CHILI'S

hoarder, mad grit, nemesis:
murder is a lost art, what will be left of them in the end?

the further away from survivors, the more you benefit. with an uncanny understanding of where items are, you prefer to stalk the realm until the prey exposes themselves. once catching them, you're unstoppable - no one can prevent you from taking them to your domain, to lock them in the basement and serve them on a silver platter to the entity. pocket knives are useless with a survivor in your grasp. anyone managing to escape from the basement becomes the obsession, one you won't let escape so easily the next time.

type. malicious

killer

BLOOD WARDEN

hubris, gift of pain, superior anatomy:
here comes the defiant, the enforcer of suffering.

the cages in your domain are extra sharp, sure enough to leave lasting marks should survivors escape the basement. the sensation of danger is overwhelming to your enemies, leaving them at a critical disadvantage during repairs, something you take immense pride in - the more unease they feel, the stronger you become and overtime, they don't stand a chance. downing a survivor with all objectives complete, the powered gates, car/boat fail to start until that person is brought to the basement or rescued by allies. will your hubris succeed, or blind you?

type. gatekeeper.

killer

DARK DEVOTION

discordance, awakened awareness, corrupt intervention:
a religious figure, but what sort of god would want a devil?

entity has heard their prayers, heightening their senses when they're at a disadvantage in a trial. the whispers of their deity can carry them towards the closest survivor/or object being completed.

type. devout.

survivor

~~BUILT TO LAST~~

(RESERVED) wiretap, blast mine, chemical trap:
handy with tools and efficient with them. don't let anything go to waste.

devious with your traps, you see no harm in having some fun. your soul purpose in the trial is to make things difficult for the killer, setting up traps to keep them busy while taking the heat off of the rest of your team. try not to be the first caught though, it'll surely result in a game over.

type. benevolent.
item. toolbox.

survivor

CLAIRVOYANCE

distortion, strength in shadows, premonition:
strongest at your most vulnerable, an uncanny ability to sense danger.

you thrive in danger and shrouded in darkness. you're the ideal survivor to explore the depths of the basement without your presence being easily seen by killers. you notice what others cannot, singularly focused on not only completing objectives, but delaying the killer's in their own domain.

type. lightbringer.
item. map.

survivor

DANCE WITH ME

vigil, quick gambit, slippery meat:
juking killers and holding their attention, like a moth to a flame.

infuriating killers is your speciality. you're able to run them and make it seem effortless. quicker than your teammates to recover from compromising situations, you take an offensive approach in trials: take heat, keep them busy. and if a killer is somehow lucky enough to catch up, rest assured... you're a slippery one.

type. evader.
item. flashlight.

killer

DEVOUR HOPE

wretched fate, face the darkness, ruin:
no peace for the ruined.

you give off the sensation of dread, causing the obsession to feel like this game might be their last. you make an example of the obsessions lapse, with the chosen target transforming their dread into fear and confusion and spreading it to their allies. the hindrance prevents the other survivors from working at full capacity. creating distractions, as a means to an end, is how you'll gain advantage over them all.

type. gatekeeper.

killer

~~FRIENDS 'TIL THE END~~

(RESERVED) game afoot, bamboozle, two can play:
being a favourite comes with benefits, doesn't it?

you're the nice one, or that's the impression you give off in your trial. anything is your game, and that comes in play when everyone is an obsession in your eyes. endless entertainment is what you bring, and because of that the entity gives you a hand: a door a survivor is about to go into is blocked, or they trip over what is unmistakably a tendril from the entity. you fight dirty, but the entity fights dirtier for you.

type. chaser.

killer

~~FLOODS OF RAGE~~

(RESERVED) spirit fury, thrilling tremors, fire up:
your anger makes you a cheat, faster with an agenda with only one goal in mind: win.

you have the power to make an impact. every time you pick up a survivor for the first time, there is a brief lockout. all you know is rage, and your anger alone short circuits the trial to your advantage. with the entity blocked out due to your fury, you have a window to do as you please, but only for a moment.

type. devout.

survivor

DECISIVE STRIKE

inner strength, hyperfocus, desperate measures:
stronger than most, deadlier to the threat.

one goal in mind and that's to be a nightmare — not even the entity can hold you back. although the entity cannot stop your thirst for vengeance, it can influence you to have tunnel vision which some killers might be suspecting. is being a brute all you are good for?

type. unbroken.
item. pocket knife.

survivor

DIVERSION

red herring, lightweight, deception:
deceive and trick the killers, make less noise doing so.

you're known for playing the long game; setting out to make your presence known elsewhere in the realm. you specialise in deception — throwing rocks at car wrecks, slamming dumpster lids, and jumping over obstacles that are sure to cause enough noise to lure the killer away from your team and allow them to complete objectives uninterrupted.

type. benevolent.
item. flashlight.

survivor

~~OBJECT OF OBSESSION~~

(RESERVED) lithe, power struggle, fixated:
nimble in chase, always the obsession, and see what they see.

the perfect victim, or are you? bonded to killers in an inexplicable way, your presence will naturally overwhelm their blood lust — you're hard to catch and it makes the chase fun for the pursuer, despite your ability to draw their attention seamlessly. the struggle for power is evident, which one of you has more control over the other?

type. evader.
item. pocket knife.

killer

GRIM EMBRACE

territorial imperative, deathbound, mindbreaker:
sense your obsession with others, and endure their suffering side by side.

you are the chaser, relentless in your search for their catch. your love for the obsession is unbreakable, not even the entity is strong enough to severe that connection. you have a keen sense of knowing when someone is uninvited in your domain. your presence alone leaves those nearby weak, unable to work at full capacity.

type. chaser.

killer

HAUNTED GROUND

undying, retribution, huntress lullaby:
a garden of songs, written to punish those foolish enough.

two totems are already completed, hidden across the map and at risk of being disturbed by survivors. when one is touched, the entity warns you: whispering their location. if they are successful in dismantling a totem, all survivors are left deafened - unable to hear anything but a persistent lullaby until they complete an objective, giving you ample opportunity to strike.

type. gatekeeper.

killer

HYSTERIA

forced penance, THWACK!, infectious fright:
their blood runs cold, infected with fright.

obsessions mean little to you, preferring to focus the first survivor you see and enforce a sense of panic with your brutality. when others interfere with your plans, they suffer your judgment in their stead: becoming a new fixation. once your first survivor has been caged in the basement, the entity rewards you by destroying any objects standing between you and your prey. as you close in on the survivors, the hysteria you manifest, causes each and every one to scream when in your presence. a siren of your fixation.

type. malicious.

survivor

PARENTAL GUIDANCE

leader, head on, blood pact:
feel the danger, trust the bond, and hit where they’ll never see it coming.

a parent taken from their child. you swear you hear their voice, warning you of incoming danger — not even the love of a parent can be beaten out by the entity. it respects the connection you once had with your child, choosing to carry on the pact with the obsession. in a trial, you both are gifted with an inexplicable ability to sense the other — heightened when the other is in immediate danger. using that sense, you're capable of setting up an ambush and colliding with the killer to gain the upper hand, prolonging the life of the obsession.

type. benevolent.
item. med-kit.

survivor

PLOT TWIST!

off the record, any means necessary, borrowed time:
a secret you'd take to the grave. easy with words, you just know how to play them.

one for the dramatics. while your peers are put off by your theatrics, they might be seen as amusing to the killers. you're easily swayed and bargained with by killers where attention is given, armed with a map to give away the position of your team to protect your own life.

type. unbroken.
item. map.

survivor

PROVE THYSELF

babysitter, better together, friendly competition:
there is no i in team.

teamwork makes the dreamwork. you want to get out just as much as everyone else — but you want to leave together. always the first to go to basement and help a teammate while others get the work done in your stead. you are hyper aware of what each teammate is doing to some degree and have keen sense of where the one pair of walkie talkies are. your repair speed is instantly heightened when others are with you, by inspiring hope: to work together, to finish together, and to remain alive.

type. lightbringer.
item. toolbox.

killer

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

unforeseen, dissolution, tinkerer:
some are born with violence in their blood.

to the survivor's surprise, you want them to be rescued from the basement, only to strike from the shadows. the entity enjoys your approach, to the point of offering you some rewards: whenever you steal a piece of a survivor's objective and bring it to your domain, the entity floods their ears with whispers of paranoia and fear, clouding their judgments. whenever you injure a survivor in the basement, the entity thickens the fog around the map - causing it to seek out the other survivors and wrap around them like a blanket. whenever a survivor is about to complete an objective, the entity points you in the right direction: stop them, what ever the cost.

type. malicious.

killer

NO ONE ESCAPES DEATH

hangman's trick, cruel limits, shattered hope:
it's not game over, but it feels like it is.

when you immediately catch a survivor off guard, you are rewarded with the chance to mori without totems. you thrive off of shattering the hopes of others, tricking survivor's into believing you are where you aren't - cruelly instilling overwhelming fear.

type. devout.

killer

PENTIMENTO

lethal pursuer, terminus, undone:
underneath layers hides the greatest enemy of all: time.

starting with all pieces required for a lockout, except one... a phalange from a living survivor. the prey know when they're up against you, their fingers suffering a dull ache - so distracting from their repairs they might just take the digit off themselves. with no need to protect your domain, the hunt begins. the longer survivor's take to complete objectives, the quicker the entity's tendrils wrap around their work - blocking it from being repaired at all, and once a lockout is initiated, all survivors are hindered - their limbs ache and any cuts or injuries ooze more blood than usual, effectively slowing them down.

type. chaser.

survivor

REPRESSED ALLIANCE

dark sense, bond, potential energy:
under the scrutiny of the entity, you can bend it to your will.

inexplicably, some would consider you the obsession of the entity for all the wrong reasons. the bond alerts you to the presence of the killer, unknowingly informing you of their approach. it's a sensation, an all-knowing feeling. one you can twist to your benefit, forcing the entity's tendrils to wrap protectively around newly acquired parts for ongoing repairs. a connection the entity despises you for, with it often forcing the killer to switch its attention you whenever possible — tunnel vision, anything to get you out of the trial sooner.

type. lightbringer.
item. med-kit.

survivor

SABOTEUR

background player, shadow step, breakdown:
the entity knows the truth, do you?

you're just a pawn to the entity, to throw and ruin your own allies' game. your intent is to break shit harder, faster, with only one purpose. you're never the centre of attention and that's how the entity latches, influencing you during the trials do to their deed. the truth will set you free, but is that up to you?

type. evader.
item. toolbox.

survivor

~~SPINE CHILL~~

(RESERVED) collective stealth, deja vu, stake out:
hard to spot, paranoia, being in close proximity to the killer works in your favour.

ruled by paranoia you utterly refuse to be seen by killers, preferring to hide in the shadows. the longer you are nearby a killer and not found, fear inspires you to complete objectives without making mistakes.

type. evader.
item. flashlight.

killer

PLAYTHING

blood echo, dead mans switch, distressing.
a game is a game, but some killers just want to have fun.

toying with your prey and inflicting stress is how you achieve your goals. you take pleasure in the survivor's suffering, your thrill being sensed by them quicker than they would others, giving them a head start but no worry; you love to chase as far as their legs can carry them. when survivors are in your presence and working on repairs, if they're halted in the process, the objective will briefly short-circuit - too hot for survivors to touch and fix the mistake for the time-being, leaving you ample opportunity to play with your food.

type. chaser.

killer

~~REMEMBER ME~~

(RESERVED) no way out, play with your food, leverage.
you're nothing but a distraction, a memory to the survivors.

entity is able to channel their power through this killer. in the endgame, you are most powerful. the whispers of the entity mimic voices to the survivors, halting them from escaping. gameplan for this killer is to have survivors be split off one by one, making it easy for them to catch their prey to cause mass confusion.

type. malicious.

killer

~~SAVE THE BEST FOR LAST~~

(RESERVED) alien instinct, dark arrogance, rancor:
you save the last one for a reason— might as well send a message.

for some odd reasons, survivors don't expect you. keeping them on their toes is your goal, just waiting for the opportunity to jump out and change the game to your priority. an inescapable inevitability for the survivors, you take some ounce of joy from survivor's believing they've gained the upper hand and turn their hope into unadulterated desperation as you grow in strength. purposefully, you avoid your obsession— leaving them for last and concentrating on others, as in the endgame when all objectives are complete, you're able to mori the obsession.

type. devout.

01

~~TECHNICIAN~~

(RESERVED) troubleshooter, specialist, overzealous:
a beautiful mind, and expert bloodied hands.

able to solve a problem just by looking at one, you are efficient in your repairs. if you're unlucky enough to find yourself in chase, you rest assured knowing your repairs won't be interrupted. tools and their purposes are intrinsically known to you on a profound level. a specialist in your own way, you know exactly how to dismantle totems in a lockout.

type. lightbringer.
item. toolbox.

02

UNBREAKABLE

second wind, moment of glory, made for this:
a skill issue with dying first. don't worry though, you'll get back up.

you were dead. yet, here you are. surviving all odds is what you are good at, not even the entity can take that away. once you are stabbed, beaten, and tossed aside — you don't ever lose hope, knowing you'll get the comeback in the end.

type. unbroken.
item. med-kit.

03

~~WAKE UP!~~

(RESERVED) no mither, deadline, cut loose:
they tried their best to hold you down, but you remain on top.

the fog of the entity's purpose is to keep you as drowsy and confused as much as possible — rendered useless in a trial and unable to recover. once the objectives are complete though, you are clutch in the endgame. desperate situations no longer phase you, pushing through and working harder to secure the escape for you and your allies. with renewed senses, you're able to tap into the entity's own self, clearly seeing the way out.

type. unbroken.
item. pocket knife.

KILLER

~~STARSTRUCK~~

(RESERVED) darkness revealed, dying light, iron maiden.
it's easy for you to ignore your obsession and expose their fear.

you're irresistible, that even you caught the obsession's attention. you make people feel safe, but perhaps that's just the way you play, to catch them off guard. the sight of your sudden presence can cause involuntary screams, something between terror and awe.

type. chaser.

killer

SPIES FROM THE SHADOWS

bloodhound, nowhere to hide, monitor & abuse:
the more you hide, the more you reveal.

the ideal stalker. the entity appreciates your slow approach, building up the tension. whispers of the entity are used to instill paranoia and fear in the minds of survivors. the entity has heightened your ability to sense where survivors have been, following their scent like a dog with a bone. the more abuse you inflict, the harder it is for your prey to hide.

type. malicious.

KILLER

~~THANATOPHOBIA~~

(RESERVED) blood favour, pain resonance, knock out.
ironic, isn't it? bringing peace through death?

fear of death, the embodiment of both; whenever you manage to pick up a survivor, the entity blocks their vision and causes momentary blindness and leaves them oblivious to their surroundings. spilled blood seeps into the grounds of the realm, initiating a brief lockout that lasts until you capture yet another survivor and drag them to your domain. every time you cause injury to a survivor by any means, the entity causes survivor objectives to become red-hot, making it impossible for survivors to continue their repairs without screaming.

type. gatekeeper.

[/font]
1.
MINORS DNI
The game itself is for mature audiences and that carries true here. Our survivors go through it, our killers have gone through it - while none of us may have lived those life experiences, I refuse to have any person under the age of eighteen pretending to know the severity of the topics and to treat it as delicately as possible in a high-stress environment such as a trial. Gore and death will be adhering to the typical RPN rules and no one will be overstepping, but the themes are mature enough that no one, nor I, would feel comfortable having minors involved in.

No minors as players, and no minor characters! Developers for Dead by Daylight have strictly stated that they will never include children characters (as survivors and killers) as the implications are just too... not only do I agree with the decision but I will also be respecting that here! All characters will be above 18+ just like our players.

2.
TWO CHARACTERS?
We understand that might be asking for a lot and it's not necessarily a requirement, but highly encouraged to apply for BOTH a survivor AND a killer. Think of it as a "chapter" for Dead by Daylight, introducing both a survivor and killer. If this worries you, rest assured! We do have a lot of in-game plot that will allow killers to make posts outside of trials as they exist in their realms, move between their own and others, and encounter survivors along the way. Regardless of that, survivor's will always have more to contribute because of the immediate interaction of living at the Campfire. Our post requirement listed below will solely be for survivors, not killers.

You may apply for more than one survivor and killer, but this is not first come first serve and we will be selective! If you have three survivors in mind and only one or two killers, then we will choose which one of your survivors and killers will fit in best and go from there. If you want to apply for multiple to increase your chances, then by all means, do so.

3.
COMMITMENT
Life happens. We completely understand. So we ask that if you know something is likely to come up (immediate long work hours, family events that might take you away for weeks at a time, or serious life STUFF) please do not join this! If life happens and comes out of nowhere to a point you can't ignore and have to leave for a time and come back later, or just take a week or two off, that is perfectly fine and we can all adjust and work around that with no issue, but given that this RP involves at least 5 players actively participating at time, we ask that you consider that before you apply!

Post requirements will be one post per week minimum with at least 750 words in length. This is assuming you aren't involved in a trial of course (though that will be done in group posts, you will need to be somewhat available to contribute). If you really want to join but feel you might not have the time as of right now, this will open back up for new players! Consider it like the real game with new "chapters." Don't ever hesitate to reach out!

4.
NO AI ALLOWED
I know, it's probably very easy to run your killer concept through an automated generator to spit out the perfect example of what is in our minds... but it's simply theft of property and it will not sit well with me AND the majority to allow it. There are plenty, plenty of horror movies, shows, images on pinterest that you can use to show something similar and if that fails, DESCRIPTIONS are your friend! We are writers for a reason and do not always need to rely on visual face-claims to get the point across.

5.
ROMANCE
Firstly, yes. Romance is accepted and most definitely encouraged if it lines up with your characters development, even if it's between survivors and killers. HOWEVER. Be serious when it comes to the reality of that dynamic - dark romance is fun and when done correctly, incredible to read and write for. But if your survivor and someone else's killer gets into an 'argument' or 'dispute' and the killer takes out their anger on the survivor by being extra brutal towards them in the next trial? That is simply just domestic violence and has no place here. We can absolutely focus on the angst of how that might be for a killer, to be expected to 'kill' the survivor for the entity, how that might start slowly eating them up from the inside. Or, instead suffering punishments from the entity by allowing their survivor to live when they absolutely shouldn't be. There's so many directions to go for killer/survivor romances without being... y'know, toxic.

6.
NO REAL VILLAINS AND/OR CHARACTERS
Any already existing character in the Dead by Daylight franchise and entertainment industry is not allowed. You are more than able to use the face-claim of ghost face for example but so help me if you choose to make them exactly like Freddy Krueger or Nancy Wheeler? No 'The Trapper', no 'The Huntress', if you want to use the alias for your own killer but they're obviously of a different history and appearance, then by all means, DEW IT. But nothing already existing, be creative!

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lostbird · Aug 19, 2024

a massive massive thank you to

akeno for allowing us to use their beautiful CS code for this rp! I could not imagine a more fitting character sheet than this

their talent is insane.

Code:

[comment] coded by akeno.

[font=Inter] hi [/font]

[font=Playfair Display] hi [/font]

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[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 9px; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; color: var(--text); margin-bottom: -10px;]© akeno.[/div]



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[comment] /* --- music --- */ [/comment]

[div=height:100%;width:60px;padding:0;display:flex;flex-flow:row nowrap;justify-content:center;align-items:center;font-size:20px;color:var(--text);position:relative; filter: saturate(0.2);][fa]fa-play[/fa]



[div=height:34px;width:34px;padding:0;box-sizing:border-box;display:flex;justify-content:center;align-items:center;overflow:hidden;position:absolute][comment]



-----------soundcloud option here -----------



[/comment][div=width:120px; height:90px; opacity:0.0001; transform:scale(0.6, 0.6);padding:0;position:absolute;top:-20px;left:-25px; ][comment]

 

--music link here (soundcloud)--

 

                    [/comment][media=soundcloud]https://soundcloud.com/toilaios/y-bi-n-nh-t-chi-l-u-li-n-b-n-g[/media][/div][/div][comment]





----------- end of soundcloud option -----------



[/comment][/div][/div][/div]



[div=height:fit-content; min-width:100px; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:1px solid var(--border); border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding:40px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase; font-size:18px;]era goes here[/div]



[div=height:220px; width:100%; border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: row wrap; overflow:hidden; position:relative;]



[div=height:100%; width:35%; box-sizing:border-box; border-right:1px solid var(--border);  padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; background: var(--pic2); background-size:cover; background-position:60% 20%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.3) contrast(0.7) saturate(1.5);][/div]



[div=height:100%; width:65%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding: 10px 10px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: left; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow:hidden;]FULL NAME.  given name

D.O.B. date of birth

P.O.B. place of birth

GENDER. gender & pronouns

SEXUALITY. sexual orientation if applicable

[div=width:124%; margin-left:-15px; margin-top:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; height:1px; background: #fff;][/div] ALIAS. example: the shape, the clown, the hag

ROLE. which perk are they?

SPECIES. are they a human, a cryptid, something spiritual, etc? elaborate further if necessary into their specific cultural origins if applicable[/div][/div]

[div=height:fit-content; min-width:100px; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:0 solid var(--border); border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase;

scroll-snap-align:end;





font-size:18px;]visage.[/div]



[comment] ---- three pictures here --- [/comment]



[div=height:145px; width:100%; padding:25px 23px; box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow:row nowrap; position:relative;overflow:hidden;]

[div=height:100%; width:90px; flex:1; margin:0 5px; background: var(--w); background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.5) contrast(0.8);][/div]

[div=height:100%; width:90px; flex:1; margin:0 5px; background: var(--v); background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.5) contrast(0.8);][/div]

[div=height:100%; width:90px; flex:1; margin:0 5px; background: var(--h); background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.5) contrast(0.8);][/div][/div]



[div=height:220px; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:1px solid var(--border); border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding: 19px 23px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll; scrollbar-width:none;] DESCRIPTION. describe their appearance emphasising any visual changes if they were once mortal and human, compared to what they appear as now. do they look different in a trial compared to existing in their realm (maybe influenced by the entity, or they simply appear different when hunting their prey?)



ATTIRE. what do they typically where? is it the outfit they were wearing when they were taken? it is the same as it would be in a trial?



WEAPON. what is their weapon of choice? example: cleaver, war fan, katana. with a brief description of what it might look like (pictures are fine).



FACE CLAIM. if applicable.



fill out the realm form on discord.[/div]





[div=height:85px; width:100%;  box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: row wrap; overflow:hidden; position:relative; scroll-snap-align:end;]

[div=height:85px; width:65%; overflow-y:scroll; scrollbar-width:none; box-sizing:border-box; background:var(--a2); padding: 12px 20px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:149%; color: var(--bg); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-x:hidden;][div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: black; margin-bottom: 0px;]LIKES.[/div] ─ list up to five likes.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]DISLIKES.[/div]

─ list up to five dislikes.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]HOBBIES.[/div]

─ did they have hobbies before? if not applicable, leave it blank.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.[/div]

─ three strengths and weaknesses that would benefit or hinder them in a trial. example: (+) stamina: elaborate. (-) loud: elaborate.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]FEAR.[/div]

─ we all have fears, even the most ruthless of us. what's theirs?

[/div]

[div=height:85px; width:35%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; border-left: 1px solid white; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase; font-size:18px;]PSY.[/div] [/div]



[div=height:180px; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:1px solid var(--border); scrollbar-width:none; border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding: 8px 13px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll;] include from three to five virtues and vices. compare how they used to be (if they were once mortal) to how they are now, or how they were before the entity's influence if they've always been what they are now.

[/div]



[div=height:260px;scroll-snap-align:end; width:100%; border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: row wrap; overflow:hidden; position:relative;]



[div=height:100%; width:65%;  box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: column wrap; overflow:; position:relative;]

[div=height:25%; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding:20px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase; border-bottom:1px solid white; font-size:18px;]abc's[/div]

[div=height:180px; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding: 10px 20px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll;scrollbar-width:none;]POWER.

what makes your killer special? powers can be as simple as the trappers "traps: catching people in bear traps", or like the spirit's "yamaoka's haunting: departing from her physical body for a time, phase-walking to sneak up on survivor's and catch them by surprise." it can be simple, but give it a title!



THE MORI.

if your killer was given the chance to kill a survivor, completely surpassing the need to cage and hunt your target for the entity, what would be their ideal mori?



BELONGINGS.

to be used as clues: this rp will include a mystery element. please list out at least five belongings that your killer would own to be found in rp for lore purposes? example: a shattered mirror (elaborate on the importance, doesn't have to be more than a sentence)

[/div][/div]

[div=height:100%; flex:1; width:35%; box-sizing:border-box; border-left:1px solid var(--border);  padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; background: var(--h); background-size:cover; background-position:60% 20%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.3) contrast(0.7) saturate(1.5);][/div][/div]



[div=height:520px;scroll-snap-align:end; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; overflow-x:hidden; scrollbar-width:none; padding: 0 20px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll;][div=width: 120%; height:fit-content; font-family: var(--name); font-size: 18px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; position: sticky; padding: 30px 20px 20px; top:-12px; margin-left:-35px;  background:black; color: white; margin-bottom: -10px;]HISTORY[/div]

BEFORE. what was their background? were they always troubled if at all, were they destined to become a killer, what were they known for before the entity sensed their killing potential?



THE SHIFT. how did the entity influence them into a 'corrupted one'? what major event caused the shift from what they once were, to what they are now? explain how the fog stole them from their life.



NOW. the trials have not started, they have only just been taken by the entity where the rp will start off - but how would they react and feel to this new life of theirs? would they be furious to bow to a higher being, stronger than themselves? would they be grateful for a place to satiate their bloodlust?

[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div]

Code:

[comment] coded by akeno.

[font=Inter] hi [/font]

[font=Playfair Display] hi [/font]

[/comment][div=padding: 0; background:var(--bg); padding-top:40px; padding-bottom:40px; max-width: 100%; height:auto; overflow:hidden;  font-size:0px; display:block;



--bg:black;

--border: white;



--accent:black;

--a2: #8e9e93;



--blacktitle: black;

--text: white;



/* color accent on text */

--gg: #aebfb3;



--pic: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/dd/67/97/dd67971d934cd5c9ad01887b5486481e.jpg);

--pic2: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9d/ce/a0/9dcea054669b6e112699288b54321f57.jpg);



--w: url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9d/ce/a0/9dcea054669b6e112699288b54321f57.jpg');

--v: url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9d/ce/a0/9dcea054669b6e112699288b54321f57.jpg');

--h: url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9d/ce/a0/9dcea054669b6e112699288b54321f57.jpg');



--name: 'Playfair Display';

--ww: 'Inter'; ]



/* --- base code --- */

[div=padding: 0; border:1px solid var(--border); width:clamp(320px, 40vw, 410px);  height:520px; overflow:hidden; display:block; margin:auto; opacity:0.9; display:flex; flex-flow:column wrap;]



[comment] /* --- picture on top here --- */ [/comment]

[div=height:100%; width:200%;scroll-snap-type:y mandatory; scroll-behavior: smooth; overflow-y:scroll;][div=height:auto; width:calc(50% + 9px);][div=height:0; width:100%; margin-bottom: -1px;][/div] [div=height:205px; width:100%; background: var(--pic); scroll-snap-align:start; background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%;



-webkit-filter: grayscale(0.0) contrast(0.7) saturate(1.5);] [comment] --- filter on picture --- [/comment]



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 9px; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; color: var(--text); margin-bottom: -10px;]© akeno.[/div]



[comment] /* --- picture inside here --- */ [/comment]

[div=width:83%; margin: 20px auto; background:var(--pic) 70% 50%; background-size:cover; opacity:0.7; border:2px solid var(--border); height:80%;padding:0;display:flex;flex-flow:row nowrap;justify-content:center;align-items:center;position:relative;]



[comment] /* --- music --- */ [/comment]

[div=height:100%;width:60px;padding:0;display:flex;flex-flow:row nowrap;justify-content:center;align-items:center;font-size:20px;color:var(--text);position:relative; filter: saturate(0.2);][fa]fa-play[/fa]



[div=height:34px;width:34px;padding:0;box-sizing:border-box;display:flex;justify-content:center;align-items:center;overflow:hidden;position:absolute][comment]



-----------soundcloud option here -----------



[/comment][div=width:120px; height:90px; opacity:0.0001; transform:scale(0.6, 0.6);padding:0;position:absolute;top:-20px;left:-25px; ][comment]

 

--music link here (soundcloud)--

 

                    [/comment][media=soundcloud]https://soundcloud.com/toilaios/y-bi-n-nh-t-chi-l-u-li-n-b-n-g[/media][/div][/div][comment]





----------- end of soundcloud option -----------



[/comment][/div][/div][/div]



[div=height:fit-content; min-width:100px; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:1px solid var(--border); border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding:40px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase; font-size:18px;]era goes here[/div]



[div=height:220px; width:100%; border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: row wrap; overflow:hidden; position:relative;]



[div=height:100%; width:35%; box-sizing:border-box; border-right:1px solid var(--border);  padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; background: var(--pic2); background-size:cover; background-position:60% 20%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.3) contrast(0.7) saturate(1.5);][/div]



[div=height:100%; width:65%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding: 10px 10px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: left; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow:hidden;]FULL NAME.  given name

D.O.B. date of birth

P.O.B. place of birth

GENDER. gender & pronouns

SEXUALITY. sexual orientation

[div=width:124%; margin-left:-15px; margin-top:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; height:1px; background: #fff;][/div]

OCCUPATION. were they a student or working?

SKILLS. how will their skills translate into the role of choice.

ROLE. which perk are they?[/div][/div]

[div=height:fit-content; min-width:100px; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:0 solid var(--border); border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase;

scroll-snap-align:end;





font-size:18px;]visage.[/div]



[comment] ---- three pictures here --- [/comment]



[div=height:145px; width:100%; padding:25px 23px; box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow:row nowrap; position:relative;overflow:hidden;]

[div=height:100%; width:90px; flex:1; margin:0 5px; background: var(--w); background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.5) contrast(0.8);][/div]

[div=height:100%; width:90px; flex:1; margin:0 5px; background: var(--v); background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.5) contrast(0.8);][/div]

[div=height:100%; width:90px; flex:1; margin:0 5px; background: var(--h); background-size:cover; background-position:50% 50%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.5) contrast(0.8);][/div][/div]



[div=height:220px; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:1px solid var(--border); border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding: 19px 23px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll; scrollbar-width:none;] DESCRIPTION. describe their basic appearance.



ATTIRE. what do they typically where? is it the outfit they were wearing when they were taken? it is the same as it would be in a trial?



FACE CLAIM.[/div]





[div=height:85px; width:100%;  box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: row wrap; overflow:hidden; position:relative; scroll-snap-align:end;]

[div=height:85px; width:65%; overflow-y:scroll; scrollbar-width:none; box-sizing:border-box; background:var(--a2); padding: 12px 20px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:149%; color: var(--bg); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-x:hidden;][div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: black; margin-bottom: 0px;]LIKES.[/div] ─ list up to five likes.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]DISLIKES.[/div]

─ list up to five dislikes.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]HOBBIES.[/div]

─ did they have hobbies before?



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.[/div]

─ three strengths and weaknesses that would benefit or hinder them in a trial. example: (+) stamina: elaborate. (-) loud: elaborate.



[div=width: 100%; height:fit-content;  font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; position: sticky; padding: 2px 10px; top:-12px; background:var(--a2); color: var(--blacktitle); margin-bottom: -10px;]FEAR.[/div]

─ the entity likely picked up on this when they got close to the fog, what are they most afraid of?

[/div]

[div=height:85px; width:35%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; border-left: 1px solid white; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase; font-size:18px;]PSY.[/div] [/div]



[div=height:180px; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; border-top:1px solid var(--border); scrollbar-width:none; border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); padding: 8px 13px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll;] include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

[/div]



[div=height:260px;scroll-snap-align:end; width:100%; border-bottom:1px solid var(--border); box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: row wrap; overflow:hidden; position:relative;]



[div=height:100%; width:65%;  box-sizing:border-box; display:flex; flex-flow: column wrap; overflow:; position:relative;]

[div=height:25%; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding:20px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:100%; color: var(--text); text-align: center; font-family: var(--name); text-transform:uppercase; border-bottom:1px solid white; font-size:18px;]abc's[/div]

[div=height:180px; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box;  padding: 10px 20px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll;scrollbar-width:none;]BELONGINGS.

to be used as clues: this rp will include a mystery element. please list out at least five belongings that your survivor would own to be found in rp for lore purposes? example: a family photo (elaborate on the importance, doesn't have to be more than a sentence)

[/div][/div]

[div=height:100%; flex:1; width:35%; box-sizing:border-box; border-left:1px solid var(--border);  padding:30px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; background: var(--h); background-size:cover; background-position:60% 20%; -webkit-filter: grayscale(0.3) contrast(0.7) saturate(1.5);][/div][/div]



[div=height:520px;scroll-snap-align:end; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; overflow-x:hidden; scrollbar-width:none; padding: 0 20px 15px; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; line-height:140%; color: var(--text); text-align: justify; font-family: var(--ww); font-size:10px; overflow-y:scroll;][div=width: 120%; height:fit-content; font-family: var(--name); font-size: 18px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; position: sticky; padding: 30px 20px 20px; top:-12px; margin-left:-35px;  background:black; color: white; margin-bottom: -10px;]HISTORY[/div]

BEFORE. what was their childhood and background like growing up?



THE FOG. what were they doing, where were they, when they stumbled upon a corrupted area and were taken by the fog?



NOW. the trials have not started, they have only just been taken by the entity where the rp will start off - but how would they react and feel to this new life of theirs?

[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div]

RESERVED ROLES
SURVIVOR: Ace In The Hole, Built To Last, Object of Obsession, Spine Chill, Technician, and Wake Up!
KILLER: Friends 'Til The End, Floods of Rage, Remember Me, Save The Best For Last, Starstruck, and Thanatophobia

ALL OTHER ROLES CAN BE APPLIED FOR AND ARE AVAILABLE, DO NOT FEEL DISCOURAGED ABOUT OTHER PLACEHOLDERS! THIS IS NOT FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE

lostbird · Aug 19, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2024

FULL NAME. greta waverly
D.O.B. sep 30, 1993 (thirty-one).
P.O.B. juneau, alaska
GENDER. she / her
SEXUALITY. heterosexual

OCCUPATION. mortuary assistant
SKILLS. attention to detail, work autonomously, and organisation.
ROLE. spine chill

visage.

DESCRIPTION. greta's heart shaped face sports soft features; a compact and straight nose, round brown eyes, straight eyebrows and thin, but delicate lips. dark brunette hair, almost appearing black, rests at her shoulders with natural defined waves, and curtain bangs framing her facial features. she didn't typically wear make-up as her job found it an interference ─ bending over a corpse with loose eyeshadow powder falling onto the cadavers body was considered disrespectful.

ATTIRE. greta primarily wore outdoorsy styled clothing, suitable for the alaskan climate and her family of hikers, leading her to be in constant possession of her navy blue parka. with no need to don shorts, greta opted for either jeans or cargo pants paired with a turtleneck. once she started her job in the morgue, she began detesting the feel of turtlenecks — it constricted her neck too tightly, making it hard to swallow the pit of nerves gathering in her throat. she tossed out over a dozen pairs much to her mothers objection and replaced the offending clothing with button ups, resting the oval shaped collars over a loose fitting sweater with a colour palette consisting of dark and cold hues. on the day she was taken, greta was sporting gray denim jeans, a loose-fitted navy sweater and a beige corduroy jacket topped off with white tennis shoes.

FACE CLAIM. mary elizabeth winstead

LIKES.
─ the dark. ironically, greta finds peace in the darkness ─ she fears most what lurks within, yes. but if she cannot see for herself, then... out of sight, out of mind.
─ documentaries. there's safety to be found in knowledge. armed with information, greta is as much of a skeptic as she is scaredy cat; a thirst for information based not on broadening her mind, rather for quietening the anxiety that swims through her nervous system.
─ cold weather. more specifically, her parka; accustomed to the climate of alaska, greta enjoys the warmth her clothing provides.
─ tea. when unemployed, she spent a great deal of her day formulating different mixtures of herbs to create a variety of teas meant for different moods... she had a lot of spare time, clearly.
─ comfortable silences. noise can be too much; obnoxious sounds, people speaking to fill in silences, and the blood roaring through her ears when greta starts becoming overwhelmed... sometimes she'd rather hear her own heartbeat ─ not alone, but in the presence of another.

DISLIKES.

─ her job. with the job market suffering and dwindling mental health, greta had no choice but to accept the offer as a mortuary assistant. her qualifications in allied health instantly landed her the position and hates it with every fibre of her being.
─ the unknown. her brain fills in the blanks of what she doesn't know as fact, leaving a very poor impression on how greta perceives her surroundings and mysteries.
─ spirituality. in tandem with greta's curious mind, with no concrete proof ─ she simply cannot believe it.
─ hiking. roped into hikes with her family, greta hated it. she was forced to juggle conversation, controlling her breathing the higher they climbed, and watching her footing ─ and surroundings.
─ feeling stagnant. unemployment was driving greta into an early grave. with nothing to stimulate her mind and long boring days, she felt her mental health slipping beyond return ─ perceiving the simplest of things into something wholly uncanny.

HOBBIES.

─ tea brewing. greta almost mastered the art during her unemployment of concocting all manners of tea. not a believer necessarily in the 'properties' of each one in relation to others' moods, more so content with how much focus and time-filling the activity is.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) hyperfocus. focusing on the task at hand comes natural and even when fearful, greta can swallow down the lump in her throat and push through.
trial: benefitted by her ability to fixate on an objective, it can become a fifty/fifty scenario: able to lock in and finish repairs, even in the presence of a killer, or her fear will overcome her, becoming her new fixation and she'll flee, focused only on staying unseen.
(+) stamina. hiking the alaskan wilderness has paid off, even if greta participated under duress. with her family home up in the mountains and away from the city centre, greta went to painstaking lengths to not attend family hikes, fearful of the native wildlife and twisting trails potentially leading to a sudden drop off a cliff.
trial: in spite of her disdain for hiking, greta has benefitted from muscle strength and an increased lung capacity. able to hold her breath should a killer search for her lurking in the area or make a quick getaway when their backs are turned.
(+) intelligent. book smarts and street smarts; greta has a flexible mind, soaking up information like a sponge. it helps to guard against her desire of assuming the absolute worst in any given situation, by seeking knowledge when possible to make sense of the demons in her head. despite her intelligence, when faced with the inconceivable, greta will throw skepticism out of the window and give in to terror.
trial: a quick learner, greta ─ so long as she can strengthen her resolve ─ will be fast to pick up on what side objectives need to be done, where items typically are, and especially the most concealed spots to seek refuge in.
(-) paranoid. her job at the mortuary did little to quell her uneasiness for the uncanny. feeling the human body not supported by muscles but deflated, skin dipping into the chest cavity... inserting an eye cap under the lid to maintain the natural curve of the eye, as opposed to the collapsed appearance through decomposition. greta simply suffers from a vivid imagination, only exaggerated by her time as a mortuary assistant.
trial: as a result of her fear for seeing something horrific, of her terror locking her in place ─ greta, more often than not, will listen to her gut instinct to run and hide.
(-) neurotic. obsessive over what frightens her the most; greta has a hard time maintaining a strong-mindset. it depends on her environment. at home, in what she knows is safety, greta's mind relaxes with familiarity. on the journey to work alone, she becomes tense and agitated.
trial: greta's mental state deteriorates in a record time, reverting to become mentally unstable when faced with real terror. there's no reasoning with her, almost zero chance of convincing her of her illogical mindset, and absolutely no possible reason to suspect she'd put others before herself.
(-) timid. reserved and to herself, greta doesn't seek companionship. in fact, she prefers to be alone. not one to be assertive, greta would rather watch and observe, calculating her actions for the best possible outcome.
trial: easily frightened and lily-livered, greta won't be much help in a make or break scenario. if faced with an impossible choice and no time to weigh pros and cons, she may simply stand there ─ unmoving, and of accepting her fate.

FEAR.

─ most things. particularly, what greta cannot understand; the uncanny.

PSY.

[content warning: body horror]

independent to a fault, greta prefers to work and be alone ─ by no means is she not a team player, but she'd sooner handle a project on her own before reaching out to others for assistance. born from her studies for allied health, it was preferable to be reliable on your own skillset rather than taking others away from their work. during her transition into a mortuary assistant, her mentor most notably requested her silence and observation skills to be put to work, not to ask monotonous questions that would be answered through practical displays.
now: the ideal person to put on objectives ─ not for her aptitude with mechanics and engineering (for which she has none, but she is a quick learner,) but for her ability to remain focused on the task at hand and ability to stay quiet if a killer strays too close. in fact, if greta is able to swallow her fear and not run for the hills, sometimes the impending danger can force her to work harder and faster, finishing the necessary repairs in a killers face.

greta harbours a forgiving nature; while she may not always be quick to understand a persons motives, she dislikes jumping to conclusions without all the facts before her. she supposes that comes from her love of documentaries, entire stories that may seem black and white and simplified are so complex under the surface after peeling back layer after layer, with all the truth laid bare.
now: towards her team, she's unlikely to hold grudges; for her cowardice, her actions will be unforgiving. her struggles with forgiveness rests with killers ─ at odds with the knowledge of their own 'kidnapping', taken to the fog and forced to compete in these trials, but struggling with her fear of their malicious practices. greta has seen the aftermath of victims, how their bodies decay as a result of the trauma inflicted upon them; tending to outweigh her forgiving nature.

rather intuitive, greta might believe herself concealing a sixth sense. it feels like prickles along her back, the way her cat 'salem's spine would stand on end when spooked by her shadow, or confronted with a sudden predator in the form of a dog on its morning walk, miles away from their front door. that intuition plagued her the most at her job, alarming her as she opened a storage door and was met with the stench of death; nothing was right about the way human bodies festered and sunk.
now: greta's intuition activates her flight or freeze instincts; rendering her frozen to the spot ─ and if she's repairing something, all the better ─ or fleeing from said repair, taking refuge in the closest thing to total darkness.

greta will readily own up to any of her faults, and especially her actions. it's a waste of her time and patience to not be honest, to make excuses when she's wronged someone else; though it takes a lot of her dwindling courage to do so.
now: she would find it in her best interest to be honest with other survivors about her behaviour in trials when called upon, but she would likely not willingly venture the information unless pressed for it.

unsurprisingly, greta is cowardly. her anxious mind moves too quick for logic and reasoning to keep up with, believing the coat hanger is the silhouette of a person in the right lighting. it's harmless, in her day to day life, inflated only when she's at her job in the mortuary ─ bodies in contorted positions, lacerations so deep it reveals a glimpse of bone. the hair on the back of her neck stands on end, but her cowardice was her burden to bear.
now: her burden has spread to be everyone else's problem. guilt only comes afterwards, after the trial is said and done and she either walks through the fog back to the campfire, a survivor ─ or her cowardice gets them all killed, waking up in her bedroll as if it were all a terrible dream and yet still feeling the pain of death. wracked with guilt, greta will face the music for her actions, but overcoming her flight or freeze response will be a tumultuous journey.

untrusting, she struggles to believe others have her best interests at heart because in her eyes, she looks out for number one: that's her. she tends to be secretive as a result of her distrust in others, playing her cards close to her chest and unwilling to open up, to give anyone a part of herself so easily. greta, by no means, had a hard life ─ nothing that wasn't her own making, and still she prefers to be a private person.
now: her secretive nature will result in her being perceived as quiet, perhaps even shy. an unwillingness to connect with other survivors beyond the common ground of their precarious situation. and with her tendency to run and hide, greta will never expect others to put themselves on the line for her safety.

borderline neurotic in her fear, greta is obsessive. her mind easily becomes consumed by frightening scenarios, plagued with anxieties of what if's and what's that. her obsessive delusions began to manifest once she accepted the position at the morgue, the first time she saw a corpse sit up on its own accord (the advanced decomposition causing the muscles to flex and contract), when she was placing eye caps into a cadaver and it groaned beneath her hands (built up oxygen being expelled from the lungs), when she adjusted the position of the bodies' leg and her hand returned with a thick layer of skin where it had sloughed off the ankle.
now: most killers will frighten greta, but her obsessive nature will hone in on the killers that were once human ─ turned monstrous, deformed; resembling the human body but disturbingly altered.

ironically, despite greta's thirst for knowledge and her intelligent streak ─ she's weak-minded. easily overcome by her base terrors and emotions, quick to make rash and impatient decisions as a result if lacking the necessary information.
now: it takes a heavy toll on greta within trials, any determination to survive and complete objectives overruled by her mind's tendency to overthink. her usual quiet and subdued nature taken advantage of, her emotions elevate into something frantic and hopeless.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
─ i.d. tag. greta smiles timidly in the photo, when her hair was long and the tips brushed her hips. 'mortuary assistant' is printed below her full name, dated june 4th 2024.
─ embalming report. cadaver profile for a victim of one of the killer's.
─ disposable gloves. bloodied nitrile gloves, from the first time greta donned them for her first cadaver. the dark blue material is covered in blood and other fluids; when greta had accidentally pressed too hard on the bodies chest and it collapsed, her hand falling clean through the chest cavity.
─ cat collar. salem's pumpkin orange collar, the bell taking the shape of a small ghost.
─ notebook. where greta scribbled down notes for every body that came through the morgue, jotting down the specifics: name, identifying marks, personal reflections, and likely cause of death.
─ scissors. from when she cut her hair, after the corpse had taken a vice like grip of it.

HISTORY

[content warning: body horror]

BEFORE. greta waverly was born into a family of seven, herself being the youngest. juneau, alaska was known for its tourism and her family capitalised on that, running bear viewing tours from may to september with her father working around cruise ship tourism and her mother for the everyday expedition with locals or visitors from across the country. excursions required long hikes, with tours lasting six to seven hours in total, and greta was subjected to hiking through the alaskan mountains every. single. week. but as the youngest of the waverly family, greta was given the luxury of deviating from the family business and dove headfirst into studying allied health, interested in diagnosing and treating conditions; fresh out of high-school, greta attended university at her earliest opportunity and graciously residing on campus through her studies, welcoming the reprieve of constant walks through the harsh wilderness.

by her mid-twenties, greta landed a job as an occupational therapist at the local community centre. it was more than fulfilling, assisting vulnerable people develop treatment plans and recover from unfortunate situations ─ so much more important than bear tours; she did not envy her siblings that were expected to carry on the business, but greta did resent them to a degree for not following their own path in life. especially as family events became tense, with comments about greta being 'too good for family business', and 'clearly doesn't want to be around her family' were thrown around the dinner table, or as whispers in extended families ears. "she must think we're brutes," her father elbowed her aunt, shaking his head in dismay. "chasing after bears in the woods while she massages kneecaps." with a roll of her eyes, she left early and resentment bloomed in her chest.

then covid-19 ruined her almost picture-perfect life. as the economy was blasted in their small city in alaska, greta was forced to quit her job and move back into her family home, around people her mentality simply no longer aligned with. subjected to passive-aggressive comments in forced close proximity, greta felt her forgiving nature slip completely when it came to almost every single member of her family. she threw herself into staying busy; picking up the hobby of tea-making and more importantly... adopting a cat. salem, her black ragdoll cat, quickly became her favourite family member. he lazily spread across the countertops as she measured tea leaves and boiled water to the perfect temperature, finding her blood pressure began to lower the more he blinked his yellow eyes in her direction, captivated by her movements.

THE FOG. life returned in the knick of time. suffering from cabin fever and mounting pressure from her family to at least partake in their usual hikes, greta found herself becoming stir-crazy; grounded only when holding salem after a long, monotonous, boring day of nothing at all. occupational therapy wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, with the community centre being converted into a makeshift hospital ─ the space needed for more beds to assist covid patients. so, against her better judgment, greta accepted a the position as a mortuary assistant at the morgue.

on her first day, greta had her picture taken for an i.d. tag in which she sported a weak smile, nervous at the prospects of being in proximity to the dead. she shadowed her mentor, keeping silent at his request ─ "watch and learn." easier said than done, as she so desperately wanted to know the purpose of 'setting the features', but she was a quick learner. in no time, greta was faced with her very own cadaver: an elderly man, someone ─ finally ─ who hadn't died from complications with covid, but of natural causes. she jots down identifying marks and is listing his name on the clipboard when her fingers tense, a muscle spasming from her tight grip, and her pen drops unceremoniously to the floor. she bends down to retrieve it, shoulder knocking into the deceaseds mans arm ─ it flops off the table, resting at the elbow and just as she's about to stand up and reposition his arm, his hand takes hold of her hair in a vice-like grip, so tight she screams and screams.

her mentor rushed in to help and she stares at him, wide-eyed and frightened beyond belief. what the fuck was that? and he explains: "it doesn't happen often, but muscles contract and expand even in death. don't be surprised if you come in tomorrow and he's sitting upright." he leaves greta standing there in disbelief, gaping at the strands of her hair still clasped in their bony grasp. that night, she stood before the bathroom mirror with a pair of scissors and began to snip away at the length, with a shuddering breath and bloodshot eyes.

and almost every cadaver after that, greta was dealt a hand that pushed her closer and closer towards a cliffs edge. the time she transported a middle-aged woman and stored her in the mortuary chamber, only to fall backwards in shock as desperate muffled thumps sound from within. the time greta washed down a body, taking great care to clean the skin, only for the cadavers leg to jerk so ferociously that she sported a black half-circle under her eye for the next three weeks. and her first murder victim ─ transported from overseas under special circumstances, where greta was finally confronted with the horrifying truth of humanity, what depraved people are capable of. unable to swallow the lump in her throat, greta swiftly left to empty her lunch into the nearest trash can.

on the fateful day, greta worked late ─ her choice, as tourism still had not bounced back and her father became increasingly more insistent on her dropping her newest job, disgusted she'd rather clean corpses than observe wildlife. no overtime pay, but it was worth every second she didn't spend in her families presence. taking her time, greta methodically cleaned the mortuary and hummed a song under her breath, the newest coping mechanism she discovered was a necessity if she were to continue working in an ever-changing environment, with each new body taking a year off her own life.

she heads into the morgue to flick off the lights after she'd changed back into her everyday clothes when she notices a chamber door wide open, hauntingly oppressive. "um, steve?" she stammers out, unable to tear her gaze off the door ─ images of something crawling, slithering, lunging from the yawning darkness flood her mind. "steve, did you forget─!" another door slams open, swift and sudden. fucking get out of here. her brain tries to warn her, to advise her of the correct and right thing to do, but her feet stay firmly planted in place, too afraid to turn her back and give what ever the fuck is in there an opening. but she'd lose her job if she left the mortuary chamber doors wide open and she needed it to be away from the suffocation awaiting her at home.

timidly, greta puts one foot in front of the other, her heart pounds harder with every step. threatening to break her ribcage. stood before the open door, she waits ─ half-expecting for her end to come, for the monster inside to punish her for her hubris of simply approaching it. nothing happens and she breathes a sigh of relief, exasperated with her minds ability to frighten her. she braces her hand on one side and starts pushing with her other to seal the chamber, when black mist billows out and envelops her wrist ─ she freezes, rooted in spot and simply watching as the fog licks at her skin, and then pulls her inside.

NOW. greta's eyes peel open to find herself at a... campfire? she's on the forest floor, her palms pressed into damp leaves and grass. blinking to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness, only illuminated by the campfire, greta glances around to see she's not alone ─ a thought that frightens her even more.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1989

FULL NAME. bethany 'beth' dunne.
D.O.B. dec 29, 1957.
P.O.B. berlin, germany.
GENDER. she/her.
SEXUALITY. pansexual.

ALIAS. the doll.
ROLE. floods of rage.
SPECIES. once human. beth's humanity was ripped away at the age of thirty-two, forcing her into the form of a robotic doll.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. white porcelain skin and carribean water eyes, underlined by soft bags; evidence of long nights and early starts in the dance studio. her oval face is framed by waist length ginger hair, thin from her persistence of pulling the strands into tight buns for performances. in tandem with striking orange hair are her pink lips, sporting a cupids bow — a feature that comically stayed in her new form, from a peach colour to striking pink, the cupids bow split in half along with the rest of her face; able to open up and reveal the complex wiring and metal under her face plates. orange tones were now a deep violet, the colour of madness, and her white skin now a soft shade of lavender. her hair is tied into a perpetual bun and long cartoonish lashes fan her cheeks.

ATTIRE. when bethany was a dancer, known for her sophistication and grace, her everyday attire was one and the same; a mix of sweatpants and loose shorts over a fitted bodysuit. the leotards weren't very breathable around her chest, but they were a necessity in the dance world, allowing teachers to spot mistakes in posture and for the audience to marvel at her body lines and form. on the stage, her attire came down to the costume department. and now, a mockery. forever a reminder of her final state of being; a ballerina costume with a fanned skirt and tight bodice. it was a terrible thing, to not have had control over the clothing she donned in life, for not even a minute.

WEAPON. glass shard: a piece from what ultimately ended her picture perfect life with harsh swipes of paint in violet, black, and red.

FACE CLAIM. dakota johnson, ballora

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ dancing. bethany felt no pressure from the gentle encouragement of her mother to pursue it; there was a sense of quiet and freedom that accompanied the way her body moved to the music, performing a story through straight lines and soft curves.
─ fresh air. cooped up in a dance studio for hours at a time, bethany longed for the smoke breaks she could steal between sets, on the walk to and from the studio in the crisp german air, and often wondered if she'd ever perform outdoors.
─ travelling. on account, again, of spending her days in a dance studio, forced to watch her own reflection. dancing brought her a sense of tranquility, but travel opportunities would present itself in the sport and bethany longed for it more than being perceived on a stage by hundreds.
─ music. losing herself in music was how bethany found herself in the dance world; from twirling around a coffee shop in downtown berlin to expertly pulling off a series of twenty pirouettes in the face of other dancers only just mastering their fifth consecutive spin.
─ her sister. bethany is sure giselle would never think the same when constantly compared to her older sister. always second best to bethany. but she adored giselle, spending her free time attempting to help her improve in dance, and was never well received.

DISLIKES.

─ feeling used. a hot commodity in the dance world and sought after by all kinds of up and coming conductors and composers, bethany was on the verge of becoming cynical. so many men wanted her in their grasp, figuratively and literally.
─ routine. there is comfort to be found in routine, but the monotonous days have quickly become stale and she's running on a mix of fumes, disillusionment, and auto-pilot.
─ heat. bethany quickly becomes overheated during practice and can't shake the horrid awareness she has of sweat dripping down her spine.
─ unproductive conversations. with dwindling free time for herself, bethany detests conversation that leads nowhere or is about nothing at all, craving to be stimulated by more than just music and dance.
─ dolls. unlike her peers, bethany was never an avid enjoyer of dolls and toys of the like; material possessions, nothing of substance. thinking back now, bethany feels justified in her displeasure for them.

HOBBIES.

─ other than dance, bethany enjoyed painting on mirrors. it became customary when landing a leading role to stand in front of a floor length mirror and paint around herself, using colours and techniques that suited the new performance.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) nimble. persistent training paid off in bethany's form and posture; when she moves, it lacks an awkwardness common in untrained dancers.
trial: as 'the doll', bethany has not forfeited her fluidity in movement despite being encased by a mechanical suit. occasionally the wires and metal rods can cause small glitches in time, her body twitching and jerking as it attempts to catch up with her shift in form; electric shocks jolt her body into being imperfect for a time.
─ (+) confidence. the most sought after ballerina in all of berlin, germany. bethany has managed the sudden fame and attention aptly, lacking an ego or sense of self-righteousness. her self-assuredness comes from a confidence within her abilities, not from others words and beliefs.
trial: trust in herself will propel bethany into winning positions in a trial. there's a rule of thumb with dancing, to push yourself but not past your limitations; if she finds herself at a disadvantage, the pursuit would end and change course to a more beneficial position.
(+) perceptive. not easily fooled, bethany always trusts her gut instincts. from years of being sold story after story, idea after idea, bethany has a firm grasp on understanding people's motives.
trial: to be devout, bethany can prioritise what needs her immediate focus to offer sacrifices for the entity. for her, creating the right scenario for a brief lockout is where her priorities lie; finding a survivor as fast as possible and being relentless in the allowed time window.
(-) strength. dancing is all muscle memory; strength is needed to hold difficult forms for extensive periods and even with her lithe build, bethany was strong.
trial: the strength she once held no longer translates in the robotic suit she's been forced into. the metal and wires weigh too heavily to do much outside of her dancing capabilities; bethany can dance with ease, as if nothing changed ─ but she cannot lift a survivor over her shoulder and carry them for long distances without exerting herself in the process.
(-) charisma. the charming allure that brought thousands to theatres for performances was based on her dancing alone. she's otherwise known to be quiet and thoughtful.
trial: imposing would best describe her disposition within a trial; with the soft whirring of gears and electrical inputs within the doll suit, survivors won't know bethany is there until close enough to snatch them ─ her height is much the same as before, the suit is not clunky or bulky, but moulded to her shape and her nimbleness keeps her approach quiet. when she chooses to speak, there's a static edge to her voice ─ still soft spoken, but distorted.
(-) composure. bethany once had the composure of a trained ballerina, necessary for complex routines. her quiet nature was perceived from shyness; bethany simply knew when she should or shouldn't speak.
trial: what happened to her wasn't fair. the entity had ripped bethany away, unable to enact the vengeance weighing heavy in her heart ─ rage was unbecoming of a ballerina and if she could not have her revenge, then everyone else would pay.

FEAR.

─ to remain a puppet. bethany has been used all her life and that has not changed in death. now she's the entity's plaything, her strings forever pulled and forced to dance.

PSY.

[content warning: implied sexual abuse.]

bethany dunne considered herself, of all things, humble ─ her peers liked to assume she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, naturally gifted by the world not for her talents and skills, but hailing from a wealthy family. in truth, her riches worked to her advantage in opening opportunities but as far as the dance world was concerned, if she had no talent then what good was wasted money? giselle, her younger sister by three years, was evidence: born from the same family with little to show for it in terms of dance; and it was out of love for her sister that bethany never took for granted her capabilities.
now: the trait has persisted in light of her new reality. in fact, she could not be more humbled.

her years active in dance meant being responsible and sticking to a monotonous routine. bethany's hours in the studio meant there was little time to do much else; eating, sleeping, and maintaining the free-time she was allowed was carefully planned.
now: responsibility will translate into trials through her ability to prioritise objectives; to set up and take advantage of a brief lockout means carefully planning and executing her approach seamlessly.

on account of her somewhat sheltered life inside the dance studio, bethany could not suppress her curious nature. with an urge and craving to travel, bethany hoped that her dance career might take her places she'd only seen in pictures. her curiosity also extended to dance offers; with people constantly requesting her presence in their latest production. sometimes, she found herself unable to refuse bizarre invitations based on her desire to know.
now: exposed to a new reality, despite the circumstances, bethany's curiosity will be unleashed and take in as much of the realms as she can. will likely spend her newfound free-time to explore the other realms.

by the time bethany hit her thirties, she had mastered the technique of being tactful. as a now experienced dancer and no longer considered a dime a dozen amongst other ballerinas, bethany was often approached for interviews and by the audience, requesting her thoughts ─ a typically hard-pressed task as a girl of little words. now she's able to coherently string her thoughts into something comprehensive and thoughtful, masking her true feelings beneath pretty words.
now: tactful in her approach to survivors and trials will be taken no less seriously than the dance world.

along with her curiosity, bethany tends to be hasty with decisions. intrigued by concepts that aren't explored in favour of mainstream, she will quickly jump the gun when it comes to accepting a proposal and face regret later.
now: bethany's downfall in trails. her win condition relies on pacing herself properly in how quickly she chooses to exert herself in favour of initiating a brief lockout ─ if she takes too long or is too hasty with herself, they'll escape.

bethany's outward disposition can easily be viewed as melancholic. bored of routine and ordinary days, she has a depressive nature that affects her sense of self; it shows in her loose casual clothing, how she leaves her hair long and loose and styles it only on performance days, how little she chooses to speak ─ a tactful choice, and also because it's hard to make sense of feelings so ingrained into her with no experience in life, or in having to navigate bigger feelings.
now: melancholy will follow her, always; she swims in her own tragedy, overcome with emotions she's never had the chance to name.

cynical came first, before all else. used and abused was the appropriate term for bethany's career, because that's where hasty decisions landed her: wrapped in a blanket of regret. too eager to please and perform for the masses, to show her talents on a stage where it all mattered most. her cynicism allowed her to develop gut instincts about people, to detect their motivations before she ends up back in her bed, face pressed into a pillow and sobbing out emotions she cannot put a name to, or comprehend.
now: her instincts were correct. trapped inside a robotic suit, to appear as a doll, to kill for a being higher than herself... cynical doesn't begin to cover it.

never having to truly compete for leading roles, bethany was not one to experience envy or jealousy, or how it might feel to lose out on a role, to experience vengeance.... until now. her humanity stripped away in such an insulting manner, bethany can't help but be vengeful.
now: unable to enact her revenge how she sees fit, bethany must settle for taking out her rage on survivors.

abc's

POWER.
disillusionment: mirrors are placed around the realms at random (but always nearby survivor objectives), glass sporting swipes of paint in areas, all unique from one another; a remnant of bethany's past-time. she's able to traverse the map by phasing through a mirror ─ survivors will know which mirror she's teleporting through as it shatters suddenly, a loud shrieking sound as she appears from the cracked and bottomless depths.

side objective for survivors: around the realms are large swaths of cloth to be found (using material that would likely be seen in a costume department) if survivor's cover the mirrors with them, it slows The Doll down long enough to make a quick getaway.

THE MORI.
a mirror of her own demise: The Doll would drag the chosen survivor to the nearest mirror and force them to look at their own reflection, to see the terror reflected the same as she had felt. with some unkind words, The Doll would smash the survivor into the glass as many times as needed to shatter their hopes and end their suffering. using her finger, she paints over the shattered glass using the blood of the survivor into a frown.

BELONGINGS.
─ music box. a soft lavender box with white roses decorating the surface. upon opening, a ballerina dressed in periwinkle purple spins to the tune of a lullaby. inside are an assortment of rings, bracelets and earrings. in the small drawer beneath it all are ticket stubs for various recitals and plays.
─ ballet slippers. tattered and worn beige slippers, on the inside are the telltale traces of smeared blood from constant friction on the skin.
─ shard of glass. a piece of the broken mirror, covered not in paint but blood.
─ business card. vaughn drew's business card, CIRQUE DU SOLEIL is printed beneath his name.
─ old photograph. depicting a younger bethany and her sister giselle in a dance studio. bethany is smiling, soft and warm as other dancers surround her in excitement; giselle is off to the side, downcast and arms crossed.

HISTORY

[content warning: implied sexual abuse, dance injuries, claustrophobia, blood, impaling, and murder.]

BEFORE. born with a natural affinity towards dance as a child, bethany's mother promptly encouraged her to pursue the art young. giselle, her little sister, followed in her path and never quite managed to keep up with her older siblings speed and grace on the dance floor, easily mastering techniques advanced for her age group. simply made for the spotlight, bethany was offered leading roles after leading roles, leaving giselle on the wayside. the friction strengthened over the time between the girls, with giselle not able to even stomach looking bethany's way no matter how hard the eldest would reach out.

by the time bethany turned twenty-five, she was a household name in berlin, germany. her first heartbreak had nothing to do with a cute boys and girls, but from the very person audacious enough to use her for personal gain. the nutcracker, tried and true; bethany grew up practicing the routines when not working on her posture and lines. a famous choreographer had flown in from out of the country with a household name of their own and the long days became tiring, fast. nights were more gruelling than usual and bethany discovered corn after corn on her feet, her toes were aching, and with every pirouette she felt her resolve spinning out of control. he worked her hard, not allowing a single reprieve ─ none to be found, not when he took what little she had left to give on the night of her twenty-sixth birthday.

a storm waged war inside of bethany the next year. too sheltered from the world, forced into a routine day after day without a single misstep ─ never the girl to go to a coffee shop or cinema with friends, to a bookstore, anywhere that wasn't the studio; there was no time for that. not when there were numbers to perform and daily plié's to perfect her form. emotions were foreign. so why the fuck was she so angry and humiliated at the same time. was there even a word for that? she confided in giselle when it neared the anniversary, confused by the onslaught of turmoil assaulting every part of her senses ─ hadn't she moved on by now? and giselle, her little sister she loved so much, sat across her in her own leotard and tight bun.

the mattress bends slightly as giselle lowers herself to sit across from her sister, chewing on her lip. "anton did that?"

"... yeah." bethany swallows painfully, eyelids fluttering as the unwanted images flash behind her eyes. her stomach was a bundle of nerves, of unspoken truths and emotions ─ she was on the precipice of understanding them. giselle could help her put a name to the mix of embarrassment and hatred she felt, not just to her choreographer but to herself. what a stupid position to─

giselle snickers, deafening in its pitch and in the wake of bethany's revelation. she presses a pale hand to her mouth to stop the onslaught, to hold back the truth glaring bethany so clearly in the face now. "sorry, it's just─" one last giggle before giselle makes an attempt to compose herself, the soft tremble in her shoulders begging to release her mirth. her brows pull upwards, amused...? "something you aren't perfect at, huh?"

for months afterwards, bethany struggled to understand what her sister had meant. was it an accusation that she was lying about the event to save face for being 'bad' at something so naturally human? or, did she mean it how it was said ─ that what happened to bethany was a joke to her sister. in the end, it didn't matter. both hurt the same.

THE SHIFT. before long, cirque du soleil reaches out through bethany's management. they expressed interest in taking her latest pivotal as the woman scorned in Eaters of Darkness and twisting it into something theatrical, but poignant. they were embarking on a tour in the wake of its financial failures in its early years, intending on touring the world and picking up local acts as they went. bethany attends the meeting at the insistence of her mother and management, both eager for her to take advantage of the recent spike in fame following her latest performance. bethany ruminated on it before agreeing on the basis of trying something new, something different from the usual.

vaughn drew sets up a meeting at the park nearest to her dance studio, flying in from montreal to sell his vision to her: "eaters of darkness is a lovers betrayal, a woman's descent into madness and through it ─ transformation. not into rags and messy hair, but into something modern. a robotic doll." he had shifted closer, pressing his bulbous nose into hers with wild bloodshot eyes and sweat beading on his brow. "women are so... mechanical with their thinking. all muscle memory, able to do things without a second thought: their base nature. and when wires are crossed... a woman scorned revealing who she is at her core: a machine." it made no sense to her and she had the right mind to find his depiction of women offensive, about to say as much when she spots the return flight peeking from his jacket pocket. cirque du soleil was a way out of her routine ─ maybe not entirely, maybe not forever, but she could travel with them and perform his caricature of women to the world.

vaughn and his travelling troupe comes to berlin for practice ahead of the tour date. she performs the number solo, giving her private audience a peek into her capabilities ─ there's a small thrill in her abdomen as the foreigners whisper amongst themselves, impressed. she teaches the others day after day, practices with vaughns personal choreographer, and finally gets to see the costume he's envisioned for her. ballerina is written all over it: from the rose pink tutu and violet bodice, matching ballet shoes with laces stretching up to her knees. pearl jewellery sits to the side consisting of a hair comb, earrings, and a necklace. "you'll rip it off your neck," he stretches the pearl necklace across her throat, "when you realise your husband has sent you to a mental asylum."

the make-up department perfects painting her face white with rose pink cheeks and lips, violet eye-shadow and brows, in a matter of two minutes flat. it would be a race to have it done in the allotted time during the smallest of intermissions during the number, where her husband will be confronted by the other inmates and she'll emerge, the robotic doll. forever changed. two weeks later they've managed to get the timing down to a minute and twenty six seconds, and bethany has gotten used to dancing like this; to portraying a woman grown mad when vaughn pulls her out of practice, saying he finally found what he had been searching for.

they drive to a factory; a company specialising in robotic toys. the factory is nothing short of imposing as bethany stares around the expansive rooms and robotic parts littering every space it can. only to be brought to a gasp as she sees herself ─ well, not truly. but it's her costume, the make-up, what she is meant to be by the end of eaters of darkness. there's five of them, with one slightly bigger than the other. "they won't move like you. no one can. your fluidity and grace is unmatched, but they'll be a mess... broken. just like a machine. their performance will represent your deranged state of mind." bethany watches in awe as he moves behind one of the smaller models, pressing something on the neck and it jolts to life, head tilted in her direction. bethany could swear there's a sense of recognition before the doll moves into clunky dance moves, seeming unpracticed but also... perfect.

the night of the number, bethany performs it with her entire being. all this time and practice led to that exact moment, to show the audience an otherwordly take on something so ordinary ─ was that part of his conditioning, she wonders... to find a woman driven to madness ordinary in comparison to the fate vaughn subjects her to? at the pivotal point of the costume change, bethany comes face to face with the robotic doll, bigger than the rest and open. her make-up team is nowhere to be found. vaughn ushers her forward, "go! we have no time ─ it has to be this way, this is how to perfect the vision."

stunned into silence, bethany gapes as the robotic doll suit stares back at her, wires and metal and circuitry─ she's shaking her head and thinks 'there's no way I'll be able to dance in this,' but relents as if there's one thing she has learned in the dance world, it's that the show must go on and her time is running out. she carefully climbs into the suit, breathing becoming a struggle as vaughn closes certain compartments around her body. he closes to face-plates and claustrophobia sets in.

on the stage, bethany dances the part much to the audiences delight. her movement is restricted, feeling unnaturally weak in the confines of the doll. but the sight of their gasps and wide eyes are intoxicating, or would be if she could fucking breathe properly. she performs her lines, her spins, her insanity as practiced and in the end, when she wraps the cloth around her husbands neck to strangle him, something pokes into the small of her back. but this, this is the picture of insanity: her husband falls to the floor and she bends backwards, hanging at her hips with her arms dangling by her side and something shifts, the metal prods budge and penetrates her skin, impaling her ─ she screams and falls, the world going dark in the face of her spotlight.

bethany awakes in the dance studio, alone but the presence of vaughn. she's still in the suit. she tries to speak, to explain the stabbing pain in her back when he cuts her off, "you ruined the script. and they loved it... I don't understand?" he's legitimately perplexed by her well received performance ─ her scream of anguish, not written or directed by anything but her suffering. "it must've been your idea. you prima donna ballerinas are all the fucking same, if the spotlight isn't on you, if the credit isn't yours─"

"vaughn, that's not─" her own whimper cuts her off, the metal digging further into her back. she tries to lift herself with one hand, but every single shift and movement causes another rod to wedge into her skin.

he reaches down and wrenches her upwards, ignoring her cries of pain and spins her to face the floor length mirror. fuck. this is how she looked? "i hate bad investments." he snarls and slams her face first into the mirror. the force of the connection shatters the glass on impact and every metal rod and lock around her head penetrates into her face. a nail gun, an explosion. the fog.

NOW. bethany stares around her realm, haunted by the clear sight of the toy factory. as the entity whispers to her, his plans and her objective, she shudders in rage ─ that was the word. the emotion she felt so long ago as she lay sobbing in her bed, as she stands at the gates of the toy factory, no longer a girl shoved into a robotic doll suit, but a doll herself.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1985

FULL NAME. nellwyn bratt. nellie.
D.O.B. september 19th, 1956. twenty-nine.
P.O.B. the dalles, oregon. a compound out of town.
GENDER. she / her. cisgender.
SEXUALITY. pansexual. and polyamorous.

OCCUPATION. farmer. cult victim.

SKILLS. hard labour (working on the fields), seamstress (sewing), horticulture (crop production).

ROLE. repressed alliance. nothing has changed.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. the most distinguishing feature of nellie are her full lips, stained rose-pink from devouring wine daily. evidence of her addiction is also shown in the barely noticeable lines beneath her green eyes. weary and tired not only from alcohol consumption, but from the restless nights of listening to the persistent chanting emanating from the compound, signalling a recent death. honey brown hair frames her oval face, a warm undertone born from the endless days spent in the sun as she harvested the crops for their community. her naturally wavy hair falls past her shoulders, resting mid-way down her arms where the tips fade into blonde. typically, she leaves her hair unbound to cascade down over her arms, pinning her bangs back to prevent the loose strands from obstructing her work on the farm.

ATTIRE. the typical clothing for women in the compound were long dresses and skirts that went past the knees and covered the shoulders. with limited options, nellie preferred shirt-dresses and mayflower, in the shades of spring colours and her work boots. on the day she found herself stumbling through the fog, running from the fire, nellie was sporting a long-sleeved dress that fell to her ankles and covered her wrists. the off-white colour, an almost cream, was spotted with drops of blood.

FACE CLAIM. alycia debnam-carey

LIKES.
─ basket weaving. nellie's preferred past-time when not fulfilling her required duties, she is seated on the porch and bending pliable materials to her will.
─ humming. a small habit nellie acquired to drown out the chanting emanating from guru oren's sessions with the septors of their compound. she never does it mindfully, usually at the same time of day, or when she's lost in deep thought.
─ animals. working in horticulture left her little time to do much else, but her eyes often wandered to the pens of goats and chicken coops. her envy of the women assigned to their care was palpable as she snipped the grapes free of their vines.
─ drinking. the fruits of nellie's labour were to be crushed, fermented, and turned into wine; her drink of choice. looking back, nellie thinks her reliance on alcohol should have been her first red flag.
─ truth. after all is said and done, nellie prefers truth over fibs. honesty over fabrications. even if it hurts, if it infuriates her ─ she'll always have respect for someone that takes accountability.

DISLIKES.

─ gardens. horticulture typically had nellie's focus on corn crops and grapevines. it wasn't until she knelt before a new garden-bed to plant some flowers, brushing the soil absently, her fingers finding purchase on a severed limb that she experienced a repulsion like none other; but nellie knew it was the simply way of things.
─ dancing. an essential practice for worship. nellie detested donning the white mayflower dress and prancing around to a senseless rhythm until her head was spinning and feet aching their protest.
─ illnesses. disease was rampant in their society of immunocompromised beings, refusing modern medicine and vaccinations. a terrible illness overtook her mother, soon thereafter descending upon nellie's husband and second wife.
─ authoritative people. guru oren ruled their compound with an iron fist and sharp, but careful tongue. until nellie's rose-coloured glasses were finally squashed in the dirt, she had seen him as a higher-being, one that knew all... disappointing now, to say the least.
─ disillusionment. truly awake, and not from some faked enlightenment, nellie suffers a strong dislike for things that appear to be one thing, but are not at all.

HOBBIES.

─ fabrication. unwilling to have idle hands, nellie enjoys the art of creation. through basket weaving, sewing, or crushing grapes to turn into wine.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) selfless. raised with a sense of community, nellie understood the importance of giving back. their little societal compound in rural oregon served as a constant reminder of how valuable charity is, to help and serve your fellow person, relieving others' burdens even at risk of your own peace.
trial: for the betterment of the group, nellie might attempt some self-sacrificing plays in order to ensure the success of everyone. an objective is about to be finished but the killer is advancing? nellie will steer them away, allowing either her teammate to finish up the repairs or protect the objective by calling upon the entity. someone is about to die in the cage? nellie will run head-first into the basement, trading her life for someone else to buy some valuable minutes.
(+) productive. everyone in the compound had to be useful by some capacity; a society would collapse without every member pulling their weight. nellie was ordered to the farms, was educated in horticulture, and taught herself fabrication: basket weaving, sewing, and glass making.
trial: ever diligent, nellie will pick up on the requirements of trials quickly and push herself beyond her typical limits, completing repairs and searching for items no matter how gruelling or frightened she may become under pressure.
(+) determined. there was a change in nellie the night she discovered the truth, or─accepted the truth. their society was unlike others, dangerous and selfish. despite the whispers of the community, urging her to banish the foolish doubts and questions niggling at her mind, nellie found a determination to dispel others' falsehoods.
trial: with a newfound belief in herself, nellie won't hesitate in her determination to do what is necessary. to throw herself in harms way, if it means the rest of her team escapes. or to call upon that─thing inside her, of long black claws tapping into her sense of being, offering her salvation in a way that's all too familiar.
(-) naive. easy to fool, nellie finds herself constantly on a precipice; of truth, and lies. it was much too easy to believe others, to accept what she wanted to hear, never questioning a persons' motives because... why would someone lie?
trial: killers will have an easier time convincing nellie into dangerous situations for the safety of her team. survivors, will too. if another person doesn't feel like being sacrificed to the entity this time around, guilting nellie into sacrificing herself for them might just guarantee themselves an escape.
(-) stamina. hard labour and running decidedly did not go hand-in-hand. nellie is used to being on her hands and knees, planting seeds or harvesting corn and grapes. she does not have the lung capacity or leg muscles to go the distance. it was never expected of women in the compound.
trial: her sacrifice plays will amount to just that─sacrifices. no part of her expects to distract the killer long enough for her team to complete repairs and come protect her, too. if she's throwing herself into the arms of a killer for the betterment of her team, then that's exactly what she imagines her fate will be; the killers grasp.
(-) contemptuous. something new, and different. realising your entire life was a complete and utter lie will do that to a person, nellie now supposed. her typical grace and charm, her shy demeanour, all of it stripped away once her mind truly opened to accept reality as it were.
trial: nellie now has the bad habit of sounding disrespectful when she speaks, still naive but suspicious. if she's able to cotton on to someone with ulterior motives, or not being entirely truthful with her, then her tone will become scornful. and she might just throw the entire game to ensure her death will be her choice. no one else's. never again.

FEAR.

─ going home. no one just left their compound. not by choice, and certainly not with good wishes. the fog was terrifying, and painful, and full of death she so desperately feared ─ but it was certain and frankly, safe. much more safe than what awaited her back home.

PSY.

[content warning: alcoholism, illness, mention of teen marriage.]

nellie's compound demanded self-discipline for its members, expecting each and every person to exercise caution and moderation. for nellie, temperance came easy ─ denying herself from indulging in too much food, wanting their harvest to last the seasons, to staying committed to just her husband despite him having found a second wife and the opportunities to explore other relationships.
now: she is metaphorically kicking herself for not noticing the signs sooner. how one glass of red wine a night, the fruits of her labour, quickly morphed into two glasses. into three as guru oren took the septors into the great hall to chant at all hours of the nights, oblivious to the dread making a home in her chest. addiction would be easy enough to kick now she was in the fog, effectively forcing her into sobriety.

living up to expectations came naturally, and nellie was aware that the women of the compound were to be modest. her dresses went past her knees, never bared her shoulders, and wore minimal jewellery despite her deft hands creating new pieces of necklaces and bracelets into the dead of night. her submissive attitude gives off the impression of shyness ─ and somewhat true; nellie will always possess a meek nature.
now: old habits die hard. nellie knows to speak when words and motives no longer align. but her gut instinct will cause her to stop, think, process; perhaps still giving off the impression of the shy and resigned spiritualist, and not the survivor needing to rewire her entire thought process.

independence was a requirement in a self-sufficient compound, despite the slight confliction with freedom. at the time, nellie supposed they were one and the same. you couldn't be one without the other. however, it was something she ought to thank guru oren for ─ if it weren't for his teachings of autonomy, then nellie might not have found the fortitude that night.
now: nellie will easily work on objectives alone, without issue. especially with the entity firmly on her side, the new voice in her ear whispering: is that independence?

her selflessness is born from her compassionate nature, and exaggerated from personal circumstances. nellie watched as her mother, husband, and his second wife became overcome from disease. pneumonia, nellie had overheard guru oren tell law enforcement that came from town─the dalles. frowning as he had refused their offer of having doctors visit. 'the compound doesn't believe in medicine.' and she found herself nodding along with the sentiment, despite the pain of watching her family deteriorate before her eyes. they don't believe in medicine.
now: perhaps her selfless traits are simply part of the redemption she has instilled upon herself. a way to reckon with her past notions and beliefs, that medicine would not help more than praying would. it was stupid, short-sighted and entirely her fault. not one she would make again.

in her defence, nellie was born into the compound ─ her irrational mindset was an inevitability. with no responsible adult to warn her of the dangers and power of the spoken word, how falsehoods were capable of rewiring an entire brain into believing something so easily torn down by facts, how one person should not hold so much power over an entire society of people; her short-sightedness was a side effect.
now: her unreasonable attitude is flipped on its head, instead of blindly accepting someones words without an afterthought, nellie is now too stubborn to listen at all. gullible and naive, nellie will still hesitate, but once her brain kicks into gear she will refuse to listen to reason.

as a result, nellie has become suspicious. her apprehension towards the compound started much too late, but also just in time. when that man─marshall─grabbed her wrist in a fierce grip, when he looked guru oren in the eye and claimed: "i know what's going on here." when it turned out he was right to be concerned for his brother. her doubt and suspicions about the truth of their compound was overwhelming, suffocating.
now: trust no longer came easy, it was no longer expected. nellie's suspicions over others motives will often control her, clouding the judgement she ought to be listening to. trusting herself must come first, before dismissing her suspicions of others.

nellie has spent the better part of her life loyal to a cause with no truth to it whatsoever. her commitment to hard labour, to spending day after day harvesting crops, creating and fabricating necessities to make their slice of society more convenient. wedding a man with another wife, choosing to be loyal to him only when her heart longed for something more, something else. the moment nellie let herself believe the reality of her situation, she became disloyal.
now: nellie is now loyal only to herself, to her morals. she won't save her teammate because she'd rather take on their pain, but because nellie values peace of mind. the expectations she lives up to now are ones set by herself, no one else; not out of loyalty for others.

a side-effect of being modest was nellie's inability to speak up, even as her mind screamed itself hollow. questioning the guru was an act of treason, a lacking in spirituality. so, nellie would purse her lips when a question formed on her tongue, one that always seemed to start with─why? she had learnt her lesson in her teen years, when guru oren declared her insolent when asking why she was to marry so young.
now: it was freeing to no longer swallow down the incessant questions that came to mind, to let her thoughts take the form of words. words she wouldn't be threatened over. but nellie also never had the chance to work on her deliverance, coming across as blunt and assertive in her line of questioning and statements.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
─ custom wine glass. one of her many creations that held the fruits of her labour. wine. a clear solid structure with hairline fractures at the base.
─ chain with a ring. it wasn't hers, not really. nellie hadn't meant to rip it from marshall's neck as he grabbed her wrist, pleading for her to see reason─it simply slipped from his neck as she desperately pushed against his chest.
─ sewing kit. many women found their way to nellie's porch, requesting her assistance in patching up some holes that formed as they buried body-parts in the gardens.
─ shears. to trim the corn and grapes from their crops, to lodge into his chest.
─ mayflower dress. the first dress nellie created from scratch, a cornflower yellow that went above her knees with spaghetti straps. a dress that never saw the light of day.

HISTORY

[content warning: body horror, teen marriage, illness and disease, emotional abuse, religious abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder.]

BEFORE. nellwyn bratt was born on the hottest day of september in recorded history for oregon. as required in the compound, births took place outside in nature─her mother suffered heat stroke, and for a moment, it seemed as if nellie would be brought into the world with no one to care for her, no one but guru oren himself with now thirty-six children (eight biological) and counting. but her mother persisted, fighting through the endless respiratory issues that arose from the blistering heat.

at ten years old, nellie knew what was expected of her as a lady in their compound. she grew up on the teachings: temperance in all things, modesty, self-reliance, and faith. it was simple enough for little nellwyn to wrap her mind around, in awe at how the other adults around her followed guru oren's teachings without question─enthusiastically, even. nellie couldn't bite back her own excitement as she was led to the garden beds lining the great hall, eager to finally assist and be as helpful as the adults in the compound. elation became fear as she saw skin beneath the soil. her mother kneeled at her side, nodding in a way that made nellwyn think for the first time, there is no explanation.

"our bodies return here. fertiliser for the growth."

nellie blinked back the tears threatening to spill over her puffy cheeks. "but─"

her mother swipes under her eyes before they can fall. "no, nellwyn. this is the way of things."

but, she wanted to speak, daisies surely couldn't be so important. and day after day, nellie was brought back to the garden beds and made to plant seeds atop dismembered limbs; fighting back the bile in her throat as blood coagulated into a jelly-like substance, like the pudding she has for dessert after finishing her teachings for the day. hours later, she reflects on the fresh hand in bed when chanting cuts through the silence of night. elation becomes fear, and fear turns to dread.

the unfairness of 'the way of things' came to a head as fifteen year old nellwyn was called to the podium in the great hall by guru oren, announced she were to wed nathan kent the coming fortnight. her mouth opened and closed like a fish, her eyes wide as she couldn't help but speak the words: "but i'm young." her mother married at seventeen. her neighbour married at eighteen. why─"insolent." guru oren snaps, his bronzed face the picture of disappointment. "your faith is lacking, child."

yes, she screams in her mind, i'm a child. but her mothers eyes found hers in the crowd amongst the shocked and dismayed expressions of the community, shaking their heads at the disrespectful scene. nellie murmurs an apology, bowing her head in shame until guru oren finishes berating her.

nathan was nice enough. nellwyn noticed as she moved into their very own house, two blocks down from her mothers, that she might mind the new company after-all. he worked with their maths teacher, wanting to become one himself and so she busied herself, first discovering her love for fabrication as she finished up in the gardens and spent the last hours awaiting his return by making jewellery. opal deposits were known in the state of oregon, from what she remembers from their teachings, and if you dug deep enough in the land they had procured, sometimes they could be found─discarded from previous minings, too imperfect for the other communities. nathan collected them in his youth with his sister, gwen. when he returned home that night, she showed him the necklace she made with a small opal at its centre. "for gwen," nellie muses, watching his face carefully as it went from confused to shocked, to something else entirely. his eyes lift to hers and she's stunned to see the emotion she expected at their wedding.

over the following months, nellie creates necklace after necklace, moving onto bracelets when their opal supply begins to dwindle. nathan comes home late, but immediately scans the dining table for her new creations of the day. she holds out her arm proudly, the golden bracelet hanging from her wrist with several charms and small opals embedded in each one. "i want to keep this one." she states, beaming as he inspects the bracelet, impressed with her work. "it's about time you did."

life takes a turn shortly after as her mother falls sick. it was frightening how quickly disease spread through the compound, infecting everyone at an alarming rate─how their way of life comes to a complete halt until the weak pass on. nellwyn can't help but feel responsible as guru oren bends over her mothers chest, listening to her harsh and slow breathing. "her lungs are weak." he stands, heading for the door─he doesn't spare her a glance as he says simply, "your birth saw to it." two hours later, her mother passed as nellwyn held her hands desperately. praying for a miracle.

the following night, nellie finally understood what the chanting sounds were from the great hall. nathan holds her as she sobs into chest, blubbering nonsensically about fairness and my fault when the chanting begins. frustrated, she lifts from his arms and looks out their bedroom window in the direction of the great hall, lit up like a beacon. "why do they do that?" nathan smooths the hair from her face, thumb rubbing soothingly across her cheekbone. "when someone dies. guru oren gathers the septors to perform a ritual. your mother is being ferried to the afterlife, nellie."

at the age of eighteen, nellie thought life might finally begin to make sense again as she found a new purpose out on the farms. attending to the crops and harvesting the corn and grapes, horticulture became an escape from the reality of her mothers death. she learned to create: sewing dresses, basket-weaving, glass making, everything that kept her hands and mind occupied, to stop dwelling on the sounds of their chants as her mothers spirit was taken away. the semblance of normalcy was just returning, just in reach when she returns home to notice nathan isn't alone. a woman, a little older than her, wrapped around his arm. nellwyn stares, disbelieving. it wasn't out of the ordinary, for men to be married to more than one woman. it was expected, even. nellie hadn't thought it would happen to them, though. wasn't she enough?

"when...?"

when did this happen? when will she be moving in? when am i being replaced?

nathan nods to his soon-to-be bride, his content with the situation palpable. "this weekend. i'll set the couch up for you for the first two weeks, nellie. then we can all be together." and nothing makes sense again.

THE FOG. for eight years, nellie and pamela failed to fall pregnant. she watched as the boy she married, the man she fell in love with, grew more and more irate with each month as it was confirmed yet again, neither of them were with child. would never be, nellie thinks as she fixes the seam of his trousers. and not because of us. at first, nellie had seen pamela as the opposition to her marriage with nathan─the problem. but his frustrations became their problem to deal with and the two women were now united against their husband.

nellie finishes her glass of red; serving as her sole motivation to harvest the grapes, knowing she'd ferment and drink them until she could no longer hear nathan and pamela in the bedroom─mercifully not her turn this evening─and until the chanting from the great hall was a distant noise, drowned out by the blood rushing in her ears from the grapes, replaced by her own voice humming into the dead of night.

out in the fields, nellie collects a new cluster of grapes into the basket she crafted herself─a rich brown with yellow daisies painted on the handle. her blood hums in anticipation as she stares down at the harvest in her arms, eager to crush them into jars and impatiently watch them sit on the window sill. she turns, boots collecting dust as she crosses the fields─and comes to a sudden stop. there's a stranger. the hat was unmistakably not from here; he was dusty, sun-kissed, and... her head tilts, curious. he closes the distance between himself and guru oren, moving with a purpose and confidence she envied. the guru left her shrinking in his presence, awe and fear mixing into a cocktail of submissiveness. who is he? the man turns his head and nellie scurries away, towards home.

the year drags as disease returns in the form of pneumonia. at least, that's what nellie gathers as she listens to guru oren shoo away local law enforcement. 'the compound doesn't believe in medicine.' nodding along, nellwyn wondered what difference medicine could make over the prayers of the community. what could be more powerful than their words alone? nothing, she tells herself as she wraps the scarf around her lower face, returning home to check on nathan and pamela, bed-ridden with the sickness. prayers would save them. nellie would pray twice as hard this time, to not let them suffer the same fate as her mother. she'd pray. and pray. and pray.

the chanting was deafening. nellie finishes her fourth glass of the night, her tears mixing with the remnants of wine coating her lips. at the bottom of the glass, she lets out a petulant whine─already? she rises from the armchair and catches sight of herself in the windows reflection, her frame wracked with sobs, eyes as red-stained as her mouth. her brows furrow, confused. it wasn't sorrow, she realised─this pain coming over her. her tears were of guilt, guilt from the sheer relief nathan's death has brought her.

guru oren had given her three years to mourn, to recover and become a useful member of their community again when he visited her in the fields. "a new suitor has been selected for you, nellwyn. you will be meeting him tomorrow." her jaw threatens to drop, to protest, to curse him, to─watch him turn on his heel and stroll away, picking a grape from the basket of another farmer on his way and plopping it into his mouth. the woman turns to face her with a shrug, having overheard. "it's the way of things."

nellie pulls her boots on, taking a quick inventory of her appearance in the mirror. her hair draped over her shoulders in natural curls, bangs pinned back although stray strands insisted on framing her oval face. a cream coloured shirt dress fell just below her knees, aptly covering her shoulders─she pops a button free at her chest, exposing her collarbones and she can't help but smirk at the reckless behaviour. guru oren would be displeased, but her small satisfaction to spite him somehow was worth the risk of scolding. she turns to leave and halts, catching sight of her lips. they're darker than usual. she purses her lips and rubs them together to absolutely no use. "oh well." she sighs and whisks out of her empty home, oblivious to the empty glasses of wine left behind in her wake.

travis, her new suitor, waits for her outside the great hall beside guru oren. she attempts a smile as she strolls closer, taking in his suit with apprehension. a septor. one noted of high esteem and respect in the compound. he was quite young for such a title, perhaps her age or early-thirties─a new recruit, perhaps. he takes her hand and bends to press a kiss to her knuckles, and her lips part to introduce herself when there's a commotion behind her and the stranger from so long ago beelines for guru oren.

"i know what's going on here." he spat out in his fury, his desperation. nellie catches on to the gist of his plight, the concern for his brother and she turns around, looking over her shoulder to search for the man in question. surely she would've noticed─she yelps as he clutches her wrist in his grasp, yanking her against his chest and begging her to listen to reason. her free hand comes up on instinct to push against his chest, a barrier between herself and him, fingers grasping for anything to balance herself on as he rips her forward, pleading again─"marshall, let go of her." guru oren cuts off marshall as he and travis grab at his shoulders to pull him away from her.

marshall. she blinks up at the stranger that's no longer a stranger, lips parted in shock at the mix of panic and purpose in his eyes. travis wedges himself between them and they're torn away from each other in an instant, so sudden that nellie stumbles backwards and falls unceremoniously to the grass. marshall is marching away. with her bracelet. she starts to rise, ready to pursue him and request he return the jewellery back─her first ever creation, when her own fingers clutch something in her hand. a necklace, a ring at the epicentre. words and thought fail to form as her fiancé lifts her from the ground and into his arms. he guides her to the great hall, and one thought manages to break free from the fog of her mind, and she thinks, what is going on here?

she nurses a single glass of wine that night, staring at her slightly bruised wrist and deep in her thoughts. someone else, an outsider, questioned the compound─her eyes slip closed in relief. for what, she isn't quite sure. but a weight she hadn't realised was holding her down so heavily had been slightly lifted from her shoulders, her chest, her throat.

the chanting begins so suddenly she almost drops her glass from shock. someone is dead. nellie, from her position on the couch, reaches her left arm over to move aside the curtain and peer through the window, inhaling sharply as she sees a wave of lit torches march across the fields. she sets down the glass of unfinished wine on the coffee table and leaves her home in a rush. others in the community are gathered outside, wrapped in threaded blankets and coats.

"who died?" nellie stumbles towards her neighbour, affronted by the sudden passing. there were no reports of sickness─

"no one."

nellie shakes her head. "that cannot be true, the chanting─!"

"nellwyn, hon." the woman uncrosses her arms to take nellie's elbows in hand, cradling them carefully. "you've been out of sorts at recent. why don't you meditate, or pray, on what troubles your mind?"

frustrated, nellwyn's head falls back to stare up at the night sky in disbelief. what good has ever come from praying? slipping out of her neighbours grasp, nellie breezes back into her house with every intention of emptying her glass down the sink. she needed to have a clear head. to think.

the following week, travis arrives at her house in the dead of night. much too late for visitors. nellie tilts her head as he pushes past the door himself, uninvited. "nellwyn, guru oren sent me." her hands reach up to caress her own arms, attempting to self-soothe her anxiety and nods for him to continue. "he expressed his distaste of creating unsuitable marriages. our chemistry, he believes, is clear─" what? "but there is the question of your infertility." what?

offended, nellie's meek mask slips into outrage. "i am not infertile. nathan had both myself and pamela, the odds of us women being the issue─"

"i am truly glad to hear that." travis cuts her off, covering the hands on her arms with his own. "truly. guru oren requests that we test that theory and put the allegation to bed." and before her mind can catch up with his words, his mouth descends upon her own and her objections are muffled. she's overcome by sensory overload, of his rough jaw on her smooth skin, his leathery fingers crushing her own, the smell of soil and the garden─ nellie manages to rip herself from his grasp, noting the dirt beneath his fingernails as she stumbles backwards, putting much needed distance between them.

someone had die that night, and travis helped conceal those body parts.

"i need to leave." nellie says in a rush, a revelation she always knew but no one, no one, allowed her to dwell on because─it's the way of things. "i have to leave." turning on her heel, nellie rushes through her house, out the backdoor and into the shed for something. anything. there's an intention in her abdomen she can't make sense of just yet, acting on pure instinct and fear as travis' footfalls are heavy behind her. the workshop in the shed was home to tools and wood, everything the carpenters in the community needed and people like her, the farmers.

travis' hands grab at her hips roughly and she tries to twist in his grasp, to shrug him off but he walks her forward until her cheek slams into the wall, her face millimetres away from a hacksaw. she gasps sharply at how close she had been to being scarred by the blade. "travis? let go─" he releases her hip with one hand, wedging it between her face and wall to cover her mouth, her protests. "nellwyn, we have a duty to perform for the longevity of this compound. stop being difficult." his body leans away, enough space to wrestle with his belt and she takes advantage of the lapse, her arm flying out to grab onto the shears she had used for four years to cut the grapes, to harvest the corn, and spun to face him. she lodges the shears into his chest just as his expression morphs from concentration to panic.

travis' body slumps to the floor and she marvels for just a moment at her aim, where the twin blades met his skin─the middle of his chest, and collarbone. she stares as the blood seeps from the wounds, colouring his teal shirt darker, to purple... her eyes become unfocused, blurring the sight of her work, and something taps at the front of her forehead. nellie closes her eyes and searches for a clear image in her mind to grasp onto, the shapes behind her eyelids morphing together into a disarray of colours and lights. finally, she forces herself to imagine a hand reaching out─grabbing hold of it and letting it pull her under.

when she opens her eyes, she's staring at herself. at the frightened woman with droplets of blood on her white dress and marring her jawline. nellie opens her mouth to speak, but the girl before her doesn't say anything─just stares down at travis with an unspoken satisfaction.

i need to leave. nellie repeats her earlier words in her mind, and she springs to action, reaching under the workshop table to grab a jerry can, flint, and steel. i can't be caught, they'll bury me alive. a thought she hadn't expected to think. she watches from a third person perspective as she marches out of the shed with a newfound purpose, a confidence she didn't believe herself capable of. nellie runs down the path of the community homes and out into the fields of crops, the same ones she tended to day after day, and left a trail of gasoline in her wake. concealed in the night, nellie strikes to flint and steel until the spark alights and burns every disgraceful memory this compound has brought her. run, run, runrunrun─

nellie blinks and she's back in her body, gasping for air through the haze of smoke billowing from the crops. she takes off in a sprint, towards the cliffs that outline the compound. the darkness is thicker by the cliffs, enough to conceal her─and she swears she sees someone familiar through the fog, with a long and thick coat, a hat. marshall would understand. he'd take her away from here. she runs towards him, towards freedom.

NOW. emerging through the fog, nellie gasps as the sound of the roaring fire from the compound becomes a soft hiss of the campfire before her.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2007

FULL NAME. im na-ri. 'nari'.
D.O.B. june 2nd, 1975. thirty-two.
P.O.B. inwangsan, south korea.
GENDER. she/her. cisgender.
SEXUALITY. lesbian. all men must die.

ALIAS. the shaman. spiritual seeker.

ROLE. no one escapes death. or her vengeance.

SPECIES. between human and spirit.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. known for her grace and elegance, im nari sports a harmonious blend of striking and soft features; high cheekbones, large wilful eyes, a proportionate nose, and full lips with a natural soft curve. a naturally dewy complexion, her skin tone is on the darker side─detesting the use of whitening products─with sleek straight black hair, curling at the tips into natural waves.

ATTIRE. before it all─before the burial, the shaman texts, the ritual, the shrines─im nari wore simple and casual clothing, with a sophisticated twist; purely due to the academic atmosphere at her university. vintage t-shirts tucked into mini skirts with her trusty jean-jacket of black denim, hair pulled into a high-set ponytail. when she visited her halmeoni at inwangsa temple, nari changed her attire into a traditional hanbok; her usual attire not appreciated.

after it all, her dress code became more encompassing of korean culture. moving in to the temple meant she had to say farewell to her old life, old ways, and embrace tradition. each hanbok was made at the temple, with seamstresses accepting the provided fabric and enduring consultations for the desired outcome─a necessity for the shamans, as each gut ritual resulted in torn and stained clothing, too far gone to be washed and fixed.

once nari began her descent into the darkest corners of shamanism, visiting warded off temples and allowing the spirits into her mind, her fabric choices consisted of dark hues; black, reds, and browns─shades of blood.

WEAPON. binyeo: traditional ornamental hairpin. sleek, silver, and sharp. one end moulded into the shape of pigs head, the ears alert but eyes closed in an eternal rest. when not in a trial the binyeo keeps her hair pinned in place, when she lets her hair unfurl it signals the beginning of a trial.

FACE CLAIM. kim go eun.

LIKES.
─ cooking. traditional cuisine was the metaphorical backbone of the im family, with nari learning the ropes from the tender age of six. her mother and herself travelled to jeju island on the weekends to free dive with haenyeo─sea women─in search of abalone and other sea life.
─ reading. research and education, another staple of the im family. nari earned a bachelor of history by twenty-one, specifically choosing the degree due to the heavy research required.
─ photography. nari's home country was breathtaking; the views from inwangsan mountain being the focal point of her photography. with so much to explore and see, specifically on the trails connected to the temple, nari keeps two shoe-boxes beneath her bed, full of the developed photos she's taken.
─ the temple. inwangsa hosted multiple buddhist temples and some hidden ones too. when her halmeoni passed, and no guiding voice to caustion her, nari began to explore the warded off temples in search of meaning. in search of something.
─ loyalty. to her temple, to her spirits, to her halmeoni.

DISLIKES.

─ meditation. nari's halmeoni was highly supportive of meditation, insinuating that nari should partake daily. she, however, could not stand sitting still for so long with a mind refusing to settle. constantly thinking, forced to quiet into not a single thought? it wasn't feasible.
─ traveling. the furthest nari travelled was to jeju island, with never a want to leave the sanctity of inwangsa temple or the mountain they lived on. korea was becoming too modern, too fast. forgetting the roots of their culture.
─ fortune-telling. nari's curiosity had gotten the best of her; the tea leaves representing the picture of her future had been eerily accurate, and her halmeoni paid the ultimate price.
─ most of her family. her halmeoni might be the only family member that did not let nari down in life.
─ dreams. nightmarish at first, nari was forever fortunate for the direction her life went into─finding a purpose, the spirits─but waking up in cold sweats, the feeling of being watched? she could do without.

HOBBIES.

─ free diving. the oceans were somewhat symbolic of shamanism. the flood, blood rushing, guts and chaos─nari found a semblance of peace in the act of free diving, searching for natural treasures of the sea.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) driven. nari possesses an inner-strength her halmeoni would be surprised of. in the wake of her untimely death, nari searched for answers in anything and everything; the warded off temples, the shaman texts her grandmother kept hidden away─only coming to light due to her inheritance, the spirits that visited her dreams with strange requests.
trial: to perform a gut successfully, one had to be driven and dedicated to the practice of shamanism. in pursuit of survivors, nari would refuse to disappoint the entity or her spirits, allowing their guidance to carry her into catching the first survivor off guard, mori'ing them as granted, and allowing the momentum to propel her through.
(+) merciless. nari chose to believe herself a survivor, not a victim; the acts that were committed upon her were simply character-building, in her eyes. because what would she be had her samchun not seen her as a pathetic, wide-eyed little girl, chasing after the ghost of her halmeoni? now, a shaman─bonded to spirits whom were victims and did that not elevate her above them, too? she hadn't died. she thrived.
trial: incapable of feeling empathy for those that choose to suffer, choose to stay a victim, nari will seek out the weak links and pluck them out of the playing field, seeing them as undeserving of the chance to escape. the thrill was in the hunt, the back and forth, the competition. with no mercy to be found.
(+) flexible. evidence of her gut rituals, shamans were known and expected to contort their bodies into positions that might otherwise fracture or break the unprotected human body. nari's spirits protected her from suffering such injuries, allowing her spine to bend backwards impossibly far, and her jaw to dislocate as she chanted nonsensical words.
trial: possessed by her spirit of choice, nari can contort her body accordingly. whilst this is unlikely to gain her much advantage physically over survivors, as she cannot stretch her arms to impossible lengths, she can utilise the uncanny-ness of her appearance to unsettle and strike fear, or shatter their hope.
(-) single-minded. a drawback to her driven nature. when studying shamanism, when plotting her vengeance, nari neglected the basic necessities of being human: eating, sleeping, even socialising─unless her spirits counted. her mental health worsened during that time in her life, made all the worse as journalists and reports flocked in droves to the temple, desperate to get an inside scoop of what happened to her behind those holy walls.
trial: tunnel vision can get the best of her. focused on the weak link, if survivors adequately protect the chosen survivor of choice, nari will completely ignore the others in favour of her chosen one. this opens up opportunities for survivors to essentially gen-rush her if they plan well.
(-) possessive. like a feral cat, nari valued what belonged to her and her family. to the temple. the warded off shrine had become a special interest, taking care to visit only when others were not around to catch her sneaking into the restricted area of the mountain. nari herself began warning others to steer clear, coming up with tall tales to keep the shrine for herself.
trial: extended to certain areas of her realms and belongings, nari will become enraged knowing others are disrespecting sacred areas of her realm, or that they're touching what belongs to her.
(-) sensitive. the death of her halmeoni left her fractured, unable to process emotions and the stages of grief without her guiding hand, her gentle voice of encouragement stripped away. nari's mental health made a quick decline after her samchun further distressed her, and nari has never recovered or learned to balance her sensitivities.
trial: much like her possessive nature, nari will act off her emotions often to her detriment. if survivors are able to discover certain truths of her to use against her, then nari will brush the trial aside with one singular goal in mind.

FEAR.

─ silence. a shaman left to her thoughts was a dangerous game, as nari was not the only voice in her head. spirits resided within her ever since her samchun's attempt on her life. no one escapes death, not even her.

PSY.

[content warning: illness and death, ritual sacrifice, shamanism, and mentions of a declining mental state.]

the passing of nari's halmeoni deeply impacted the entire im family; especially inwangsa temple. the ethical practice and light of their faith died with her, buried alongside her own erected shrine deep in the mountains. but life moved on, and so did nari—painfully so. her fortitude and perseverance was strengthened with the secret knowledge she kept to herself, the tea-cup; serving as the catalyst. inheriting shaman texts her halmeoni hid away, nari got to work by studying the words, her very intent set on taking up the mantle her halmeoni left behind.
now: dedicated to the cause decided for her, nari takes her practice as a shaman and corrupted one of the entity quite serious. the dissonant voice of the entity was no different than the three spirits swimming in her mind, their harsh words reduced to whispers when the entity chose to make itself heard. her zealous behaviour clearly made her an outlier amongst others in inwangsa, but in the trials—a fervent thirst was expected, welcomed.

one might expect when taunted by the images of voices of spirits, that shamans would be more interested in what had to be said. met with cautious glances and admonishment, nari felt herself backed into a corner. left with no other option but to pursue the meaning on her own merits, her wisdom shined. armed with her lantern, nari ventured to the warded off sections of inwangsan mountain, to visit the shrines of vengeful spirits. the research required was enormous, overwhelming even for someone such as her with a degree in history.
now: nari's faith and dutiful nature propels her approach in every trial with the same energy as she had when deciphering her dreams. an uncanny ability to draw from her resources and be as oppressive as allowed.

nari's samchun was, like the tea-leaves for her halmeoni, the catalyst of her mental decline. her ingenuity could not be understated, her flair and genius of setting up the scene to pique the entity's interest in her, to exact her revenge on her samchun, no doubt secured her spot as a corrupted one.
now: independent—to an extent, the spirits in her head never truly left her alone—and dauntless, nari would never find herself deterred by the actions of survivors, not with the ability to mori so early in the trial, cementing her creative genius in setting up survivors to fall for the trap.

priding herself on her pettiness, nari ought to be grateful towards her samchun for orchestrating the stage for her grand debut into shamanism—into what ever she is now. fueled by spite, nari would not take the slight against her sitting down. not when her halmeoni suffered her untimely demise on account of his actions, to her.
now: vengeful, nari takes the trials seriously—actively searching for a reason to deal her punishment unto them. finish an objective in her face? bless her ponds with ritual tickets as an offering? prevent her quick mori? she's petty, too petty to allow survivors to go unpunished, the entity's sacrifices be damned. it's for her, and her only.

obedient. nari naturally fell under the thumb of others, her halmeoni, her samchun, her spirits. it might've been unnerving had she never gone down the path of shamanism, just how alarming it was for her to bend instead of break—to fall into unholy arms, become fanatical, corruptible. she knew right from wrong, like most girls in south korea there was a certain reputation to uphold, even for women at the temple practicing shamanism. the allure to the dark side, how easily swayed she was... there was enough of her mind left to detest that part of her.
now: one of the entity's corrupted ones, nari is simply answering to another higher power. despite her contentious relationship with the spirits inside her, nari's opinion of the entity is held in high esteem. respect, for noticing her killing potential long before her spirits intervened in life.

rather impulsive, nari acts without thought. too detached from her own emotions, she has trouble when wrestling with what is right and what she wants. her halmeoni was no longer here to guide her from the darkness, from the depths of her own despair and the haunted corners of her mind.
now: nari is so far detached from her humanity that survivors pose nothing more than a headache, an issue to be dealt with as cruelly as possible. most especially if the survivor is known to waste her time.

gut rituals are gruesome by nature, requiring shamans to negate the very essence of humanity and embrace the spirit of another, often tormented from their deaths. nari was host to three very temperamental spirits, each warring for her attention. from the moment she first allowed them to mould into her soul, to share the weight of their feelings, she has been sensitive since. hysteric, even. a prisoner to her emotions.
now: downright manic in trials, nari is forced to contend with her chosen spirits' sensitivities along with her own very complicated emotions.

the closer nari became to enacting her vengeance on her samchun, the closer she became to losing her remaining threads of sanity. of humanity. it was all too easy to lose herself in the gut rituals, to feed into the essence of her spirits demand for blood—no matter the cost. utterly demented, nari will occassionally speak aloud to the voices in her head, communicating animatedly.
now: with a fragile mind, nari has been driven to the brink of madness. in trials—she's not hanging onto the cliff for dear life, she's already plummeted into the chaotic waves below, a place she's all too familiar and comfortable with. her vice will likely unsettle other survivors, even the strongest of them, on account of her thrill to simply be there.

abc's

POWER. before being summoned for each trial, the shaman will perform a small gut in front of her spirit of choice's shrine, summoning their ability. three ponds are scattered around the realm, the water either green for disease, red for war, or white for misfortune. the shaman will collect the liquid into a waterskin around her waist, able to bend the liquid around her hands to either shoot like a projectile at a survivor (causing no damage, only inflicting the chosen affect) or contaminating objectives, forcing survivors to either touch and become inflicted, or complete their side-objective.

disease pond. a green pool of liquid, bubbling as if it were acid. when coming into contact with any objective that is inflicted, the survivor's hands will burn when attempting to touch it. if the infliction is induced onto a survivor through other means, they will become hindered and unable to touch objectives and can spread the infliction onto other survivors from contact.

war pond. blood runs from a gutted pig that hangs above the ponds, flowing like a waterfall. when inflicted, survivors will find that lacerations appear at random across their body (no pain, as it is not considered a physical attack), oozing copious amounts of blood and leaving a trail for the shaman to follow. survivors will become weaker overtime, as if experiencing legitimate blood loss.

misfortune pond. a white-milk like substance fills the pond, with a cloudy mist swirling atop. survivors will become blinded upon infliction, their eyes rolling into the back of their head as if in a trance-state, up to three survivors can be blinded at a time. leaving the final survivor to complete the side objective alone, or face their fates.

SIDE-OBJECTIVE. ritual tickets are hidden across the maps. survivors must seek them out and locate all three ponds, placing the tickets inside an offering box situated in front of each pond and ring the bell, performing a blessing that will purify the ponds.

THE MORI. the shaman performs a gut, using the survivor in place of the traditional pig. she dances around them, taunting and laughing with glee. she unsheathes her ritual blade and slices the survivor from navel to neck. diving her hand inside to rearrange their organs, she finishes off by wiping the blood across her mouth.

BELONGINGS.
─ pig carcass. the body of a pig opened wide, a thin layer of blood pools in the cavity. organs lay in disarray, clearly pulled out and rearranged.
─ shamanism book. nari's halmeoni kept this text from her, inheriting it upon her death. the foundation of her shaman knowledge.
─ old clothes. from a simpler time. a jean jacket and mini-skirt, covered in ash from the fire that was to burn her alive.
─ mug with tea leaves. the fortune that sent nari's halmeoni into cardiac arrest: an hourglass on a bed of snakes.
─ lantern. nari would take the lantern with her to the secret shrine, to commune with the spirit and leave her offerings.
─ shoe-box. photographs nari took from around the temple and mountains, showcasing the beauty and truth of shaman practices.

HISTORY

[content warning: cardiac arrest, shamanism, rituals including sacrifice, mention of animal death but not descriptive, depictions of minor gore, murder.]

BEFORE. early in life, im nari kept to herself. an otherwise normal life, normal friends, normal education─until she pursued a degree in history, with a focus on korean culture and traditions. her parents, ultimately, were pleased she sought out higher education though doubted her choice of history; teacher salaries weren't a liveable wage, though their proudness could not be understated; nari deserved to pursue the life she wanted. her halmeoni, nari's grandmother, was not considered 'normal'. she never fit into the social structure of nari's otherwise modern family, but it was one of the underlying reasons for her interest in korean history. working at inwangsa temple, her halmeoni served as a fortune-teller to tourists and visitors; and swore to never read the fortunes of family members to retain her peace of mind.

fresh after completing her studies at university, nari visited the temple with a plan: the most uncertain part of her life was over. her bachelors degree was the pride of her mantlepiece, and all that came next was─

"halmeoni!" nari breezes in, having traded her casual clothes for a lavender hanbok and tied at the waist in yellow. bright colours, the opposite of her preppy albeit grunge aesthetic on the streets. "i have a proposition for you but you must promise to hear me out first."

her grandmother gives her a wary stare, as if suspecting the request.

nari pauses, taken aback again at her halmeoni's ability to be ten steps ahead. "please?" she stands there, clutching her book-bag until her grandmother nods for her to sit, on the other side of the table where her teacups are. "thank you! now, my proposition..." nari settles into the chair and pulls out the form to apply for a position at the temple. "i was thinking, it would be great─for the both of us─if perhaps i taught korean culture here. tourists are flocking so often that i just thought... well, they deserve an accurate and comprehensive tour done by someone that not only knows the history, but grew up on the mountain!" her voice is bright and enthused by the possibility of working so closely with her halmeoni, to do something of use with her newly acquired degree.

her halmeoni's eyes have softened considerably, the earlier suspicion replaced with contentment. "i would love that very much, child."

"so..." nari pulls one of the teacups before her, cupping it with both hands. "would you please read my fortune? i don't want to waste my education."

relenting to the request, her halmeoni broke her one rule in life and read nari's tea leaves─only for her eyes to widen in shock. a gasp so sudden and sharp that nari jumped in the chair, frightened by the ear-splitting noise. and like all things, her death was sudden and violent. leaving nari to stare blankly down at her teacup, the leaves in the shape of an hourglass resting on a bed of snakes.

the sudden twist of fate sends nari careening of the deep end. it isn't until she overhears her father arguing over the phone that her halmeoni's secrets come to light─a shaman, as well as a fortune-teller, and her body was to be used in a traditional shaman burial rite despite her father's wishes. conflicted, nari struggled making sense of her own emotions up until a box was given to her at the burial, containing an inheritance from her grandmother. inside contained several shaman texts... and her degree meant nothing in the face of this tragedy, this was what she was meant to do.

moving into the temple, nari spent countless nights pouring over the texts. committing the research to mind─the history degree had prepared her well─nari's grasp of what was expected of her as a shaman was overwhelming, but her understanding was surpassing those above her. "shamans are expected to face hardship and misfortune." her samchun had all but spat in her face as he passed her by in the temple, "you're nothing but a girl playing at magic." his derision towards her was off-putting, unlike his easy charm at family get togethers. chalking it up to misplaced jealousy, nari preened at the remark. "perhaps the elders will choose you after me."

one month later, nari realised she had set into motion what came next. under the guise of officially naming her a shaman, nari was escorted through the winding paths of inwangsan mountain, coming to a small clearing in the dead of night. her first red flag should have been the lack of pigs. or maybe when ji soo painted characters onto her face with ink, words they wouldn't allow her to see─if she had, nari would've seen how they spelled disaster─but her instincts kicked into gear once it was too late, once the 'shaman' lifted the hood of their cloak and her samchun stared down at her with a sneer. she attempted to flee, but his trusted companions made quick work of wrestling her onto the makeshift altar, tearing at her newly made hanbok─for this very moment─and making small lacerations as they went, bleeding her like a stuck pig. nari's screams went unheard. any higher being or spirit must've been watching her pathetic attempts and thought, 'she's not the one.' and then her samchun let her go with a mocking, cruel laugh. "now you're ready." a scare tactic, to prepare her. but it was more than that; her samchun wanted power and control, and only able to acquire it through trickery.

it must run in the family, as nari had no intentions of letting him get away with it.

THE SHIFT. nari continued her shaman lessons dutifully, heading to and from each temple with added resolve. something had irrevocably changed─in her, yes. her own consciousness had grown distant, an inner monologue that simply spoke as a reminder to be human: eat, drink, pray, and sleep. thoughts weren't as frequent, and when they were, it was troubling. nonsensical anger and fury. what else changed was the atmosphere of the temple as word got out of an attempted sacrifice, when the shaman elders approached her for clarity on the situation she shrugged her shoulders helplessly, feigning a vulnerable mind-state and plausible doubt. tourism surprisingly heightened, but not for the culture─for her.

nari and her samchun walked in circles around inwangsa, his hatred rolling off him in waves as he shot her dirty looks─no longer for her rising status as a shaman, but as a victim. she did nothing to quell the questions about his 'rite of passage,' choosing to allow others to come to their own conclusions about his true intentions. in any case, without a definitive understanding of the event, the elders had no reason to expel him and that was exactly what she wanted. he needed to be close, for what came next.

warded off shrines around the mountain began calling to her, willing her to leave the temples after lessons and explore. nari felt an inexplicable need to leave offerings at these shrines, guided by a distant voice that had begun to replace her own. one such shrine was that of a war victim, a comfort woman for japanese soldiers─plucked from korea as a plaything for soldiers to torment. perhaps it was the link between this spirit and that of her halmeoni that kept her returning, their pasts similar and tragic. now each with their own shrine on the holy mountain. nari commits the name to memory, ji hyo.

at night, dreams plagued her. spirits plagued her. and it all clicked as ji hyo, hana, and dasom whispered throughout the night, fighting for dominance and their right to claim nari that she realised these were the spirits she was destined to serve, the picture of shamanism finally falling into place as their voices rose into manic screaming.

the process lasts years, a gradual descent into madness as nari feels her self control slip into nothingness. fighting chaos was useless and benign to achieve her goals, all that was left was to embrace the spirits that were now hers: ji hyo, the victim of war. hana, the woman killed by her families joint decision to perform a ritual mass suicide, succumbing to the poison. and dasom, her misfortune of wandering off a the trail in the very mountains of inwangsa─lost, the animals and birds picked at her body for weeks before being discovered. their personalities were strong and nari grew sensitive under the weight of their emotions, feeling less and less like herself and more like a fourth spirit, of the girl who had truly been sacrificed that night, all to prove a point.

on the fateful day, the one she had planned for years─tourists had flooded the temple, eager for a sneak peek at nari. now officially recognised as a mudang, a shaman. a woman with sweet dimples and fierce eyes caught her off-guard, leaving a private tutoring. she presses for answers, mentioning nari's uncle, the face markings─what do they mean?─what is the purpose of gut rituals, why rip open pigs─nari stares in shock at the audacity of the woman before her, the roaring of her spirits in the back of her mind suddenly overwhelming her as she voices the question: who are you? "lux mckenna." she responds and nari spots the giveaway, the pocketbook in hand and pen tucked behind her ear.

"you misinterpreted." nari tilts her head, venom lacing her words. "who the fuck do you think you are?" lux's dimples deepen as she opens her mouth to respond, her own face betraying barely contained amusement but nari turns on her heels and flips her off. the night was too important to waste on another run of the mill reporter.

hours later, nari's body moves rhythmically to the drum-beat in her own mind. ritual blade in hand, she carves up her uncle─the characters that had been listed on her face now etched into his skin, vanish, unholy, gone, disease. the list went on, continued until he was shredded and she painted the blood over her face, fingers swiping across her mouth as she chants manically in tandem with her spirits. vulgarities and nonsense mixed into one and she doesn't stop, not when her jaw dislocates for her voice to carry further, not when her spine separates as she bends backwards to scream at the sky.

NOW. overcome, nari's world becomes sucked into a vacuum. her chanting ceases as the dusk sky above reveals six legs, black and smokey as they sit above her. nari's head tilts, a spirit? she pries into the corners of her mind, searching for them: they respond, but the voices are distant and shoved to the side. a whimper in comparison to what loomed above.
Michael Free

#role: survivor

#era: 1970's

#adam driver

♡coded by uxie♡

dance with me

#horror author

#the shit-talker

#twenty nine

♡coded by uxie♡
harriet everly

#role: survivor

#era: 2000's

#eliza scanlen

♡coded by uxie♡

lucky star

#poor little rich girl

#she / her

#twenty-five

♡coded by uxie♡
JEREMIAH ROYSTON

#role: killer

#era: 1700's

#robert pattinson

♡coded by uxie♡

trail of torment

#weapon: scythe

#plague doctor

#the reaper

♡coded by uxie♡

anyasjoy · Aug 19, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1959

FULL NAME. Cyrus Cain; it will be remembered.
D.O.B. August 5th, 1917; forty-two years old, nothing but a background operator for the stars.
P.O.B. California, Los Angeles; it's a free for all.
GENDER. Cisgender, He/Him pronouns.
SEXUALITY. Heterosexual; but that never stopped him before.

ALIAS. The Host; your trusted liaison as events unfold. Would you like a hand?
ROLE. Friends 'Til The End; where's the fun in playing fair? Why, not him of course!
SPECIES. Human; until he wasn't—resurrection is a bitch.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. There's always been something undeniably alluring about Cyrus and his enigmatic aura. He doesn't naturally stand out in a crowd, with his average Joe appearance and brooding complexion. Yet, it's precisely this unassuming presence that has gotten him where he is in life—his warm demeanor effortlessly wins people over in the end.

Cyrus has a strong jawline, occasionally some faint stubble, though he usually goes for a clean-shaven look, just one day deciding that he didn't want to appear as rugged and intimidating as he naturally does. His deep green eyes can sometimes seem darker than usual, a feature most people miss unless you are one of his victims. Standing proudly at 5'7", Cyrus has a lean, slightly muscular build, but it never did dull the blow from colleagues in the same business practice from calling him 'a small bean pole.' His hair is typically dark brown and often kept at medium length. He discovered that slicking it back gives him a much more polished yet sophisticated look, but he also enjoys keeping it tousled for a more laid-back vibe that makes him approachable.

IN THE FOG: Being brought back to life came with a few small blessings, the biggest being that he was, well—alive. Upon arriving through the fog, Cyrus didn't catch on straight away to his new appearance. He felt good—really good—his head in place and his limbs intact. However, it didn't take long for him to discover the truth about the new look he was sporting: his hair appeared green, the right side of his face was heavily scarred, jagged lines running from his lower chin to his hairline, as if inflicted by shards of glass. His right eye, still green, appeared much cloudier, almost as if it were blind, despite his vision remaining clear. "That isn't a face for showbiz anymore," something whispered to him, the voice a distorted version of his own. "It will feel good, being whole again." Cyrus found himself back in the wardrobe department, the lights bright and the crowd cheering in the background. Everything looked the same—the paint, the colors, all perfectly in place as before. The light in the room shone on him like a beacon, and that's exactly what he became. He took a seat in front of the mirror, picked up the paintbrush, and glided white paint across his face, his canvas—created to please the entity. It was Halloween, after all, right?

ATTIRE. STAGE ONE: BUSINESS ATTIRE. A showman is what Cyrus is, and he’ll always proudly claim that title. Although he works in the background, creating stars, it doesn’t stop him from expressing himself through his fashion sense. Bright colors define Cyrus—bold hues that somehow always work for him. While he’s passionate about his outfit choices, Cyrus knows how to tone down his eccentric persona when needed. He understands that being too bold with his fashion can make others feel weirded out or even threatened by his demeanor, so he carefully balances his style with subtlety when the situation calls for it.

STAGE TWO: FAMILIAR & WARM. Otherwise known as his attire for his killings, Cyrus wasn’t one to hide. He preferred outlandish colors and bold prints, using different textures to highlight his creativity and uniqueness. But once night fell in Los Angeles, it was a free-for-all for him to do as he pleased. Muted tones became his go-to after dark—long coats that appeared larger than his usual fit, darker trousers, and sometimes even a hat for his little outings. Cyrus wasn't opposed to dressing in warmer outfits either. A knitted, homely-looking sweater paired with dark jeans gave him a more laid-back appearance, allowing him to blend in if he needed to. He could even dress up for a night at a bar, playing whatever part the situation called for. This is to show that Cyrus was willing to take all sorts of risks and considerations for the opportunity that the night provided.

STAGE THREE: THE SUIT. At forty-two years old, Cyrus had come to terms with the possibility that he might not be destined for television stardom. He was even content with the idea of remaining a producer for the rest of his life—though deep down, he still longed for the recognition he knew he deserved. The entrepreneur created nothing but stars, shows, and movies that earned at least millions, thanks to his ideas and influence behind the scenes. After all, he just wanted a little taste of the spotlight—the heat of the lights shining above him, the wave of cheers and laughter from the crowd before him. He actually hungered for it, for people to finally put a face to his name. Although Cyrus wasn’t much of a believer, he had an inkling notion that someone was listening to his prayers—because his moment finally came.

'For a special occasion' was the intent purpose of the suit, marked by two sticky notes on the clear plastic cover. One read 'Just do it,' accompanied by a hastily scribbled drawing of a gun, while the other declared, 'Today's Your Day,' but honestly, who was he kidding? When you're him, every day is your day! Luckily, it was the latter. The suit consists of a deep auburn red jacket with wide lapels, the matching trousers high-waisted and slightly flared; he was going for a theatrical appearance, looking like one of the stars he produced. Underneath the suit was a bright yellow vest, the contrast clashing with the darker tone of the suit. Colors of green are layered over the dress shirt's collar, completing the ensemble as a whole.

"How do I look? Been saving this one."

"You kind of look like a clown," Cyrus was in the wardrobe department behind the stage, he could faintly make out the crowd going wild. Was the cheering for him? "Eccentric, little bit cartoonish— but we can work with it. If—"

"If?"

The man before him, a fellow producer, offered a warm smile—a technique Cyrus knew all too well: a trickster blinded by his own tricks. "If you're okay with playing a little skit," the man said, wrapping an arm around Cyrus's shoulders and steering him toward a stand lined with various palettes of face paint and makeup.

"It's Halloween, after all. The reveal that it’s you underneath will be even sweeter."

WEAPON. ESTABLISHED MORE IN THE POWER SECTION!

FACE CLAIM. Joaquin Phoenix.

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ smoking. there's something about a cigarette in cyrus' hand that makes him feel at peace, even powerful. his job wasn't something he considered stressful; his smoking habit stemmed more from boredom rather from anxiety.
─ aesthetics. cyrus has a keen eye for creativity and truly admires anything that catches his attention. whether it's a nicely decorated room or someone in a clean-cut suit, you have his attention and appreciation.
─ bar games. has a knack for card games, especially poker. the bars in his area have grown in popularity over the years, bringing in cocktail parties and games like darts and even pool down the street, though cyrus is terrible at the latter and much rather take part of complex card games where he has better control of his expressions.
─ wine. whether it's red or white, it's something easy for cyrus to down after a long day of work.
─ music. it's something cyrus wishes he had a creative outlet for, including painting. he has a strong knowledge of colors and how they compliment each other, but painting what he sees in front of him or even by memory? not a chance. it's a reason why he has tremendous respect for those who are talented with musical instruments. the sound of strings growing louder in a gradual crescendo never fail to give him goosebumps.

DISLIKES.

─ absolute fucking boredom. when cyrus is in a "funk," he isn't pleasant to be around at all. he's more impatient, often seen pacing around with an itch he can't seem to scratch. unfortunately he is someone who needs the constant stimulation, and if he isn't getting it from anyone─he'll find a way to get it himself.
─ naivety. cyrus has no respect for people who are naive. he personally marks them down as weak-minded and someone that's easy to manipulate which brings him a brief sense of enjoyment when tormenting, but only for a moment. he often ends up feeling more sorry for them than feeling satisfied at the end of the day.
─ writer's block. lack of creativity is a bitch and it's something that even cyrus is a victim of.
─ no sense of humor. no one likes a person who lacks a sense of humor, and cyrus is no exception. it's best to remember to steer clear when a joke doesn't land—you wouldn't want to end up like the last person who made him feel embarrassed over a failed punchline.
─ radio. worked in radio until he found the proper medium to express oneself. to up his career, cyrus knew that leaving would be for the best and that's exactly what he did. it wasn't long before his old co-workers started talking behind his back. now, cyrus is just petty and holds a strong resentment toward anything related to radio. "get with the times," he'd often say, offering his business card, "you're looking at the future, kid."

HOBBIES.

─ journaling. a man has many hobbies, and this is one of cyrus' more recent ones. in his journal, pages are filled with dates and years of familiar names of missing people. from a distance, it might seem innocent—almost as if cyrus is trying to draw a connection between the missing people in los angeles. however, upon closer inspection, you'll notice missing pages, ~~words crossed out~~, harshly ripped out.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) adaptable. in show business, adaptability was standard; a must to change with the ever-flowing stream of media and the challenges it came with. further shown in cyrus' ability to transition from radio to television, rebuilding his audience and reshaping his image, a trait he'd happily keep around in any lifetime.
─ (+) awareness. cyrus is aware of the role he must play and that's exactly what he'll do if it means pleasing the entity. with a total disregard for obsessions, instead choosing to give his attention to someone of his own choosing, cyrus has an awareness of all survivors in the trial as a result.
─ (+) imaginative. innovation is something that is greatly overlooked in business, money being seen as something to value more rather than talent much to his disappointment. perhaps if they had given him the credit he was due sooner, he wouldn't have needed to expel his creative energy onto his victims.
─ (-) dependent. cyrus is often described as a man of many talents, known for his hard work and dedication. whenever he took charge of a project, he gave it his all, making it his top priority. people at the company relied on him to bring fresh ideas to the table and his leadership was vital to the team's success. his sense of responsibility as a boss played a significant role in his approach to work, it's possibly the reason why it's so difficult for him to relinquish control during trials and allow someone else to take the reins. he is used to people depending on him, but the idea of relying on someone—or something—else terrifies him.
─ (-) greed. coming from the life cyrus had in his youth, it's no wonder why he is as greedy as he is today. this shows through his envy of others with a connection to the entity. blinded by complete tunnel vision, cyrus intends to get those survivors out of the trial as soon as possible, to cement his place as the entity's favorite.
─ (-) undisciplined. being the favorite comes with perks, accompanied by certain drawbacks. rules are lost on cyrus, used to getting his way in life by any means and the entity has continued the trend, allowing cyrus to push its own boundaries.

FEAR.

─ leaving the fog. cyrus knows he died in the 50s. he's fully aware that a television fell on his head—in front of hundreds, mind you—and that he's more famously known for his death than for being a producer who launched countless stars and created timeless entertainment. so yeah, the thought of leaving the fog, where he's very much alive, freaks him out.

PSY.

─ (+) charismatic. naturally so, cyrus' assertive nature is masked under a humorous drawl, a witty remark, and an award-winning smile. it was easy for him to turn on the charm and become who he needs to be given the situation he finds himself. that charisma may not be wholly appreciated by survivors in a trial, more disturbed by his joyous approach to the whole affair, but the entity clearly had been won over and honestly─his friends come first.
─ (+) meticulous. the practice of show business required an affinity for being detail-oriented, strict and thorough in research and stretching ones imagination to translate from script or mind to the screen. cyrus also extended this preciseness to his victims: an opportunistic killer often couldn't plan for such an event when selecting his prey for the evening, relying on his ability to think on his feet, improvise, and not leave evidence behind. sloppy kills made for a pathetic end to ones career in murder, and cyrus was not in the market of losing everything he built for himself over an outlet for his aggression.
─ (+) self-reliant. other people in the business cyrus had involved himself in simply did not live up to par. their ideas were stale, useless. sales and viewership weren't cyrus' endgame, just a very fortunate added benefit, no─it came down to providing something worth watching, his show living up to the expectations of his high standards and as such, he learned to rely on himself and his own creative gene. now, quite unfortunately, cyrus' reliance has expanded to include the entity. you didn't become the entity's favourite without reaping the benefits, and cyrus will quickly learn to appreciate the ways the entity chooses to assist in a trial.
─ (+) spontaneous. thinking on his feet was paramount in the industry of show business, and murder. on a slow week of creative ideas from his fellow industry workers, cyrus often had to pick up the slack and pull a fascinating concept from thin air. for his victims, well─he hated to be repetitive. not only to cover his tracks, as he would be a lot harder to catch if kept a certain spontaneity with his methods, but for the act of killing to stay fun, entertaining, worthwhile.

─ (-) hubris. with a successful life such as his, who could blame cyrus' arrogance? that hubris propelled him above others in life, understanding his natural gifted talent for radio, for television, to win over an audience through his creative spark─it was expected. welcomed, cyrus believes, by the entity. the pretentious attitude he holds in high-esteem is derived from success, even if he lacked the credit he was due.
─ (-) selfish. sharing simply is not in the cards for cyrus; sharing credit, well─ask his victims, and see where that got them. it's not something he would ever complain about, having a sick sense of thrill knowing in his own mind what he brought to the program, that it was his creativity the audiences were eating up like a bottomless bucket of popcorn. though, at night, cyrus couldn't fight the itch. to take out his frustrations on unsuspecting people that were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. it was carefully crafted by cyrus, truly, to not have a 'victim profile' and act on opportunity. his acts of murder was an outlet, he didn't mind not receiving credit for those─he had a show to run. now, in the trials, that itch has returned in full force, unable to accept that the entity is sharing its gift of power with others, with survivors no less.
─ (-) lavish. cyrus enjoyed a lifestyle of extravagance, with a taste for the finer things in life. the most expensive whisky at his local bar. the tailored chanel suits. the push for colored television at his network, believing his program─of all programs─deserved to be seen in full color, not limited to black and white. he believes the entity shares his thought process, allowing him full access to the televisions from his studio, to watch the memories of his life in all its glory, in color.
─ (-) merciful. harboring a certain belief system, cyrus knew when to be merciful and when to be ruthless. he was all about positive reinforcement, to encourage those at his studio to embrace his ideas and spit out the mid concepts in their brain, for the purpose of making them more. in trials, cyrus extends this towards survivors that give him a helping hand. their life, for those of their team─if he has a particular animosity to one, he'll happily walk the survivor willing to throw them under the metaphorical bus to the nearest exit, allowing them to leave.

abc's

POWER.
─ need a hand?. the ability to draw a killer's main weapon from the entity.
cyrus, with his deep connection to the entity, can tap into the dark, mysterious power of the void. this allows him to reach through the television screen and manifest a weapon directly from the void itself. the screen warps as his hand passes through, the static crackling around his arm, and from within, he pulls out a shadowy, otherworldly weapon—an extension of the void’s will. whether it’s a glass shard (the doll & chairman) or a altar cross (the nun), the weapon hums with eerie energy, a whole new purpose possessing the host to handle the weapon with intense care and respect. the entity's influence flows through it, empowering his every strike.
limitation: will have to be near a tv for this to work out in his favor, especially since he is coming into the trial weaponless.

─ technical difficulties. the side objective: around the realm there will be various television sets scattered around the trial (roughly 8-11) for the survivors to either hide (out of mind, out of sight) or simply break. the tv will be on, making a soft signal for the host to pick up on. to save time, the survivor can quickly turn off the television for the host to avoid retrieving the weapon but should the host turn his own television on in the presence of a survivor, the entity's claw will come out and instantly strike the survivor, dragging them to the cage without cyrus' need to take them there himself.
(example: if lux mckenna destroyed a television receiver by herself, then the shaman's weapon would not spawn for cyrus to use during the trial. if a group of two destroyed the television set together than it would be a game of chance between the two of which weapon wouldn't spawn for the host to use.)

THE MORI.
─ lost signal.
after a hard earned mori, the host would happily pull out at least 3 or 4 weapons out of the television screen, dealing the blows directly to their body. each weapon would be lodged in different areas of the survivors body, turning them into a pin cushion. once they've suffered sufficiently in the hosts eyes, he will seal their fate with how he went out; a tv being dropped on to their head. (oops?)

BELONGINGS.
─ shattered tv. a destroyed television head with spider cracks all over the face of the tv, otherwise known as the object that ultimately ended cyrus' life on television. you can faintly make out old blood with slight smearing of face paint on the front.
─ journal booklet. the missing pages of documented murders that happened around los angeles. the ripped pages contain details of what was done to the victims, what was kept as a trophy, etc. please return to owner.
─ half used face paint. otherwise known as 'the make up' he put on that fateful night. the colors are: white, red, blue and green.
─ business card. various cards for different people cyrus interacted with throughout his life. titles on the cards: producer, agent, executor, and showrunner. all cards were signed with 'c.c' in the center.
─ fred dollard's name tag. the man who, in a way, caused cyrus to break his own moral code: no premeditated killings. and this one, in fact, was intentional.

HISTORY

BEFORE. [tw: sickness (lupis), murder, non-descriptive gore.]
Cyrus’ life was considerably unremarkable up until the death of his mother. Grown up in a disenfranchised community, it was no surprise that his mother couldn’t afford to seek medical assistance for the onslaught of seizures she began to experience—Lupus, ‘the cruel mystery’ of autoimmune diseases had taken his mother slowly, and she had kept a secret from her own son. A shame. He had just started making a name for himself in Los Angeles on his radio show, decent earnings and a decent apartment; quite was frivolous, simply consisting of him rattling about his days and reading the newspapers, adding his own two cents to each topic.

Though it was not lost on him the potential her death created—grief and death was something people of all walks of life could relate to. His audience might hear his sorrow, the forlornness in the story of his mothers’ poor end in life due to a failing healthcare system, but it could never compare to the sight of a broken man. Radio was not the proper medium to express oneself, television was the answer.

Life was more complicated on the television screen compared to a microphone in his dingy studio down the block from his apartment. His story, apparently, was ‘a dime a dozen’. If Cyrus were a lesser man, he supposed it would’ve deterred him from the realm of entertainment altogether—but he was nothing if not self-reliant. His twenties were spent diligently, putting his hand in most areas of the industry: film, television, even sitcoms. Before long his skills were sought out as an agent for aspiring talents, finally landing him where he felt most suited: a producer.

Again, complicating the picture he envisioned for himself. Where was the sense in that the people he trained, who went on camera to form a single expression and deliver a sentence—with the very affliction Cyrus painstakingly taught them for hours a day—were winning the most coveted awards in the state? Their faces plastered on posters, on magazines, in advertisements…and all Cyrus had in return was his measly, albeit professional, name in the credits? It simply wouldn't do, Cyrus decided as he stalked his set, watched his actors deliver the performance of a lifetime—a delivery he had shown them in the dressing room, a copy of his own creation. With a lifetime of pent up aggression and frustration, Cyrus turned to what made the most sense at the time in the state of California: murder.

THE SHIFT. If there was one thing Cyrus found himself not needing credit for, it was the acts of his killings. Having learned a great deal from failed serial killers in years past, Cyrus decided on three rules to always abide by—first: no victim profile. If there were no connections between each victim, all of them different from the other, then police would have a hard time plausibly linking the victims together. Second: never plan ahead, opportunistic killings only. He never schemed or planned ahead of time. Crimes of opportunity were far less likely to be solved, especially in tandem with an absence of a victim profile. Besides, it was more fun that way—even he was kept on his toes! And third: switch up the manner of death. If he killed someone from blunt force trauma with a hammer from his toolbox one night, the next he’d wedge a knife into their throat—or, push them onto the railway tracks (though he preferred a more personal, intimate killing). Police were sure to be scratching their heads at the random number of bodies that began to accumulate, none of them pointing to the direct source: Cyrus Cain. And for once, he was perfectly content with no recognition for his work in that capacity.

Rules were meant to be broken. Picking up a coffee before heading to set for the morning, Cyrus Cain found himself staring into the eyes of a man—Fred Dollard, according to his nametag—that was far too appealing to be working behind a counter. Turning on his usually well received charm, his charisma oozing into the practiced words, he cracks a joke that fails to land…and when he turns to take a seat by the unwashed window, mug in hand, he stews long and hard over the complicated feelings roaring dangerously inside him. It simply wouldn't do, Cyrus thinks again, as he does at every pivotal turning point in his life. It was a humbling experience he refused to dwell on, an offense he couldn’t allow to go unpunished. Avoiding his work for the day, Cyrus waited until Fred Dollard had finished his shift and followed him home, an apartment block eerily close to his own. He waited by a nearby bar well into the evening until Fred left his home, simply watching as he headed off the beaten path and Cyrus saw his opportunity to strike. The following day, Cyrus personally believed he had dodged a bullet—even in death, they weren’t really talked about. Just one little column in the paper that read: Mugging Gone Wrong.

Soon thereafter, a fascinating opportunity landed in his hands—to introduce color to his television program. Pulling a lot of strings and moving around a substantial amount of money, Cyrus was now the host of one of the few television programs that permanently used color. The success was not short-lived, experiencing a rapid growth in viewership and audience retention. His name, while known, quickly became a household one, and Cyrus was promptly invited to a popular late night show network to introduce himself in front of a live studio audience, in color, and share his story.

Refusing to mess up this opportunity, Cyrus put a halt to his usual midnight routine, not wanting to risk unwanted attention coming to his door. Time moved quickly, and before he knew it, Halloween had arrived, the anticipation building like static in the air. Today felt different. Today was different. While confidence usually carried him through the day, this morning was charged with unspoken energy. He spent the morning like any other: a cold shower, a comb through his hair, and a dark coffee in hand. Then he left home with a spring in his step. The only thing different about Cyrus this time was the auburn suit he wore—specifically saved for a day like this. Halloween might have been a day for tricks, but Cyrus was here for the treat.

The building’s interior was nothing special, but the purpose of the visit was far more important, at least according to himself. He was given a brief tour, his dark eyes absorbing the behind-the-scenes details. It didn’t take long before he was introduced to a fellow producer. The introduction was clipped but professional, and unfortunately, Cyrus was too far gone to notice the subtle signs. His suit was complimented—jokingly described as cartoonish—followed by the suggestion that it could work. Then, an offer was made.

Cyrus stared at his reflection in the mirror, a faint smile almost gone, though his eyes remained bright. Do a skit, they said. He could still feel the ghost of their hand on his arm as they guided him deeper into the wardrobe department. It’s Halloween, after all. The idea was for him to walk on stage, dressed as a clown, on live television. The reveal that it’s you underneath will be even sweeter. Outside, he could faintly hear the sound of clapping, the ticking of the clock growing louder. His eyes locked onto the various makeup and face paint options and then turned to the paintbrush and thought, It simply wouldn't do, and got to work.

As Cyrus was called out onto the stage, a rush of emotions surged through him. His mother’s passing, the misplaced credit, the killings—everything suddenly felt justified. The past didn’t matter anymore; only the present did. Standing front and center, microphone in hand, Cyrus was in awe, overwhelmed by the sound of the crowd. They were cheering, laughing, clapping loudly—his name being shouted back at him. The lights were blinding and addicting, and he soaked it all in.

Ever observant, Cyrus noticed a few audience members staring way up towards the ceiling wide-eyed, startled expressions. Their shock didn't faze him one bit. They could try, he thought, but no one was going to take this moment away from me.

Cyrus could bask in the sound for hours, the atmosphere wrapping around him like a warm embrace. A chuckle escaped into the microphone as he raised a hand, trying to gesture the crowd to quiet down, though secretly savoring every second of their adoration.

"It'll do, everyone, please! That'll do—"

NOW. Cyrus Cain died on October 31st, 1959, on live television. The episode aired in color, and what a sight it made. But this is information he learns much later on. Instead—

Air sucks into his lungs, intense as if it were a vacuum. At first, Cyrus thinks he’s staring straight into the void of a television screen. Bits and pieces of glass shattered on the pitch black recently polished floor of the studio. Then his vision clears, revealing the familiar night sky of Los Angeles—the one right above the city block he frequented by so often. He recalls faintly the feeling of adrenaline coursing through but now, everything felt...dull, like a switch was off.

Cyrus woke on his back and cautiously sat up into a more fitting position, the feeling of nothing concerning him a little. Curiously, he drew his hand to the back of his head, everything feeling intact before pulling his hand away to see the residue of green makeup and what seemed like red—until he realized he had blood on his fingers. Weird, he thought, I feel absolutely nothing.

In fact, Cyrus physically felt incredible, but when it came to pinpointing how he emotionally felt, well, it seemed that department was closed. Putting a pin in his thoughts, he slowly drew himself to stand, brushing off the flecks of what appeared to be dust collecting on his suit, unaware that he was smudging something else entirely on the fabric. It didn't take long for Cyrus to see the bigger picture though: he was very much still at what appeared to be the studio talk show, just with minor little errors he picked up on—like the obvious dent in the floorboard and the blood spreading around as if embracing the leftover figure.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2016

FULL NAME. jack dollard; jack-jack, jackie boy.
D.O.B. july 15th, 1988; twenty-eight years old.
P.O.B. houston, texas; always wanted to move to alaska though.
GENDER. cisgender, he/him.
SEXUALITY. pansexual; an emotional little guy who's in need of support.

OCCUPATION. welding; offshore oil rig turned mine welder.
SKILLS. tinkering, physical strength, dexterity, and mathematical skills.
ROLE. wake up; only seen as something to mock by the entity.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. jack had always been told he had a youthful appearance, almost boyish—though he would always disagree. there was nothing youthful about him at all. his face was somewhat square-shaped, with an angular jawline and large, sullen eyes, the brown in them appearing dark. his hair was naturally dark brown, often kept in a short, casual cut, though he had recently let the front grow out from neglect, the tips curling to give a disheveled impression. his fair skin had become pale from spending most days underground as a mine welder. a light dusting of dark stubble enhanced the rugged look he was ultimately going for—a way to discourage people from walking up to him, a product of his own depression. jack stood proudly at 5'5", his strength more than compensating for his shorter figure. his build was athletic and sturdy, a necessary trait for a job that required operating heavy machinery.

in the fog, jack looks more gaunt and paler than before, no doubt in his mind that he resembled how he looked that day. sickly ,someone had said, you look practically dead. his eyes, still dark, appeared hollow, almost lifeless. did you...die? no, he thought, knowing his gut was right in the end. it’s just some fucking joke.

ATTIRE. there's nothing special about the way jack dresses—he simply reaches for whatever is closest to him. there's always something to gamble with when it comes to him, but that's just how the cookie crumbles. clothes were just clothes to jack, and he was the prime example of dressing purely for comfort. there was a time when jack used to care about what he wore—even how he carried himself. the colors, although still muted, were somewhat brighter than what he usually wore now. blue was his color, despite how he's since replaced it with darker, more shaded tones. ever since the accident—ever since the death—jack hadn’t allowed himself to wear the things he considered nice, or anything associated with blue. it was his way of both coping and punishing himself. it didn’t matter that it wasn't him wearing the blue shirt; it's all he could remember. red on blue.

FACE CLAIM. josh hutcherson.

LIKES.
─ nacho, his cat. there was a street jack rarely had the chance to walk down because of work, but the one time he did—he came home with a cat. outside a shop window sat the silliest-looking orange cat he’d ever seen, and something about the cat's goofy antics brought an unexpected ounce of joy to jack. he ended up adopting her. he named her 'nacho' after catching her one day purring loudly, eyes fixed on a plate of nachos he’d just cooked. the name just stuck, a little secret between the two.
─ caffeine pills. it started innocently enough. long commutes, long hours, long everything. after a grueling day's work, jack would lay in bed and expect to instantly pass out, but his thoughts were a constant nagging voice in the back of his mind, refusing to let him drift to sleep peacefully. he spotted the bottle in the local pharmacy, heading down for some simple cough drops, he pocketed the caffeine pills and had them the same night. it allowed him to get even more done in the day than usual, the dependency overtaking him fast as he realized he could push himself to the brink of exhaustion with no need to have a single thought.
─ outdoors. as much of a hermit as jack appeared, he was quite the opposite. being cooped up inside for too long drove him up the walls, so he preferred to go out late at night, walking his cat when the streets were empty, away from the prying eyes and the whispers of gossip around his block.
─ television. a form of distraction. sitting down at the end of a long day, able to turn off his brain and stay engaged enough to fend sleep off for as long as possible. ever the loner, jack finds that watching television is his attempt at being social, imagining what he might say or do in the scene.
─ cooking. jack loves to keep himself busy, and unfortunately, that means he doesn’t get the chance to cook as often. but when he does, he’s actually quite an incredible cook—those hours spent watching food network episodes paid off when he least expected it.

DISLIKES.

─ letting people down. jack has a strong moral code, and disappointing people is never on his agenda. unfortunately, it's something that does happens beyond his control. he’s not used to the feeling of others depending on him, so when expectations pile up and he can't seem to meet them, it affects him deeply.
─ his fear winning. a myriad of fears, some strong enough to keep him up at night and going through an endless list of possibilities that might find him situations he can no longer avoid, forced to face them head on and watch as they overcome him.
─ exercise. quick to burn out, jack prefers to stay busy but not to the point of needing to rest throughout the day, detesting the idea of taking a nap and allowing his mind to wander. being a welder, he felt no need for added exercise anyway─his arms retained all the strength and muscles through his work alone.
─ ambience noise. too much nothingness and white noise has the same effect as exercise, causing him to relax without the added stimulation of television. the stage for his thoughts to take over and press down on him like its own weighted blanket, minus the comfort─his internal monologue was nothing of the sort.
─ dogs. it’s not that jack dislikes dogs; they’re just not the type of animal he would choose on a whim. with his busy lifestyle and work schedule, a low-maintenance pet is more up his alley—something that fits conveniently into his hectic life.

HOBBIES.

─ reading. a form of escapism, jack loves to live in the pages of a book and let the words overtake his thoughts, sending him into a realm of stories he couldn’t imagine dreaming up himself. unfortunately, it’s hard for him to get through as many books as he’d like to in the year because of how quickly sleep overtakes him.
─ labor. as a workaholic, it’s no wonder that his job became a hobby in the end. It’s more than spending the majority of his days working however, he enjoyed the sense of purpose it gave him: a way to feel useful, to stay productive, to be needed.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) good judgement. jack’s judgement is in direct correlation with his tendency to put his head over heart, to shove aside any personal emotions and act to the situation in accordance with logic. he prefers to weigh options rather methodically as opposed to acting on pure instinct. though, his instinct rarely leads him wrong.
─ (+) determined. high stake environments, in a situation where failure is frequent (the mines being an optimal example) jack’s determination to overcome what weighs him down is paramount to his strength. adaptable, resilient, and quick to learn from mistakes, jack can handle the stress and pressure without losing motivation.
─ (+) intuition. when jack is hindered, too sluggish or impaired to move and essentially asleep as the trial continues around his slumber. trapped in this shell of himself, jack is keenly aware that it’s the entity’s influence─it felt reminiscent of a time he swears he saw something underground in the mines, lurking in the darkness, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. jack didn’t need to be especially attuned with the entity to understand it was them. now, more than ever, he can sense it in the way the entity manipulates his dreams into something nightmarish─memories turned into caricatures, not entirely accurate in its depiction. his intuition and perception of the truth is what assists his hyper-awareness once he snaps out of the hindrance, able to serve as the clutch for his team.
─ (-) anxiety-ridden. too anxious in general, he’s a victim to his thoughts─jack excelled in school and work on account of staying busy, too busy that his thoughts are kept at bay, unable to plague him with endless what if’s and maybe you should─silencing all intrusive thoughts was his motivation in life, to work hard and never be left alone to speak to himself. caffeine pills assisted in his endeavor, keeping him awake long enough to do more, to exhaust himself to the point of instantly passing out when he allowed his head to finally hit the pillow.
─ (-) vulnerability. the entity keeps him hindered, utterly impairing him by trapping him in those endless nightmares─recounted memories, distorted and untrue. jack is quite literally at the mercy of whoever happens upon him in a trial, useless and vulnerable until the objectives are complete and he awakes from the stupor, clear-headed.
─ (-) trust issues. a loner by choice, jack had little people in life to give his trust to, and those he could… well, none of his family could even agree on what happened to his uncle, fred dollard. a mugging gone wrong, victim of a serial killer, offed himself in an alley. media accounts were also chock full of conspiracy theories, unwilling to come to a unanimous decision from autopsy results. done by professionals. trust would never come easy to him, leaving him an outlier in trials.
─ (-) self-criticism. self-pity. self-blame. jack feels all of it, too much and too often. falling under and in line with his intrusive thoughts, he can’t help but believe the words that slip through the cracks. the self-criticism can occasionally affect his determination, doubting his abilities to a point of almost giving up entirely.

FEAR.

─ heavy machinery. mechanophobia is a fear of machines, and although jack's job revolves around operating large machinery, he is terrified of having another accident like the last one. his anxiety isn't helped by his morbid curiosity, which led him to scroll through a reddit thread about machine-related accidents.
─ being impaired. drinking was fun—something jack used to happily indulge in once upon a time—but like many sweet things, it eventually turned sour. he was seventeen, a fresh graduate riding the high of success, and nearly lost it all in one night. jack was drunk—very drunk—and crashed his father's car into a tree. luckily, no one else was around or hurt by his stupid mistake, but he’d never forget the feeling of the gash on his head, the blood running down his face, and the eerie numbness that came with it.
─ the supernatural. jack doesn't believe in the supernatural—he knows it isn’t real—but the very idea of something he can’t physically or mentally explain freaks him out. he’d rather steer clear than take his chances.
─ the dark. a recent fear of jack’s is being forced under—the darkness, the void, the emptiness—all brought on by the entity holding him hostage in his own mind. it’s the suffocating feeling of losing control, being swallowed by the unknown, that terrifies him the most.

PSY.

─ (+) attentive. all things considered, jack is fully present when engaged in conversations─allowing others to feel heard and actively participating in a back and forth. his observance might be called into question when exhausted, the incident living proof of doubts about his ability to pay attention, but his genuine interest in the tasks he is given and awareness of his surroundings cannot be understated. just make sure to not engage when he's clearly tired, you won't be getting much out of him if so.
─ (+) detached. one might believe a detachment from one's emotions should be considered a vice, but for jack─it prevents him from developing any personal biases or passing judgment on others without justification, removing his own personal feelings and opinions from the situation and deciding with full clarity his thoughts on the matter at hand. potentially, jack may come off as unsupportive depending on the context of a situation, but he has managed to blend an important balance between detachment and empathy that works for him. in the end, his head rules over his heart.
─ (+) fortitude. no stranger to personal adversities, jack’s mental and emotional strength displays a conviction of a man entirely in control of himself. not true, not technically. he was strong on his own merit, no one could deny that─not after what happened. his ability to stay sane was evidence of his strength over his own mind, telling him what a fuck up he was for sleeping on the job and causing─well, that. truthfully, jack was able to keep moving forward on account of his dependence on pills, caffeine pills to be more exact.
─ (+) resilient. infliction aside, jack is in complete control of his emotions. distractions in the workplace were never an issue, impulses to self-medicate in other ways never swayed him, short-term wants never amounted to the long-term goals he saw for himself. jack is resilient in his commitment to maintain willpower over his actions and choices, even more so since the incident that his reckless lapse of mind caused.

─ (-) very doubtful. trust issues ran deep in the dollard family, not from lack of love or trying. there just wasn’t room for trust with the mountain of doubt they navigated at every family event in relation to his uncle fred’s death. jack grew cynical watching as even the media had conflicted reports over fred dollard’s manner of death. the doubts, not just in others but himself, carries into trials—how could he rely on others when he could barely rely on his own ability?
─ (-) irritable. wasting time was a personal pet peeve. with the few hours that are in a day and how many of those hours he attempts to stay awake, keeping his mind occupied enough to not stray into dangerous waters—a territory best left unexplored. this stays true for trials, becoming irritable not only because of his limited capacity in the early game, but if other survivors occupy themselves on something jack finds tedious, secondary to escaping with their lives. easily annoyed, jack won’t come up off as a team player in situations that irritate him.
─ (-) nervous. jack is easily nervous, his mind a constant rush of overbearing thoughts that never seem to quiet down. his anxiety often showed in the way he hesitated before making decisions, second-guessing himself at every turn. his hands would fidget, and his eyes darted around, always on edge, as if expecting something to go wrong, and ultimately in the end, it did. once forced into a trial, if his team manages to keep him alive long enough for him to join the fray, jack’s nerves might get the better of him despite being the clutch in the endgame—hesitating in life or death situations.
─ (-) glum. jack had a quiet, gloomy demeanor that seemed to linger like a shadow around him, his own personal cloud resting above his head. there was an air of melancholy in the way he carried himself, as if a deep, unspoken sadness weighed him down. he rarely smiled—not since the incident—and when he did, it felt forced, never quite reaching his dark, sullen eyes. lately, he was often lost in his own thoughts, distant and withdrawn from others, a man left to his own devices, which was something jack never wanted: to be left alone with his thoughts. they were mean, they were loud, and they were always right.
─ (-) impatient. jack felt like time was slipping away if he wasn’t actively doing something. the anxiety that lays dormant in the back of his mind chipping away at his sanity, causing him to grow frustrated rather quickly if not stimulating his brain with television, or focusing his mind on a task at work. in trials, this reflects when he’s impaired—the entity’s finding some twisted entertainment in knowing jack is not only suffering from nightmares of its own making, but that his impatience is reaching a crescendo.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
─ 075 locker number. his work locker of two years, navy blue with the paint fading away. inside contains photos of jack with his work friends, safety googles (with gloves), a pack of gum (spearmint, his favorite), and a file on anderson's accidental death (scrubbed from the record).
─ his cat's collar. a small teal colored collar with a bird emblem on the front. he'd do just about anything to get back home to see his cat again.
─ punchout card. a date that reads: march 3rd, 2015. otherwise known as the time where jack accidentally killed his coworker.
─ emptied caffeine pill bottle. more or less, caffeine pills were jack's crutch during the hard times—he just wasn't aware they were doing more harm than good at the time. inside the bottle are pieces of paper with pills drawn on them.
─ alarm clock. a black digital alarm clock stuck on the time 20:10 (8:10pm in analog time). it's frozen on the time when he was taken by the fog.

HISTORY

[[ tw: death in family, addiction (caffeine pills), claustrophobia (working in the mines), accidental death (crushed). ]]
BEFORE. Jack Dollard’s family life was simple enough, really. He’s never been estranged from them, loves them dearly—but their main topic of conversation is the one note of tragedy that struck them, milking the death of his Uncle Fred into something more than it was. No one was able to agree on the manner of death, not even the morticians in charge of his autopsy. It felt like he was living with the ghost for how often Uncle Fred was spoken about in a single week.

Once he graduated early at just seventeen, he took advantage by moving out on his own and pursuing an associates degree. Took it one step further by moving across the country for a trade job in welding. Six years on an off-shore oil rig, Jack found the position exciting—the adrenaline of teetering on the edge of danger overpowered the anxiety always there, in the back of his mind. Until it wasn’t. Nothing changed in his life and it grew tedious after six long years of hard labor. The money had been more than worth sticking it out, until a position in the mines opened up and just like his early graduation, he ran with the new opportunity for something new.

A welder in the mines, Jack was expected to fix heavy machinery at the underground workshop and be readily available at the drop of a hat. Somehow, the company had managed to set up a television system with plenty of VHS tapes to choose from within the mines, all before his time. In the first week of his new gig, Jack saw something—deep in the mouth of a cave, he could’ve sworn he saw a crooked tendril. Pure black and accompanied by what appeared to be fog. Alarm bells went off in his head, because it was impossible for fog to form underground—not without variables. It disappeared as quick as it formed, so Jack let the matter drop…and let it stew in the back of his mind, reminded of the occurrence every day afterwards that he stepped foot into the mine system, expecting to see it again—to see all of it again. You seen it, didn't you. Jack didn’t know what to think about Anderson—his shaggy blond hair, the little flecks of dirt on his face, or the fact that he was someone Jack was beginning to warm up to. Auditory hallucinations, they said. Anderson voice was indifferent, explaining how he’d heard a woman screaming, only for it to be brushed aside. He watched him scoff before they both stared off into the distance, into nothing but the inviting darkness. What a load of shit.

And what a bad omen it turned out to be. As Jack worked on repairing the brakes of a light service vehicle, caffeine pills in his system, he was halfway through a television special of Dead Celebrities: What Happened?—when he began to drift off. He must’ve taken the pills too early, or maybe the scene of Cyrus Cain and the television dropping onto his head was too boring, but Jack knocked out—startled awake by a quick, “Wake up!” from Anderson, a co-worker, someone he called a friend, now. Jack played the situation off coolly, said he was just resting his eyes for a moment and hurriedly made himself scarce, embarrassed to be seen sleeping on the job when he took his position so seriously.

On his way out the door, Jack briefly caught sight of Anderson hoisting himself onto the vehicle he was responsible for, and it didn’t take long for Jack to realize his second mistake of the evening. He didn’t know why he froze, his feet locked in place as he frantically watched the scene unfold. Don’t, he thought, begged, pleading for himself to snap out of his growing panic. Get off the damn thing. But the forced hesitation led to the inevitable.

Thirty three seconds later, the mines shook as the impact resounded from the hollow tunnel Anderson had guided his vehicle into. Debris poured from the tunnel in a cloud of dust, smoke coming from the vehicle, stray pieces of rock and mud and…Jack stood frozen, staring ahead, shell-shocked. It wasn't until others moved around him that he regained control of his limbs, carrying himself forward into the tunnel as he snatched up a helmet from the nearby table. Activating the headlight, he followed the others until they reached the crash site. Where the front section of the vehicle suffered the worst of it, folded in two like paper. Where Anderson should be.

Jack was frozen in place, just as before. Was he…? He watched as others shoved past him, rushing to aid Anderson—whatever was left of him, at least. But Jack knew, deep down, the mines was no place for hope. Instead, he stood there, watching as they struggled to shift the vehicle upright. It was useless in the end. All it did was give him a clearer view of his friend. Anderson’s hair was still golden, flecks of dirt still on his face, along with smeared blood. His mind filled with dread, a quiet sound escaping him as his eyes landed on the unmistakable telltale sign. Anderson's shirt peeked out beneath the rubble, the red staining the blue t-shirt. Red on blue, his mind thought, betraying him all the same. His friend was gone.

THE FOG.
The company scrubbed it all. Every record, every piece of evidence—all of it. There wasn’t enough money in the world to contend with the lawsuits that would spawn from negligence, the company insisting to their co-workers at an impromptu meeting that all of their jobs were hanging on the line if the truth was revealed. Jack Dollard’s fatal mistake meant everyone else had to shove their morals into the deepest corner of their minds for the purpose of maintaining a livelihood. And everyone knew it was his fault.

Jack tried his best to throw away the caffeine pills, knowing his dependence on them had caused this—his body craved sleep he insisted on denying. But his addiction to the pills had an adverse effect on him that he hadn’t anticipated: panic attacks. Every night, before heading to bed for some normal sleep, they hit him hard; a freight train. He kept his addiction at bay for only three weeks before he bought another bottle, going through the entirety of it in two weeks when it should’ve lasted the month. Staying awake was paramount, even if it meant he was conscious long enough to dwell on the guilt of Anderson’s death. At least there were no more nightmares; no red on blue, the debris filling his lungs, the flickering from the headlights, and most of all, the crushed body of Anderson.

Used to alienating himself, Jack now found that others were doing it to him. It was fine when he was in control of his socializing, choosing when he was ready to speak to someone and who that ended up being. This…It was a new kind of loneliness, hurtling him into the deep end of depression as his co-workers no longer wished to bring him out of his shell—fear they could be next. His family, on the other hand, now had a new topic of tragedy to discuss instead of beating Uncle Fred’s death into the ground. Jack Dollard, manslaughter. He regrets telling them most days, when they call and press for the details and he can just picture them, bent heads over the phone and hearing the version they want to hear, only to pass along the story into some twisted chinese whispers. Maybe it was better to be alone.

Alone. No thrill in anything, all of his hobbies ruined—especially his love of labor, typically spent passionately at work. Jack was delegated to a different role in the mines, welding pipes in a one-person job and never to touch heavy machinery again. It seemed fair, given the circumstances, but that pit of despair and loneliness grew with every new reminder of Anderson. Where his negligence got him. The last to leave on one of those miserable days in the mines, Jack saw the fog first before the tendril. The bad omen, he thought, quick to blame anything other than himself right then.

"You killed Anderson." Jack’s response was clipped, almost accusatory. "Not me—you." From a distance, it might have seemed as if he was talking to empty air, but he knew better. Something was there, watching—listening. Whatever it was. "Just say it—just say it!" His voice grew hoarse, throat dry as the urge to scream clawed at him. Cry? No—he didn’t want to break down. He wanted to blame, to fight. Did you kill him because he caught on?

No. Jack felt it before he heard it—the air turning cold, the headlight above him flickering wildly, distorting everything around him. He couldn’t even make out what he was looking at anymore. Though as the chill crept in, Jack didn’t flinch, the raw anger of denial bubbling up inside him. That’s not him. Quit using his voice. Please. But the fog thickened, swirling slowly around him, pulling him deeper. You killed me, Jack. The voice was crystal clear, unmistakably Anderson's, cutting through the fog. Jack’s body locked up, the familiar, paralyzing hesitation creeping back once again.

Unbeknownst to Jack, the fog had now enveloped him into its mist—he tried to get his legs to move. But he doesn’t, he can’t. He stays rooted in place, trapped by his anxiety and watches fearful as the tendril he had seen inched towards him, the crooked point extending slightly until its eye-level. Jack’s rapid breathing could’ve deafened him as it bounced off the walls of the tunnel in echoes. The tendril retreats slightly, and part of him considers that he’s lost it completely. It was all actually a figment and there was no one to blame—until the tendril shoots out at him, penetrating through his right shoulder. The pain isn’t immediate, creeping up on him in shock as the tendril slowly lifts him from the floor of the cave and drags him further inside, hooked.

NOW.
Wake up. Jack jolted awake, his hand instinctively reaching for the spot on his shoulder where he expected to find a gaping wound—only to feel nothing. It didn’t make any sense. He could still feel the phantom pain of the stab, the sensation of being dragged deeper into the cave. Struggling to catch his breath, Jack noticed that the fog surrounding him now wasn’t nearly as thick or suffocating as it had been inside the mines. His anxiety lessened somewhat as he took in his surroundings—a forest, serene but unfamiliar. And, oddly enough, he didn’t feel alone. With his back against a tree, Jack slowly pulled himself up, glancing down at the tear in his shirt near his shoulder. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath. What happened was real, what happened was real....what happened was real.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking—time didn’t seem to move right. Jack refused to call for help, his frustration boiling beneath the surface, nervous at the thought of seeing It again. The tendrils, the black fog...it had to mean something. Each step sent a dull ache through his feet, the exhaustion building with every passing moment. When he finally spotted a small campfire up ahead, he nearly collapsed from relief. But all he could think was: I’m so tired.

mi casa · Aug 19, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1998

FULL NAME. cyra nicole ashford
D.O.B. feburary 2nd, 1973
P.O.B. los angeles, california
GENDER. female, she/her
SEXUALITY. bisexual

OCCUPATION. professional figure skater.
SKILLS. high endurance, she’s very fast and light on her feet, extremely flexible, great at hiding her true intentions, highly competitive, adaptable, resilient, thick skin
ROLE. ace in the hole; the entity seems to favor her

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
cyra has always been the type of woman who's presence demands attention. years of rigorous training have given her a slender, athletic frame, with an air of poised confidence and effortless elegance. her long neck and graceful posture add to her statuesque presence, making her seem taller than she is, with a fluidity to her movements that suggests she’s completely in tune with her body making her a sight to behold. her skin is warm and radiant, with a bronze sun-kissed glow that catches the light and emphasizes her smooth complexion. her deep, expressive brown eyes are captivating, framed by long, thick lashes that draw you in with their subtle, soulful gaze. they often seem to be analyzing everything, and everyone around her as if she's assessing them.

her hair, a cascade of rich, dark curls, flows effortlessly down her back. cyra could often be found with her hair tied back into a tight bun as she practiced or performed. off the ice, however, her hair was typically kept in it's naturally curly state and would be worn loosely, giving her poor locks the break her hair often needed from being pinned down.

cyra has always been described as having angelic and ethereal beauty with her square face, high cheekbones, and defined jawline that give her features a sculpted, almost regal appearance. her lips are full and are often glossed or painted with soft hues as she has never been one who enjoyed wearing heavy makeup- only tolerating it for her performances. it is very rare that cyra ever smiles when she is not performing but when she does her smile has been known to light up a room with it's warmth.

there’s a quiet magnetism to the way she carries herself, a combination of elegance and self-assurance that turns heads without effort. whether dressed casually in a simple tee and jeans or donning her fancy leotard, skirt and skates, cyra wears her clothes with the ease of someone who’s comfortable in her own skin. she has a natural ability to blend strength with softness, her aura both approachable and commanding, making her presence impossible to ignore.

ATTIRE.
cyra's figure skating outfits during performances would be sleek, glamorous, and designed for maximum movement. she would wear form-fitting, bedazzled leotards or dress in rich jewel tones like deep purples, emerald greens, or icy blues that would stand out against her rich skin. the bodice would be adorned with rhinestones, sequins, or beads, reflecting her preference for eye-catching sparkle, while still retaining an athletic air that allowed her to her execute jumps, spins, and footwork without the fear of being weighed down. she would alternate between leotards with long sleeves or ones that were sleeveless depending on the program and mood she wanted to convey to her audience, while her skirt would be short and layered, flaring out as she spun or threw herself into the air.

her outfit would be paired with nude tights and classic white figure skates, custom-made to fit her feet perfectly, and always polished to perfection. cyra was always very meticulous when it came to her skates. her hair would be styled neatly, often in a high bun, braid, or sleek ponytail, often adorned with a coordinating scrunchie or decorative hair clip—both popular accessories in the 90s. her makeup would be performance-ready, with bold lipstick shades and eye makeup that pops under the bright lights of the rink.

off the rink, her clothing style would reflect a casual yet chic vibe. cyra would typically be seen in high-waisted, wide-leg jeans or sleek, fitted track pants. she loved to wear crop tops or fitted baby tees and her tops would often be in bright colors, bold prints, or even subtle metallics. in the heat of california wearing minimal clothing was essential to making sure she didn't overheat but that still never stopped cyra from layering her clothes from time to time. she’d toss on a lightweight, oversized denim jacket or a stylish windbreaker with a color-blocked design, a zip-up hoodie or a sleek, fitted leather jacket as cyra often loved to blend her love for urban fashion with her active lifestyle.

when it came to shoes she often wore chunky platform sandals, classic white sneakers, or trendy wedges. she would wear a pair of thin, gold hoop earrings, layered necklaces, and a tote bag to keep all her necessities in. on sunny days, she’d sport a pair of small oval sunglasses with tinted lenses to keep the sun from blinding her.

when cyra was taken by the entity she was dressed in a baby tee, a pair of low waisted track pants, a zip up hoodie, and plain sneakers. her attire at the time seemed more gloomy than the bright colors she typically adorned due to the depression she had felt at the time before she was snatched away.

FACE CLAIM. zendaya coleman

LIKES.
─ ❤︎ figure skating/dancing. this is self explanatory. cyra has been skating since she was a young girl, figure skating was practically her entire life. for cyra dancing was more than just a sport it was an outlet, it was who she was as a person.
─ ❤︎ pigeons. she's always loved birds but pigeons stole cyra's heart at an early age. perhaps it was due to the negative association around them. her love for pigeons only grew as she got older and learned that the real reason pigeons are so reliant on humans was that they were tamed by humans before being discarded. that very same day cyra adopted a pigeon.
─ ❤︎ puzzles. even though puzzles can be time consuming and frustrating when you can't figure out what pieces go where cyra has always found them to be fun and challenging.
─ ❤︎ the sea. living in los angeles and being so close to the sea cyra would sometimes go to the beach just to relax and watch the waves.
─ ❤︎ music. cyra has always found solace in music, using it as a way to express emotions she couldn’t put into words. during her figure skating career, music was the heartbeat of her routines, guiding her movements and allowing her to tell stories on the ice.
─ ❤︎ tea. she always starts her day with a warm drink. coffee made her to jittery and she hated how bitter it seemed to taste no matter the amount of creamer and sugar she put into it. tea is more welcoming on her tongue and she appreciates the different variety available.
─ ❤︎ the cold. despite living in a city as hot as los angeles cyra has always had an affinity for the cold. growing up on the ice, she found the crisp, icy air calming, almost like a second home. the cold sharpens her focus and reminds her of the quiet solitude she used to feel during early morning practices when it was just her and the rink. For cyra, the cold represents discipline, clarity, and the freedom she felt when skating, gliding effortlessly across frozen surfaces, untouched by the outside world.

DISLIKES.

─ ✗ losing. while her hatred for losing mainly comes from her heavily competitive nature it's also due to the fact that in the world of figure skating, every win came with blood, sweat, and tears, and every loss felt intensely personal and for cyra who constantly faced backlash from those around her as well as unfair treatment from judges due to the color of her skin she often was forced to wonder if her loss came from her own mistakes or was caused by racists not wanting to see her succeed. each loss reminded her of the barriers she had to break through just to be seen as an equal. for cyra, losing isn’t just about the failure itself, it’s the fear of everything she’s sacrificed and worked hard for being in vain.
─ ✗ feeling suffocated. cyra hates feeling suffocated because it reminds her of the times in her life when she felt trapped both physically and emotionally. after her injury, she experienced a deep sense of confinement, as her body that was once her source of freedom and expression on the rink, became a limitation for cyra. the sensation of being restricted brings back that feeling of helplessness she experienced during her recovery. emotionally, she has always valued independence and freedom, so feeling suffocated strips her of the control she fought so hard to reclaim.
─ ✗ being looked down upon. something she’s faced throughout her life, particularly in the world of figure skating, where she was often underestimated for being black. from a young age, she had to work twice as hard to prove herself in a sport dominated by racial bias and preconceived notions about who belonged on the ice. every dismissive look, every condescending remark only fueled her determination to rise above it, but the sting of being undervalued never fully faded. for cyra, being looked down upon isn’t just an insult it’s a reminder of the unfair challenges she’s had to overcome, and she refuses to let anyone diminish her worth or capabilities.
─ ✗ small talk. cyra hates small talk because it feels superficial and empty to her, especially after all she’s been through. having faced significant challenges in her life—racial prejudice, a near career-ending injury, and the crushing weight of lost dreams—she values deeper, more meaningful conversations. for her, small talk lacks substance and wastes time that could be spent building genuine connections or discussing things that truly matter.
─ ✗ being patronized. cyra strongly dislikes being spoken down to or treated as if she’s incapable, especially after fighting for recognition throughout her life and career.

HOBBIES.

─ volunteering. growing up, she learned the importance of giving back, especially as someone who had to overcome numerous challenges in her own life. volunteering allows her to connect with and support others, particularly young athletes or those facing adversity, giving them the encouragement she often lacked during her own career. it’s also a way for her to stay grounded and shift her focus from her own struggles to helping others overcome theirs. through volunteering, cyra finds meaning, knowing she can make a difference in someone else's life.
─ rock climbing. as someone who lived in a bustling city with a busy life it was often nice for her to get out, breath fresh air, and be one with nature.
─ journaling. cyra kept journals throughout ever stage of her life. it was another way for her to express her feelings in a healthy manner.
─ cooking. with a mother who worked as a private chef some of cyra's best memories growing up were of her helping her mother make dinner and special meals in the kitchen. while cyra won't claim to be as skilled as her mother her food is still pretty good and she enjoys cooking for those she cares about.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) stamina and endurance - cyra has been an athlete all her life. her body has been trained for years to handle throwing herself in the air, doing tricks, and flips all while looking as if it was effortless. she is able to exert herself for hours and even when she feels tired there's always still more she has left to give before she has to call it quits.
─ (+) resilience - cyra has extremely tough skin and a natural affinity to never back down from a challenge. no matter what gets thrown at her she won't let it break her spirit or get the best of her.
─ (+) agility - cyra’s agility is one of her most remarkable strengths, shaped by years of dedication to figure skating. her fluid, graceful movements are a testament to her exceptional physical prowess and refined control. she is able to navigate through tight spaces and give killers a run for their money.
─ (+) luck - recovering from an injury that would be the end of most athlete's careers there's no shred of doubt that cyra could be seen as a very lucky girl. this luck has transitioned over into the trials as the entity for whatever reason seems to favor her.

─ (-) her knee - despite the fact that her knee is doing a lot better than it was when cyra first injured it her knee still wasn't one hundred percent healed when the entity snatched her away. now when she over exerts her self her knee will begin to ache and slow her down. this lingering injury can exacerbate her challenges during high-intensity moments, such as evading the killer or navigating treacherous terrain. the constant strain on her knee can lead to fatigue and increased pain, forcing her to be more cautious and deliberate in her movements.
─ (-) untrusting and selfish - cyra has always held her heart close to her chest. she is not someone who trusts others easily. with this she will often times put herself and her own life over the lives of others if it means she'll make it out alive in the end.
─ (-) difficulty in asking for help - her deep-rooted independence and self-reliance make it challenging for her to reach out for support, even when it's crucial. This reluctance stems from her belief that relying on others might make her vulnerable or compromise her autonomy. in a trial, this weakness means that cyra often struggles to accept assistance from fellow survivors, even when their help could be vital to overcoming obstacles or escaping perilous situations. her inability to seek or accept support can lead to missed opportunities for collaboration and increase her risk of failure, as she attempts to handle everything on her own despite the potential benefits of teamwork.

FEAR.

─ being forgotten. she's worked her whole life to make a name for herself it has to have been worth it in the end, right?

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

(+) resilient. forged through years of battling against adversity both on and off the ice. cyra was raised to have extremely tough skin and her ability to remain steadfast and determined, despite the challenges she faces, is a testament to her inner strength and emotional fortitude. having navigated the harsh realities of discrimination in her figure skating career, cyra developed a remarkable mental toughness that allows her to confront fears and pressures with unyielding resolve. it is nearly impossible to break her spirit.
in trials enables her to bounce back quickly from setbacks, whether it’s a failed attempt at an objective or a near-capture by the killer. this resilience is evident in her relentless determination to keep moving forward, regardless of the obstacles she faces. when things go awry, cyra doesn’t crumble under pressure instead, she uses her experiences to adapt and strategize, maintaining a steady focus on her goal of survival. her resilience allows her to recover from injuries or mishaps with a quick recovery, ready to tackle the next challenge with renewed vigor. this unyielding spirit ensures that, no matter how dire the situation becomes, cyra remains a formidable survivor.

(+) ambitious. cyra's ambition has always driven her to reach for greatness, both as a performer and in her personal life. from a young age, she set her sights on breaking barriers in a sport where she often stood alone, determined to prove her talent despite facing backlash from those who wanted her to fail. her ambition pushed her to constantly improve, perfecting her routines with relentless dedication and striving for excellence in every competition. cyra's desire to succeed wasn't just about winning medals—it was about challenging the status quo and opening doors for others like her.
in trials even after being taken by the entity, that ambition fuels her desire to survive, driving her to outlast every challenge with the same tenacity she carried with her everyday before her life was stolen from her. cyra is not content with simply surviving; she is determined to rise above her circumstances and make her mark, no matter the odds.

(+) responsible. cyra is responsible because her figure skating career instilled a strong sense of discipline and accountability in her from a young age. she learned that success in her field required dedication, punctuality, and a commitment to constant improvement. the challenges she faced—especially navigating racial prejudice and later running her own business—taught her the importance of taking control of her life and actions. whether it was pushing through intense training sessions or managing the expectations placed on her, cyra always understood that her efforts directly impacted her future. In her daily life, she continues to carry this responsibility, ensuring she not only meets her own standards but also supports those around her with the same care and reliability.
in trials. her responsibility will mean that cyra can be a trusted figure who will set out to complete objectives and do so in a reliable fashion.

(+) hard-working. never being one to half-ass anything regardless of what it is cyra is hardworking girl because she’s always believed that nothing worth having comes without effort. from a young age, she learned that success wasn’t just handed to her—she had to earn it through persistence and determination. life has thrown her more than a few challenges, but instead of backing down, she’s always tackled them head-on, knowing that giving up isn’t an option. whether it's navigating difficult situations or helping others, cyra puts her all into everything she does. she’s never been one to shy away from hard work, because for her, the struggle makes the reward all the more meaningful. her determination to push through setbacks, no matter how tough, is what defines her as a person.
in trials cyra’s hardworking tendencies make her a formidable survivor in a trial. her resilience and determination mean she never gives up, even when the odds seem impossible. in a trial, she’d be the one constantly on the move, repairing generators with laser focus and staying alert to any dangers. she’d push through exhaustion, keeping calm under pressure, knowing that every second counts.

(+) independent. fiercely independent because she’s never wanted to rely on anyone else to define her path. growing up, she quickly realized that if she wanted something done, she’d have to do it herself. whether it was overcoming personal hurdles or fighting against the expectations and biases of others, she learned that depending on others could lead to disappointment or frustration. in her eyes it was a dog eat dog world and she wouldn't always have her parents to stand up for her. instead, she embraced her independence, knowing that her success and survival were in her own hands. this mindset developed early, as cyra understood that life wasn’t always fair, and waiting for someone else to come through for her wasn’t an option. she took pride in solving her own problems, learning to trust her instincts and build the resilience she needed to face whatever came her way. relying on herself gave her a sense of control and freedom that she valued above all else, and she wasn’t willing to compromise that for anything or anyone. even in situations where others might seek help, cyra has always preferred to handle things alone, knowing she can count on her own strength, focus, and perseverance. it's not that she doesn’t appreciate others—she just knows that at the end of the day, her own drive and hard work are what have carried her through life’s toughest challenges. her independence has been her shield, making her someone who faces the world head-on, without needing anyone else to pave the way for.
in trials she wouldn’t wait around for help or depend on others to save her. from the moment the trial begins, she’d be focused and driven, immediately heading to repair generators or search for tools, confident in her ability to handle things on her own. if injured or in danger, she’d rely on her knowledge of the environment and her quick thinking to stay ahead of the killer, using stealth and speed to evade capture without needing backup. her independence would also make her less likely to rely on teammates for healing or guidance. while she will support her team, cyra’s biggest comfort is knowing she can rely on herself above all else.

(-) competitive. cyra's competitive spirit runs deep, a driving force that has fueled her passion and perseverance throughout her life. from her early days on the ice, she thrived on the challenge of pushing herself beyond her limits, constantly striving to outdo her previous performances and make her mark in a demanding sport. there was also a unyielding need to prove to those who looked down on her or thought that she didn't belong that they were wrong. every competition was not just an opportunity to win but a chance to test her abilities against the best and prove her worth. this fierce competitiveness isn't just about being the best—it's about proving to herself that she can rise above any challenge.
in trials cyra’s competitive edge is unwavering. she approaches each encounter with the same intensity and drive, determined to outsmart her opponents and secure her survival. she refuses to let killers or the entity get one over on her. no matter how many times they kill her or lock her away she'll never stop until she wins in the end.

(-) untrusting. throughout her career as a figure skater, cyra faced not only the intense scrutiny of competition but also the sting of prejudice and betrayal. these experiences made her cautious, knowing that trust was a luxury she couldn't afford easily. trust can be a double-edged sword in a place where deception and danger are constant. her guarded approach isn't just about protecting herself it's about preserving her sense of self and ensuring she doesn’t get caught off guard. every interaction is approached with a careful scrutiny, as she’s learned the hard way that true intentions aren't always clear. for cyra, trust must be earned, and until then, she navigates her world with a intense sense of caution and a watchful eye.
in trials she will be constantly assessing the intentions of those around her, leading her to be cautious about forming alliances and hesitant to engage in collaborative efforts without first evaluating the reliability of her fellow survivors. this suspicion extends to every aspect of the trial; she remains on high alert, keenly aware of her surroundings and any potential threats.

(-) stubborn. a hallmark of her character, shaped by years of defying expectations and pushing through adversity. once she sets her mind to something, there’s no swaying her; her determination is as unyielding as the ice she once skated upon. even as a child whenever cyra decided she wanted to do something she'd do it and if someone told her she couldn't do it she'd turn around and do it purely out of spite. this resolute spirit means she’s not easily discouraged by setbacks or obstacles, no matter how daunting they may be. cyra’s refusal to back down reflects her deep-seated belief in her own strength and her unwillingness to accept anything less than success.
in trials for cyra, giving up is never an option—her unwavering resolve is what fuels her journey and ensures she keeps pushing forward, no matter the difficulties she encounters. however her stubborness can also lead to her butting heads with other survivors when it comes to coming up with plans on securing their survival.

(-) selfish. her primary focus is on ensuring her own safety and well-being, often prioritizing her needs above those of others. this self-centered drive stems from a lifetime of having to look out for herself in a world that rarely offered her the luxury of dependability or support. in the trial, this manifests as a relentless pursuit of her own goals and a sharp focus on what benefits her directly. While others might see her actions as self-serving, for cyra, it’s about securing her own survival and making sure she’s not left vulnerable or at risk. her decisions are driven by a deep-seated belief that looking out for herself is the only way to guarantee her continued existence in a perilous world.
in trials cyra will almost always put herself over others. some may describe cyra as a fallen angel figure, even with the power to help others who have been taken and thrown into cages by the killer there's a high chance cyra will choose to save her own skin.

(-) highly opinionated. cyra’s strong opinions often come across as inflexible and uncompromising, a reflection of her deep-seated convictions and past experiences. her views are shaped by a lifetime of fighting against the grain and standing up for herself in a world that often felt hostile. this makes her particularly adamant and sometimes harsh when it comes to disagreeing with others. her certainty in her beliefs can create friction, as she struggles to accommodate differing perspectives or compromise, even when it might benefit her or those around her.
in trials this strong-headedness manifests as a reluctance to consider alternative strategies or collaborate with others if their approaches clash with her own. cyra’s tendency to assert her views without room for negotiation can lead to strained interactions and missed opportunities, as her unwavering stance sometimes overshadows the potential for cooperation and mutual support.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
─ a pair of ice skates. cyra was always meticulous in upkeeping her skates, especially because they came from her own personal brand and were tailored to fit her needs specifically. these skates, though, upon further inspection were clearly tampered with.
─ physical exam paperwork. a report of cyra's knee injury. according to the report she was making a miraculous recovery.
─ gold medal. cyra's first ever number one medal that she won as a child. she kept all of her medals but this one was special to her, a reassurance that all her hard work meant something and that every time she pushed herself and performed it was for the little girl that was still inside of her dying to prove herself to the world.
─ bird feather. a feather that belonged to cyra's pride and joy, her pet pigeon named jerrica after a character in a show cyra used to watch named 'jem and the holograms'.
─ journal. the journal cyra wrote in after her injury. it showcases the most vulnerable and emotional side of cyra that she often keeps to herself.
─ picture frame. a photo of cyra and her parents at her first regional competition after she took home first place.

HISTORY

tw: racism

BEFORE. cyra was born to a working class family of three- the only child in a small apartment in los angeles, california. from a very young cyra was taught to be both independent as well as to have tough skin from both of her parents. her father, marcus ashford, worked as a landscaper while her mother, lydia ashford, worked as a private chef. most of cyra's earliest memories are of her having to walk herself to and from school as her parents both worked to late into the day to be able to pick her up themselves. the first time cyra ever learned that people of color were often looked down on during their time she had only been six years old and in the first grade. she had tried to befriend another little girl but she had been turned away, the young girl proclaiming that "my daddy says that i can't be friends with coloreds". she ran home that day, her father was the one who found her crying under her covers. when he asked her what was wrong cyra told him the truth and that night marcus had to sit cyra down and tell her the truth about the world. how no matter how smart, or talented she was there would always be people who judged her by the color of her skin instead of from the person that she was. it was a hard pill for someone so young to swallow but from that day on cyra vowed to herself that she would never let someone make her feel lesser than just because she was a black girl.

cyra carried this mentality with her for the rest of her life. no matter what she did she always held her head high. when someone would try to make her feel inferior she would snap back at them. when someone said she wouldn't be good at something she'd turn around and do it just to spite them. she was seven years old when figure skating first caught her eye. cyra begged her parents for weeks to let her start, eventually wearing them down until they finally agreed. it wasn't easy on their pockets but the smile that lit up cyra's face was more than enough to justify the cost and the extra hours they would need to put in to make her dream a reality. the moment she first stepped onto the ice, it became cyra's passion, and by the time she was just eight years old, her natural talent was undeniable. she spent countless hours at the local ice rink, practicing until her legs ached and her breath ran short. her parents, seeing her potential, supported her dream by enrolling her in competitive skating programs, despite the financial strain and the subtle exclusion she faced for being one of the few black girls in the sport.

they enrolled her in lessons, and soon, cyra was spending every spare moment that she wasn't in school at the rink. her passion for figure skating was undeniable, and as she grew, so did her skills. by her teens, cyra was competing in regional competitions, outshining her peers and becoming a house hold name. by the time she was twenty one cyra even launched her own skates line, selling her own customized figure skates in select stores across the country.

however, despite her talent the path was never easy. as one of the few women of color athletes in the figure skating world, cyra faced persistent racism. judges were often harsher on her than on her white counterparts, and she was frequently despite her undeniable talent. but cyra never let it stop her. she wore every snub like armor, using each slight as fuel to push herself harder and prove she belonged in the sport.

in 1997, cyra stood on the cusp of achieving her lifelong dream: qualifying for the winter olympics. she had worked harder than ever, putting everything she had into preparing for the trials. when she took to the ice she felt as if her skates felt...different than they normal did but cyra didn't have the chance to check to see what was wrong with them as glided out. she was a sight to behold as she performed and it was as if the world fell away. every spin, every jump, was performed with precision and heart.

but in the middle of her final routine, as she launched into her signature triple axel, disaster struck. cyra landed awkwardly, and a sharp pain shot through her leg. she collapsed on the ice, clutching her knee in agonizing pain. her father- who was watching in the crowd along with her mother, rushed to her aid, carrying her off the ice to seek medical treatment. as she was being carried away cyra looked out into the audience where the other finalists were awaiting their turn to perform and she swore that she saw a smirk sitting on the painted lips of her biggest competitor rachel lennox. the diagnosis was devastating: a torn acl in her right leg, an injury that would take months, if not years, to fully recover from. just like that her olympic dream was over. cyra had never cried harder in her life than she did that day.

the injury forced cyra into early retirement, ending her career in the most heartbreaking way imaginable. the pain wasn’t just physical—the emotional toll of losing her shot at olympic glory felt like a stab to the heart for her. all her years of training, of making a name for herself, building her company from the ground up, and fighting for her space in the skating world despite the constant racism and prejudice she faced and this was how it all ended?

THE FOG. after her injury, cyra fell into a deep depression. the rink, once her sanctuary, became a painful reminder of what she had lost. she withdrew from those around her, even her parents, feeling like a part of her identity had been stolen. it had taken months for her knee to feel somewhat normal again though no matter how much it healed it would never be to the level it was before her injury. despite this a part of cyra still held on to the hope that maybe she'd be one of the lucky ones, that maybe with enough time she would be able to compete again. after all cyra had no idea who she was without skating.

most of her days had consisted of going to physical therapy and spending the rest of the time hiding away in her home. despite the fact that cyra essentially became a shell of her former self those around her still gave cyra their full fledged support. between her parents, friends, fans, and doctors everyone around cyra were rooting for her to make a full recovery. she'd get care packages, and fans would send her letters of encouragement. the one that finally brought cyra out of her funk and made her want to get her shit together was a letter from a little girl named dorothy who talked about how cyra was her biggest idle and how she wanted to grow to be a professional figure skater just like cyra was. the letter also included a smaller section written from dorothy's mother who told cyra how she was thankful that her daughter had another black girl to look up to and how she hoped that cyra would one day come back to continue inspiring other girls who looked up to her.

after that cyra stopped feeling sorry for herself. it took time and a lot of patience but months after her injury cyra got amazing news from her doctor. her knee was healing up perfectly. with enough time and tlc she would be back to how she was before the accident. cyra had nearly started crying in the doctor's office. his words still ring in her head. "you should be happy miss ashford. you're one of the lucky ones." cyra knew what he had meant. most athletes never fully recovered from an injury as grave as hers but she did, she would be able to continue doing what she loved to do.

news of her recovery filled any sports related outlet. her fans rejoiced in knowing they'd one day get to see her performing again and there was even talks that after training again that she'd be able to try for the next years winter olympics.

everything in her life seemed to be going great again until of course it wasn't.

cyra was training by herself when the entity came for her. per her doctor's instructions she still wasn't pushing herself to hard and after the traumatic way she'd fucked up her knee she was truthfully fine with just doing some simple laps around the rink to build her stamina back up. it was late at night and cyra had been the last one on the rink when she suddenly felt...strangely cold. a chill had washed over her, a chill the rink had never given her no matter how cold. was her body just not use to the cold skating brought the body after being away from so long? the answer was a resounding no. even as a child the rink had never made her feel this cold.

deciding that it was probably just time for her to call it quits for the night cyra left the rink, packing her things up and changing her skates out for the pair of sneakers she'd brought with her. just as she was about to grab her bag to leave a noticeable light caught her eye. she turned her head to see that the double doors leading to the exit were suddenly open and the light was turned on. cyra knew that she should have been the only person in the building aside from probably the janitor so who turned the light on? now cyra was thoroughly creeped out. she moved to stand rubbing at her knee as she did so.

a loud slamming noise caused her to jump turning to see that the doors that once been wide open closed once again. what the fuck? she thought snatching up her bag. she needed to get the hell out of here. she jogged to the other only exit the building had but when she tugged on the door to open it the metal wouldn't budge. she stood there in shock before tugging once more but still the door wouldn't budge. what the heck was going on? surely the janitor hadn't locked the door, the rink was still open for at least another hour.
cyra stood there, patience waning, furiously pulling on the door harder and harder. as she did so she didn't even take notice to the fog that began trickling in from under the door until it was to late.

NOW. cyra found herself laid out against a cold, damp forest floor. before her eyes could even open she heard voices, voices she didn't recognize and the distinct smell of smoke filled her nostrils. cyra's eyes flew open in a panic and she looked around trying to get a hold of her surroundings. where the hell was she? as she took in the camp fire and the multiple tents in her general vicinity she could only assume that she was at a camp site but why? why was she here, who had brought her here? cyra didn't know which question freaked her out more.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2023

FULL NAME. zoe west
D.O.B. june 1st, 1999
P.O.B. melbourne, australia
GENDER. nonbinary, she/they
SEXUALITY. pansexual

OCCUPATION. freelance photographer
SKILLS. how will their skills translate into the role of choice.
ROLE. repressed alliance

visage.

DESCRIPTION. zoe is a young beauty with a captivating yet easy going presence. their skin is a smooth, warm brown that tans easily under the heat of the australian sun, and has an effortless radiance that catches the light and enhances the depth of their features. her eyes are a rich, vibrant, deep brown, large and expressive, often reflecting her curiosity and intelligence. they are framed by naturally thick, dark lashes, adding intensity to their gaze maintaining a sense of openness while having the ability to convey a wide range of emotions with just a glance. her eyebrows are naturally arched and thick, giving her heart shaped face a subtle defined structure that compliments the soft contours of her cheeks and the gentle curve of her jawline.

her lips are full and well-defined, often glossed with a subtle sheen that highlights her natural appearance. when zoe smiles, it’s with a warmth and sincerity that lights up their entire face, making her seem approachable and kind. their smile, combined with her gentle, yet confident demeanor, has a way of putting those around her at ease. zoe is also incapable of smiling without showing all of her teeth, something that used to be an insecurity when zoe was a child but instead is now something she has come to accept and appreciate.

zoe's figure is petite and curvy with soft planes and smooth skin. outside from working out occasionally zoe was never one to be extremely active and that shows in the fact that there is hardly any muscle definition in any parts of her body.

her head is full of bouncy, dark brown, natural curls, full of texture and volume. often styled in a way that embraces its natural state, zoe's hair always frames her face perfectly. whether she wears it in long braids, soft curls, or a short, curly afro, their hair adds to their distinctive look. the way she changes her hairstyle reflects their versatile personality, always highlighting her individuality and connection to her roots. frequently styled away in a protective manner zoe has always taken great care of her hair and they love to experiment with different looks and styles, whether that's leaving her hair out naturally, cutting it, growing it out, or dying it zoe has always been a firm believer that it's 'just hair' and will grow back one way or another. currently her natural hair is cut above her shoulders with it being styled into braids. the front braids are cut into a bob while the back are longer and reach her waist in length.

ATTIRE.
zoe’s clothing style perfectly reflects her artistic spirit and grunge aesthetic, blending creativity with a laid-back, edgy vibe. her wardrobe is a mix of vintage thrift finds and modern streetwear. she’s often seen wearing oversized flannel shirts or distressed denim jackets layered over graphic band tees or tank tops, giving her outfits a worn-in, distinctive cool look. their love for vintage clothing shines through in her choice of faded, ripped jeans or wide-legged trousers, often paired with chunky boots like dr. martens or converse high-tops, adding a tough, rebellious edge to their ensemble.

zoe gravitates toward darker, muted colors—deep blacks, grays, dark greens, and purples—occasionally accented with bold prints or patches that showcase her love for music and art. she has a knack for accessorizing with layered silver necklaces, chunky rings, and a few mismatched earrings, giving her outfits an artistic, slightly disheveled charm. their photography lifestyle means their clothes need to be practical yet stylish. they often wear crossbody bags or vintage camera straps slung over their shoulder, holding all of her technical gear as well as other nick knacks she likes to carry around with her on a day to day basis. on cooler melbourne days, zoe will also occasionally throw on a beanie or add a thicker sweater or jacket to her outfits.

they keep their makeup minimal, usually focusing on smoky eyeliner or eyeshadow for a subtle but striking contrast to her otherwise laid-back outfits. her style is a reflection of both her grunge roots and her artistic sensibility, blending practicality with a distinct flair that’s all their own. whether she’s out on a photoshoot or meeting friends in one of her cities many artsy cafés, zoe’s clothing always expresses her creativity, individuality, and deep connection to the art and music that inspire her.

FACE CLAIM. amandla stenberg

LIKES.
─ list up to five likes.

DISLIKES.

─ list up to five dislikes.

HOBBIES.

─ did they have hobbies before?

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ three strengths and weaknesses that would benefit or hinder them in a trial. example: (+) stamina: elaborate. (-) loud: elaborate.

FEAR.

─ the entity likely picked up on this when they got close to the fog, what are they most afraid of?

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

abc's

BELONGINGS. to be used as clues: this rp will include a mystery element. please list out at least five belongings that your survivor would own to be found in rp for lore purposes? example: a family photo (elaborate on the importance, doesn't have to be more than a sentence)

HISTORY

BEFORE. what was their childhood and background like growing up?

THE FOG. what were they doing, where were they, when they stumbled upon a corrupted area and were taken by the fog?

NOW. the trials have not started, they have only just been taken by the entity where the rp will start off - but how would they react and feel to this new life of theirs?
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2014

FULL NAME. penelope “penny” louise marshall
D.O.B. december 14th, 1996
P.O.B. toronto, canada
GENDER. cisgender female, she/her
SEXUALITY. heterosexual

ALIAS. the queen that never was
ROLE. save the best for last
SPECIES. human (? subject to change)

visage.

DESCRIPTION. penny has a distinct and striking presence. her skin is pale, with a smooth, porcelain-like complexion that contrasts sharply with her dark, wavy hair. the waves fall past her shoulders and land towards the middle of her back, often left loose or casually tucked behind her ears, giving penny a laid-back, carefree appearance as she does her best to not seem as if she's trying to hard.

her eyes are a bottomless pit of dark brown, so brown that in most lighting they look like black voids. her eyes are constantly reflective, often carrying a thoughtful or brooding expression whenever penny is alone. framed by thick lashes and arched brows, her gaze feels introspective, as though she’s constantly observing the world around her. her facial features are soft but well-defined, with high cheekbones and a slightly angular jawline. her father always said that her only redeeming feature was her face as penny was the spitting image of her late mother, though unlike her mother penny's face still clings to the baby fat that she never grew old enough to shed.

her overall demeanor is calm and somewhat reserved, but there's an undeniable depth in her appearance. whether she’s standing in the background or walking through a room, there’s a quiet, almost enigmatic quality to the way she moves and interacts with her surroundings.

ATTIRE. penny always loved to dress in whatever was seen as trendy at the time. as a popular eighteen-year-old, she was always ahead of the latest fashion trends, often blending comfort with bold, statement pieces. her wardrobe was a mix of streetwear, and y2k-inspired fashion. penny would sometimes even take fashion inspiration from whatever shows she liked at the time like 'vampire diaries' or 'pretty little liars'.

on a typical day, penny could be seen wearing high-waisted, wide-leg jeans or cargo pants paired with a cropped graphic tee or a fitted tank top, showing off her playful, carefree attitude. she loved bold patterns and vibrant colors, often sporting pastel or neon hues, along with tie-dye or retro prints. she had a love for layering her clothing which was evident in her frequent choice of oversized denim or leather jackets, adding a bit of edge to her more playful outfits. when it came to footwear, penny always gravitated toward chunky sneakers to give her added height. accessories were essential to penny’s look; she often wore layered necklaces, small hoop earrings, and trendy sunglasses, such as cat-eye or rectangular frames, to complete her outfits. she was also a fan of cute hair accessories like claw clips, scrunchies, and headbands that helped keep her hair in place.

when penny was snatched away by the entity she was wearing a floor length purple dress, adorned with heels, a corsage of white roses, and a faux fur throw. the dress has been torn to rest above her knees now as the previous length was inconvenient for her to hunt down survivors in and her corsage of white roses are now wilted and turned black, the once vibrant flowers now twisted and shriveled, the ribbon frayed. the heels have also been ditched, penny is now forced to walk around barefoot unless she finds a pair of more comfortable shoes to wear.

WEAPON. a bat filled with nails.

FACE CLAIM. mikey madison

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ ❤︎ social media. like most teenagers penny loves keeping up with the latest trends on platforms like, instagram, and twitter, and she thrives on the validation she receives from her online presence.
─ ❤︎ sweets. penny has a massive sweet tooth. anything that is sugary she'll probably eat it regardless of what it is or how unhealthy it is.
─ ❤︎ fashion. cute clothing was always penny's biggest weakness. she loved staying up to date on what was currently on trend and popular. of course there was also the added layer of wanting to stay relevant in her social circles.
─ ❤︎ pop music. while pop isn't the only type of music she likes to listen to it's definitely her favorite by far. her favorite artist, like a lot of teen girls in the early 2010s, was justin beiber.
─ ❤︎ drama tv shows. she’s obsessed with shows like gossip girl and pretty little liars.

DISLIKES.

─ ✗ criticism. negative feedback or being challenged is something she cannot tolerate well, as it disrupts her carefully crafted image.
─ ✗ winter. penny has never been a big fan of cold weather, ironic considering she's spent her entire life in canada where winters are known to sometimes be brutal.
─ ✗ being embarrassed. any situation that exposes her flaws or makes her look foolish is deeply uncomfortable for her, as it threatens her carefully crafted self-image.
─ ✗ her father. why would she like a man who had never shown her an ounce of love her entire life?
─ ✗ sour foods. she simply has a low tolerance towards anything sour. she hates the way it makes her face scrunch up and the tingly feeling it leaves on her tongue afterwards.

HOBBIES.

─ scrapbooking. penny has a creative side and enjoys making scrapbooks full of memories, magazine clippings, and designs, all meticulously arranged to document important milestones and moments in her life.
─ collecting perfume samples. she has a fascination with high-end perfumes and enjoys collecting samples from department stores, carefully choosing scents that reflect how she wants to be perceived. flirty, fun, and approachable.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) charismatic. penny has a natural charm that draws people in, making her easily likable and able to manipulate social situations to her advantage.
─ (+) persuasive. she knows how to convince others to see things her way, often using her charm and sharp tongue to sway opinions or get what she wants.
─ (+) observant. she’s excellent at noticing small details about people and situations, which helps her manipulate or strategize her next move effectively.

─ (-) insecure. beneath her confident exterior, penny struggles with deep insecurities, particularly around not living up to her father's impossible expectations, driving her to constant self-doubt and overcompensation.
─ (-) vindictive. penny holds grudges and can be incredibly spiteful, often letting her need for revenge cloud her judgment and drive her actions to unhealthy extremes.
─ (-) emotionally detached. often struggles with forming genuine emotional connections, often viewing relationships as tools for personal gain rather than meaningful bonds.

FEAR.

─ the fear of never being enough, of not living up to the impossible expectations placed on her by her father and society. deep down, penny is terrified of being seen as a disappointment, of being unworthy of love, admiration, or validation. her entire life has been driven by the desperate need to prove that she is perfect, but beneath that perfection lies the constant, gnawing dread that she is inadequate, that she will never escape the shadow of her mother or the critical eye of her father.

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. compare how they used to be (if they were once mortal) to how they are now, or how they were before the entity's influence if they've always been what they are now.

(+) charismatic. penny has a way of drawing people in, an effortless charm that made everyone want to be around her. it wasn’t just her looks or her style- though those helped, too, it was the way she made you feel when she spoke to you, like you were the only person in the room. she had this uncanny ability to make even the smallest conversation feel important, to make people feel seen. her laugh, her smile, the way she tilted her head just enough to let you know she was really listening, it was all perfectly calculated, but no one ever realized that. people wanted to be in her orbit, not because they loved her, but because being close to penny made them feel a little more special, a little more important. and that’s exactly how she liked it.
in trials her charisma would become a dangerous weapon. her natural charm would translate into a manipulative, predatory energy, allowing her to play with the minds of the survivors. much like she used to control her social circle, penny would have an unnerving presence on the battlefield, drawing survivors out of hiding or luring them into false senses of security. she'll toy with them, appearing as though she's not a threat, only to strike when they least expect it. her clones would echo this charisma, creating confusion among survivors, making it difficult for them to discern which "penny" is the real one. in moments of panic, she would use her charm to get inside their heads, forcing them to second-guess their every move, just like she manipulated her peers in her high school days.

(+) ambitious. never content with being just another face in the crowd. Her ambition burned deep, a fierce, unrelenting drive that made her stand apart. it wasn’t enough for her to be liked, she needed to be admired, envied even, the girl everyone looked up to and secretly wished they could be. every step she took was calculated, every decision weighed with her ultimate goal in mind: to be the best, the most popular, the one on top. failure wasn’t an option for penny, it haunted her, driving her harder, faster, toward perfection. her ambition was her shield, protecting her from the doubt and insecurity she buried deep inside. she didn’t just want to win- she had to win. and when obstacles got in her way, penny wasn’t afraid to do whatever it took to remove them. because in her world, if you weren’t number one, you were no one and penny had never been willing to be forgotten.
in trials just as she had done in life, she would stop at nothing to ensure victory, constantly seeking control and finding ways to exploit any weaknesses in the survivors' ranks. her drive to be the best would push her to hunt down survivors with an obsessive focus, never allowing them to slip from her grasp once she has them in her sights. each chase would be personal more than just a game, it would be a test of her superiority. her clones, mirroring her ambition, would be used strategically to corner survivors, block escape routes, or create confusion, allowing her to stay two steps ahead at all times. she wouldn't let any mistake go unpunished, turning every opportunity into an advantage.

(+) intelligent. penny was more than just a pretty face or the girl everyone admired- she was smart, and she knew it. beneath the perfect smile and flawless appearance was a sharp, calculating mind always working. she understood people in ways they didn’t even understand themselves, picking up on their insecurities, their desires, and using it all to her advantage. she could navigate social circles like a chessboard, always thinking several moves ahead, knowing exactly how to manipulate a situation to her favor. penny didn’t need to be loud or aggressive to get what she wanted; she was subtle, clever, planting seeds in people's minds and letting them grow until they were doing what she wanted without even realizing it. her intelligence wasn’t just academic, it was emotional, strategic, and utterly ruthless when it needed to be. every step she took, every word she spoke, was part of a larger plan, and penny never lost sight of the endgame.
in trials penny’s intelligence would make her a cunning and strategic killer, turning the battlefield into a game of psychological warfare. she won't just chase survivors blindly, she'll study their behavior, learn their patterns, and anticipate their every move. each step the survivors took would feel like they were playing directly into her hands, as penny would carefully place traps and use her clones to outsmart and disorient them. she’d predict which generators they’d target next, which pallets they’d rely on, and where they’d try to hide, always staying one step ahead.

(+) adaptable. life had taught her that, if she wanted to stay on top, she had to be able to shift and change with every challenge thrown her way. when her father’s demands weighed on her, she learned to mask her frustration with a smile and play the perfect daughter. at school, she molded herself into whatever her peers wanted to see- a trendsetter, a confidant, or a leader, constantly reinventing her image to maintain her grip on popularity. penny was never tied to one way of doing things; if a plan didn’t work, she would change tactics without hesitation. she's quick on her feet, able to assess a situation and adjust in the blink of an eye, turning potential setbacks into opportunities. for penny, success is about flexibility, about knowing when to push forward, when to pull back, and always staying ahead of the curve. no matter the situation, she's never out of options, because penny could always find a way to come out on top.
in trials penny's adaptability would make her an incredibly elusive and dangerous killer. her ability to quickly adjust to changing situations would allow her to continually surprise survivors, never letting them settle into a predictable rhythm. if a survivor is skilled at evading her initial strategies, penny would effortlessly shift her tactics, deploying her clones in new ways or altering her approach to keep the survivors on their toes.

(+) independent. from a young age, she learned to rely on herself, navigating her father’s harsh expectations and the turbulent social landscape of high school with a fierce sense of autonomy. unlike other kids and teens around her penny didn't have any parents to turn to when things got tough. she doesn't wait for anyone's approval or help, she likes to figure things out on her own and made her own rules. the last thing penny ever wants in life is to ever have someone else telling her how to live it.
in trials this fierce independence translates into a solitary, unstoppable force.

(-) manipulative. learning how to twist people’s perceptions and desires to her advantage, whether it was charming her way into the popular clique or convincing her father that she was living up to his impossible expectations, she had an uncanny ability to read people. understanding their insecurities and weaknesses, and using that insight to shape their actions to fit her plans is like second nature for her. penny’s words are always carefully chosen, her gestures precisely calculated, all designed to influence and control those around her. she is capable of changing how she acts and behaves depending on who it is she is speaking to or around.
in trials penny’s manipulative nature becomes a chilling advantage. she'll use her ability to deceive and control to create chaos among the survivors. by playing mind games, planting seeds of doubt, and subtly directing their actions, penny would make them second-guess themselves and their decisions.

(-) obsessive. she fixates on her goals with an all-encompassing intensity. she didn't just want to achieve, she needs to. her desire for control and validation is so overpowering that it leaves no room for anything else. every detail is scrutinized, every setback magnified, and every obstacle seen as a personal affront. her desire for control and validation was so overpowering that it left no room for anything else. every detail was scrutinized, every setback magnified, and every obstacle seen as a personal affront. penny’s obsession drove her to push past boundaries, to break rules, and to eliminate anyone who stood in her way, because for her, anything less than complete success was simply unacceptable. her fixation was her strength and her curse, a force that both fueled her ambition and set her on a path of relentless, destructive pursuit.
in trials being in the entity's grasp has only made penny more obsessive than she previously was. her obsession with winning and proving her superiority would mean that she never gives up, no matter how much the survivors struggle or adapt. she will even focus her sights on one particularly survivor, one she wants to savor and save for last out of anyone else.

(-) arrogant. a constant and unwavering presence that colored every interaction and decision. she walked through life with a sense of entitlement, believing that she was inherently superior to those around her. her confidence wasn’t just a shield, it was a blinding force that made her dismissive of anyone she deemed less worthy(she's her father's daughter lmao). she reveled in her own reflection, convinced that her charm, intelligence, and beauty made her untouchable. to penny, anyone who questioned her or stood in her way was simply a fool to be dealt with, a mere inconvenience to her grand plans. Her arrogance wasn’t just a personality trait; it was her armor, her weapon, and the reason she felt so justified in her relentless pursuit of perfection.
in trials penny’s arrogance will make her a dangerously overconfident killer, driven by the fact that she's already killed multiple times before. she would approach each match with a sense of superiority, convinced that no survivor could outsmart or outmaneuver her. this overconfidence would drive her to take risks and make bold moves, believing that her charm and intelligence made her invincible. she might underestimate her opponents, seeing their attempts to escape or fight back as insignificant and laughable.

(-) vindictive. if anyone crossed her or threatened her goals, she harbored grudges with a fierceness that simmered just below the surface. the smallest slight or perceived injustice was enough to ignite a deep, seething desire for revenge. to penny, retaliation wasn’t just about settling scores, it was about making sure her adversaries felt every ounce of pain she’d endured. her vindictiveness was personal, each act of revenge a way to reclaim her sense of control and assert her superiority. she would meticulously plan her payback, turning every slight into a chance to demonstrate her power and remind others why crossing her was a mistake they would deeply regret. of course, she always made sure that her retaliation could never be traced back to her. after all, she was sweet ol' pen in the eyes of those around her, how could she ever be cruel?
in trials she’ll go out of her way to ensure that survivors suffer, crafting elaborate and cruel traps that reflect her need to inflict pain. her tactics would be designed not just to catch but to torment, turning every moment of their struggle into a personal vendetta.

(-) deceitful. a masterclass in manipulation and illusion, always at the core of her interactions and schemes. she had a knack for bending the truth and twisting reality to serve her own ends, all while maintaining a facade of charm and innocence. to her, lies were just tools, tools to create the perfect image, to sidestep consequences, or to mislead anyone who might uncover her true intentions. her words were laced with subtle misdirections, and her actions were carefully crafted to keep others guessing. penny thrived on deception, using it to control situations and people around her with a cold precision. behind every smile and seemingly honest gesture, there was always an underlying agenda, a calculated move designed to ensure that she remained one step ahead and always in control.
in trials her deceitfulness means she can create elaborate illusions of safety or fabricate scenarios that force survivors into making critical mistakes.

abc's

POWER.
cloning: penny can create up to three spectral clones of herself that roam the map, confusing survivors and making it difficult for them to determine her true location. these clones are shadowy, distorted versions of penny, flickering in and out of existence. they mimic her actions, but cannot cause direct harm. however, they can hinder survivors by creating the illusion of being chased or cornered. getting to close, or interacting with a clone, will caused the clone to let out a loud shriek before vanishing into the darkness, temporarily blurring the survivors vision and giving penny valuable time to catch up. penny is also able to switch places with one of her three clones at any given time, confusing survivors even more once they realize that the shadowy figure that before caused no harm now has returned to the blood thirsty killer they were created by.

THE MORI.

dance of despair: the queen that never was will approach the downed survivor, forcing them to their feet as if she's inviting them to a dance. a soft, eerie prom song will then begin to play in the distance, echoing from nowhere. she will then begin to swing the survivor around violently, dragging them in a grotesque mockery of a slow dance- a dance penny herself never got the chance to participate on her on prom night. once the dance is finished and the survivor is left dazed and weak in her arms she will call upon her clones. the clones will then converge on the survivor, grabbing and pulling at them. as they tear the survivor apart, she will slowly back away, twirling one more time in her bloody prom dress. the clones will then vanish, leaving behind the mangled body of the survivor as she walks away, humming along to the eerie prom tune.

BELONGINGS.

cracked prom queen tiara: a glittering tiara with missing rhinestones and a few cracks running through the delicate metal. once the crown penny dreamt of wearing as prom queen, it now serves as a haunting reminder of the fact that all she worked for, all the people that she killed to obtain it were all for nothing as she never even got to claim the crown that night.
a vial of poison: a poison that penny had planned to use on her father the night of her prom. the goal had been to slip it into his late night medication to make it appear as if he passed away in his sleep while penny was away enjoying her prom. thanks to the entity penny never even got to use it.
photo of a child with their father: a photo of penny with her father when she looks to be around ten years old. their is no warmth in the picture. neither penny or her father are smiling and his hand is placed on to her shoulder in an iron clad grip.
prom ballot: a list of all the girls who were nominated to be prom queen in penny's senior year of high school. each girl died of 'mysterious' circumstances. on the list every girl's name is crossed out with a red marker.
police report: a report signifying penny's first victims madison death as a accident.
a pair of figure skates: penny's skates from the short period of time she had been forced into being a figure skater by her father, the brand being from cyra ashford's brand- a company that her parents had continued on in her honor after her disappearance years ago. ironically, even though it had initially been against her will penny had enjoyed skating. it was fun and almost freeing in a symbolic way, it had made her even feel close to her mom. eventually though penny was pulled out of it by her father. penny wasn't a natural talent and it was clear that she would never be as great as her mother had once been.

HISTORY

tw: parental abuse, murder
BEFORE. a young girl born into a world of expectations and grief. her mother, rachel marshall, a renowned figure skater and the light of her father, xavier marshall's, life, died while giving birth to penny, leaving behind not only a legacy but a shadow that penny could never escape. from the moment she took her first breath, her father saw her not as his daughter but as the reason his wife was gone. he wasn’t just indifferent towards penny he actively resented her, and in his mind, she would never be more than the pale ghost and a constant reminder of the woman he had lost.

richard's resentment, though unspoken, was ever-present throughout penelope's life. he channeled it into an impossible demand: if he could no longer have his wife than he'd make sure penny made something of herself to live up to rachel's legacy. she had to be graceful, perfect, a star. at five penny was forced into figure skating, her father making her wear her mother’s old costumes and practicing tirelessly in the hopes that it would somehow appease him. but no matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she wanted to please him, she could never live up to the memory of the woman who had died to give her life. it was disheartening. despite the way her father treated her penny only ever wanted him to love her the same way all other girls dads loved them. what was so wrong with her? did she not deserve to be loved?

despite the effort penny put into skating and practice she didn't have the same natural talent her mother once had which infuriated her xavier to no end. when her father finally pulled her out of skating, calling it a "waste of time," penny felt something inside her fracture. it wasn’t just that she had failed at the one thing that connected her to her mother it was that she wasn’t enough for him. she might not have been the best at skating but penny had truly enjoyed it and it hurt to have something that had once been important to her ripped away. that day penny decided that she would prove her father wrong, the rejection fueled her desire to be perfect in other ways, to become someone everyone adored, even if it was never enough for her father.

as the years went on at school, penny became obsessed with being popular. over time she became the girl everyone wanted to be: flawless on the outside, and admired by all. but on the inside penny was driven by a gnawing insecurity that came from years of never being good enough. by her senior year, she had managed to craft the perfect image. she was the queen bee, the girl at the top of the social ladder, and the inevitable winner of the prom queen crown. that crown was everything. it symbolized not just popularity, but proof that she could be perfect that she could be worthy.

then, everything began to unravel.

just weeks before prom, a girl in penny's class named emily was in a horrific car accident. though emily survived, she was left with scars, both physical and emotional. before penny could fully grasp what was happening the school began being flooded with posters nominating emily for prom queen, turning her from an afterthought into a serious contender for prom queen. people felt sorry for her, rallied behind emily's story of survival. to penny, it was the worst kind of betrayal. emily didn’t deserve that crown. penny had worked for years, sacrificed so much, crafted the perfect social image so that others would love her, while emily had done nothing but get hurt. it felt like her rightful victory was being stolen from her out of pity. it wasn't fair.

her father made the situation hurt even worse. his disapproving voice echoed in her mind daily, reminding her that winning prom queen was the ultimate validation. "you need to win, penny," he’d say, standing in her room staring down at her with a look of disappointment. "do you want to be a loser, like her? you’re better than that penelope. you have to show them. i know you won't disappoint me and your mom." every word drove her deeper into obsession, deeper into fear. losing wasn’t just about a crown anymore—it was about proving she wasn’t a failure.

"i wont dad."

after that penny was hyper focused on winning prom queen. it was all that she could think of, all that she saw when she closed her eyes to sleep at night. she pushed away her friends, pushed away anyone who tried to ask her what was wrong with her. all she needed was to ensure her win and then everything could go back to normal. her friends would understand right? after all you could only be voted prom queen once she had the rest of her life to focus on her friendships.

however no matter how hard penny tried to fight for votes emily still had a hold on the lead.

her sanity felt like it was being held onto by a singular thread, a thread that was slowly beginning to unravel. her social life was declining, her grades were slipping, all the work she was putting in and it still wasn't enough. and then one night, as the pressure mounted and her fear of losing consumed her, penny snapped. she was alone in the school dressing room after a prom committee rehearsal. it was late, and most students had already gone home, except for two: penny and madison, another girl in the running for prom queen. madison had always been in the background as she honestly wasn't even that popular, a non-threat to penny's crown, but that night, while trying to make small talk madison made an offhand comment about penny possibly losing to emily. something about how “it’s just a crown” and “it wouldn't be the end of the would if we both lose, you know?” something meant to be harmless banter became the cause of madison's demise. penny snapped. rage blinded her, it was as if every word her father had ever said, every ounce of pressure, every image of her mother’s perfect, untouchable figure consumed penny's entire being.

she attacked madison. it wasn’t premeditated. it wasn’t planned. it just happened. the struggle was over in minutes after penny gave madison a particular had shove, one that caused her to fall and hit her head fatally on the sharp edge of a table, and when penny looked down at madison’s lifeless body, she felt a strange, hollow calm. it was like a storm had finally passed. like a weight had lifted off of her shoulders. with madison gone it just meant that there was one less person in the running for prom queen.

the panic came soon after once the adrenaline in her veins began to dissipate. madison was dead. she had just killed someone. what was she going to do?

then an idea entered her mind. there were no camera's in the school gym. she could make it seem as if it was an accident. and that was exactly what penny did. she dragged one of the decorations close to madison's body as well as a tall ladder, making it appear as if madison had climbed the ladder trying to hang something on the wall when she tripped and fell, hitting her head on the table and ultimately dying in the process. afterwards penny called the police, putting on a convincing act of a traumatized girl who had just witnessed her classmate fall to her death.

the aftermath felt like a blur. the police and the ambulance came, they asked penny questions about what happened and she stuck to her story claiming that she and madison had stuck around after everyone left and that madison had climbed up a ladder while carrying one of the hanging decor items for the dance and that while trying to hang it madison slipped and feel backwards and hit her head on the table. with no proof to claim otherwise, and no reason to blame penny who had never gotten in trouble before and who everyone had nothing but good things to say about madison's death was ruled as a tragic accident.

THE SHIFT. she had gotten away with it. no one had seen. no one knew. the story was written off as a tragic accident and penny was painted as a victim. it seemed like her popularity at school even seemed to grow as people rallied around here to check that she was handling herself well after the 'incident'.

after initial guilt and shock wore off penny felt as if she was experiencing an all time high. a part of her couldn't believe that she had actually gotten away with murder. it was like the universe was telling her that she had been justified in what she did.

from that moment forward, something shifted inside penny. she had crossed a line, and instead of being consumed by guilt, she felt...empowered. she could get away with this- she had gotten away with it. she deserved to win, after all, didn’t she? of course she did otherwise she would have been caught and behind bars by now. being crowned prom queen was her right, and no one, no one, had the right to take it from her. not emily. not anyone. and so, with the cold calculation of someone who had snapped under years of pressure, she began eliminating her competition one by one.

each girl that stood in her way met a tragic, untimely fate. a “car accident,” a “fall,” a “freak incident”, each death explained away by chance or misfortune, while penny continued her ascent to the throne. the weight of her father’s expectations no longer crushed her. if anything, it fueled her. the more she eliminated her rivals, the more powerful she felt. and the closer she came to that crown, the more she realized that she didn’t just want it, she needed it. at this point it wasn’t about being popular anymore, it was about survival. about proving to the world, and especially to her father, that she was worth something.

but as the day of prom approached, penny’s hatred had one final target: her father. he had been the source of her torment, the voice in her head that pushed her to madness, and as the weeks passed she realized that winning prom queen wouldn’t be enough. no, she needed to be free from him once and for all. she was eighteen now, she didn't a parent anymore especially not one like him. her father would be her last victim, she decided one day. this all started because of him so it would end with him.

penny had quietly acquired a vial of undetectable poison something strong, lethal, and capable of ensuring her father’s death would look like natural causes. she'd put it in his nightly drink and while she was dancing her heart away, and being crowned at her prom her father would be in his bed dead, looking as if he died in his sleep.

that night, she stood in front of the mirror, perfecting her prom look: a stunning dress, flawless makeup, the picture of a queen. the vial of poison sat quietly in her clutch, ready for the final act. as she was doing the finishing touches of her makeup, her father’s voice echoed from the other room, taunting her even then, making one last comment about how she “better win” or “it’ll all have been for nothing.”

he came into her room then watching penny as she sat her vanity. he came and placed his hands on to her shoulders, giving them a firm almost painful squeeze. their eyes met in the mirror. "look at you," he sighed and penny's shoulders tightened for the criticism she believed was to come. "you look just like your mother, penelope. i know you won't disappoint either of us tonight."

a smile graced penny's painted lips, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. she stared him down through the mirror her eyes appearing like voids as she opened her mouth to speak. "of course i won't."

with a nod her father turned away from her. penny watched as he did, her smile immediately dropping as soon as his back was turned. "dad?" she called before he could leave her room. "it's getting late. let me bring you your tea before i leave."

with trembling hands, she stood in their kitchen, pouring the poison into his tea. she was ready to find him dead, ready to finally take control of her own fate. penny looked on with cold, unfeeling eyes as the poison mixed into the drink. in just a few short hours she would be freed. she'd come home after being crowned prom queen, 'find' her father asleep in his bed, and tomorrow morning when she'd wake and realize that he was still 'sleeping', penny would go to bring him breakfast only to realize that he wouldn't wake. she'd call the police, play the part of the distressed daughter who was now an orphan with both of her parents dead. she'd take his life insurance, sell the house, move far away, and put this entire chapter of her life behind her.

at least that had been the plan.

as penny turned, ready to ascend the stairs leading to her father's room the room grew cold, and the world around her seemed to shift. a shadow fell over her, and in the reflection of a mirror that hung near their star case penny swore that she could see a eerie figure standing just behind her.

before she could react, the world went dark.

NOW. the entity had been watching her all along. it had seen the depths of her ambition, the lengths she was willing to go, her willingness to kill for her goals. in the moment when she was on the cusp of her ultimate victory, her revenge against her father, her prom queen crown the Entity took her. penny never got to see her father drink the poison, never got to walk across that stage in her perfect dress. never got to be crowned. instead, she was dragged into the entity’s realm, her life unfinished, her vengeance unfulfilled. now penny is forced to look around her realm, a cruel, dark replica of her school, her home in the back lot. it was taunting her. penny had been forced to play a part under her father's thumb, and now she was being forced to do so again now for whatever had forced her here.

.sol. · Aug 19, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2002

FULL NAME. catalina mendez
D.O.B. february 5th, 1976
P.O.B. san diego, california
GENDER. nonbinary | they/she
SEXUALITY. panromantic asexual

OCCUPATION. chemist
SKILLS. quick witted, persistent, willingness to try, loves a good game, finds joy + comfort in the little things, tinkering.
ROLE. built to last

visage.

DESCRIPTION. in normal circumstances, catalina is meticulous about their appearance. her thick, dark hair is naturally wavy and falls to the middle of her back. they enjoy trying out a variety of styles but more often than not wear it half-up. when they're at work, she'll put it into a bun so that stray hairs won't fall into her field of vision. they have deep brown eyes that give away how they’re feeling even when they try to keep a neutral expression. they stand at a height of 5’5 and have developed a strong, sturdy build from consistently exercising. their naturally warm bronze skin soaks up the sunlight whenever they go on outdoor adventures.

her left nostril and septum are pierced, adorned with simple silver hoop jewelry. she wanted to eventually get her right nostril pierced as well, preferring to keep things symmetrical. unfortunately, they weren’t able to have it done before their untimely disappearance into the fog. when she doesn’t choose to cover them, a multitude of tattoos can be noticed on her body.

ATTIRE. the outfits that catalina wore during their free time varied greatly, but they tended to lean toward trends that were more popular in the 80s. they loved incorporating pops of color into her looks, whether it be with clothes or makeup. when on the clock, she stuck with items that were comfy underneath her lab coat and strayed away from extra jewelry. it was an unfortunate but necessary trade off; if anything got contaminated by chemicals by accident, it’d be gone. on the day they were taken by the entity, their clothing consisted of their lab coat, a lavender polo shirt tucked into stone washed high waisted jeans, and white sneakers.

FACE CLAIM. lizeth selene

LIKES.
─ thunderstorms. they drown out the noise of everything else. they used to cozy up in the bay window area of her home to watch lightning flash in the distance, occasionally being able to fall asleep due to the sense of calmness they brought.
─ folktales. they’ve been a sucker for these since she was a kid, and their appreciation has only grown as they’ve gotten older.
─ honeysuckle. bittersweet memories of warm summer days flood their mind whenever they catch sight of their vibrant petals. they’ve tried to grow them in the past, but (much to their dismay) they aren't great at keeping plants alive.
─ puzzles. when they still lived with their family, they hung out with their younger brother in her room and completed puzzles together. she has the ones they finished framed on her walls and prefers to do them alone as a quiet past time now.
─ collecting knickknacks. seaglass, rocks, and bottle caps galore. if she sees an object she thinks is cool or wants to learn more about, she’s bound to pick it up and put it in her pocket or bag. they give their friends the ones that remind her of them.

DISLIKES.

─ doctors. negative experiences in medical facilities have made them more than disdainful of healthcare professionals. they thought it’d be perfect if they could never step foot into a doctor’s office or hospital again.
─ nicknames. they hate whenever people try to shorten their name (especially without permission) because it feels like a disservice.
─ crowds. getting caught in the middle of large groups of people is one of the most anxiety provoking things for them. it’s slightly less daunting when it happens outdoors; otherwise, it gets way too complicated to make it to building exits during an emergency.
─ being rushed. she can get extremely passive aggressive when pressed to do things faster without a proper reason.
─ strong smells. headaches, nausea, you name it; they all affect her after a while of breathing in harsh odors.

HOBBIES.

─ surfing. beach trips were a staple outing throughout their childhood. catalina used to watch surfers cruise over waves in awe, always wanting to try it out for themselves but unsure on how to start. she finally signed up for lessons in college and slowly got better at not wiping out. they like to claim that they’re a pro now.
─ playing the drums. even before they got their first set of drumsticks, they could usually be heard tapping some sort of beat on whatever surface was in front of them. playing this instrument came naturally, and it’s a great creative outlet for them.
─ tabletop RPGs. growing up in san diego didn’t shield them from the satanic panic that ran rampant in the 80s and 90s. their parents were strict and didn’t approve of things deemed ‘un-christian,’ but that just made them more curious about what the fuss was for. while some kids would sneak out to parties, catalina would do it to play dungeons and dragons with their friends. she expanded her hidden collection of these types of games as more of them came out, only taking a reluctant break when she no longer had the time to keep up with campaigns.
─ mixology. they worked as a bartender at night during their college years to keep herself afloat. it was fun, lucrative, but also majorly overstimulating and restricted the creative freedom that they craved. after she quit, she turned drink making into a hobby to keep the skill set in their life.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) endurance. catalina is a fighter who can withstand tough circumstances for long periods. she considers fatigue a minor obstacle that can easily be ignored (but.. their body eventually says otherwise. the aches and pains that come after they accidentally fall asleep at their desk are no joke).
(+) balance. years of surfing have vastly improved their balance. they typically move with grace and can quickly recover from infrequent stumbles.
(+) efficiency. they waste no time when doing tasks. if they’re initially unprepared or something goes wrong midway, they’ll put in more effort to compensate so that the final product is remarkable.

(-) disorganized. catalina has never been great at keeping track of where they leave their items. one moment, they’d be chugging along at work with a beaker in hand. then, they’d place it on the table to go check on something else. when they’d come back? BOOM. nowhere in sight. it was like it vanished into thin air. her mother used to poke fun of her by saying they would lose their head if it wasn’t attached to their neck.
(-) oblivious. when completing activities that interest them, their attention can’t be swayed and they become unaware of their surroundings as well as the time spent doing them.
(-) squeamish. queasiness overwhelms their stomach at the sight of blood and gore. they have to ground themselves during these occasions, or else dizziness will take over.

FEAR.

─ being taken advantage of.

PSY.

(+) daring. catalina is no stranger to risk taking. after all, how could they resist the thrill? they have no problem with taking the lead and are usually the one to jump headfirst into situations that many would be discouraged from. if other survivors hesitate, she’ll notice and step in for them instead of casting judgment. it’ll also be tough for killers to sway them in a trial. in fact, they might even try to strike fear in their opponents when given the chance.

(+) ingenious. ever since they were a kid, they’ve been inquisitive and have sought to understand how the world works. she loves to experiment to test out different theories that pop into her head, easily over excited by the possibility of discovering something new. she’s clever and great at problem solving, especially when she’s under pressure. when it comes to mechanical objects, they can spend hours at their desk taking the pieces apart to figure out why they function the way they do. they’ll use this to their advantage to identify a killer’s weaknesses during a trial. rest assured, they’ll have fun tailoring their traps to hit them where it hurts.

(+) upbeat. they have an easygoing temperament and try their best to stay positive, letting most things roll off their back. sometimes, it can be difficult to keep up with their seemingly boundless energy. they adore goofing around with those they’re closest to and can be counted on to liven things up a bit. she’ll aim to keep things on the lighter side when morale gets low. if another survivor needs a distraction or laugh, they’ll commit to making it happen. if all they need is comfort, she’s fine with providing that too.

(=) selfless. catalina is highly in tune with and prioritizes the needs of other people. if someone is struggling, she’ll go out of her way to assist them. this can be to their detriment though because she fixates on problems until she feels like they’re ‘solved.’ in turn, they can neglect themselves and face burn out. once they get their bearings in this new reality, they’ll be willing to aid the other survivors without question even if they might not trust them at first. broke an object? confused about a topic? in danger during a trial? they’ve got you covered.

(-) hubris. their excessive pride in their abilities often leads to them overestimating how much they can handle, but they struggle to admit when they’ve gotten to that point. without realizing how clouded their judgment can be, they’re usually highly dismissive of advice that comes their way. this could potentially lead to frustrations within the survivor group because they will actively ignore instructions or tweak plans without communicating if they come up with a solution that makes more sense to them. additionally, she could overwhelm herself by taking responsibility for too many things at once.

(-) reckless. they have a habit of not considering the consequences of their actions. as a result, they’ve unintentionally gotten themselves into plenty of sticky situations in the past. they somewhat naively believe that even if things go wrong, it’ll still work out in the end as long as they keep pushing through. in reality, this is not always the case, and it leads to them falling further down the rabbit hole. catalina could accidentally throw a trial or put herself / others in danger if she doesn’t proceed with caution. killers could benefit from this as long as they stay a couple steps ahead of them in their trap making + setting process.

(-) distrusting. catalina believes that it’s safer to keep new people at an emotional distance until she has a good grasp on their character. they doubt everyone’s intentions, which makes forming relationships... complicated (to say the least). instead of approaching the other survivors first, they’ll be reserved and prefer to people watch unless she’s needed. it’ll take some time before they allow themselves to accept or ask for the same help they so willingly give from possible allies.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
─ safety eye glasses. of course an accident still managed to happen. they're just lucky like that.
─ felt pouch containing a set of D&D dice. tried and true, the first dice they ever collected. the numbers have needed to be refilled for a long time. some red crayon residue still remains in their etchings.
─ drumsticks wrapped with electric blue grip tape. practice makes perfect.
─ stopwatch. the glass is cracked. it helps to keep track of time… when they actually remember to use it.
─ tiny wooden sea lion. the last thing her father made for her before they left to college. once rough edges have been worn down by years of smoothing their fingers over its surface.
─ almost empty matchbook. J.S. is written in sharpie on the back.

HISTORY

BEFORE. catalina was born on a sunny winter day in san diego, california. their household was never perfect, but it had originally been decent. she was the center of their parents’ lives for six years until their brother was born. they weren’t exactly keen on sharing the attention with him, but extra toys appeased them for a little bit. though, it clicked as they got older that the gifts were being used to replace necessary affection and deserved apologies. after a while, those trickled to a stop too.

money got even tighter when their mother was laid off from her job, and their parents could never agree on how to manage their new budget. at first, arguments between them were kept behind closed doors during the nighttime. as stress built up, they began breaking out around the house over little things in the day. if it ever got too loud, catalina and their brother would wait it out in her room. they used their shabby portable radio to play music in the background while they distracted themselves with puzzles and different games.

sometimes, catalina found themselves in the middle of it all trying to soothe tension, be a mediator, play any role that could help. she listened in car rides as they dumped their complaints about one another onto her, feeling stuck when they wanted her to agree or pitch in. they always thanked them for being there, but neither of them acknowledged the stress it caused. she was still just a kid, and they were still their parents.

disappointingly, their relationship continued to be rocky even after their financial situation improved. words of vitriol could be forgiven, but they were never forgotten. catalina and their brother remained on edge throughout the years; they always dreaded the possibility of the next hitch leading to their divorce. despite the odds, they stood together through everything.

catalina was determined to go to college when the time came, but it was impossible not to feel alone in the decision. while their parents tried to understand her reasons, their weariness about them leaving home wasn’t subtle. they also weren’t sure how to help; neither of them had personal experience with applying for schools or federal financial aid. catalina heavily relied on their community center’s college readiness program to get through it.

they screamed when that first acceptance letter came in. she was ecstatic, but… guilt sliced through her at the same time. now that it was real, like really real, they felt selfish for having the opportunity. they worried about how their brother would fare in their house without her; whether their parents’ fighting would escalate; if their father’s health would worsen further due to the stress. she had no idea what to expect from the upcoming journey, but they knew failure wasn’t an option. she had to do this─no matter how hard it proved to be.

THE FOG. catalina eventually obtained their bachelor of science degree in chemistry and readily accepted a job offer that required relocation to los angeles, california. it was far from their family, but they felt like it was necessary for the time being. things hadn't been the same between them since they came out, and san diego was filled with too many memories she couldn't shake.

except, moving wasn't as alleviating as they thought it would be. the grief over losing complicated but close relationships was a beast for them to carry. staying busy could only do so much. they were at least able to grow around their circumstances over the years.

it was nearing the end of a long shift at work when the fog descended on catalina.

editing this section, please refer to their first post for other pieces while i rewrite it

NOW. adrenaline lingers in their system. she feels tense while looking around. they don’t understand where they are, how she got here, or who everyone is, but they’re going to dig to figure out this new reality one way or another.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1918

FULL NAME. nils rosell

D.O.B. august 22nd, 1890

P.O.B. london, england

GENDER. male | he/him

SEXUALITY. (closeted) homosexual

ALIAS. the conductor

ROLE. thanatophobia

SPECIES. human

visage.

DESCRIPTION. at 6’4, nils towered over most people he met in life. upon being brought into the entity’s realm, his skin became ghost-like. open wounds were sealed into raised scars, joining others that already littered his body. muscles were returned to him as a gift to create a large frame that would be a struggle to push back or knock down. blackened blood seeps from his tear ducts and drips toward the corners of his lips when he’s summoned by the entity. his eyelids, as well as his fingertips, will be stained from how he tries to wipe the mess away.

after a trial is deemed over, nils transforms to look similar to how he did during the early days of his military training. exhausted desperation permeates blue-green eyes that usually stare through his surroundings instead of at them. dark circles reveal how much he truly needs to rest. his hair is styled into an undercut; however, it’s messy from him refusing to slick it back anymore. his face is clean, but he doesn’t believe it. smiles are seldom seen.

as time goes on in this new reality, survivors and killers alike will be able to notice evidence of how the entity tortures nils into compliance.

ATTIRE. when nils is in his realm or exploring, he shirks the full uniform he was required to wear while on duty. he only remains in a tucked white t-shirt, military trousers held up by a black belt, and leather boots.

his outfit changes when he’s sent into a trial, turning into one that was typical of an orchestral conductor during the 1910s. though, each clothing item–from his tailcoat down to his coordinating formal trousers–is tattered. none of them seem to be specifically tailored to fit nils either, instead appearing to be slightly too big. black, bloody tears fall and taint his white bow tie and waistcoat.

before he was drafted, his daytime outfits consisted of three piece suits; knitwear paired with trousers; lace up dress boots and low oxford shoes; and headwear such as bowler hats and flat caps.

WEAPON. a violin bow. the hair is interchangeable with a thin, razor sharp blade.

FACE CLAIM. bill skarsgård

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ chocolate bars. his father used to scold him for liking sweets so much. in an attempt to scare him, he frequently warned nils that all of his teeth would rot and fall out if he kept eating the way he did. unfortunately, there was some truth to this; extra sugar did not exactly pair well with the poor dental hygiene that was common at the time. even so, chocolate flavored treats remained a favorite of his. they may have been rare during the last two years of his life, but they still brought him comfort whenever he found them in his rations.
─ puns. it can be difficult to get nils out of the darkness of his own head, but puns are a sure-fire way to lighten his mood. they’re too stupid for him not to laugh, or at the very least, break into a small smile.
─ making deals. as long as he can benefit from a negotiation, he’s willing to listen. though, one must be careful; his sense of integrity dwindles despite his efforts to hold on.
─ the stars. they fascinate him, and he used to think about what it would be like to travel to space. after he was sent away, it was nice to believe that his loved ones were looking up at them at the same time as him.
─ tea dances. while he was never invited to just be a guest at one, it made him happy to see people lose themselves dancing to the music that his tiny orchestra would play. admittedly, the aroma that wafted from the tea being served was also quite tempting.

DISLIKES.

─ getting lost. he dreads not knowing where he is and being unable to return home. the thought of someone never finding him is even worse.
─ paper cuts. the wounds were the bane of his existence after hours of practicing his instruments. so minor, yet so unbelievably irritating.
─ children. needy, obnoxious, messy… his list of cons could go on and on. he was shocked when he realized people actually meant it when they said they had baby fever. parenthood most likely would've been yet another experience he was shamed into, and he doesn't regret 'missing out' on it.
─ arrogance. all this trait does is make him roll his eyes. he loathes people with superiority complexes and finds it amusing to watch them be humbled.
─ rats. while some may find them cute, nils is filled with disgust at the sight of them. his crows appreciate the extra snack whenever he disposes of them. retribution, he thinks, for all the times the vermin fed on his friends.

HOBBIES.

─ playing violin & cello. nils found purpose as well as comfort in music and loved the way that classical pieces could effortlessly flow through him. he feels like his life would be meaningless without it.
─ gardening. he enjoyed growing fruits and vegetables to incorporate in cooked meals. he preferred their fresh taste over what he could get from the shops.
─ birding. as a child, his parents weren’t partial to pets due to the small size of their apartment. nils took after them for the most part, but birds were the exception. since he couldn’t own one, he decided to pursue birding as a hobby. it was a unique way to stay connected to nature, and there was an endless amount of study material to reference in the library. crows were always his favorite.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) stealth. survivors will come to understand that once his crows caw, it’s only a matter of time before nils catches up with them. he compensates for this by deafening the sound of his movements so they won’t know where he’s attacking from until it’s too late.
(+) strength. when he was resurrected, his physique got restored to how it was during his training days. he prefers to use his brute strength, along with his power, to stun survivors with heavy initial hits so that they can’t get away.
(+) creative. he has a vast imagination which will help him devise unique ways to fool survivors and keep them busy for as long as possible during their trials.

(-) hesitant. he never grew out of his tendency to hesitate despite how the consequences haunted him. now, his pause comes from trying to fight to keep what little is left of his humanity. he freezes in the moments that he’s able to break his conscience free from the entity’s grasp, unsure of the right way to proceed. he’s doomed if he listens to its commands, doomed if he doesn’t. it’s up to survivors to choose how they use this to their advantage.
(-) neurotic. he’s a planner who overthinks every possible angle of a situation. it’s common for him to spiral when things stray from how he envisioned them happening.
(-) overprotective. nils has a strong connection with his birds and plants. if someone hurts them, he will feel their pain and become blindsided by fury. when fueled by his negative emotions, he’s more likely to make drastic mistakes that could ultimately cost him a win.

FEAR.

─ being abandoned.
─ fire.
─ the entity.

PSY.

(+) passionate. nils’ enthusiasm for who and what he loved was deeply rooted. it allowed him to wholeheartedly pursue what he believed was right. anyone who was willing to listen would hear him practice new songs he was assigned. he may come across as apathetic now, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. while his scope of possibilities has been narrowly restricted, nils will not stop striving toward a goal once he’s set it.

(+) gentle. most people are rightfully intimidated by his demeanor and physical appearance when they encounter him in a trial. though, there’s still an inherent tenderness that pokes through his palpable intensity every so often. it’s mainly noticeable during the time he takes to take care of his birds and plants. when he decides to wander the realms, one could say that nils almost seems fragile if they observe him closely enough.

(+) patient. born to wait. he knew it would take years to achieve what he wanted. self control was supposed to be the key, so deep breaths were exercised whenever he was tested. though, his breaking point was inevitable. when nils witnessed what happened to henry, he couldn't take it anymore. the full memory was strategically blocked to make him easier to manipulate, yet the hollowness it leaves continues to ache.

(=) awkward. social interaction is another intricate minefield that nils finds exhausting to navigate. despite this, he had to learn how to manage his discomfort while networking. the entity has only worked to negate his progress and drive him further into solitude since then. loneliness used to be a familiar companion, but he isn’t sure how he feels about reuniting with it.

(-) erratic. nils previously considered himself a steadfast and honest man, but the lines he refuses to cross continue to get more and more blurry. he isn’t quite sure where he ends and the entity begins, or when they started to merge. sometimes, he’ll follow through with his word when striking a deal to exchange one survivor’s safety for another’s. other times, he’ll use the survivor’s openness to his advantage so he can trap them, too. the latter is more likely in situations where nils already has a distaste for that person or if they were only doing it to save themselves.

(-) sardonic. in this new reality, his personal inhibitions are immensely lowered. he is no longer one to hold his tongue and instead chooses to openly make disdainful comments as well as bitter jokes. when he’s in a bad mood, he can be especially insensitive. it isn’t until long after the heaviness passes that potential guilt—even if the feeling is fleeting—dawns on him.

(-) envious. nils had always been filled with envy when his peers talked about their successes and struggled to be supportive of them. he strongly resents people who were blessed with chances that he wasn’t able to pursue, and his feelings have grown bigger than he can handle. the conductor ruthlessly unleashes this turbulent storm on survivors who have musical backgrounds / talents as a way to make them suffer like he did.

abc's

POWER.
─ destructive call. nils can generate and release sound wave blasts at designated targets to cause substantial damage.

─ savior's blessing. the entity considers nils one of its favorite toys to destroy. finding enjoyment in their game of tug of war, it balances its punishments with special perks whenever he gives in to its influence.

SIDE OBJECTIVE(S).
─ guess the scale. three trench cellos are carefully placed on raised podiums around nils’ realm. survivors must figure out which major scale is the correct one to play on them. clues for this can be found on a music sheet in the choir building—he’s marked the four major scales he used to struggle with the most. if a survivor successfully completes one of these music-based puzzles, nils will be temporarily slowed down, disoriented, and unable to use his destructive call power. though, if a survivor fails, their trench cello’s strings will snap and they’ll have to try to guess again at a different one.

─ frighten his crows. nils has a special bond with three of the crows in his realm. during a trial, each of them will perch on a podium next to a trench cello. if a survivor approaches to play the instrument, the crow will become frenzied and alert nils to their unwanted presence. these little guys have quite the memory on them and will surely hold grudges against specific survivors who handle quieting them poorly. in subsequent trials, they’ll be more aggressive toward those people in retaliation for their prior malice. however, with a little bit of kindness (and/or tasty bribery), they might just let someone peacefully work on a puzzle instead of getting nils’ attention.

THE MORI.
nils takes his time to play hypnotizing song that lulls his victim into a trance, unable to move for themselves. he stands behind them to oversee the ‘audience’ as the final notes ring out. his violin bow then becomes weaponized and ghosts over the delicate skin of their throat. he takes a final breath for them before slowly, forcefully tearing the blade through their tendons and arteries. when his victim finally crumples to the ground, nils breathes out and shuts his eyes to imagine the standing ovation that will never come. the silence that surrounds him leaves him feeling emptier and more exasperated than ever before.

BELONGINGS.
─ conducting baton. nights of sleep were lost to thinking about what could have been.
─ dog tag. the aluminum disk is stamped with henry dalton’s personal information.
─ deck of cards. a fan of magic and card games, nils easily found entertainment whenever he needed a distraction.
─ blood stained, folded up letter. teardrops blur the ink in various places.
─ bulky journal filled with pressed flowers between the pages. preserving the bits of life that he discovered kept him grounded.
─ small box respirator. his primary form of protection against chemical attacks.

HISTORY

(content warning: violence, blood, death)

BEFORE. on august 22nd, 1890, nils rosell was welcomed into the world. he was his parents' miracle after years of trying to conceive. his father worked as a local clerk while his mother helped take care of their son as well as the household. his love for music blossomed because of her. nils couldn’t name a time their home was completely silent; melodies followed her wherever she went, whether it was from her humming or practicing.

his mother had been a music teacher earlier in life but was required to leave her profession upon getting married. despite it not being the same, she still taught nils how to play the instruments she was proficient in when he was old enough. he struggled to get the hang of them at first, but her encouragement knew no bounds. his father, on the other hand, was unsupportive. he believed that young boys like him needed to prioritize other skills to succeed.

though, there was no changing nils’ mind after he attended a performance hosted by the people’s concert society. he was dazzled by how the conductor seamlessly led her musicians and conversed without needing to find the right words. the music was alive because of her, and everyone in the theatre could feel it. this was the one place they could all come together to their realities, even if it was only for a little while. energy jolted through him when he stood to applaud. as he looked around at the rest of the people who followed suit, he knew this was what he wanted.

chasing his dream meant treading an arduous road filled with rejections, doubts, and disappointments. his late peers, who hailed mainly from upper class families, looked down their noses at him when they discovered he was attending their college on scholarship. he watched as they got what they wanted handed to them on a silver platter throughout the years. yet, they still complained. no matter how many opportunities they stole, it was never enough for them. his hatred burned a fire in him.

when auditions came for his first assistant conducting role, the final round was between him and someone from his graduating class. nils had heard how he bragged; observed how he walked into classrooms like he already owned them; recognized how he rode on his parents’ reputation. given the odds, the music director was bound to choose his opponent.

so, the night before callbacks were scheduled, nils let the insistent urge to take things into his own hands guide him. its whispers soothed his underlying doubts as he broke in to ensure the other man’s original compositions were ‘misplaced.’ without his pieces to reference, he didn’t even bother to show his face at the theatre the next day. nils couldn’t help but feel smug when he was reading his congratulations letter.

in the fall of 1915, nils was brimming with excitement about his future. he had recently been referred for a lead conductor position in a popular orchestra and was set to join them for their following season. eyes were finally going to be on him. people were going to know who he was. everyone who had doubted his relentless efforts would realize they were wrong.

at least, that had been the plan.

everything came to a screeching halt on the day of january 27th, 1916. volunteers for the war had been dwindling over the past year, but nils didn’t think the military service act would receive royal assent. his ears rang as he went through the motions for a few days afterward, both unable and unwilling to process the news. he was only twenty-five years old. he needed to get out of this. there was no way he could register─not now.

nils tried to confide in the people he trusted about his options, but almost everyone said the same thing. he was supposed to be ‘proud’ to fight. if he didn’t feel that way, then he could kiss his reputation goodbye. women flagged conscientious objectors with white feathers of shame. publications deemed them to be unpatriotic slackers. cowards. pressure to conform weighed on his shoulders, but so did his bitterness about the illusion of choice.

constant coercion wore nils down until he reluctantly obliged to enlistment. he wasn’t sure how long he stared at the registration card with a pen in hand before he heard a familiar whisper. it promised he would be okay, but that did nothing to quell his unfathomable anger as he signed his life away.

nils originally intended to keep to himself; he didn’t see the point in trying to make friends beyond simple cordiality. however, henry dalton didn’t give him much of a choice when he sat across from him on that first train ride. whether he didn’t notice the pointed glare or simply chose to ignore it is something that nils would never know.

even after arriving at training camp, he thought henry’s general enthusiasm was… odd. he didn’t understand how anyone could possibly bounce back so fast from the exercises they were put through. despite nils’ initial attempts to remain distant, he found solace in henry; his presence made this hell a little more bearable. they bonded more as the days went by but needed to keep their romance hidden from superiors to avoid legal punishment. to nils, henry was always worth it.

THE SHIFT. one night, nils and henry were chosen by their superiors to join a small number of men for a patrol. their mission was to infiltrate their enemy’s trench and obtain important information. after they believed they had secured the sector, they carried out their objectives. they were almost ready to embark on the dangerous return home when a final german soldier revealed himself. his rifle raised toward them, and nils fucking hesitated. a shot rang out, but it wasn’t him who got hit.

crimson seeped through henry’s uniform to stain his hands as he clutched his abdomen. shock infiltrated every crack in his expression. one of his patrol mates bludgeoned the unexpected assailant while nils rushed to help lower henry to the ground under the safety of a dugout. he tried applying pressure to the wound, but it was no use. there was so much, too much─

enemy reinforcements were imminent. we need to leave, one of his patrol mates urgently insisted. now, but nils couldn’t hear him. the light had faded from henry’s eyes. his patrol mate grabbed nils to force him to stand up so they could make a desperate escape, and that was when he snapped. he just wanted everything to stop. blood sprayed across nils’ face as he used his combat knife to stab, and stab, and stab. hysterical laughter mixed with wails, but he couldn’t tell who was crying. black fog dragged him away before the other surviving men who stayed behind could try.

NOW. nils sits in the mud alone with his head in his hands. he only looks up a few moments after realizing silence has fallen over the landscape. his hands shake as he places them on his lap. he can almost still feel the weight of something—no, someone—who had been resting on him. he scans his surroundings with furrowed eyebrows, struggling to remember what happened. his heart quickens in his chest; did he get separated?

“welcome home, nils.” a distorted voice that had once been a whisper now booms in his head.

armeen · Aug 19, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1958

FULL NAME. ruby "rose" bennett
D.O.B. june 10, 1928
P.O.B. augusta, kentucky
GENDER. cisgender female. she/her
SEXUALITY. pansexual

ALIAS. the actress
ROLE. starstruck
SPECIES. harpy

visage.

DESCRIPTION. the epitome of a glamorous movie star of her time. long blonde waves cascaded down her back, just past her shoulders, framing her ovate face. full ruby red lips that contrasted from her pale complexion. and a slender figure with curves in all the right places. her appearance drew in the crowds and the cameras wherever she went. or so that was what the directors told her...

ruby went under extensive cosmetic procedures to get her star quality looks. before the painful surgeries, restrictive diets, and the bleaching of her hair, she was a rather simple looking girl from rural kentucky. with straight, long brunette hair that she often wore in braids with ribbons tied on the end or coquettish ballerina buns. freckles covered her full cheeks and nose from the frequent exposure to the sun as a young girl running around her family's farm. her freckles were her signature feature as a child star, but as she got older the makeup artists and stylists opted for a more powdered look, covering up what first brought her into the spotlight. the one feature that remained untouched were her big dark brown doe eyes that can express any emotion she wills, only enhanced with the use of mascara to darken and lengthen her eyelashes and a thin cat-eye to complete the look. but deep within those pools of ebony is a glint of mischievousness and a much darker emotion that can make anyone's hair stand on end.

in the realm of the entity, ruby was morphed into a cruel reminder of her gruesome death. while her face and general figure remained the same, most of her body is covered in ash-colored feathers that start from the top of her head and continue down her back to her arms and legs. her arms have been replaced by large wings that grant her the ability of flight at great speeds and force. long, sword-like talons make up her hands and feet, sharp enough to rip a person into shreds of skin and flesh. and her eyes are now obsidian, sharp and focused, like a hawk watching its prey.

ruby despises the form the entity had given her. whenever she can she changes back into her ideal human form, the appearance she had before those birds had disfigured her. but she can only maintain this form for so long, before the harpy takes back its control over her.

ATTIRE. her dream outfit and the one she is seen wearing in her preferred form is a floor length silver dress that was embezzled with tiny, iridescent gems that made it glitter under the red carpet lights. the dress had a scandalous low cut v-line and an open back design with the straps criss-crossing and holding everything together. a snow white mink fur stole is laid gracefully over her shoulders, and a large diamond necklace adorns her exposed neckline. long white silk gloves extend past her elbows and are decorated with delicate bracelets that match the obvious statement piece.

in her harpy form, the feathers provide the only form of coverage and protection.

WEAPON. lethally sharp talons that curve at the end and are able to hook into whatever she impales, making it harder for those captured in her grasp to escape without mortally wounding themselves.

FACE CLAIM. mia goth

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.

─ acting.
─ dancing.
─ stories.
─ cameras.
─ attention.

DISLIKES.

─ auditions.
─ being overlooked.
─ critics.
─ competition.
─ not having fun.

HOBBIES.

─ fashion.
─ dance.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) strength.
trial:
(+) speed.
trial:
(+) imitation.
trial:
(-) impatient.
trial:
(-) irrational.
trial:
(-) narcissistic.
trial:

FEAR.

─ failure.

PSY.

(+) charismatic.
now:

(+) adaptable.
now:

(+) perceptive.
now:

(-) sadistic.
now:

(-) vindictive.
now:

(-) unpredictable.
now:

abc's

POWER.
method acting.
with her talent for acting, ruby is able to expertly imitate any person she comes in contact with. she picks up on their speech pattern, tone, behavior, and even their mannerisms. she uses this to throw off any unsuspecting survivor and lead them astray — whether it is to trick them into doing her bidding or lead them into a trap she had set up for them. her favorite use of this ability is by pretending to be someone one of the survivors is particularly close to, watching them spiral into panic and fear as they search for the source, believing it is the person they seek.

bird of prey.
as a harpy, ruby is able to do anything birds are capable of, particularly birds of prey. she can take flight, making it easier for her to chase down or swoop onto survivors in an effort to attack them. her eyesight is greatly improved and she is able to see from far with better accuracy than when she was human. the strength of her wings and talons allow her to pick up any survivor, trapping them in her clutches as they struggle to break free.

SIDE OBJECTIVE.
cut the cameras.
there are old film cameras scattered all over dream city, ruby's realm. they appear to be nonfunctional and remnants of a bygone era, but what many do not realize is that they serve as additional eyes for the killer. the last thing any survivor would want is to step into her designated camera room, where hundreds of photography and film cameras are lined up, going off the minute someone enters the vicinity, and alerting her of their presence. while the cameras outside the room do not turn on the same way, they are ever watching. survivors who are able to pick up on this, can destroy these cameras or somehow hinder them, making ruby loose "one of her eyes" in a sense. it is risky since she is able to sense which cameras have been messed with, unless they were tampered with in a way that does not signal her, such as covering up the lenses (she is capable of removing any coverings once discovered, but it still slows her down). without her extra "eyes" it will be harder for her to track the location of the survivors.

THE MORI.
bird box.
reminiscent to her own death, ruby will summon the very birds she keeps caged in an empty, run down studio in her realm, and have them target the survivor. the harpy will lift her head back and let out a piercing shriek that leaves her victim frozen in both fear and awe. the birds fly to their location in a dark swarm and immediately surround their prey, encasing them in a shadow of feathers. they mercilessly peck at the individual, gouging out their eyes and ripping out pieces of flesh. still unable to move the birds continue until they are a crumpled, torn up heap or ruby wills them to stop for whatever reason. if she decides to stop them, she will approach the victim and watch over them with a menacing look of satisfaction as they bleed out and take their final breaths.

BELONGINGS.
─ fur stole. made of pure white minx fur. the soft and luxurious garment was part of a look she had in mind for her first ever film award show.
─ scriptbook. a book containing the lines from the movie she was starring in that ultimately led to her demise. it is full of scribbles and annotations made by her.
─ professional headshot photo. the first headshot she took in an attempt to step away from being a child star into a serious hollywood actress.
─ diamond necklace. the statement piece of her award show attire. it consists of many smaller diamonds with a large blood diamond in the middle.
─ blonde hair dye. the dye that gave her that signature blonde look. she used to go through boxes and boxes to prevent any of her brunette roots from peeking out. hollywood wanted a bleach blonde bombshell and she was going to give them one.

HISTORY

[content warning: implied psychopathy, mentions of animal death, violence, and murder, non-descriptive gore, implied sexual abuse]

BEFORE. ruby bennett was born on a hot and humid summer day on her family's farm in augusta, kentucky. she was the youngest of five children, consisting of three girls and two boys. her parents, abigail and wyatt bennett, were extremely hard workers, always toiling out on the farm and working the shop at the local town to be able to provide the best for their children. from a young age, ruby exhibited some concerning behaviors. taking a particular interest in harming small animals, mostly birds since they presented as a more interesting challenge for her with their quick reflexes and ability to fly. her parents were unsure how to handle these habits and tried their very best to keep her distracted from acting upon these impulses.

aside from her intense fascination to inflict harm, ruby was extremely jealous and would always throw a fit whenever she did not get her way or felt that her siblings were being received better than she was. her meltdowns were destructive and nearly impossible to subdue. the only way her parents could get her to calm down was by giving her whatever she wanted in the first place. this often boiled down to merely attention, which she constantly craved for.

another habit of hers was that she was a pathological liar. anything that came out of her mouth needed to be taken with a grain of salt. the many scares she had given her parents and her siblings all from a singular lie was astounding. to make matters worse, she acted out her lies, making them extremely convincing. on one occasion, she managed to make her parents believe that her older brother, austin, had drowned at a lake near the farm when he could not be found. when her parents had asked her for his whereabouts the young girl burst into heaving sobs, tears streaming down her wide frightened eyes. "i tried to stop him, mama! but he wouldn' listen..." it turned out the boy had run off with his friends to play baseball, ditching his farm chores without informing anyone else. but no one knew until he came back home with his baseball bat in hand and was greeted to the relieved cries of his parents and siblings. as he looked over his mother's shoulders, his gaze fixed on his youngest sister, who stared back at him with a dark look. an unsettling shiver ran down his spine.

as soon as she could walk ruby had expressed an interest in performing in front of others. she was seen singing and dancing in the house and the barns as she closely followed her parents around while they did their daily chores. she would create costumes and props for the little productions she would put together to show her entire family. out in public, she did not shy away from any opportunity to put on a performance and she thrived from the attention and praise she would receive. despite her questionable habits and behavior, the girl had talent. it did not take long for her to gain the attention of a talent scout who was passing through the area when she was six years old.

at the age of seven, she was casted in a starring role in a sitcom called oh my dear ruby, which was broadcasted on the radio and performed live in front of an audience. she and her mom traveled to los angeles and made a temporary home there as the show aired, leaving her father and older siblings to continue taking care of the farm and family home. the show was an immediate success, following the comedic adventures of a family with their rambunctious daughter, ruby, who kept getting them into wacky situations. the audience loved her vivaciousness, even when they could not see her and merely listened to her voice through the radio, she still received raving reviews from both fans and critics alike.

the show went one for the next four years. ruby's fame had grown a lot and navigating out in public became much more difficult with the number of fans and press who tried to reach her. but she loved every moment of it, taking the time to stop and pose for a photo. and then it all came to a screeching halt. the great depression of the 1930s had diminished the number of viewers and listeners. the people's interest had shifted more towards the troubles at hand, and many did not find the now eleven year old ruby to be as entertaining as her younger self. the radio station dropped the show and all of the remaining live performances were promptly cancelled.

a distraught ruby and her mother had to move back to their family home in kentucky. back on the farm, she tried to convince her parents to take her back to los angeles, determined to find another acting job. but her parents disagreed, saying that they needed to focus on providing for themselves due to the additional hardships brought in by the depression. resentment grew within ruby, feeling as if her family was holding her back. as she remained stuck in her home, she began plotting for her next comeback.

THE SHIFT. ruby would find herself back in california at the age of seventeen years old. during her time away, the entertainment industry had gone through a major transition brought in by the rise of prominent studious and shifting from silent films to talking pictures, introducing a new golden age. the money maker were movies and stars were being brought into the limelight left and right. the teen was determined to make her mark, but she first needed to build connections. even at her young age she knew she needed to have a hand in the game to be able to play it.

reconnecting with the former talent scout that gave her a taste of stardom, she was able to meet with various directors and producers from big name studios. eventually she caught the eye of one, the up and coming film director ernest williams, who was twenty years her senior and had several directing awards under his name. he fueled her ego with promises and praise, claiming that he believed she had the potential to become an absolute marvel in the film industry. all she had to do was follow his guidance. he taught her how to act and behave on camera. set her up with speech tutors to correct the way she spoke, ridding her of the southern accent she grew up with. "no one will cast you with that god awful accent." helped her memorize lines and perform different scenes he would assign her. and most of all, showed her how to be desirable, taking advantage of her naivety and inexperience. as his words and promises continued to intoxicate her and dull her senses, he found that she can entertain him in more ways than one.

when all was said and done, the farm girl that ruby once was became the ideal image of glamour. her old life completely stripped away from her and replaced with a "better version" of herself. those who remembered her from her days in oh my dear ruby were in utter awe of her transformation. bottle blonde, irresistible features, and that same liveliness that drew so many fans in all those years ago. the bright red lipstick that she was always seen wearing earned her the nickname ruby rose, which she opted to use as her stage name over her surname. she was ernest's proudest achievement, and he was finally ready to introduce her to the world of film.

the next few years were a dream for ruby. after starring in a box office hit, she was being contacted by top producers and studios, offering roles to their films and productions. ernest, however, kept her under lock and key, showering her with promises of bigger and better. she remained loyal to him, not taking on any lovers of her own, and allowing him complete control of her body in return for another starring role. convinced that all was going her way, she continued to do what he asked of her, even undergoing a painful cosmetic procedure because her nose was "a little too wide". as long as the lead role was given to her she was willing to do anything.

then there was the other girl. a young natural blonde had taken ernest's attention away from his creation, leaving ruby in the dust. angered and shocked by his sudden betrayal, she decided to take action into her own hands and agree to audition for a role in a film being produced by a rival director behind his back. ernest did not handle the news well at all, believing he still had control over her, and tried to blacklist her. the day before ruby was set to audition, a news article came out "exposing" the rising bombshell for being "unprofessional" and "extremely difficult to work with". her audition was swiftly cancelled and her contract with ernest was voided, leaving her in a state worse than when she started.

fueled by revenge, ruby managed to pick herself back up. she started auditioning for smaller productions to get work and build back up her reputation. it was clear that casting directors were still wary to hire her due to ernest's false rumors and she struggled to compete with other actors trying out for the same role, even though they were lesser known. desperation and frustration began to overtake her and the behaviors and impulses her parents and many others have tried to suppress since she was a girl were cracking through the surface.

it started out as minor accidents on set. cords that were expertly placed as tripping hazards. costume and prop malfunctions. allergic reactions to hair and makeup products. none of it lethal, but prone to serious injuries that forced the casting directors to turn to ruby to takeover as lead. no one seemed to connect her to the accidents since she was never around when they would occur. they are all so gullible. she always made sure to visit her victims while they were in recovery, bringing them a bouquet of flowers and wishing them to get well. but underneath her sweet facade, she reveled in seeing the state her actions brought upon them. not feeling any remorse and only focusing on getting what she believed she deserved.

and then it finally happened. the moment she had been waiting for. another opportunity to make it back into a big film production. a major studio finally reached out to her and invited her to audition for a role in a new psychological thriller that was being developed. the film was being directed by herman odell, who recently won the academy award for best film and director, defeating ernest. this connection pleased ruby and she agreed to the invitation. at her audition, she impressed the casting directors with her range and depiction of terror, and they offered her the role on the spot.

herman was a breath of fresh air compared to ernest, welcoming her onto his set graciously and treating her to anything she desired. he sent her gifts and provided her the luxuries expected of a star actress. this treatment made her realize with disgust how ernest had played her, controlling her like a puppet and leading her on when he only wanted to lead her to his bed. one day she will exact her revenge on him, but for now she needed to focus on giving her best performance. herman being an academy award winner means that the top critics and the academy themselves will have their eyes on this upcoming film. and this could finally be her ticket into being recognized by the academy.

production finally began and ruby was brought on set to run a few scenes. it was a brisk autumnal day and there was a nice chill in the air. the sound of birds chirping and cawing from the cages they were being kept in was deafening to the ears of those around them. the premise of the film centered on these birds as they turn against nature and attack every living being around them. ruby was playing one of the main protagonists who attempt to figure out what caused the birds to behave this way and put a stop to it. herman wanted to film the climax of the film where ruby's character gets chased by the swarm of killer birds.

they had her go through the scene without the actual birds a multitude of times. as the hours went on and the sun began to set, the production team was finally ready to shoot the scene with the live birds since it was supposed to take place during twilight. ruby received the final touch ups on her hair and make before making her way to her designated spot on set. "alright, rose! remember just like how we rehearsed...take one and action!" the camera started to film and ruby got into character, going through the motions she was taught and directed to do. it all came naturally to her and she felt completely in her element.

then the birds were released.

there were gasps of horror from the crew as the swarm began to surround her entirely, engulfing in a fury of feathers. a loud shriek escaped ruby's lips as the birds began to peck on her mercilessly. "cut! cut! someone get her out of there!" herman's yells were drowned out by the ensuing panic as some of the birds left the swarm to attack the other people on set. ruby tried batting away but the effort proved to be fruitless as the birds continued to fly around her, blocking view of her surroundings. their sharp beaks and talons felt like tiny knives ripping into her skin. desperate to get away from the pain she started running. to where? she could not tell. her vision only saw madness and feathers. blood was dripping down her legs, arms, and face, but she paid no mind to that and continued running.

and then...she was falling.

NOW. ruby stares at the cameras before her as they click and flash away, capturing every inch of her. the pain and damage left by the birds could no longer be felt and she felt...stronger and lighter on her feet. a voice unfamiliar yet enticing spoke to her. she listened, mulling over every word. this...entity wanted her to become fear. a smile graced her lips at the presented challenge. oh ernest...just you wait. i'm about to give my greatest performance yet.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2008

FULL NAME. malic mendoza
D.O.B. november 10, 1981
P.O.B. quezon city, philippines
GENDER. cisgender male. he/him/his
SEXUALITY. demiromantic pansexual

OCCUPATION. were they a student or working?
SKILLS. how will their skills translate into the role of choice.
ROLE. dance with me

visage.

DESCRIPTION. describe their basic appearance.

ATTIRE. what do they typically where? is it the outfit they were wearing when they were taken? it is the same as it would be in a trial?

FACE CLAIM. manny jacinto

LIKES.
─ list up to five likes.

DISLIKES.

─ list up to five dislikes.

HOBBIES.

─ did they have hobbies before?

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ three strengths and weaknesses that would benefit or hinder them in a trial. example: (+) stamina: elaborate. (-) loud: elaborate.

FEAR.

─ the entity likely picked up on this when they got close to the fog, what are they most afraid of?

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

abc's

BELONGINGS.

to be used as clues: this rp will include a mystery element. please list out at least five belongings that your survivor would own to be found in rp for lore purposes? example: a family photo (elaborate on the importance, doesn't have to be more than a sentence)

HISTORY

BEFORE. what was their childhood and background like growing up?

THE FOG. what were they doing, where were they, when they stumbled upon a corrupted area and were taken by the fog?

NOW. the trials have not started, they have only just been taken by the entity where the rp will start off - but how would they react and feel to this new life of theirs?
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1996

FULL NAME. jaxson "jax" baylor
D.O.B. october 1, 1970
P.O.B. salford, england
GENDER. cisgender male. he/him/his
SEXUALITY. pansexual
OCCUPATION. his main passion is music, and he was part of an indie rock band before the fog. but to be able to provide for himself, he worked a variety of odd jobs, such as serving, bartending, dog walker, etc.
SKILLS. has a knack for getting out of sticky situations, whether that is talking himself out of it or creating some form of distraction that allows him to slip away before anyone notices.
ROLE. diversion

visage.

DESCRIPTION. with a cigarette lazily being held by his full, pale pink lips and short, tousled dirty blonde hair, jax is a presence many people know and recognize. from long time friends to casual music fans, there is no mistaking those stormy sky blue eyes, windows to his well hidden vulnerability. at first glance, he gives off a somewhat rugged appearance with his light facial hair lining his angular jawline. but upon a closer look, one can see his quiet beauty. his pale skin emits a golden hue under the light of the sun. a few freckles lightly dust the bridge of his nose. laugh lines and long blonde eyelashes frame his expressive eyes while dimples grace his cheeks whenever he sports that cheeky grin of his. just slightly crooked, with one side going higher than the other, but with a charm that can draw anyone in no matter how foul of a mood they are in. it radiates a sense of comfort and familiarity with a hint of sadness that he dares not talk about.

ATTIRE. faded jean jacket, worn out grey converses with laces that have seen better days, ripped jeans that hang a little loose from his body, and a simple t-shirt. jax has a rather simple sense of style, using his finances more for his instruments and the occassional pack of cigarettes. a lot of his clothes he has owned for years at a time. only allowing himself the luxury to purchase something new when either the moths or age get to it. he was also seen often wearing a beanie on his head, which was what gave his hair that iconic tousled and stylishly disheveled look. on colder, rainier days, he would swap out his jean jacket for a good ole hoodie. on show days he would switch between a leather jacket (only saved for special occasions) and the jean jacket, eventually taking it off in the middle of the show to escape from the heat of the stage lights.

the day he became a part of the trials, he was in his usual show night attire, leather jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans with a small metal chain clipped to it (it was the 90s). it was a particularly chilly autumn night, so he had also put on his beanie and an old pair of gloves that left his fingers exposed. the laces of one of his converses remained untied for he did not notice them until it nearly cost him his life. by the time the fog had devoured him, his clothes were worse for wear. the styled rips on the jeans are larger and now covered in dirt and blood from his busted up knees. his shirt has stains all over created by a mixture of dirty rainwater and blood that dripped down from his mouth. all that remained spared is his beloved leather jacket. he tugs at its sides to pull it closer to his shivering body, using it as a form of protection in this dark, unknown place.

FACE CLAIM. tom glynn-carney

LIKES.
─ music. ever since he was a boy, jax has always loved music. as soon as he had the chance he would spend hours immersing himself in his parents' records collection, listening to the songs from previous eras all the way to modern-day. and as the music played he would lay on the floor and close his eyes, imagining himself creating such a wondrous sound and performing in front of a crowd of adoring fans.
─ photographs. all over his flat were strewn polaroids. they decorated the walls, covered both the dining and coffee table, and were held up by magnets on his refrigerator. the content of his photographs ranged from nights out with his friends, concerts, and his golden retriever, bowie.
─ laughter. they say that laughter is the best medicine and jax was a firm believer of it. there was not a day that goes by where he was not finding something to laugh at. his friends tended to all chime in since his laughter was extremely contagious. even on a bad day, jax would try to find something to at least get out a chuckle or two. one of his favorite pastimes was visiting a book store to look at the joke books.
─ tea. there is nothing like a good ole cuppa. he used to not be the biggest tea drinker since it brought up too many painful memories of his mum. but during his recovery from alcoholism, he found himself drinking more of the hot beverage. it brought him both a warmth and calmness that he sometimes struggled to seek. he does not do anything fancy to it (barely puts any sweetner and milk), but he still enjoys the process of preparing it, whether it is for himself or someone else.
─ rain. england gets its fair share of rain, especially during the autumn and winter months, but jax could never get enough of it. it was through rain he felt he could truly find himself. he had his wakeup call about his alcoholism in the rain. he also felt the most inspired to write music when it rained. he rarely used an umbrella and chose to relish the cool water hitting his skin.

DISLIKES.

─ conflict. growing up in an environment full anger and constant fighting has made jax wary of any altercations whatsoever. he was never one to confront someone (unless he feels there is no way around it) or even raise his voice. if someone wronged him in any way, he was quick to brush it off and move on. arguments and heated conversations put him on edge, and whenever his bandmates were caught in a disagreement, he would be the one to bring the tension down, hoping to deescalate the situation.
─ creative blocks. nothing frustrates an aspiring artist more than a mental block that stops the flow of creativity. jax had many of those moments where he struggled to come up with an idea he felt was good enough to pursure. crumpled up pieces of music sheets littered the floor of his flat as he tried to write song after song. the calluses on his fingertips continued to harden as he strummed his guitar for hours on end.
─ heat. summer is the worst time of the year in his "humble" opinion. jax considered himself to be made for the cooler weather, and even though a little sunshine did not hurt, he could not stand the extreme heat and intensity that the season brought along. if someone wanted to see jax in an actual bad mood, they would bring him out on a hot day.
─ confined spaces. as a child jax would often hide whenever he sensed something was wrong. within a blink of an eye he would slip away and go to his usual hiding spot, which was an unassuming cupboard underneath the stairwell. it was small and dusty but it served as a barrier between him and his fighting parents. it was through this cupboard that he could hear all the screaming, the breaking of glasses, the strikes... now that he is older, he prefers to stay away from small, confined spaces. they make him feel like the vulnerable, scared boy he once was.
─ alcohol. jax would be lying when he says he does not miss the taste and feel of alcohol. it will always be something that haunts him even in the realm of the entity. but he is ashamed in the way he allowed it to impact his behavior and decisions. those years he relied on alcohol to get him through life were some of his darkest. back then he saw it as an escape from that cupboard when in reality it was simply an addiction.

HOBBIES.

─ music production. as an aspiring musician and artist, jax has had his fair share of experience with writing, creating, and producing music. whether it was for his band or another artist who had hired him for a job. he had taken the time to learn the ins and outs of creating music in the hopes that it speaks out to others the same way it does to him.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) clever. no matter how bad a situation appeared jax seemed to always have a solution in a flash. and even though his thoughts and ideas were rather unconventional (to say the least) they usually worked to the surprise of everyone involved, including himself. but there is more to his cleverness than meets the eye. he knows how to pick up on key details that a lot of people would often miss and utilize that to his advantage. it was because of this that he was so good at figuring out puzzles and riddles as a young boy.
trial: it takes someone quick-witted to outsmart a killer, and jax is more than up for the challenge. his ideas and plans can help to stall or even thwart the killer from getting to the survivors. he will live up to his role, further frustrating the killer as he continues to throw one distraction after the other. and it will be whenever everyone least expects it. the killer will probably end up finding their own realm being used against them.
(+) empathetic. if anyone was going through a hard time, jax was the best person to go to. he was never quick to judge and took the time to understand where someone was coming from. he always knew what to say and do, and his presence radiated comfort. as someone who had gone through his fair of hard times, he could easily relate to others going through them as well.
trial: everyone in the trials have come from all walks of life and have battled and/or continue to battle their own demons, jax acknowledges this and knows if he is going to form any kind of relationship with anyone he will have to place himself in their shoes. because their chances of survival will depend on how well these survivors can work together.
(+) fast. he's a runner, he's a track star. whether it was running away from neighborhood bullies or getting away from drunken brawls at the pubs, jax built the need for speed. most people could not outrun him and within a blink of an eye he was already ways ahead of them.
trial: it helps being a fast runner when getting away from a killer, especially when you do something that pisses them off. but sometimes, when all else fails, one has to simply run away.
(-) clumsy: he may be a fast runner but he is certainly not the most graceful. while he is capable of getting a good head start, it is only a matter of time before he trips over an obstacle or even his own feet. his body is covered in various scars and bruises from his infamous falls. and when he is not falling, he is crashing into something or someone, creating a bit of a scene.
trial: he is more than likely to accidentally catch the attention of the killer, whether that is because he knocked something over and made a bunch of noise, or stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.
(-) naive: sometimes his empathy can lead to naïveté. jax is no stranger to being taken for granted or advantage of, but he always tries to see the good in others. even if someone is nasty to him from the get go, he still tries to get to know them better and look past the facade they trying to present to him. jax met some of his closest friends this way.
trial: it would not be surprising if jax became a victim to falling for someone's tricks. he does not like to assume everyone has ill intentions and is quick to forgive. someone could easily take advantage of him, if they play their cards right.
(-) withdrawals: the last six months of recovery have been far from easy for jax. he had been drinking for a long time, and to finally quit cold turkey took a lot out of him. he has been able to without a sip this entire time, but he still has the occasional cravings and withdrawal symptoms. it starts out with him feeling an intense thirst that feels as though it cannot be quenched by water. that sensation then leads to him behaving irrational and even irritable. during severe cases, he experiences excessive sweating, headaches, nausea, and even delirium. it has been a while since jax has had a withdrawal episode that bad, but the thought of it still looms over him like cloud blocking sunlight.
trial: these cravings and symptoms can happen randomly, even at the most inconvenient times. and in an extremely high stress environment, like the trials, where your life is always on the line, it is bound to happen at any moment.

FEAR.

─ his father. the man who raised him. the man who hurt him. and the man who got him into the same addiction he had. it had all started with him. a day does not go by without him in jax's mind. the memories, his voice, the pain. and even though he has already passed, he continues to haunt his son.

PSY.

(+) compassionate. always providing a shoulder to lean on, jax was the person anyone could turn to; whether it was for advice, comfort, company, etc. his presence brightened up any room he walked into, and anyone who was going through a hard time knew they were never alone since he was right there beside them. he has been there for sad moments and happy moments. showing up to events to cheer them on or sit next to them on a couch as they vent about their feelings. he does everything he can to support others and care for them, something that was absent for most of his life growing up.
now: as much as he wants to run away from the current situation he is in, he cannot ignore the fact that there are others in the same shoes as him that look equally as terrified if not more. it would be wrong to abandon them and save his own skin. besides, they can increase their chances of survival if they work together instead of apart. and even though he has no idea what he is up against, he would rather take his chances than be alone.

(+) courageous. with a more quiet form of courage, jax is not someone who runs to the front of the group and takes charge. his braveness comes more from his willingness to take risks and not hesitate to do what he believes is right. and while this sometimes got him in trouble, he would rather deal with the consequences of his own actions than regret not doing anything later on. it was this boldness that helped him and others get out of difficult situations.
now: his courage is what pushes him to stand up from the huddled heap he once was on the ground. now was not the time to sit around and feel sorry for himself. he needed to move. he needed to do something. anything. whatever it took to get out of this hell space. and he is willing to face whatever is holding him captive.

(+) creative. creativity comes in many fonts, and jax is not only musically creative but he is inventive as well. he is able to look outside the box and come up with ideas that seem a little odd at first but are actually effective. combine this with his quick-wit and he is more than capable of facing any problem head on. as a boy, he loved deciphering puzzles and riddles, always finding new ways to piece them together and read them. and in his music, he does not shy away from trying out new sounds and melodies to accompany the lyrics he also writes. he constantly strives for that 'aha' moment as it further invigorates him and brings even more ideas to his mind.
now: he cannot let fear overtake his mind. as long as he keeps himself from panicking he should be able to think of a way out of this, right? he needs to be ready for whatever is thrown at him despite the odds. he has done so many times before, he is determined to do so now.

(-) reckless. sometimes thinking fast requires one to take risks, and jax is someone who does not dwell too much on the odds. he is more than willing to jump into the fray than stand back and let self-doubt cloud his judgement. his impulsiveness becomes a shield against fear, but it makes him completely disregard his own personal safety, often putting himself in harm's way. and while some might consider him to merely be ballsy, there is more to this side of jax than meets the eye.
now: it is this behavior that might make him an easier target for killers. as the one constantly putting himself out there to distract them, he is bound to find himself be one of the first to be chased. as long as he remains sharp, he just might get away from them.

(-) gullible. as someone who is convinced that not everyone is inherently evil, unless proven otherwise, he will not shun someone for being callous to him from the get go. everyone is fighting their own demons, including himself, so he acknowledges that it could effect the way a person behaves to those around them. however, this thought process sometimes makes him oblivious to the true intentions of those around him. it takes him a while to realize that someone does intend to harm him, and even when he finally does he has a hard time accepting it.
now: this could be beneficial for both killers and survivors alike that want to trick him into falling into their traps and/or doing their bidding. while killers might need to work harder to gain his trust, a survivor can easily take advantage of him, using him as either a scapegoat or a sacrificial lamb.

(-) self-sacrificial. a product of his recklessness, jax does not seem to care much if he gets hurt in the process of helping someone. there is a small part of him, that he refuses to dwell on, that does not fully care what happens to him. it had always stressed out those close to him. he also has a tendency to go down a self-destructive path whenever he loses hope, which is something he will need to prevent from happening in the trials.
now: another behavior that both killers and survivors with ill-intentions can use for their advantage. jax would be someone to offer himself up in exchange for the safety of another survivor, even for one he is not particularly close to.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

─ brown leather dog collar. belongs to his beloved golden retriever, bowie, who he had since he was a teenager. he has been there with him every step of the way. since he decided to run away from home to his recovery from his addiction 10 years later.
─ lucky guitar pick. it is old and scuffed up but jax refuses to replace it or use any other. he carries it with him wherever he goes and never does a live performance without it.
─ songwriting notebook. this is where he writes down the lyrics for all the songs he comes up with. a majority of them are for the band, but there are a select few that are very personal to him. it is in those songs that he allows himself to be fully open and vulnerable.
─ faded polaroid picture. the photo is of him on a christmas morning, holding his first ever guitar. it is one of the very few memories from childhood he cherishes. as he holds the guitar proudly, the instrument almost being too large for him, his father can be seen sitting right behind him, a beer in hand.
─ pack of cigarettes. while jax has been able to stop drinking, he has not been able to quit his habit for smoking. since he and his friends, including his bandmates, all smoke he always keeps a pack with him.

HISTORY

[content warning: alcoholism, implied domestic violence and child abuse]

BEFORE. jaxson baylor, immediately nicknamed jax, was born on a premature chilly day on the first of october to the sound of let it be by the beatles playing on the radio sitting on the windowsill of maternity ward. the only son to the working class baylor family, both mother and father, amelia and rhys baylor, were happy to finally welcome him to the world.

the first few years of jax's life with both of his parents present were probably the happiest parts of his childhood. rhys left every morning for his job in construction, often leaving jax and amelia alone for most of the day. it was during these moments where he got most of his exposure to music as his mother always turned on the radio while she was prepping him something to eat. together the two would sing and dance, the toddler trying his very best to keep up even though he could barely string two sentences together.

at the age of three years old, the young boy stumbled across his parents' record collection, containing music from the beginning of the century and onwards. this immediately fascinated jax and it was not long until he was caught by his father sneaking one of the records to his bedroom. both parents decided to fuel his curiosity and began playing music on their vintage record player. it did not take long for jax to figure out how to work the record player himself, spending all his time right next to it. his mother had to bribe with sweets to pull him away from it.

christmas 1975, a core memory for jax. the day he got his first ever guitar. rhys had arrived home early, in time for christmas dinner, finding his young son at his usual spot by the record player. he was stretched out over the carpeted floor with his head resting on his hands and his feet kicking along to the beat of the music. "welcome home, darling!" amelia's sing-song voice could be heard from the kitchen. "we did not expect to be here for another hour."

"the boss let us go early. told the crew to spend the holidays with the family." rhys removed his coat before revealing a wrapped gift he had hidden behind his tall stature. "also gave me more time to pick up this." he held up the gift, catching the attention of the 5 year old, as he made his way to the small christmas tree that stood in the corner of the living room. amelia walked out the kitchen, wiping her hands on her flour stained apron, a knowing grin on her face.

"amy, darling, can you get me a beer?"

the smile quickly turned into a slight frown, but with a nod of her head she as she was told. cracking open a cold one that was saved in the fridge. it was a holiday after all...

"is the gift for me, dad?" jax asked, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and excitement. rhys took a swig of his beer, savoring the sweet, foamy beverage. "it's all yours, sweetie." his mother responded, squeezing his shoulders encouragingly. "yea go ahead and open it already, lad"

without any hesitation, jax ripped off the wrapping, revealing a dark wooden case with 'jaxson' engraved on it in golden lettering. silver latches held the case closed, securing whatever item was inside. for once, the talkative child was speechless. with small, shaky fingers he unlocked the latches, somehow already knowing what to do, and lifted the lid. his eyes widened in complete utter shock at the sight of the instrument nestled inside. a beautifully crafted acoustic guitar, just for him. he looked up at his parents. his mother was fighting to hold back tears as she smiled warmly at him. his father grunted in in satisfaction, and took another drink from his beer. "play something on it."

the rest of the christmas evening was spent in merriment, as jax played around with his guitar, trying to strum a tune or two while his parents cheered him on. amelia then brought out a camera, taking the photo that jax will forever cherish. his last happy memory with his parents before it all went downhill from there.

rhys always had a rather close relationship with alcohol. downing a bottle after coming home from work, or stopping by the local pub with some of his mates to have a few rounds. his wife did not hide her displeasure whenever he stumbled through the doorway, smelling like alcohol and cigarettes. jax did not know any better, he was only a kid after all. to him, he was just happy to see his father home.

days turned into months and months turned into years. his father's relationship eventually turning into one of dependency. and then beer was not enough. whiskey became his new friend, and with that a new side of rhys came out. the fighting and yelling began. amelia did not support this lifestyle and made it known, her husband what not having any of it. jax did what he could to pacify the two. "get out of here, boy. this is a conversation between adults!" the harshness of his voice and raised hand caused the boy to flinch and retreat to the one spot he had grown to find comfort in. the cupboard underneath the stairwell.

as time went by the yelling grew louder, the fighting more frequent, and then there was glass breaking followed by flesh hitting flesh. a silence would follow after the blow. the final strike had been made.

one stormy evening, amelia packed up her bags and left, stopping briefly to place down a note and gaze upon her son's sleeping form. she could not take him with her since she had no way to provide for both herself and him. so it was with a heavy heart that she walked out of his life, leaving him to fend for himself under the care of his alcoholic father. jax had not heard from her since. he was only eight years old...

the next couple of years were filled with torment and misery. rhy's addiction had progressed and he began experiencing health complications caused by the excess alcohol and smoking. as the only other person living with him, jax became both his caretaker and personal punching bag. his father's behavior became more unpredictable and irrational, lashing out for little to no reason. fists were his usual weapons, but a glass bottle also did the job. every week, jax had a new bruise, cut, or black eye, worrying those he encountered outside the house. "hoping to get another one to match." he would say with a laugh before changing the subject. he never once told them the truth.

the poison was finally introduced to him at the age of thirteen. his father had forced him to accompany him to the nearby pub. his health was declining and it got to a point where jax was not comfortable with him going out alone. but the pub was the last place he wanted to be in. there was not much there for him to do. he would rather be home, practicing his guitar and working on a new song idea that has been nagging him.

"pint of bitter for me and the lad."

complete utter confusion can be seen on jax's face as the bartender turned around to prepare the order. he opened his mouth to ask but no words would come out. rhys was no longer facing him, focusing on the pipe he was trying to light for a smoke. within a minute the drinks were in front of the pair, his father quickly grabbing the glass and downing the dark golden liquid. jax continued to stare in shock at his glass, unsure of what to do. "you better drink that or you will have to pay me back." pay you back, huh. the teen winced at the thought. carefully, he grabbed the pint, the glass feeling cold in his warm hands. he took a sip, a quick shiver running down his spine. the bitter flavor hit his tastebuds and he grimaced in response.

"well?!"

another sip was taken. the bitterness did not hit him as hard. it was becoming easier.

"i don't hate it."

the sound of barking, swearing, and glass breaking can be heard outside the house. the front door opened, revealing a hurt and frightened sixteen year old jax with his guitar case in hand and a backpack hanging off his shoulder. blood trickled down the side of his face from a cut over his eyebrow and his left eye was swollen shut. a young golden retriever followed close behind, panting heavily due to the stress of the situation. he was finally getting away from him, just like his mother did all those years ago. and now that he had the whole world ahead of him, he can finally pursue what he had been dreaming of since childhood. but first...he needed a drink.

the next several years were all a euphoric blur. performances, parties, booze, drugs, hangovers, and repeat. this went on for nearly a decade as jax managed to convince himself this was the lifestyle he had always wanted. he was rarely sober, claiming that he felt sick without having a drink. but he was not worried cause alcohol did not make him aggressive like his father. he was the life of the party.

and then everything came to an abrupt halt.

on the eve of his twenty-sixth birthday, jax received news that rhys had passed away from liver failure. his body was found a week later on the floor of the living room next to the small coffee table that held the beloved record player. from the sound of it, he had been listening to music before her passed, and it happened to be the record jax had favored as a child. the very same one he tried to hide in his room.

the news caused jax to spiral. he tried quitting alcohol at the moment but the withdrawal symptoms were too much for him to handle. so he continued drinking, but with even less restraint than before. his bandmates and friends would stop by his flat to check on him and bowie, often finding him blacked out and surrounded by various empty bottles. this went on for about a week until one of his friends found him in the beginning stages of alcohol poisoning.

he spent the following week in the hospital, receiving life-saving treatment to reverse the effects of the poisoning and being monitored for severe withdrawal symptoms. it was complete utter hell. the pain was excruciating and he spent countless nights screaming in agony while having to be held down by the nurses. the thirst was so strong. he needed to drink. how could anyone expect him to go without it? just a sip to make this pain go away. his father would have understood.

wait a minute...

his father? no...he is nothing like his father. he is nothing like the man who had caused him so much pain. who chose drinking over everything and broke up an entire family. took away his childhood. introduced him to this mess. no...

the recovery was long and grueling. for the first couple of weeks, jax was constantly on edge and his body felt shaky and weak. he was convinced a strong enough wind would be able to sweep him away. there were many times when he wanted to give up and he felt completely hopeless, but the support provided by his friends and his dog bowie helped him to push through. he attended meetings and group therapy, meeting other recovering addicts. he also buried himself more into his music, writing songs that reflected on his experience and even his childhood. a few made it out as hits for his band, particularly the ones that talked about addiction, but the rest remained in his songbook, a personal message for himself.

THE FOG. it was a show night and the band was out celebrating after a successful performance at a popular club scene. a music producer had approached them after the show, and invited them to perform at another venue the following week. to make the moment even better, jax had officially been six months sober. it was win after win.

the night was cool and a light drizzle followed after a heavy pour, but even the weather could not dampen the mood. the mates had gone out for a late night dinner, opting for a local diner over a pub since it was still difficult for him to be around alcohol. after indulging themselves on chips and a fizzy pop, they headed out to an alley nearby for a smoke.

they spent the next hour conversing and smoking, discussing topics that ranged from what they should perform in their next show and plans for the weekend. eventually, the drummer was the first to take his leave, followed closely by the bassist. one by one the band all went their separate ways, bidding each other goodnight. jax was the only one left since he flat was not far off. he took one last pull of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and stomping out the light.

he was about to head out when two angry voices caught his attention. "get the f*ck away from me!" there was a loud slap and then a pained cry. "how many times have i told you not to speak to me that way, love?"

without much second thought, jax made his way over to where he heard the two, finding them at the opposite end of the alley. as he got closer he could hear muffled sobs coming from a fallen figure on the ground. another figure towered over her, both fists clenched at his sides as he stared down at his victim. jax faltered for a second. the man before him was a lot larger and taller than he was. there was no way he was walking away from this unscathed. he glanced down at the woman on the floor. she kept her head bowed and was clutching her right cheek, indicating that was where she had been slapped. the skin on her wrists were also red and slightly bruised, giving jax the impression that she had also been handled aggressively. "this has nothing to do with you, mate. keep walking..." the man's voice was cold and dangerously low. it was a threat. the thick stench of alcohol suddenly hit his nose, and realization hit him like a bus.

the woman finally looked up at jax, a look of both fear and pleading on her face. now that he could fully see her, he quickly noticed other markings on her. a fading bruise around her left eye and a split lip that had not fully healed yet. the scene before him was all too familiar. he had seem it with his mom and he had experienced it himself. he could not leave her alone to fend for herself. no...he will not leave her alone.

"Oi, i was looking for you everywhere! You said you would meet with us hours ago." no longer paying attention to the aggressor in front of him, jax bent down to be eye level with the woman. a cheeky grin graced his features and he held out a hand to help her up. a bemused look appeared briefly on her face as she searched his for answers. please get the hint. his smile tensed slightly. after what felt like ages, her hand finally rose up to meet his and she used her newfound support to stand back up. "this bloke would not believe i was meeting up with some friends. said i was lying to get away from him." she gave a slight tilt of her head to point out the man that was now glowering at the two of them.

"well, i'm friends!" jax held his hands up in a 'gulity as charged' manner. "nice to finally meet you, mate. heard all about you." he extended his hand in greeting to the man, hoping to deescalate the situation, but was instead met with a look that made his hairs stand on end. "okay...so i think the two of us should get going. the rest of the gang are waiting for us." the woman immediately nodded in agreement, turning her back away from the problem to follow jax. but they did not make it far before her arm was grabbed and she was forcefully yanked back. "i did not give you permission to leave." she tried fighting against his hold, hissing and swearing in pain.

"hey! just leave her al--" stars suddenly clouded his vision and jax found himself looking up at the night sky. he had been punched, and judging by the taste of blood in his mouth it left a nasty gash on the inside of his cheek. a scream caused him to sit up and he found the woman struggling to claw off the large hands that were grasping her throat. there was no more reasoning with the guy. serious action needed to be taken if they were going to make it out of this alive.

he quickly glanced around to see if there was anything he could use to at least bring the man's attention back to him. panic was slowly starting to close in as he began to hear the woman gasp for air. he was running out of time. and then there it was. right in front of him lied the solution. a bucket full of what looked like used cleaning solution. enough to temporarily blind the man and give them an opportunity to flee. without much second thought he grabbed the handle of the bucket and chucked it with as much force as he could muster towards his target.

most of the liquid had spilled out of the bucket by the time it had reached the man, but the metal hit the side of his head with enough force to knock him down, releasing his hands from the woman's throat. his body hit the ground with a sickening thud and he laid there in a daze. "huh... that worked out even better than i expected." a soft groan escaped his lips, signaling the two that it was time to run.

as they sprinted out the alley and down the street, a thought struck jax. "do you have a safe place to go to?" the woman nodded. "my mum's flat is just down the block. i will stay with her." he released a small sigh of relief. "ok that's good. i'll make sure that you ge--" and he was back on the ground, the gravel of the road scraping both his knees and the palms of his hands. he winced at the stinging pain that was taking over. "oh my god! are you alright?" the woman stopped in her tracks and went over to help him up, but he waved her off. "keep going! get to safety! he wants you more than me."

she faltered for a little before giving a curt nod and mouthing 'thank you', then she was off. jax watched until she was no longer in his line of sight. he glanced down at the old converses he was wearing and noticed one of them was untied. with a groan he managed to shift himself into a sitting position. he looked at his surroundings, quickly realizing he was in the middle of the road. it was already very late into the night, so there were no cars out. as he started to pick himself up, a thick fog was beginning to gather around him. he did not pay it much mind as fogs were not uncommon after a bout of rain. what he failed to pick up on was that fog was only surrounding him.

his head snapped up at the sound of a truck honking and bright headlights washing over him. how did he notice earlier? was the fog really getting that thick? you need to move out of the way. now! but he found himself not being able to even lift his foot. fear and dread kept him in place. i am going to die here. he shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

NOW. am i dead yet? where is the pain? jax opened his eyes, spotting a campfire before him. he looked around and saw large trees looming over him. and the gravel he was once standing on was replaced with fallen dead leaves and dirt. where the bloody hell am i? he was not alone. other people were around the campfire, looking as equally lost and confused as he was. he needed to figure out what was happening cause this did not feel like a second chance in life.
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© akeno.

2024

FULL NAME. theodore "theo" williams
D.O.B. may 7, 2001
P.O.B. portland, oregon
GENDER. cisgender male. he/him/his
SEXUALITY. biromantic bisexual

OCCUPATION. mechanical engineer, studying to get his professional license
SKILLS. he is familiar with how power-producing machinery, such as generators, work and function due to his background in engineering.
ROLE. technician

visage.

DESCRIPTION. describe their basic appearance.

ATTIRE. what do they typically where? is it the outfit they were wearing when they were taken? it is the same as it would be in a trial?

FACE CLAIM. dylan o'brien

LIKES.
─ list up to five likes.

DISLIKES.

─ list up to five dislikes.

HOBBIES.

─ did they have hobbies before?

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ three strengths and weaknesses that would benefit or hinder them in a trial. example: (+) stamina: elaborate. (-) loud: elaborate.

FEAR.

─ the entity likely picked up on this when they got close to the fog, what are they most afraid of?

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

abc's

BELONGINGS.

to be used as clues: this rp will include a mystery element. please list out at least five belongings that your survivor would own to be found in rp for lore purposes? example: a family photo (elaborate on the importance, doesn't have to be more than a sentence)

HISTORY

BEFORE. what was their childhood and background like growing up?

THE FOG. what were they doing, where were they, when they stumbled upon a corrupted area and were taken by the fog?

NOW. the trials have not started, they have only just been taken by the entity where the rp will start off - but how would they react and feel to this new life of theirs?

Bluesky_101 · Aug 19, 2024

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© akeno.

Unknown

FULL NAME. Conner Miles Flanigan
D.O.B. November 3rd, 2005 (Estimated 20+ years old)
P.O.B. Tulsa, Oklahoma
GENDER. Male, He/Him
SEXUALITY. Unknown

ALIAS. Dread.
ROLE. Devour Hope.
SPECIES. Human

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Connor has a youthful appearance. He has a slim build that complements his height, which is around 5'10. His face is characterized by a defined jawline and high cheekbones. Connor’s eyes are a warm, deep brown, but if you looked closely they were blank as if there was nothing. It reflected all his trauma and pain. Below his eyes were a deep set of dark eyebags, representing the tiredness he endured and still does. His hair is a rich, dark brown, styled messy from never doing anything to it and cut unevenly from the man. His complexion is fairly pale, with what once was smooth skin, but now is dirty skin. The wounds inflicted during his time in the basement are etched deeply into his skin, appearing as raw, open scars that never heal. These wounds contrast a once-smooth complexion, adding a harsh, permanent reminder of his trauma. One gash across his face, from the left side of his forehead slanted across his nose to the right cheek. He had a gash on his left jaw line. One across his chest, many on his arms and legs. The permanently, never healing, open wounds covered his body.

ATTIRE.
When Connor was abducted, he wore a soft t-shirt with a graphic design of his favorite superhero on the front. The shirt was a bit loose, allowing him to move comfortably while he slept, but kept him warm. He wore matching pajama shorts that were light and breathable. The shorts had a playful pattern of his favorite superheroes symbol, adding to the childlike feel of his sleepwear. While not part of his outfit, Connor was covered with a soft, fleece blanket decorated with patterns of cartoon characters. The blanket was a comforting accessory that kept him warm as he slept.

During his captivity and during the trials, the t-shirt he wore was now heavily worn, stained, and frayed at the edges. It was ripped from how tight it had become, due to him growing up. It had become grimy and ragged due to the exposure to the damp, cold conditions of the basement. His pajama shorts were torn and barely held together. They were dirty, and the fabric had deteriorated, exposing his skin to the harsh environments. Connor was mostly barefoot, the cold floors made his feet sore and exposed him to potential injury. The blanket he had with him was long gone, leaving him without the comforting warmth he once relied on.

WEAPON. Crowbar. The same one the man used to kill him.

FACE CLAIM. Levi Miller.

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ Art and Crafting: Connor likes artistic activities, like making weird creations with glue, paper, etc.
─ Drawing: Connor has a love for drawing. Drawing allows him to express his emotions and thoughts in a way words sometimes can’t.
─ Books and Stories: Connor has always loved reading and getting lost in stories. He finds comfort in reading, especially kiddie picture stories with silly plots.
─ Collecting Rocks: Connor had a hobby of collecting interesting rocks. This hobby connected him with nature and sparked his curiosity about the world around him.
─ Exploring: Connor had a curious nature and loved exploring new places. He enjoyed the adventure and discovery.

DISLIKES.

─ Crowded Places: Before everything, Connor hated being in crowded places. He felt overwhelmed by large groups of people and preferred quieter environments.
─ Loud Noises. Connor has always hated loud noises, since they disrupted his peace. After his years in captivity, sudden loud noises signaled danger or violence. The dislike grew into a fear. Loud sounds now trigger memories of his traumatic experiences.
─ Being Controlled. As a child, Connor hated being told what to do or feeling restricted by rules. Even though he’d listen to rules for his mother's benefit, it didn't mean he liked them.
─ Unanswered Questions. Connor has always been curious and hated when things didn't make sense or when people avoided answering his questions.
─ Darkness. Before anything, Connor hated the dark, finding it scary. After spending years in a dimly lit basement, this dislike turned into a terrifying fear. The darkness now reminds him of isolation, fear, and hopelessness, making him anxious and uneasy whenever he's in a dark place.

HOBBIES.

─ Drawing: Before being kidnapped, Connor enjoyed drawing. His drawings were always imaginative, showing scenes from his favorite books, memories of moments he lived, or ideas from his own mind. Even after being abducted, he would use what he could to draw on the basement stone walls.
─ Playing Outdoors: Connor loved spending time outdoors. Whether it was drawing with chalk on the sidewalks, playing with a ball, or playing on the playgrounds in parks. He was always curious about the world around him, always ready to discover new things around him.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) Resourceful/Adaptable. Connor had become highly resourceful. A skill he developed from his years of having to survive in terrible circumstances. He learned to adapt quickly to his environment, using whatever he had around to stay alive. This resourcefulness and adaptability now makes him a big opponent, capable of thinking on his feet and finding solutions in even the most challenging situations.
─ (-) Emotional Instability. Connor's years of torment have left him emotionally fragile and unstable. His experiences have shattered his ability to process and maintain emotions normally. Sudden flashbacks, anger, and fear overwhelm him, making him unpredictable. His instability leaves him vulnerable to manipulation (Cough Couch the Entity) and can lead to destructive behavior.
─ (+) Determination.Despite everything he's been through, Connor has a strong determination. Once he sets his mind on a goal, whether it's survival, revenge, or fulfilling the Entity's demands, he will do it relentlessly. His determination makes him able to recover from challenges and setbacks and it pushes him to keep going.
─ (-) Dependency. Connor’s desire to get back what he’s lost has made him dependent on the Entity's promises. This dependency is a major weakness since it leaves him under the Entity’s control. His need for guidance and hope prevents him from thinking for himself. It makes him a puppet to the Entity’s. Without the Entity's words, Connor would feel lost and unable to function on his own.
─ (+) Awareness. Connor spent years in a state of fear and alertness, he has developed a good awareness of his surroundings. He can read people's intentions quickly, an instinct he picked up from years of trying to predict the man's next move. The awareness gives him an edge of navigating situations, making him difficult to surprise or outmaneuver.
─ (-) Paranoia. After years of being betrayed by the world and being alone in captivity, Connor has developed a sense of paranoia. He finds it nearly impossible to trust others, always assuming that they have motives or will harm him again. This paranoia isolates him further from both survivors and killers, preventing him from forming alliances or relationships that could help him.

FEAR.

─ Being alone. Having spent years by himself in confinement in the basement, Connor is haunted by the fear of being alone again. The loneliness he experienced left a deep scar within him. Even now, if he ever sees his mother or returns to his life again like the Entity promised, he fears being abandoned or forgotten all over again.
─ Losing himself. As much as Connor has already lost his identity, his past, and his sense of self. He fears that one day he’ll lose whatever remains of his humanity. The Entity's influence clouds over him and he fears that if he continues to follow his commands, he will lose the last pieces of the parts that keep him sane, becoming nothing more than a tool for destruction.

PSY.

(+) Resilience. Despite being put through unimaginable horrors during his time kidnapped, Connor has an extraordinary inner strength. His resilience allows him to survive years of physical and psychological torture. Even when he lost all hope, something deep in him kept him alive. This strength defines him and even though it has been twisted by his experiences, it's the reason he still existed for so long.
(+) Loyalty. Connor’s love for his mother never left him. Even when he forgot her face and name. Deep into his broken mind, the connection to her kept him fighting for survival. This loyalty to those he cares about defines his character. If he ever forms bonds again, he would protect those he loves with all his devotion, even if that means going to dark extremes.
(+) Persistence. Throughout his time in the basement, Connor never truly gave up, even when he stopped screaming and fighting. His ability to continue despite all odds is a way of showing his willpower. This makes him a dangerous force. Once he sets his mind on something, he won't stop until it’s accomplished.
(-) Vengeful. The years of torture have changed Connor's sense of justice, turning it into a hunger for vengeance. He believes that others must suffer like he did. His pain and fear pushes him to inflict that same pain and fear on others as a way of coping with his own trauma. This vengefulness drives his actions, leading him to have brutal behavior.
(-) Bitter. Connor's long suffering has left him bitter and resentful. He has deep anger toward the world for allowing such a fate to fall on him. He struggles to see the good in anything, viewing his new life through the lens of his trauma.
(-) Obsessed. Connor is consumed by the Entity's promise, which has become his only source drive. This obsession with regaining what he lost – his mother, the life he never had – drives him to do the Entity’s bidding without question. His focus on doing the Entity’s demands clouds his judgment, making him willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve his goal, even if it means losing his humanity.

abc's

POWER.

Boomerang:
Connor has the ability of perfect aim. He uses his crowbar not just for beating and hitting, but as a boomerang. He can throw his crowbar to hit a survivor, whether it gets lodged into the survivor or not, it will come back to him no matter how far away he is. He can be yards away and still hit the survivor perfectly. He may only hit them if he can see them, if he can not see them or loses track of where they are, then he is not able to hit them from far away.

Side Objective For Survivors:
There are clues all around Connors realm. Due to being trapped for so long, Connor forgot everything. If a survivor can figure out his name or a small piece of information from his past and say it to Connor, it will cause him to freeze. He’ll freeze up trying to remember or freeze up remembering that piece of information. Either way, it will give the survivor enough time to escape. It can only be information that is true. If it is made up information or incorrect, Connor will not freeze up.

THE MORI.

Connor will use all the strength he has to throw the survivor to the ground. He will hold them to the ground and just stare at them like the man would stare at him. He’ll give it a few seconds, letting the fear he had to endure instill in them. Once he is done with his moment he’ll snap their arms and legs so they can’t go anywhere before doing the same to their neck and putting them out of their misery.

BELONGINGS.

- Box of crayons. Ones used by Connor when he’d sit in a booth and color on paper as his mother worked.
- Cigarettes. The cigarettes he would see his mother using when she was stressed, whether it was outside the car or outside the restaurant.
- A kiddie blanket. A small dark blue blanket with green and orange race cars on it. A blanket Connor would curl up into and sleep with in the backseat of the car.
- A big gift wrapped box. The same gift the man used to lure seven year old Connor out of his car and into the back of his van.
- A watch. A squared brown watch that the man would use to check the time. He would check it after he brought down Connors food, after he beat him, and after he watched him for hours.

HISTORY

BEFORE.
Connor Flanigan was born on November 3rd, 2005, in Tulsa, Oklahoma. His biological father, Nathan, left before he was even born, unable to handle the responsibility of a child. This broke his mother, Daniella’s heart. She had just turned 18 when she found out she was pregnant, and her life had been on track. She was preparing to attend Yale, and her adoptive parents were proud of her. But Connor's arrival changed everything. Daniella's parents told her to get rid of the baby, they didn’t want her ruining her life this early on. She didn’t have the heart to do that though. She couldn’t just get rid of the child that could possibly be the greatest thing in her life.

Daniella refused to get rid of the baby. It didn’t go well with her adoptive parents and so, they made her choose – them or the baby. If she chose them, they’d be there to support her, be there for the rest of her life. They just didn’t want their precious girl going downhill. If she chose the baby, well, then they’d kick her out of the house. She wouldn’t be able to live with them, they’d cut her bank accounts, and put her to the streets. They didn’t want to do that, but they did think if it was said, Daniella would choose them. She didn’t. She chose her baby. Daniella couldn’t stay with people who would force such a choice on her. Her whole life her adoptive parents have been there. Now when she needs them the most, they shove her to the curb.

Daniella struggled on her own for a while. Living out of her car, unable to afford much, she couldn’t go to college because her parents had taken away her tuition. She had nowhere to go, barely enough to provide for herself, and now she was eating for two. It was tough, but Daniella made it work. She took on four jobs a day, saving every penny she could, at least enough to afford somewhere safe when her pregnancy progressed.

When Connor was born, Daniella had only herself. But she had managed to make things work, and now it was time to meet her sweet baby. As soon as she held him, she burst into tears. The nine months of struggle had been worth it. Daniella never wanted to let go of Connor. His barely open eyes looked up at her, his tiny feet and arms wiggling in her embrace. She was in awe. She knew she had made the right choice to keep him. If she hadn’t, this little life she held in her arms wouldn’t be here. Daniella was grateful she hadn’t listened to her parents, if she did, she would have regretted it forever. Right then, she felt no regret.

Growing up, Daniella and Connor were a team. Even from a young age, he helped his mother. He was a very bright and loving child. He was incredibly smart for his age, he knew how to comprehend things that kids his age wouldn’t. He understood that his mother was a young single mother trying her best to provide for the both of them. For that he loved her so much. They lived out of their car and he had to go to work with his mother, but he didn’t mind. He liked watching her work, watching from the diner tables as he colored with his crayons. Sitting behind the cash register reading and looking up at her from the floor. Even just sitting still in the kitchen as he watches her and all the other workers prepare food for the customers. Daniella was grateful that she had such an understanding child that didn’t complain or ask for things he knew she couldn’t afford. Of course it broke her heart to know she couldn’t get him things other kids had, or put him in school with others. Even just knowing he had to grow up in the life they had made her feel sad.

Life was okay for them up until Connor was 7. It was one of those days where Daniella had to work a night shift. So she parked the car in the parking lot, leaving Connor alone to sleep in the car while she worked. Daniella and Connor both knew the drill for nights like this. Conner was not allowed to leave the car, talk to strangers, or open the door. Daniella would go and check on him every break she had and she would keep the doors locked at all times. Most of the times, Connor would be sleeping soundlessly while Daniella worked her nightshift but this wasn’t one of those nights. For some reason, Connor just couldn’t keep his little eyes shut or stop shifting and wiggling in the backseat. He had sitten up to see if he could see his mother through the restaurant windows from his spot in the car. The only light he had was the one from the restaurant windows and the lamp post by the car. Connor had spotted a man standing by his van towards the corner of the parking lot the restaurant couldn’t see. The man had a kind smile on his face and waved to Connor. He was startled but when the man pulled out a big gift wrapped present from his van, Connors eyes lit up.

Connor was smart. He knew not to talk or go anywhere near strangers without his mother but the gift. He had never seen a box that big before. Connor never got anything nice, and he didn’t blame his mom but he really wanted that big gift. When the man waved for him to come over to him, Connor was hesitant. His little mind was racing all over the place and he knew he shouldn’t, but he was tired and really was just focused on the big gift. His little hand went to the button on the side of the door – and he unlocked it. The door came open with a swing and Connors little feet stepped out of the car. The cold night air sent chills through his little body as his bare feet walked over to the man. The man just stood there with a smile, putting the gift inside the van and beckoning Connor to join him inside the van.

THE SHIFT.
Years. Connor spent years in the man’s basement. No life for him to live. At some point, he lost his sanity. He no longer knew how old he was, couldn’t remember his name, and had forgotten what his mother looked like. The life he had before being taken was a distant, unrecognizable memory. For so long, he prayed and wished to see his mother again, to escape the basement he called hell. He used to scream, cry, yell, scratch at the walls, bang on the doors, but nothing ever came of it. Eventually, he learned that staying silent was the best option. Every day, the man came down to the basement. Sometimes to feed him, sometimes to beat him, and other times just to sit and watch him for hours. Every day, Connor thought it would be his last. He couldn’t even remember the day he lost all hope. He was terrified, miserable.

Then came the day the man decided it was Connor's last. Connor knew something was wrong – there had been no food, no visits, nothing at all for the past week. He could feel it in his bones that this would be his last day. He spent the hours crying and yelling, no longer caring about the rules. When the basement door at the top of the stairs burst open, dread filled him. He stood in the middle, ready to fight, but as the man’s footsteps pounded down the stairs, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fear paralyzed him. He was like a deer in the headlights. When the man appeared at the bottom of the steps holding a crowbar, he just stared at Connor. Confused and terrified, Connor just wanted it to be over.
He slowly stepped back as the man stalked closer, the only sounds being Connor’s scared breaths and the man’s aggressive ones echoing through the basement. When the man yelled and raised the crowbar, charging at Connor, he backed away tripping over his own feet. He fell to the ground and scooted back into a corner. The crowbar came down hard. Bang. Bang. Bang. Fog started appearing on the cold stone floor of the basement. The last thing Connor saw was the basement floor as the fog enveloped him. He felt dread, pain, and fear…until it all just stopped.
NOW.
Connor now stands in the middle of the basement, clutching the crowbar the man had used on him. The Entity whispers in his ears as he lingers in the darkness, the small singular light bulb above him on the ceiling, flickering on and off in uneven pauses. The wounds from the crowbar still open on Connor’s body, destined to stay open forever. The Entity had made him a promise. A promise that he would see his mother again and return to the time before he was taken – if, and only if, he did what was asked. He had to make the survivors endure the same dread and pain he had felt.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1985

FULL NAME. Jason Mitchell Hall
D.O.B. October 22nd, 1961
P.O.B. Mercer Island, Washington
GENDER. Male, He/Him
SEXUALITY. Heterosexual

OCCUPATION. Was learning to take over his fathers business.
SKILLS. Negotiable, Observant, Strategic, direct
ROLE. Plot Twist; a traitor amongst the people, an ‘every-man-for-themselves’ type.

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
Jason Hall has a striking appearance with his strong masculine features and undeniable charm. He has a strong jawline, slightly square, adding to the angular structuring of his face. He has medium-length brown hair with a touch of waves. His expressive eyebrows frame his deep-set eyes, which he gets from his father. They’re a rich shade of brown, giving him an intense yet chamful gaze. He has a nose that is straight and proportionate, balancing his facial structure. Jason’s smile is one of his most striking features. His lips are full and naturally colored, and when he smiles, there’s a creasing in the corners of his eyes. One that resembles the same creasing his mother has. His skin has a warm tone that's smooth and youthful. It gives him a naturally glowing look. He has a lean yet athletic build with broad shoulders that enhance his athletic frame. His posture is relaxed, with a slight slouch that gives off a laid-back vibe.

ATTIRE.
As a young boy, Jason was dressed in traditional, classic pieces. Think Ralph Lauren and Brooks Brothers. He would wear tailored shorts with button-up shirts, often in plain pastel colors. His parents favored fabrics like cotton and wool for his clothing. Jason would also wear crisp white shorts, collared polos, and boat shoes. That style his parents made him wear, seemed to stick to him the older he grew up.

As a teen Jason wore khaki pants, cable-knit sweaters, and button-up shirts, often paired with blazers or sports jackets. His color palette leaned toward classic preppy shades like navy, burgundy, forest green, and cream. His parents made sure he had the best of the best. He also had tailored suits for formal events, ensuring he looked neat at country club gatherings or formal dinners. He wore polished loafers, two-tone brogues, and classic leather sneakers for more casual looks. His teenage years were ones he started exploring accessories like silk scarves, leather belts with designer buckles, and sleek sunglasses. He received a luxury watch for his 16th birthday, a Cartier, which would become a permanent part of his outfits.

The older he got, the more he dressed like his father. He started wearing more power suits with broad shoulders, designer labels like Armani or Versace. He favored crisp dress shirts with pastel or bold colors, paired with thin leather ties. For a more casual look, he wore designer jeans, polo shirts, and blazers, or V-neck sweaters with a preppy flair. Leather jackets would also be in the mix at times. Jason wore expensive leather sneakers or Italian leather shoes. He wears designer sunglasses with large frames, adding gold chains or other subtle jewelry to his outfits.

When Jason was taken he was wearing a slim-fit Ralph Lauren button-down shirt in a soft powder blue. The shirt has the top two buttons casually undone to give him a more relaxed yet polished look and the sleeves are rolled up just past his elbows. His pants are tailored white linen trousers. The trousers have a slight taper at the ankle with pleats on the front add a classic touch to the look. He had on his gold Cartier watch on his left wrist, the gift from his father. He has a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarers tucked into the collar of his shirt, and a sleek brown leather belt with a simple gold buckle matching his loafers perfectly.

FACE CLAIM. Young James Franco

LIKES.
─ Expensive things. Jason grew up a spoiled child. His parents gave him everything without any hesitation. Therefore anything that had a high price caught his eye. Anything shiny, anything expensive, anything rare, anything a normal average person couldn’t have basically.
─ Classic cars. Growing up, Jason’s father taught him the love for vintage vehicles. Jason had a passion for cars, especially ones from the 60’s and 70’s. As a kid he loved cruising around town in his father's Jaguar E-Type. Now he loves spending weekends working on his own 1967 Shelby GT500.
─ Money. Jason has never experienced a life without lots of money. He believed money could get you anything in life, get you anywhere in life. Those small paper bills were the sole factor of his life. They were an importance to him, a priority.
─ Traveling. Being rich meant Jason and his family could go anywhere. They had their own private plane for traveling. Jason learned to grow a love for going to many different places. Especially places like Paris, Rome, and Italy.
─ Fine dining. Jason's family had their own cooking staff but on occasions they would go out to fancy restaurants. It was something Jason really enjoyed. He enjoyed exploring high-end restaurants and tasting gourmet dishes.

DISLIKES.

─ Messiness. Because Jason's family had their own cleaning staff, nothing was ever dirty or messy. He grew up in cleanliness his whole life, 24/7. He can't stand clutter or untidiness. He finds it frustrating when people don't take care of their space or appearance.
─ Losing control. Jason dislikes situations where he feels out of control. Whether it's in his career, personal life, or social life, he likes to have the upper hand and be in charge of the situation. His father taught him to take and have control, without control, he was weak.
─ Small talk. Jason absolutely hates small talk. He thinks it’s meaningless. He finds small chatter boring and a waste of time, preferring deep, engaging conversations instead. If the conversation is interesting, he’s not having it.
─ Public transportation. Growing up with access to luxury cars and private drivers, Jason hates having to rely on public transportation. He’s only ever had to rely on it once. He finds it inconvenient and uncomfortable compared to the freedom of driving his own car. His parents had always told him it was for the poor anyways.
─ Being Underestimated. Jason hates when people assume he’s just a shallow rich kid. Is he? Yes, but he’s worked hard to prove himself. He becomes irritated when others don’t recognize his intelligence and capabilities beyond his wealth and good looks.

HOBBIES.

─ Sailing. Jason grew up on Mercer Island which is surrounded by water. Since he was rich, he was around yachts and boats a lot of the time. He grew to love spending time on the water. He enjoys sailing his dad’s family boat or cruising along in his family's yacht, feeling the wind in his hair, and the sense of freedom it brings.
─ Drinking.Jason developed his sense of drinking from his mother and father. His father loved to drink and his mother loved wine tasting. Even though Jason was drinking way before he was legal for it, when he was old enough to drink, his dad would take him along with him to drink with his buddies. Since then he’s just been doing it more frequently.
─ Tennis.Jason enjoys playing tennis as it’s a sport that combines athleticism with socializing. He often participates in country club matches and takes pride in showing his skills on the court. It was also a way for him to let out aggression in a healthy way.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+)Charismatic. All his life Jason has been a charming guy. The way he looked, the way he smiled, the way he spoke, and the way he carried himself. He had money, everything he could ever want and more. He knew he was ‘hot shit’ and he used it to his advantage. His natural charm and confidence made him a compelling and engaging person, easily winning people over.
─ (+)Decisive. Jason’s father taught him to be a quick thinker. He always told him in business you always needed to be one step ahead, even in life. He is capable of making quick, confident decisions when needed. This helps him tackle challenges and complete opportunities efficiently.
─ (+)Strategic Thinker. Most of what Jason learned in life has been from his father. He has been teaching Jason since the moment he was born. Jason has had a bright mind since he was young. Since he had a thing for thinking ahead, his ability to make effective strategies helps him succeed in business and personal situations.
─ (-)Self-Centered. Jason’s rich and spoiled, a natural snob and ass. All his life it’s been him this, him that. It’s always been Jason, Jason, Jason. He focuses on his own desires and needs, making him selfish. He prioritizes his own interests over others’ well-being. He always puts himself first.
─ (-)Difficulty with Criticism. Jason thinks he always knows everything, in reality he doesn’t. His big ego makes him think he’s right all the time, refusing help from others, and his strong sense of pride makes it challenging for him to accept constructive criticism. He reacts defensively when faced with feedback or differing opinions
─ (-)Emotionally Detached. Jason’s father was all about being a ‘man’. Jason was never allowed to cry and never allowed to show any weakness. So, his reluctance to show vulnerability can make him seem distant or unapproachable. His avoidance of emotional depth can strain meaningful relationships.

FEAR.

─ Failing. Jason's parents always had high expectations for him. He was never allowed to fail at anything, and if he did, it would disappoint them. He didn’t want to disappoint them ever so he strove for perfection. Failing terrified him. It meant he wasn’t the best, it meant he couldn't make his parents proud.
─ Being vulnerable. Because of Jason's father, he thinks he has to be a ’man’ all the time. He learnt to view vulnerability as a weakness and Jason refused to be weak. He was scared of being vulnerable, to anyone because it meant opening up, it meant losing control of his emotions and he liked control over everything.

PSY.

─ (+) Ambitious. Jason was taught that if he wanted something, he had to take it, make it, and do it. His drive and determination pushed him to achieve high goals and succeed in various aspects of his life. He’s motivated and strives for excellence and perfection.
Trials: Jason’s motivation pushes him to get things done, no matter what it takes. Jason's main goal is to survive and to escape. He is determined to succeed in both. If it means putting himself first he’ll do it, if it means working together he’ll do it, if it means taking charge he'll do it. He’s not giving up.
─ (+) Courage. Jason has always valued bravery and resilience when dealing with difficulties. Jason believes that facing challenges head-on and not shying away from adversity is essential for success. His courageousness makes him brave enough to take risks and take charge.
Trials: Jason's bravery is increased to a high point. He knows what has to be done and he will do it. He will face terrifying and difficult situations without a hesitation. Some may call it stupid and others may call it bravery. He’ll do things by himself if need be.
─ (+) Self-Reliance. Jason has grown up an only child. Being independent was a must for him. He learnt from a very young age that he could only rely on himself. In fact he values self-reliance and independence, believing that individuals should be able to rely on themselves for their success and well-being, rather than depending on others.
Trials: This plays a big role for Jason. Relying on himself can be bad for the other survivors because he will put himself first instead of them, but it’s great for him. He values his life more than others and will do anything in his power to make sure he’s able to stay alive and not suffer.
─ (-) Judgmental. Growing up, Jason's life revolved around what social class you are. How much money you make, what car do you drive, how big is your house, what kind of clothes do you own? All questions that mattered in the type of world he lived in. His mother was the one to pass on the judgment. Teaching him to focus on status and appearance. He learned to prioritize surface-level impressions over deeper qualities. If you didn’t meet a standard, he didn’t associate with you.
Trials: This causes a lot of trouble for Jason. Judging comes as a natural thing since he’s been doing it his whole life. He judges the survivors, makes conclusions about them before even talking to them. At some point he may need their help and if he judges them hard or acts a certain way, that help may not come.
─ (-) Impatience. Jason was used to getting his way quickly. It would be as fast as a snap of the finger. His high expectations and drive for success leads to impatience with slower processes or people who don’t meet his standards. If something isn't going as quickly as he wants it to, that's not good enough for him.
Trials: Surviving is all about patience. If Jason isn’t patient and starts becoming impatient, he can act irrationally, get frustrated, or even try to make things quicker which has its consequences.
─ (-) Avoids Vulnerability. Jason struggles with showing his true emotions and vulnerabilities. The whole being a ’man’ thing takes a huge impact on him. His tendency to maintain a façade of perfection and masculinity makes it difficult for him to form genuine, emotionally deep connections.
Trials: Making connections and allies is an important part of surviving. It’s an important part of keeping your sanity in a place that's basically hell. Jason has a hard time forming connections and relies on himself, and due to this it’ll be very hard and lonely for him if he keeps it up. Pushing people away is not the way to go, but he does it anyway.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

─ Tailored Suit. His dads first suit when he took over his fathers business, then it became Jason's first suit. His father passed it down when he started learning and preparing to take the business from his father.
─ Tennis Racket. The same racket from when Jason started playing tennis at the country club. Something that was meant to be fun but turned for a way Jason took out his aggression without showing weakness.
─ Paris Postcard. The first postcard his mother sent when she was away traveling for fun and he had to stay because his father wanted him to, to teach him business. It was one of the many postcards that meant so much to Jason. The words ’Having fun as always! The wine is delicious, wish you were here to taste with me. Send my regards to your father. Missing you with my whole heart. I love you Sonshine. -love mummy’ written on the back.
─ Leather Briefcase. The one his father always carried around. One Jason always dreamt of having and owning as a kid. He looked up to his father, having a briefcase was one step closer to being like him.
─ Empty Bourbon Bottle. A reminder in Jasons life of the drinking he does. Jason didn’t ever like to call himself an alcoholic but looking at a Bourbon bottle always imprinted in his mind how much he really drinks, and it’s a lot.

HISTORY

BEFORE.
Jason Mitchell Hall was born on October 22, 1961, in Mercer Island, Washington, to Johnathan and Pam Hall. Even before Jason's birth, his parents were under pressure to have a child. Both sets of grandparents eagerly awaited the arrival of a grandchild. Two years earlier, Pam had been pregnant with what would have been Jason’s older sister, but tragically, she suffered a miscarriage. Pam’s parents were supportive during the difficult time, helping the couple heal from their loss. Unfortunately, Johnathan’s parents were not as understanding, expressing disappointment and blaming Pam for not taking better care of herself. This controversy strained both families, deepening the divide between them. As Pam and Johnathan grieved, their marriage began to falter. Pam was still mourning the loss of their unborn child, while Johnathan was eager to try again. This difference in coping made things incredibly difficult between them. Pam knew she wasn’t emotionally ready to try for another child, yet Johnathan pushed forward, eager to start their family.

It wasn’t until two years later that Pam became pregnant with Jason. The news brought them joy, a beacon of hope after so much darkness. Pam was relieved she could conceive again, but her happiness was diminished when Johnathan began talking about all the expectations he had for their unborn child. It was a miracle for them to be expecting again, but by then, their marriage had already suffered deep cracks.

When Jason was born in the hospital, Pam was the first to hold him. Her heart melted as she cradled her little bundle of joy in her arms. Jason’s tiny hand wrapped around her pointer finger, and as she looked down at him, watching his little body squirm and his tiny nose scrunch up, it felt like witnessing a miracle. It was as magical as seeing snow for the first time, spotting a shooting star, or watching the aurora lights. She couldn’t look away, wishing the moment could last forever. Pam imagined Jason’s future – his first steps, his first words, learning to swim, reading, and playing with toys. She was ready to do anything for the little boy in her arms. At that moment, she knew Jason would be the most important thing in her life. She would do anything to protect him. She would burn the world for him.

To Pam, time seemed to stop as she held Jason, but in reality, the moment was only a few minutes. She didn’t get to hold her child long enough before Johnathan took him from her arms. To Johnathan, Jason was more than just a baby. He was the vessel for his legacy. Johnathan already had everything planned out in his mind. Jason had barely entered the world, and yet, Johnathan saw him as a prize, a future reflection of himself. The difference between Pam and Johnathan was clear. Pam looked at Jason with love, while Johnathan looked at him with a hunger to mold him into something Pam feared.

Growing up, Jason was much closer to his mother. His father was always working, so Jason spent most of his time with her. Homeschooled, Jason stayed at home, where he and his mother formed an inseparable bond. Pam cherished every moment she spent with her son, he was her heart and soul. They would race through the mansion playing tag, their laughter echoing through the long, grand halls. When they weren’t running around, they’d sit by the pool, getting tanned while Pam shared stories from her own childhood, telling tales that captivated Jason. Mornings often started with Pam helping Jason pick out his clothes. He would sit on the bed, grinning, as she held up different shirts, asking if it was a “yes” or “no.” She would light up with excitement when he said yes and make a playful face when he said no, which always made Jason laugh. Every moment with her felt special. Pam would also spend hours reading to Jason in the library. He’d sit on her lap, his eyes fixed on her as she read, and even though her gaze was on the pages, he admired her deeply. Jason loved his mother as much as she loved him – she was his favorite person in the entire world.

Under her guidance, Jason grew into a bright, loving child. Pam made sure he had a kind heart, wanting him to grow up filled with love, not with the coldness she feared in his father. Jason’s kindness extended to everyone. To him, it didn’t matter if someone worked for him, rode the bus, lived in a small house, or dressed differently. He enjoyed running around, talking, laughing, and playing with the staff, who he considered his friends. Pam had taught him to value people for who they were, and Jason embraced that lesson with all his heart.

When Jason was 10, he was running around by the pool, lost in his own world. There's a reason they say not to run near the water, but Jason was too caught up in the joy of the moment, laughing and looking up at the sky to spot shapes in the clouds. He didn’t notice the puddle on the slick concrete. His foot slipped, and before he knew it, he fell hard to his knees and hands. The rough surface scraped his skin, drawing blood. Jason hadn’t experienced pain like that before, and the shock of it overwhelmed him. Tears welled up in his eyes, and soon, he was crying hysterically. At the time, his mother was at a book club meeting with friends, but his father was home. Jonathan, hearing the commotion, took his time coming outside to see what had happened. When he saw Jason on the ground, his knee and hands bloodied, all Jonathan did was sigh in disappointment. Instead of rushing to comfort his son, he called for one of the maids to tend to Jason’s wounds. Still sobbing, Jason looked up at his father with tear-filled eyes and a quivering lip, hoping for some kind of comfort. But Jonathan had other plans. Kneeling down in front of his son, he placed his large hands on Jason’s small shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. Jason will never forget the words his father said to him at that moment. Words that would change him forever.

My son does not cry.
Men do not cry, are you a man?
Be strong and suck it up.
Halls do not show weakness, is that understood?
You keep a strong face and keep going.

Jonathan's words forever impacted Jason. He was too young to fully understand their weight, but he didn’t want to disappoint his father. To him, those words seemed inspiring, a guide to becoming strong. It was then that he began to look up to his father more than his mother. He wanted to be like Jonathan, stoic, serious, and strong. The innocence that once made him cherish the moments spent playing tag or listening to his mother read began to fade away. When Pam would try to get him into their usual activities, he seemed distant. She'd ask what was wrong, but Jason remembered his father's words and kept everything to himself, simply shrugging off her concerns. It broke Pam’s heart to see the light in him dim, to see her son change so suddenly.

By the time Jason turned 12, Jonathan decided it was time for his son to start learning about the family business firsthand, rather than just hearing about it. He began taking Jason to work, introducing him to his influential friends, and showing him the ropes of their world. Jason was eager to bond with his father, he immersed himself in it, spending less and less time with his mother. Pam could feel the growing distance, a hole widening between them. She had always known this day would come, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Jason, however, loved the newfound connection with his father. He felt like they were finally bonding, finally connecting in a way they hadn't before. The more time he spent with Jonathan, the more he absorbed from him. His father's words and actions began to shape him. Jonathan took him sailing, brought him to the country club, invited him to meetings, and even had him spend time with his friends. They were all men who shared Jonathan’s views on power, masculinity, and success. Slowly but surely, Jason's head was filled with the ideals of men who believed that strength and dominance were everything.

The older Jason grew, the more his father’s influence consumed him. Jonathan was ecstatic, Jason was becoming the mirror image of himself, just as he had always wanted. Pam was forced into silence, she could only watch in sorrow as her once sweet boy transformed into a reflection of his father. Her heartache was evident, and she began drowning her sorrows in glass after glass of wine, day after day. The bright sparkle in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a growing aloofness and bitterness. She became more withdrawn, her warmth slowly fading into judgmental stares and biting comments. Jason, too, began to change. He stopped being kind to everyone, no longer engaging with the staff unless he needed something from them. His father’s lessons took over. He began keeping his emotions locked inside, using his charm as a weapon, and wielding the power he had over others. Pam’s Judgement took an influence on him as well. He adopted her judgmental attitude, no longer seeing the point in treating people kindly. The boy who once laughed freely and connected with everyone had vanished. In his place was someone cold, selfish, and ruthless. A young man who charmed girls only to break their hearts, who looked down on those around him as if they were beneath him.

Becoming the person he was, didn’t exactly have a good impact on Jason's mental health. Keeping things in, ate him from the inside and out. He couldn’t cry because that would make him weak. He couldn’t get angry because that would mean losing control. And losing control meant losing power, the very thing that made him feel ‘strong’. It tore Jason apart. He couldn’t talk to his father, who would dismiss his feelings as unmanly. He couldn’t confide in his friends, as that would reveal weakness to people he saw below him. He couldn’t even go to his mother. There was too much distance between them now. Despite the cold exterior, Jason often wanted to run into his mother’s arms and cry, just as he had when he was younger. Those days were long gone. Instead, he resorted to punching walls and mirrors in his room, screaming into his pillow, or fighting the air in anger, desperately trying to release the emotions that were eating him alive. Then he discovered tennis. It became his outlet. Away to channel his emotions into something productive. On the court, he could release his pent-up energy, win to make his father proud, and most importantly, maintain control. Tennis became the one place where he could let out everything he couldn’t show, all while keeping his power intact.

When Jason turned 21, his father took him to a private bar, a place reserved for him and his influential friends. They drank together, celebrating Jason's official adulthood, but it was also the day his father told him he wanted Jason to start working for him. He wanted to start preparing him to eventually take over the family business. For Jason, it felt like a dream come true. Yet, beneath the surface, he realized the weight of this new responsibility was far greater than the already overwhelming expectations he had been struggling to meet. It was suffocating, but he couldn't show it. That night, Jason took his first drink, then another, and another. Bourbon became his escape, and soon, it was ten glasses or more a day.

By the time Jason turned 23, his mother had left on a trip to find herself. Jason was happy for her, wishing he could join her and maybe rekindle their relationship, but his father held him back. Insisting that Jason stay and learn how to run things in his place. Jason just wanted a break from the relentless pressure, but he knew he had to fulfill his responsibilities. Despite everything, the postcards he received from his mother brought a glimmer of light to his stressful life. He wanted her to be happy again, and in a way, her journey gave him hope. Jason began running the business occasionally, stepping in when his father needed him. He found that he liked it. The power, the control – it filled him with a sense of pride. Each time he took charge, he felt his father's trust and confidence in him grow, and that filled his heart with gold. Jason's goal had always been to make his father proud, and now, standing in his father’s shoes, he felt he was finally achieving that.

THE FOG.
At 24, Jason’s life seemed to be falling perfectly into place. His father had left him in charge of the business while he traveled, handling negotiations and making investments. It had been a year since his mother left on her journey of self-discovery and even though he missed her, the steady stream of gifts, pictures, and postcards reassured him that she was doing much better. Jason was genuinely happy for her, even if it meant she had to spend a long time away. Everything was going Jason’s way. He had the sleek car, the attention of beautiful women, the business thriving under his control, the house all to himself, and most importantly, the power he had always craved. He felt like he had all the time in the world, savoring every moment of his newfound freedom and success. Everything was about to change though.

It was a Sunday night, and Jason had the entire house to himself. The music blared from the radio, filling the space with the unmistakable sound of In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. Jason sat in his father’s study, reclining in the large leather chair, his feet propped up on the polished desk. A glass of bourbon swirled in his hand, while his other hand lazily moved to the rhythm of the music. The room was dimly lit, the balcony doors wide open, allowing the cool, crisp air to drift in and mix with the scent of aged wood and leather. His eyes were closed, completely at ease, as he let the melody and the soothing breeze wash away all of his stresses and worries. Like waves slowly erasing a sandcastle on the shore.

Earlier that day, his father had called to check in, and Jason had nothing but good news to share. For the first time, his father had said the words Jason had always longed to hear, I’m proud of you. Those simple words echoed in Jason’s mind, filling him with warmth and validation he had spent his whole life chasing.

”I’m proud of you, son. You’re doing great, keep up the work.”

Those words had made Jason’s day. To him, it was the best day of his life. His father had finally voiced the approval he had longed for, and Jason felt like he had reached a new point in his life. Curiosity got the better of him though. In his mind, if his father trusted him and was proud of him, that meant he had earned the right to look through his father’s personal files. After all, he was now running the business, he needed to know everything, didn’t he? Jason began looking through the neatly organized folders, most of which contained routine business documents, but then he came across one file that stood out. Inside, he found a collection of documents and letters that felt more personal than business-related. Jason sat there for several minutes, debating whether to snoop into something so private. He knew he was crossing a line, but he was already too far in to stop now.

He opened the letters first. They were addressed to his father and signed by a woman named Francesca. From the tone and content, it became clear that Francesca was more than just a business associate. She was his father’s secret lover in New York. The same very city his father was supposedly doing business in at that moment. The letters were only the beginning. The real shock came when Jason turned to the documents. They detailed an alarming amount of debt. Debt his father had got because of Francesca. The more Jason read, the more his stomach twisted. His father, the man he had idolized and worked so hard to impress, had been hiding a secret life. A life that was spiraling out of control financially, and Jason realized it would soon become his problem.

They were going to lose everything.

Jason couldn’t read anymore. He shoved the papers away in frustration, sending them flying across the desk and scattering across the floor. His chest felt tight as he lifted his glass to his lips and downed the rest of the Bourbon in one sharp gulp. The burn did little to soothe the storm within him. He stood abruptly, making his way to the balcony, where he gripped the railing so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Bending over, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of what he had just discovered was unbearable. Everything he had worked for, everything he believed in, was unraveling before his eyes. Jason wanted to scream, to punch something, anything, to release the anger and confusion swirling inside him. Instead, he just stood there, frozen, as his mind raced in a thousand different directions.

He was so consumed with trying to process everything that he didn’t notice the fog creeping in. It was subtle at first, rolling in over the balcony and seeping up to his feet. By the time Jason noticed it, the fog was already thickening around him, like a ghostly presence filling the night air. Then, the landline rang in the study, cutting through the eerie silence. Jason turned sharply, his heart pounding in his chest. As he stepped back into the room, he noticed the fog had followed him inside, filling the room at an alarming rate. It swirled around the floor, creeping higher until it became difficult to see anything clearly. Jason's grip on the phone tightened as he stood there confused, staring at the fog that now seemed to envelop everything.

“Sonshine? Jason? Are you there?” A woman called out through the phone. It was his mother. His mother never called, it melted his heart to hear her voice again.

Just as he was about to speak, the fog surrounded him and the line cut out. Jason's eyes widened in panic as he held the phone eagerly wanting to talk to his mother, needing her more than ever. “Mom? Mom? Are you there? Mom?”...

NOW.
Jason’s mind was spinning, overwhelmed by the shock and confusion. Desperation clawed at him as he struggled to understand what was happening. He was still trying to process what he found out about his father, but also now processing where he was. His thoughts turned to his mother and a deep, aching need to hear her voice took over. Her call was unexpected, but something he couldn't ignore. His mom’s call felt like a lifeline, a beacon in the storm. Would he ever get the chance to talk to her again? He needed to talk to her more than ever, he needed her in general.
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© akeno.

1991

FULL NAME. Marcey Delilah Welling
D.O.B. July 4th, 1970
P.O.B. Madison, Indiana
GENDER. Female, she/her
SEXUALITY. Questioning, still exploring.
OCCUPATION. Graduated high school at 18 and went on to go to a four-year college, majoring in psychology.
SKILLS. Observant, Intuitive, Stealthy, Deception, Clairsentience, Premonition, Empath
ROLE. Clairvoyance; Deceiving and hiding in the shadows from the killers to survive. Sensing the danger all around that they bring.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Marcey Welling has a delicate and soft appearance, which gives off a naturally warm and inviting vibe. Her skin is fair and smooth, with a healthy glow that complements her youthful complexion. Her face is oval-shaped, with well-defined cheekbones that adds elegance to her features. Her eyes are one of her most striking features. She inherits it from her mother more than her father. They are large and almond-shaped, framed by her long dark lashes. They're a bright soft, warm brown hue that reflects her emotions easily. Her brows are nicely shaped with a slight arch that adds definition to her natural look. Marcey's hair is a shade of blonde with darker brownish roots. It has a slight golden tint that adds warmth to her appearance. Her hair falls in loose waves just past her shoulders, with a healthy shine that suggests she takes good care of it. It frames her face perfectly, complimenting her striking features. Her lips are full and naturally pink. She has a gentle smile that often appears on her face, adding to her approachable and kind demeanor. As for her body, Marcey has a slender and tiny build, with a curvy proportionate figure that she's worked hard for. She stands at an average height of 5'3, with a confident and poised posture. Her shoulders frame her head to her body perfectly, leading down to her lightly toned arms and a slim waist. Marcey's physique is naturally fit. A small hint of athleticism in her frame from doing track and soccer in high school.

ATTIRE.
When Marcey was young, her style consisted of more dark and edgy clothing, reflecting on the sadder phase in her life. Her choice of wardrobe leant towards bolder, more daring things to showcase her feelings. Her outfits were characterized by darker colors and more unusual designs. She often wore graphic tees with bold prints, band logos, or strange slogans, pairing them with distressed or ripped jeans. She often wore flannel shirts over her tees, giving her outfits a grunge-inspired feel. She favored chunky jewelry, layered necklaces with pendants, stacks of bracelets, and bold rings. She never styled her hair, only combing it three or four times before deciding that was enough.

After Marcey graduated college, her phase passed, and she grew into her more mature looks. She now usually wears clothing that reflects her girly feminine style with a touch of blending into the era's trends with her personal sense of classic elegance. Her clothing choices often center around a mix of casual yet stylish pieces. Often wearing high-waisted jeans, paired with tucked-in blouses or fitted t-shirts. The jeans are usually light or medium-washed denim and slightly tapered at the ankle. It added a clean and polished look to her usual outfits. Marcey loves to layer, so she might throw on a loose-fitting cardigan or a styled jacket over her shirts, especially during cooler days. Her tops often feature soft, pastel colors like baby blue, lavender, or blush pink, which complements her complexion, eyes, and blonde hair.

It was just another regular day for Marcey when she was snatched. She wore a pink, fitted ribbed sweater with a V-neckline that compliments her slender figure. The sweater is simple yet chic, perfect for her usual day of classes. She paired the sweater with high-waisted, light-wash jeans that have a relaxed, slightly tapered fit. The jeans are scrunched at the waist with a wide black belt and a bold silver buckle. Marcey’s hair is styled in loose waves, parted to the side, giving her a laid-back yet classy look. She had on white ankle boot with a thick high heel. She wore minimal jewelry, wearing small hoop earrings that peek through her hair and necklace that sits just above her neckline. During the trials, after she was taken, it got hard for her to run or be quiet from the killers. She ended up ditching them in one of the realms, now wandering barefoot in her socks. She did end up finding a black wool sweater that was able to keep her warm and hide her vibrant shirt from being seen.

FACE CLAIM. Olivia Holt

LIKES.
─ Meditation. It doesn't matter what day it is or if her schedule is jam packed, meditating is an important part of Marcey's day. She has to do it once a day, for a few minutes. It helps clear her mind, get her motivated, and open herself up.
─ Adventures. Marcey always loves a good adventure. She loves the feeling it gives her; the living her life the way she wants feeling. The feeling of the thrill, the adrenaline. Whether it was as big as sky diving and ditching classes for a week to go on a backpacking trip, or as little as going hiking or taking a day to do fun little things, Marcey was always down for all of it.
─ History. Learning about all types of history was something Marcey enjoyed. She loved learning about the facts of the time before any of them. It fascinated her to know what life was like back then and how it was so different from now.
─ Romance. Marcey was most definitely a sucker for romance. Whether it was a romcom or a romantic novel, she was all for it. Even in real life, she loved romantic gestures, dates, and loving words. She wished for the moments that were like what she watched on her VHS tapes or read on the pages of books; she craved it.
─ Running. Running is a big part of Marcey's life. She had run her whole life, from being on the track team to being on the soccer team. It helped her get through her years of high school. Even now, she still loves running. It helped her clear her head and release all the adrenaline and emotions she had built up.

DISLIKES.

─ The quiet. Marcey has hated the quiet since she was a child. When it's quiet, it's like her senses are enhanced. It terrified her as a kid and now she was traumatized. She needs some type of noise that’s going to give her comfort. The quietness anywhere, doesn't matter where, makes her feel crazy.
─ Periods. When it's that time of the month, Marcey absolutely despises it. She always gets hungry, crampy and moody. She hates being or feeling that way. Yeah, it's not like she has control over it, but still, she hates it as anyone else would.
─ Gossip. Marcey had a lot of experience with Gossip. Throughout high school, she was the gossip. Marcey hated everything about gossiping. Everyone did it, she gets that, and she'll listen to it, but she prefers to keep quiet and stay in her lane.
─ Country music. Marcey hates country music with a burning passion. There was just something about that genre type of music that bugged her. Her poor ears just couldn't take it, always changing the station. Now there are some songs that she can handle, that she'll make exceptions for, but the rest is a no.
─ Arguing. All the yelling and fighting was too much for Marcey. She had her fair share of arguments in her life, and they always ended up badly. Whether it was her parents arguing, arguing with her friends or a boyfriend, arguing with her family, or when just witnessing it─ It always left Marcey with a bad feeling and made a chip at her heart.

HOBBIES.

─ Running. The feeling of having her feet hit the ground with each fast-paced step, filled Marcey with joy. She had been running since she was little, and it was a passion. She felt free and at home when running. She never wanted to do it as an all the time thing or a career, but she enjoyed it every now and then on the side.
─ Writing. Marcey had so many things in her head, her father got her a journal when she was young. She had been journaling about anything and everything since then. She truly did enjoy it, and she thought it was a very healthy thing to do.
─ Reading. She enjoys a good book every now and then. She spends quite the amount of time at her college library, reading many things every week. She liked to spend her time sometimes reading before bed or reading on rainy days. It was a habit she picked up once she graduated.
─ Painting. A friend had told Marcey to try painting with her when they were in middle school. They took an art class and she really enjoyed it. It was a way to be expressive and creative at the same time. Ever since then, Marcey would spend a day at least once a week working on a painting.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) Endurance. Marcey has been active her whole life. It paid off to do track and soccer, because now her Endurance was high. Doing all that running helped her learn to endure and keep her body going for a long period of time without giving out, even if she's tired. She was thankful she found out that was her thing as a kid, because now, after her body adapted to it for years, her energy bar was able to sustain more energy than any average person.
─ (+) Strongest when vulnerable. When her emotions get the best of her is when she thinks clearly. It should be the other way around, but for Marcey she was at her best when she let herself unravel. When she's at her lowest, it gives her the motivation to keep going, to use her brain 100 times more than usual.
─ (+) Self-possessed. Her whole life, Marcey had been through, seen, and heard a lot. She acted up, not being able to understand things as a kid. It was only halfway through her time in middle school, that she was able to keep herself calm, to keep herself composed. She taught herself to keep it all in during difficult situations. It was something she was good at but there are times where she just can't. She's human after all.
─ (-) Impulsive. There are many times where Marcey doesn't think before she acts. It was just something she always did, especially in the heat of the moment. It most definitely has its consequences. There was no ill intent, but her actions tend to get her into trouble, get others into trouble, or screw everything up.
─ (-) Freezes up. Marcey is able to keep her cool but when she doesn't, her fear, anxiety, and worry shines through. Her emotions cause her to freeze up during moments and it's not very good timing. It just feels like she's stuck, like she forgot how to do anything. Everything in the moment, forgotten, and she'll be like a deer in the headlights.
─ (-) Overthinks. She has always had a lot of thoughts, ever since she was young. That is why she wrote in a journal. When times get too stressful or too overwhelming, her thoughts are screaming all at once in her head. She just wants them to be quiet, but when they're too loud, it contradicts everything she does. Meaning going off track, panicking, hesitating, doing the opposite of whatever was originally planned. Sometimes she thinks, and sometimes she thinks too much.

FEAR.

─ Being alone. It didn’t matter where she was, Marcey always wanted at least one person to be near or with her. Starting from a young age, she would be alone in her house, a house no little girl should be left alone. It was where she developed her long lasting fear. If she was by herself, she was vulnerable. Being by herself meant she had to come to reality with what she sees, what she experiences, and what she knows. She didn’t want that, it frightened her to the core and stuck with her. It will continue to stick with her for the rest of her life.
─ Uncontrollable visions. Marcey has always been able to see things, ever since she was only a kid. She had internal and external visions throughout her whole life. She fears the unpredictability of her visions. That makes her feel vulnerable and anxious about what she might see. She is afraid of seeing something disturbing or overwhelming at an inconvenient time or not being able to know what it means. The things that she could see terrified her.

PSY.

─ (+)Empathetic. Marcey definitely has a heightened sensitivity for people's emotions, making her deeply empathetic towards anyone. She can easily pick up on how others are feeling. This makes her a great listener and a person who provides comfort, especially in deeply needed times. She’ll put aside whatever is going on with her for someone else's troubles. Her father being a hippie and all, taught her to understand how important it is to be kind and understand.
Trials: During the trials, her ability to sense what someone else is feeling is increased on a much larger scale. Not only can she sense and pick up on what her fellow survivors are feeling, she can pick up on the entities and killers’ emotions, which gives her a great advantage.
─ (+)Resilient. Marcey has had to overcome many difficult and terrifying things in her life, causing her to develop her resilience. All her life she has had to cope with things people just don’t understand or can’t grasp the concept of. From a young age she dealt with judgment and skepticism. It was damaging but she adapted to building herself up and recovering. It helped her in cases where she is scared, needs to keep her emotions in check, and get things done.
Trials: Dealing with the challenge of trying to survive pushes her harder. Surviving is her main goal so she will do whatever it takes, even if it means adapting to the harsh, terrifying conditions.
─ (+)Grounded. Her father and mother both taught Marcey the importance of staying grounded. The importances of maintaining a balance between her spiritual and physical experiences. Balancing them made sure she doesn’t get lost in either one, keeping a balance on reality. Her father and his hippie tendencies influenced her to have a connection with nature, helping her to learn to keep herself balanced and centered.
Trials: Keeping herself centered and grounded in difficult situations comes in handy when she needs to get something done without anything getting in the way. In the trials it helps her maintain her heightened senses and abilities.
─ (+)Perceptive. Marcey has always had the ability to see things beyond the physical world. It helps her notice details others easily miss. It could be a simple change in body language, sensing a shift of energy, noticing things out of place, or even finding things more easily. Her perception helped her a lot on a daily basis, helping her figure things out or figure people out.
Trials: Her keen awareness helps her understand things more and helps her navigate through many situations. It’s a key factor to her survival and completing objectives.
─ (-)Avoidant. Having to already experience things many others don’t, Marcey has always struggled with confronting reality. When things start to turn out to be too much or start to overwhelm her, she retreats and panics. She prefers to avoid certain situations altogether, making her detach easily rather than confront her troubles.
Trials: This becomes a problem with the reality of the entities and killers. She wants to avoid certain situations, not wanting to believe it was real. This was something that triggered her to overthink, hesitate, and panic. Resulting in consequences.
─ (-)Guarded. Marcey has had to grow up in an unusual environment and she feared the judgment of others. She is overly guarded about her life and her experiences. She grew up with hostile people, which made it hard for her to open up to anyone. She tends to keep people at arms length in order to protect herself. Her guardedness causes her to have trouble forming connections with people.
Trials: This affects her way of caring for others, seemingly wanting to put herself first. She wasn’t close enough and wouldn’t let herself get close enough to survivors. She didn’t exactly want to rely on them or have them rely on her, which may seem selfish.
─ (-)Emotionally drained. Her role as a Clairvoyant along with the constant feeling of being empathetic, Marcey can feel emotionally and mentally drained at times. A lot of the time she struggles with having a burnout. It happens now and then, especially because she's constantly exposed to spiritually using her energy. Most of the time her emotional drain affects her mood.
Trials: This affects the way she does things. Affecting her motivation, her mental strength to keep going, and having a negative affect on her mood when it’s unnecessarily needed.
─ (-)Over protective. Having to experience what she experiences on a daily basis, she developed her protective nature. Especially when she has a bad feeling or can sense something is off. She can become controlling, trying to shield others from potential harm and danger she knows is coming. This makes her seem unbearing at times and unwilling to let people make a certain decision.
Trials: Due to her senses becoming heightened, Marcey can feel the danger. Sometimes seeing visions in her head, catching glimpses of things. She connects things very fast and when it has to do with someone she becomes controlling. She knows things that they wouldn’t, making her scared for them even though she doesn’t have much care for them.

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BELONGINGS.
─ Antique Gold Locket. A family heirloom that was passed down throughout the Welling family for generations. The locket had belonged to her mother before it was passed down to Marcey when she was just a little girl.
─ Bib Tag. The tag from Marcey’s first ever competitive race. A race she had won profoundly. 1921, the number of her bib tag. One that she decided would be her lucky number forever.
─ Tarot Cards. With her mother being a spiritual medium, Marcey saw her mother use tarot cards a lot of the time. It was one of her favorite things she liked her mother doing. Seeing all the different futures and pasts that have or may come.
─ Broken Record. It was a time when Marcey experienced one of her unpredictable visions. It was an external one. She had been putting a record on when she noticed the apparition in her doorway. She didn’t look because she was scared. She was always scared. It was a time her fear took over and she accidentally snapped her record, not noticing her grip on it.
─ First Ever Journal. The journal Marceys father gave to her when she was just a kid. One he said would help her with all the thoughts and ideas in her head. She had filled the journal to the brim in just a couple months. It had everything in it, it was practically full, it couldn't stay closed unless it had the strap to hold it together.
─ Dreamcatcher. Marcey would get a lot of nightmares growing up. She would wake up screaming or her parents would need to wake her up. The dream catcher had appeared on the pole of her headboard one day, her parents swearing they never put it there. In some way it helped her, gave her comfort.

HISTORY

[Content Warning: Multiple deaths, mentions of blood]
BEFORE.
Marcey Delilah Welling was born on July 4th, 1970, a day to celebrate the independence of America and the birth of a beautiful baby girl. Her parent’s, Angelica and Rufus Welling had never experienced such overwhelming joy in their lives as when they held Marceys tiny body in their arms. Once they took one single gaze at her sweet little face, they knew ─ they knew that she would be the light in their misunderstood lives. Her family was very known in Madison, Indiana, and not in a good way. People thought her parents were nut cases. Angelica being a self-proclaimed medium, and Rufus, a free-spirited hippie, the perfect couple who dressed and portrayed themselves as kooky and aloof. They were often whispered about in grocery store aisles, at neighborhood gatherings, at coffee shops and bakeries, among the streets. People didn’t just see them as different, they saw them as outcasts. They felt bad knowing Marcey would have to grow up with them as parents, pitied her even. People just hoped she didn’t grow up to earn the peculiarity or reputation her parents had either.

It was a concern her parents had for her too. They didn’t want Marcey to be like them, to inherit their traits and unusualness. They would rocked Marcey to sleep in the crib of their old Victorian homes windows, whispering silent prayers. They loved their daughter fiercely and desperately wanted to protect her from the dangers and harshness of the world. The last thing they would ever want for Marcey, was to grow up burdened by the same unusual gifts and strange tendencies that had isolated them from the world.

For most of the time, everything had been spectacularly great, maybe too great. The family was still burdened because of who they were, but everything seemed to be good for Marcey. Marcey embodied the sweet and bubbly childlike characteristics any little girl should have. Her childish giggles were like music in the air, bringing happiness to her parents. Her smile of wonder and curiosity, bringing a smile to their own faces. She loved everyone and everything, and was very social. Anywhere her parents brought her, she would wave to random strangers and smile at them. She loved to run around through the creaky halls of her home and exhaust her energy through playing. She would play hide and seek with her mother, play tag with her father, or play with her doll house. It filled her parents with endless amusement with how much joy and energy she had.

It wasn’t until the age of 5, things started appearing abnormal to her. She started noticing things more frequently. Things that seemed to be out of place or things that had to do with the people around her. Whenever she could tell her mother was upset, she would start crying, even when no words were said. Whenever her father lost something – his keys, glasses – she would go searching, only to come back with it only moments later. Her parents noticed this change in her too. Her mother worried for her and her father just thought his daughter was clever, always telling his wife there was nothing to worry about, but deep down they both knew.

At the age of 7, things took a big turn, Marcey started experiencing retrocognition. To her young mind, it was nothing more than her imagination. Sometimes, while playing alone or drifting off to sleep, images would flash in her mind. She would view these images as dreams, whether it had to do with people, places, or objects. When her mother would tuck her into bed at night, she would tell her all about what she saw. She would tell her about the old barn, its weathered wood glowing in the fading sunlight. A chipped tea cup, abandoned on a dusty shelf. Men and women dressed in strange clothes that looked like they belonged to another time – her mother was scared for her. She knew what was happening, and that terrified her knowing her sweet innocent child would live with the same curse she has.

At the age of 9, things got profoundly worse. This was the time in Marceys life that she never wished to ever relive. This was the time when her internal and external visions began to kick in, blurring the line between reality and something else. This was a time when she had experienced true fear. It started off when she would see shadows of figures in her peripheral vision or slight shifts in shadows. It became more frequent, appearing everywhere. She would see something in the corner of her room while she played with her dolls, in the dimly lit hallways of her house, and even at school, lurking by the classroom door. She would sit on the couch, pretending to watch TV, but her eyes would dart nervously to the doorway as a dark figure slipped past, just out of sight. She would huddle in her bed at night, staring at the corner of her room where she could swear something was standing. She would hear the creaking of the floor boards, or the small thumps, even footsteps of people who weren’t there. She would hear noises here and there when it was silent as could be.

It progressively got worse the more time went on. Fear striking her anywhere she went. She could feel the energy, the presence they bring. It wasn’t until they started showing up like real people did she freak out. The first time was when she was at school, just sitting in class as usual. Everything was fine until she saw him, the man standing in the front of the classroom. He looked so real to her, he terrified her. He was tall, scrawny, dressed as if he was going to a fancy dinner. He looked young, maybe in his 20’s. She watched as he just stared at her blankly, his eyes white, his skin decaying, and the red stained on his shirt. It was the first time she ever saw blood that wasn’t because of a paper cut. She was so horrified that she froze, like she was stuck when in reality she was screaming.

The next time it was a woman. She was beautiful and young, she didn’t look dead at all. Marcey would watch closely as she walked the halls of her home back and forth. Her long blonde hair falling passed her shoulders and down her back. Her white dress ruffled, flowing as her bare feet took a step. Seeing these people made her feel like she was going crazy. Her mother had to sit down with her, taking her time to talk about it. She was disturbed, she was confused – so confused on why any of this was happening to her. As bad as it was physically, these people, these figures started making their way into Marceys dreams. That’s when her nightmares started occurring. They were more night terrors than actual nightmares. She would wake up with sweat dripping along her skin, soaking into her pajamas. She would thrash in her bed, tossing the blankets and moving around until she was free. She would jolt awake screaming bloody murder. Her parents would burst through the door, running to tend to her. Her mother would hold her to her chest, rocking her, desperately trying to calm her down. Her father would whisper gentle things while rubbing her back. Her mother would cry with her, tears falling with the knowledge of knowing her daughter is suffering.

At the age of 12, everything took a change for the good. Marcey had woken up one day feeling off, but in a good way. Marcey was feeling magnificent, she felt lighter in a way. She went on about her day, nothing happened and that made her truly happy again. There were no apparitions, no recognitions, no visions or shadows. It had been as if it all just disappeared. She could still sense the emotions of others and sense danger, but the rest was gone. When she told her mother, she broke down. She was filled with utter joy, praising whoever for sparing her daughter of the burdens.

Marcey was able to go on living her normal life, well as normal as her life could get. She was still haunted by the traumatic events she endured, but she wanted to move past it all. She had earned the reputation of being as kooky as her parents long ago. She had gotten used to the whispers about her, the words people uttered behind her back. When she made it to highschool, that didn’t help either. The kids were meaner, they teased her and mocked her. They pushed her around, called her names, laughed at her and made crude jokes. There were only 3 kids who truly wanted to be her friends other than her original best friend, Brianna. Mark, Cassy, and Sophia, all didn’t care what people thought about her family. Marcey took making new friends as a sign that everything was okay – that she can live her life normally. She joined track with Mark, joined soccer with Sophia, took art with Brianna, and created a group that meant everything to her. Her friends were the only people she was comfortable enough with to be herself.

At the age of 18, everything went downhill again. It was the time of graduation, a day meant to celebrate the class of 1988. It was meant to be a day of honorary speeches, deserved diplomas, and the celebration of the seniors leaving to start their lives. Marcey had been waiting for this moment for years. She had already got her acceptance letter from Princeton and she was prepared to start her journey. She was ready and prepared for that day, already dressed in her cap and gown. That morning her parents told her how much they loved her, how much they were proud of her. She thought that day was going to be such an amazing day.

Her friends were supposed to pick her that morning. Marcey could feel it, it was a lurking feeling. A feeling of dread, one she was well acquainted with. There was a tighten in her chest, It was as if there was a hand gripping tightly onto her heart. The sense of danger crawled on her skin. She had been sitting at the kitchen table talking with her parents – when a sudden switch went off. All the happiness left her, her smile faded into oblivion and her eyes darkened. She had abruptly gotten up from her seat, the wood of the floor and chair scraping together. Her parents were startled at her sudden outburst. Marcey took off running through the front door, her cap falling onto the concrete. She quickly took off her grown, tossing it to the ground as she ran. It was the fastest she ever ran, her feet hitting the ground with heavy steps, she could hear the sound of her heart pounding through her ears. She didn’t think of anything other than what popped into her head. The images of a familiar street sign, the sight of smoke, the sight of broken glass. She prayed and prayed she was wrong.

She ran with her life, as if her world was about to end – and it did.

The sight Marcey came upon was gut wrenching. Three cars had a head on collision. Time slowed for Marcey as she took it all in. The sign, the smoke, the glass, it was all there. People running from their houses to check on drivers and passengers, cars stopping to help. Marcey didn’t have to check, she already knew – she always knew. She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She opened her mouth and screamed, letting it all out as her voice echoed through the streets. The pain and grief for those lost filled the air.

THE FOG.
Marcey was now 21 and living a happy life at Princeton University. After the events 3 years prior, Marcey had blamed her mother and father. She blamed them for giving her this curse, this hell of a gift. She didn’t want to know when danger was near, she didn’t want to see things she couldn’t, she didn’t want to live her life fearing what might happen next. She had her graduation and she mourned the tragedy of her friends, knowing they weren’t there with her. She left faster than you could ever imagine after getting into an argument with her parents. She left and she never looked back. “I hate you!” Being the last words she spoke to them.

Ever since then, she went back to living normally. Living a good life, not for her, but for her friends. She didn’t see anything or feel anything, and she wanted it to stay that way. Marcey made a life for herself, one where she left the past behind. Though the accident stuck with her, she became afraid after that, guarded even. She didn’t want anyone getting close again.

The day she was taken by the fog was just another ordinary day for Marcey. She had attended all her lectures and stayed late in the library studying like always. This time though, she stayed much later than she originally planned. It was dark by the time she left. The moon was brightly lit in the sky above, the stars were twinkling like sparkles, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Marcey made her way to her dorm, taking the long route like she always does for a nightly walk. It was oddly quiet that night, no crickets chirping, no frogs ribbiting, just dead silence. An eerie silence that filled her with dread. Not any dread though, the sense of danger kind of dread. One she hoped she never felt again. She had noticed the fog, the thick density it contained. She couldn’t see anything in front of her. She turned around to go the other way only to be surprised. The way back was covered in the same fog. Marcey panicked looking around, only for the thick fog to engulf around her until she couldn’t see anything.

NOW.
Marcey doesn’t know where she is. She’s trying her hardest to stay calm and keep herself composed, but deep down she’s shitting herself internally. She was filled with fear – fear for what is happening, fear of not knowing anything. She thought this was the end for her, and maybe it was.
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© akeno.

1970

FULL NAME. Carolyn Margeory
D.O.B. March 9th 1939
P.O.B. Wrentham, Massachusetts
GENDER. Female & She/her
SEXUALITY. Heterosexual
ALIAS. The nun
ROLE. Dark Devotion, an evil negative religious figure.
SPECIES. Used to be human, but then she faced a cruel death. Spent her last moments selling her soul to be able to get revenge, only to become a religious evil spirit. A demon.

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
Carolyn has a sophisticated appearance, with delicate features that give her a sense of grace and maturity. Her face is soft and well-proportioned, with a smooth complexion that shows slight signs of aging, hinting at a life filled with experience and wisdom. She has high cheekbones that add elegance to her facial structure, and lips that are full. Her eyes are a soft shade of blue, ones with deep expressive quality that makes them seem like windows to her soul. Her hair is a rich shade of brown with soft, subtle highlights that catch the light. She has a slender physique and carries herself with grace and elegance.

The Nun has a terrifying and malevolent appearance. Her face is lean and skeletal, with ashy, grayish skin that stretches over her sharp, angular features. The unhealthy paleness of her complexion gives her an almost corpse-like appearance, after all she technically is dead. She has dark, hollowed eye sockets deeply set into her face, making her glowing, yellow eyes pierce into the souls of anyone she sets her gaze upon. Her mouth is twisted, revealing sharp razor-like, rotting teeth stained with the blood of her victims. Her lips or what remains of them, are blackened, further showing the decayed corruption that emits from her. Black vein-like cracks mark across her skin, showing the darkness that harbors inside of her.

ATTIRE.
Carolyn's style of clothing was classic and understated, often choosing elegant, well-tailored outfits. It never mattered where Carolyn was, her appearance was always polished and tasteful. She would usually wear a fitted, cream-colored blouse with a high, ruffled collar and big long sleeves. She pairs her blouses with a high-waisted, A-line midi skirt in a warm earthy color. The skirt falls just below the knees, with a slight flare that allows easy, graceful movement. For shoes, Carolyn goes for a pair of classic, low-heeled leather loafers.

After Carolyn joined the Convent, she wore a veil that draped over her head and shoulders. Beneath the veil, a wimple covering her neck and chin, leaving only her face visible. Beneath the wimple was the coif, a white cloth cap, to cover her hair completely. She wore a habit, a long, flowy robe that covered her body from neck to feet. Her robe is loose-fitted, with long sleeves, expressing modesty and a life free from vanity. Over the habit, she wore a scapular, a long rectangular piece of cloth that hung over her front and back, connecting at her shoulders. Around the waist, she had a cincture made of cord. Plain black shoes and a cross around her neck.

The Nun’s face is framed by a dirty off white wimple, spotted with dried blood. She has a black veil that signifies her twisted mockery of religious attire. Her habit, which once might have symbolized purity and devotion, is now a haunting symbol of malevolence. The black fabric of her veil makes her sickly pale face stand out, making her atrocious features more defined. Her tall, looming skeletal frame is covered in the flowing, shadowy robes of a nun. These robes were much darker than regular nuns. They seemingly blend into the darkness, making her appear as though she is a part of the shadows themselves.

WEAPON. Altar Cross: A cross from the altar in her convents chapel that she’d pray to.

FACE CLAIM. Vera Farmiga.

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ The outdoors. As a young girl, Carolyn always felt connected to nature. She loved to spend all her time outside, it didn’t matter what she was doing. She would study outside, read outside, play outside, even just lay on the grass and watch the clouds or stars.
─ Children. Their laughter, their giddiness, their smiles. Kids will forever be Carolyn's weak spot. Even though she could never have kids due to being infertile, she will always cherish them. That is why she cares deeply for the rascals and sweethearts, it’s a wish she will never have. Nevertheless she loved spending time with them, that’s why she would volunteer at hospitals, daycares, and orphanages.
─ Reading. Carolyn loved immersing herself in the pages of books. She loved getting lost in a world far away from her reality. Picturing the sceneries, the places, the peoples – just picturing the story in general. It was her favorite thing to do, especially to kill time. She could get lost in the book and not even realize how much time will pass.
─ Classical music. The sound of the orchestra and instruments piecing together to make masterpieces gave Carolyn chills. There was something so beautiful about the way classical was produced. Multiple instruments playing to create one enchanting song.
─ Her mother. Even though Carolyn's mother was never truly thinking about her and forced her into things she never wanted, she still loved her. That was the woman who raised her and it didn’t matter how much she changed, Carolyn loved her the way she was. She dedicated herself to doing what her mother wanted.

DISLIKES.

─ Love. Carolyn stopped believing in love after she witnessed what love did to her mother, how it tore her apart. She had hope for it, but until it happened she didn’t like it at all. When Carolyn experienced it herself, it left her sour. It made her hate love, made her want to crush any love between anyone.
─ Men. The male species always scared Carolyn because of her father. Her mother taught her growing up to hate all men. Her mother taught her all men were bad and would hurt her no matter what. For that, it stuck with Carolyn deeply – and she soon found out her mother was right.
─ Nuns. Carolyn didn’t necessarily want to be a religious person. She was forced into it by her mother. She didn’t understand or believe what the nuns thought. In truth they aggravated her, but she would pretend for the sake of her mother.
─ Coffee. The strong smell of the drink made her nauseous. She didn’t like caffeine with an ounce of her soul. It was just too strong for her. She especially hated that it leaves your breath smelling. She preferred to stick with her tea, water, and juice.
─ Promises. “I promise” being words Carolyn hated to hear. She didn’t like when people made promises, especially if they couldn’t keep it. She believed a promise is just unnecessary, meaningless, useless words. She has heard lots of promises in her life and chose to stop believing in them.

HOBBIES.

─ Poetry. Carolyn enjoyed writing poetic verses in her free time. It was a way she expressed herself, She never really had anyone to talk to so she wrote it down. She wrote her thoughts in the forms of verses, stanzas, haikus, rhymes, just everything there was.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ (+) Stamina. Carolyn learnt from a young age she was able to be able to do something for a long time. Even when she was drained, she managed to still keep going. It didn’t matter if she needed to stay up longer to study or run and walk miles for when she missed her bus, she always found a way to push herself. Even in tough situations, she managed to never back down.
─ (+) Confidence. Carolyn's mother always taught her to hold her high. She would tell her it didn’t matter what, if she was able to hold herself like she knew what she was doing, she would be set. That’s exactly what Carolyn did growing up causing her to develop her real confidence.
─ (+) Persistent. To Carolyn, it didn’t matter how difficult or challenging something was, she was bound to do it and complete it. She had all the determination in her if her heart was truly set on something.
─ (-) Lacks anger control. Starting from a young girl, Carolyn had always had an anger problem. It wasn’t as if she got angry easily, but more so that when she was angry, it was an explosion. She didn’t know how to turn her anger up or down. She had no control of the level it was at.
─ (-) Judgemental. Carolyn had been doing it her whole life. Judging people just by first glance, judging a conversation by one word or sentence, even judging a situation by movement and gestures. This often makes her misinterpret many things.
─ (-) Pessimistic. She was never one for positivity. Always looking at the downside of things. Carolyn always thought badly of things, it was a negativity that lingered with her. There are times when she is happy and positive, but it wasn’t all the time. She had a certain way of thinking and it wasn’t a good one.

FEAR.

─ Trusting.Growing up with a mother like hers was difficult. Her mother planted a lot of things in her head, whether they were right or wrong, good or bad. It was her mother who made her have so many issues with trusting anything and anyone. Even now, deep down, The Nun is scared of being hurt like she once was, she doesn’t even trust the entity. She learned her lesson that last time she trusted.
─ Losing herself. Carolyn has always been worried that, with all the obeying and pleasing she does for her mother, she’ll end up losing whatever remains of her. She’s scared she’ll turn into her mother more than she is herself. Even as The Nun, a part of her still remains. A small part that's hidden away and she fears of ever losing it and being gone forever.

PSY.

─ (+)Responsible. Growing up Carolyn was responsible with everything she did. It was one of the good things about her. She took care of what she needed to do, always. Whether it was homework, her studies, helping to take care of her mother, volunteering, Carolyn always made sure it was handled.
Trials: The Nun knows she has responsibilities to fulfill. She will get any task done, and she will make sure it gets done. It’s her responsibility to do her part, her responsibility to take care of the ‘problems’.
─ (+)Independence. Being able to do things on her own, by herself was a big thing that Carolyn didn’t discover until later in life. It wasn’t until she was all grown when she realized to be her own person. She spent a majority of her life, unhappy and obeying her mothers wishes. She lived a life that was forced onto her. When she did finally gain her independence she felt free, it was something that helped her become happy again.
Trials:The Nun had a lot of independence now, she was free to do as she pleased. She was free to get exactly what she wanted, thanks to the Entity, and she planned on making things right for herself. Watching over and over again as she was able to get her revenge, taking it out on survivors.
─ (+)Observant. Carolyn was not much of a talker, always remaining quiet unless she needed to speak. She had a watchful eye on the things around her. It was something that she developed when she was little, when her parents would argue and she would just listen and watch. It helped her discover many things.
Trials: The Nun used that observant part of her to keep a close eye on everything and everyone. She notices when things are out of place. She sits and watches, not interfering until she feels the need to, and the thing is, you wouldn’t even know. She watches the survivors, studies them, so she can thoroughly stop them from escaping.
─ (-)Jealousy. The downside of being judgemental and pessimistic was the misinterpretations. Jealousy ran through Carolyn's veins for what other people had, for what she wanted. She was a very possessive person, especially when she met the person she thought was the one for her. Her jealousy triggered many emotions for her, triggered her anger, triggered her impulses. When she was jealous, it was never a good look and never ended well.
Trials: Now, jealousy fueled The Nun. It made her jealous to see the survivors do things, be things, have things, that she never did – that she never got to have. If they were better than she ever was, experienced things she never did, if they were able to escape, that Jealousy turns into much more and causes her to act irrationally. It causes her to not think straight.
─ (-)Greedy. Carolyn was never a greedy person – well not entirely. Did she want more than she had? Yes, but did she have a good life? Somewhat, but was it the life she wanted? No. She never considered herself greedy, she was thankful for the things she had. Deep down though, she craved more, much more. When she got older, it grew, when she met ‘the one’, it grew, when she was breaking slowly, it grew.
Trials: The Nun had nothing to lose. All she wanted was revenge for the tragedy that struck her. The unjust death she had to endure. The betrayal, heartbreak, and pain she felt. She wanted revenge, and she got that. Yet somehow it wasn’t enough for her. She needed more and more. Greed wasn’t good for her, it made her go off track, made her exasperate things for herself, made things difficult for herself.
─ (-)Anger. Carolyn never had much control over her anger, but then again she was never really an angry person. Before she met her love, she rarely got angry, she would have little freak outs but they would go away as quickly as they came. After she met her love though, that anger filled her. Her anger combined with her poor judgment and jealousy was the reason she was on her death bed in the first place. It was what led to her fatal tragedy.
Trials: The Nun is filled with anger, it’s what surrounds her, what makes her, well, her. That anger she has is bursting and fueling itself. It’s what drives everything she does. It grows the more time that goes on until she uses that anger, and then it fills again, growing all over again. It was a burning cycle of fire in her.

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POWER.

Statue Possession: All around the realms there are Catholic Virgin Mary statues placed. These statues are The Nuns minions, her ears, her eyes. She has the power to put her demon soul into any one of the statues, traveling through them as she pleases. She becomes the statue, still in the statue form though. She can move the statues as she pleases, for example if a survivor is near she can put her soul into the statue, moving its head in the direction the survivor is standing or positioning the statues stance differently. You can hear the statue move though, the sound of stone cracking and scraping together giving it away. The statue's eyes become hers, it’s how she spies, how she observes.

Side Objective For Survivors:
There are singular red roses growing at random places across the realms. If a survivor finds one they can keep it and place the rose down on any of the Virgin Mary statues. Once they have placed the rose down, The Nun will let out a scream signaling where she is and she can't use that statue for a limited time.

THE MORI.

Her razor sharp teeth. The Nun will grab the survivor that has met their fateful end by the neck, using her strong grip to somewhat cut their oxygen, she’ll keep her grip until their face goes red. Once it goes red she’ll loosen her grip, giving them a look – a misguiding look. One that will instill hope in them, one that will instill relief of living another day. A look that read she wasn’t going to kill them. She was filling them with a feeling she experienced before her demise. Her nasty decaying mouth will kiss their forehead only to show her sharp decaying teeth. She’ll laugh as their terror comes back. The same terror she felt, that appeared as quickly as her hope disappeared. Then she’ll rip the throat of the survivor using her teeth, dropping their lifeless body, and moving on without a care. Moving on like HE did with her.

BELONGINGS.

─ Cross Necklace. A necklace made of thick black string, and a silver cross attached to it. It was the necklace Carolyn wore when she was a nun at her convent. One she never took off until the day she fell into her unfair fate.
─ A Dried Dead Rose. It was a rose that had been out for too long, its petals starting to fall off and the thorns stayed sharp around the stem. It was once a free of thorns, beautiful red rose. It’s color standing out like the love Carolyn thought it held. One her lover first gave to her when she snuck away to see him for the first time.
─ A Poetry Book.This book was old, torn, dirty, and falling apart. The pages were all wrinkly, stained, and yellowed. This was one of the books Carolyn loved to read in her free time. It was a book that was her favorite, one that inspired her love for writing poetry.
─ A Wedding Ring. A gold wedding ring with a circular diamond connected to it. What once was a beautiful promise to Carolyn, was now rusted and worthless. She never believed in promises but this one she thought was real, she thought she could trust this one promise.
─ A Silver Flask. A silver flask with the Initials H.M inscribed into the metal. This belonged to Carolyn's alcoholic father. The thing she observed him using everyday. One he left behind after he left.

HISTORY

[Content warning: Physical abuse, Alcoholism, Strangulation, Death.]
BEFORE.
Carolyn Margeory was born on March 9, 1939, in Wrentham, Massachusetts, to Amorie and Hank Margeory. She was a beautiful baby girl with a soft, delightful cry that was as gentle as a flowing weeping willow. At the time of Carolyn’s birth, Hank Margeory was nowhere to be found. Most likely, he was sprawled on the couch at home, head tilted back and mouth open, snoring with his flask loosely in hand. The odds were heavily in favor of him being passed out from drinking, and he was oblivious to the life-changing event occurring at that moment. Amorie had to bring sweet little Carolyn into the world alone, enduring the pain without her husband's support. Carolyn was held in her mother’s warm and caring embrace, but the absence of her father cast a shadow over their moment, leaving them both with a bitter chill.

Amorie cared deeply for her child, doing everything she could to raise her. Hank was rarely present, spending most of his time at bars, drinking his life away. Although he was still physically in the house, sleeping and eating under the same roof, he was a stranger to his own daughter. Meanwhile, Amorie worked tirelessly, juggling three shifts a day while taking care of Carolyn, cooking, and cleaning. Poor Carolyn would sit by the door, watching her parents argue and scream at each other. She was too young to fully understand, but she knew her mother was unhappy. The sight of her parents’ constant fighting made her sad, and tears would roll down her small face. Whenever her father left, slamming the door with such force that it shook the house, Carolyn would rush to hug her mother, offering the only comfort she knew. She would hold her mother’s hand as the strong, unbreakable woman she admired broke down in tears, hurt by the man she loved.

At the age of seven, everything changed for Carolyn and her mother. Their world was turned upside down. Hank and Amorie were screaming at each other in the other room, their voices echoing through the house. The anger in their voices was like thunder in a storm, booming loudly as if waiting for one to crack. It was revealed that Hank had cheated on Amorie multiple times. Amorie was furious, but Hank was enraged that she had the audacity to be upset with him. He denied everything, repeatedly. Amorie was fed up, she slapped him across the face. The sound of the slap echoed through the room, but the silence that followed was even louder than any scream. Hank’s response was brutal – a slap in return. The crack of his hand against her skin felt like a lightning strike, leaving the girls stunned. Carolyn, watching from the doorway, crying in fear for her mother and ran to her, holding her as they both sobbed out their fright. Hank packed his things with hurried movements, preparing to leave. Carolyn felt a wave of relief knowing he was finally going to be gone, hopefully for good.

After Hank left, the girls’ lives continued, but everything felt different – like a machine missing a crucial piece. Carolyn was relieved that he was gone. He had always been a shadow of the man he should have been, a bad influence whose absence was more of a blessing than a loss. Her mother, on the other hand, was consumed by her grief. She reduced her work hours to one shift a day, stopped preparing home-cooked meals, and began smoking heavily. Amorie rarely left her spot at the kitchen table, a cigarette constantly between her fingers, its smoke filling the house with a lingering smell. The ashtray overflowed with half-smoked cigarettes, and Carolyn frequently had to empty it, fearing that her mother’s habit might lead her to an early grave. Every now and then, Carolyn would try to restore some sense of joy, suggesting they bake together or take a walk to enjoy the fresh air. Amorie would only offer a weak smile though, promising that maybe tomorrow things would be better – but tomorrow never came.

As Carolyn grew older, her mother’s grip on her life tightened. Amorie became increasingly obsessed with ensuring that her daughter would never end up like her. She constantly warned Carolyn against becoming like herself, insisting that all men were bad and filling her head with fear. Carolyn quickly learned to keep her thoughts to herself, nodding in agreement whenever her mother spoke about the dangers of the world. Her mother had her baptized, enrolled her in a strict Catholic institution, and demanded that she remain pure and innocent. Carolyn soon realized she couldn’t live her life as she wished. Expressing otherwise would only risk breaking her mother. At times, Carolyn would sit and daydream about wearing bright red lipstick like the women in magazines or attending a school dance, being spun around the floor by a boy. But those dreams remained just that – daydreams.

At 18, Amorie forced Carolyn to join a convent, believing it was the only way to protect her purity and ensure her safety under God’s watchful eye. Carolyn did NOT want to become a nun. Just the thought filled her with dread and despair. Despite her protests, her mother was relentless, arguing day and night about how the convent would be good for her. Each mention of it felt like a hammer to her heart, driving Carolyn to the brink of madness. Eventually, she felt she had no choice but to give it, hoping to make her mother happy, which mattered most to her. It didn’t take long before Carolyn found herself applying to become a pre-postulate and take temporary vows. She wanted to scream, to tell her mother that this wasn’t her choice and that she had dreams beyond the convent. Every time she considered speaking up, she was sickened by the thought of causing her mother heartbreak – again. Though she felt she was betraying herself, the idea of betraying her mother was unbearable.

Carolyn had spent 13 years at the convent. 13 long years since she made the decision to become a nun. At first, life was miserable and unbearable, but over time, she learned to adapt to the people and the environment. Now 31, she was still living a life she hadn’t chosen, but she had made it work for herself. That was, until things began to change, both for the better and for the worse.

The convent had its own cemetery, where nuns and sisters were buried. Family members were allowed to visit their loved ones anytime. One day, while Carolyn was walking through the cemetery, she spotted a man. He was tall, charming, and handsome, someone who immediately caught her eye. To her surprise, he seemed to notice her too. The way he smiled and waved at her stirred something inside her – a feeling she hadn’t experienced ever. She knew – knew that talking to him would be a risk. But she took that risk anyway.

She approached him with a gentle smile, stopping a good distance away and started making small talk. His voice was nice, soft-spoken, and soothing. The way he looked at her, the way he spoke, the way he smiled – it made her feel like a little girl again. The conversation was casual, nothing more than light chatter. Nothing big, nothing small. It wasn’t until she was about to leave, he asked her, “Would you like to go for a drink sometime?”

Carolyn had looked at him as if he was out of his mind. She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and amusement on her face. “You do see that I’m a nun, right? We’re standing in the cemetery of my convent, and I’m quite literally dressed in the part…” She wasn’t sure if he was clueless or just trying his luck.

“Really? I thought it was just a costume.” He smiled at her, his playfulness evident on his face. “You don’t exactly look like the type of nun who follows all the rules.”

She didn’t know how to respond at first. A part of her wanted to shut it down and walk away. But another part of her – the part that had long been buried under years of duty and routine, was screaming at her to take this opportunity. She couldn’t let anyone else control her life anymore. Yes, she was a nun, but she had never truly wanted this life. Here was her chance to be free, if only for a moment. Her eyes gleamed with excitement and mischief, she replied, “Midnight. I’ll meet you at the gates.”

She did exactly as she planned, waiting until midnight to sneak past the sisters who were still awake. She slipped into a regular outfit she hadn’t worn in years – an old ruffled blouse, a knee-length midi skirt, and her trusty loafers. Dressing in these clothes made her feel alive again, like a teenager sneaking out to meet a boy her parents didn’t approve of. It was an experience she should have had, but never did. That night, she met Jasper at the convent gate, where he stood waiting for her with a beautiful red rose in hand. They walked around the town, talking about everything and anything that came to mind. They shared stories, laughter, and secrets, getting to know each other on a deeper level. By the end of the evening, Carolyn realized that she really liked him. Jasper was the one she wanted, the man she knew she would break all the rules for.

One night of seeing him turned into two, and then three, and before she knew it, it had been two weeks. For two weeks, Carolyn had been sneaking away with Jasper under the cover of darkness. Each time she returned to the convent, she would quietly slip into the chapel and pray. She prayed for forgiveness and for the strength to continue on this path. She prayed that god would understand her desire, her need, to love this man. Yes, love him. Carolyn believed that she loved him. She had never experienced true love before, and to her, this was what love was meant to feel like.

On the third week of meeting Jasper, they ventured onto a quiet hiking trail under the night sky. The stars twinkled above, and the moon cast a gentle glow on the world around them. That night, Jasper led Carolyn to a bench where they sat together. Then, to her surprise, he stood up in front of her, holding a golden wedding ring. The diamond sparkled brightly in the moonlight, catching Carolyn's breath. At that moment, her heart melted. She hadn’t known him for more than three weeks, and they hadn’t even shared a kiss, but she knew, deep in her soul, that he was the one. The words he spoke next were words that would live with her forever. He wasn’t proposing, but he was making a promise. With a soft and sincere voice, Jasper said, “I, Jasper Brenton, give you this ring as a symbol of my devotion, and a promise that one day, I will marry you.”

In week four, Jasper had told Carolyn that he had a surprise for her. Carolyn didn’t necessarily like surprises, but when it came from him, she couldn’t resist. However, she decided to be the one to surprise him instead. She snuck out of the convent earlier than usual, eager to see him. What she saw when she arrived, though, was far from what she expected. Jasper was with another woman. A stunning girl with short blonde hair, wearing a red dress, flats, and a jean jacket. Her stomach was noticeably swollen; she looked about five months pregnant. The golden antique locket around her neck gleamed in the soft light of the park's lamppost. Carolyn’s heart sank, and anger quickly overtook her. She clenched her fists, unable to look away from how Jasper smiled at this woman, a smile he had never given her. The way he laughed at something the girl said, the way the girl lightly touched his arm, filled Carolyn with an overwhelming sense of jealousy. She couldn’t think straight. All she saw was betrayal. Carolyn left the scene, retreating back to the convent. That night, she didn’t sneak out to meet him.

That night Carolyn laid in her bed. She tossed and turned, restless as her mind played out every possible scenario. Carolyn prayed before falling asleep, and even in her dreams, she continued to pray. She prayed that Jasper hadn’t deceived her. She prayed that she wasn't foolish enough to fall for an untrustworthy man. In her dreams, she found herself standing in a dark abyss, the only light coming from a distant doorway. Curiosity took over, and she slowly approached the door. When she stepped through, she was in a little girl’s room. At first, she smiled, watching the young girl play with her dolls, but then her smile faded. Around the girl’s neck was the same golden locket that the woman with Jasper had worn. Rage swelled up inside Carolyn. She tried to scream, but as she did, the scene shifted. Now, she was standing in another doorway, watching an older girl in front of a vinyl record player, holding a record in her hand. The same golden locket hung around this girl’s neck. Carolyn was confused. She knew she was dreaming, yet everything felt so real. Suddenly, the record in the girl’s hand snapped, and Carolyn jolted awake, gasping for air as if she had been suffocating. She didn’t understand what had just happened, but she took it as a sign – a sign from God. A sign that confirmed what she feared: Jasper had been lying to her. He had deceived her.

But Carolyn couldn’t have been more wrong. If only she had paid closer attention, if only she had stopped judging, stopped assuming, and stopped letting her anger and jealousy blind her, she would have seen it. She would have noticed the resemblance between Jasper and the woman. She would have seen that they shared the same hair color, the same eyes, the same facial features. If she had looked closer, or if she had just asked, she would have realized that the girl wasn’t his lover, she was his sister. A pregnant sister, helping her brother set up a romantic evening for the woman he cared for. A woman he knew who had never truly experienced love before with the life of living as a nun.

THE SHIFT.
Carolyn decided she would confront Jasper the following night. She had completely ditched him before and hoped he would be waiting for her at the gates as usual. As midnight approached, Carolyn quietly slipped away from the convent and made her way to the gates. There he was, looking as beautiful as ever under the moonlight. He greeted her, and she responded with a tight lipped smile. They walked in silence, neither speaking about the questions they had. The only sounds around them were the crickets, frogs, and the occasional passing car. It wasn’t until they reached the bridge over the river that they finally stopped to speak.

“Why didn’t you show up last night?” Jasper asked, turning to face her. His hands were in his pockets, and a deep frown creased his face. To anyone else, the sadness in his voice would be evident, but Carolyn was too blinded by anger and jealousy to notice.

All Carolyn could do was laugh bitterly and coldly. She shook her head, leaning against the railing of the bridge as she tried to find the right words. “I saw you with that woman...”

At first, Jasper was confused, unsure of what Carolyn was referring to. Then he remembered that his sister had helped him, and he scoffed, letting out a small laugh at the misunderstanding. This reaction didn’t sit well with Carolyn. Her mind was clouded with thoughts of what her mother had warned her about and what the sisters had taught her. Doubts began to creep in, making her wonder if she should have listened to those warnings. She was starting to believe that all men might cause her the same pain her mother had told her.

“Oh, Angelica? No, no, no. There’s nothing to worry about,” Jasper said, trying to reassure her. “It’s not like that.”

It wasn’t like that! She was nobody! What are you even talking about!

Her father's words echoed in her mind, bringing back memories of the fights and arguments between him and her mother. She remembered the day he left, his lies about the women he had been with, and the way he had hit her mother.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Carolyn yelled, screaming in his face. Her outburst took Jasper by surprise; he hadn’t expected it. She was on the brink of exploding, and his one comment had triggered her. Jasper was bewildered, unable to understand where all this anger was coming from.

“I saw you,” Carolyn continued, her voice filled with raw emotion. “You’re just like everyone else! You’re just like him!”

Carolyn did the one thing she had seen during her parents' arguments. She turned around, swung her hand, and slapped Jasper hard. It was a moment of breaking for her. She was chipping away at all the pain and anger she had kept inside. Scared and overwhelmed, her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind. Carolyn prayed silently, desperately trying to calm herself. Suddenly, she gasped as Jasper’s hand tightened around her neck. Fear flashed in her eyes as she met his darkened gaze. The terror she felt was real. His grip forced her body to bend over the railing of the bridge. When his hold momentarily loosened, she felt a small sense of relief and hope, but it was short-lived. Her fear came back instantly as he pushed her over the railing. She felt as though she was falling for an eternity, praying for anyone or anything to save her. Regret consumed her. She was wishing she had listened to her mother, stayed at the convent, and never met Jasper. As she plunged into the water, her head struck a rock, and everything went black. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was Jasper walking away from the bridge.

Or that's what she thought happened…
But that's not what happened…

What really happened was that Carolyn had been so consumed by her anger, ready to unleash everything she had bottled up inside. She was so focused on Jasper that she had completely forgotten she had secretly drowned her sorrows in alcohol before meeting him. She was drunk. She was turning into her father. After the first slap, Carolyn didn’t stop. She continued hitting Jasper with such force that he had to push her back. His hands were never on her neck. They were on her shoulders, trying to keep her steady. He didn’t grip her tightly, just firmly enough to hold her in place. Jasper stood there shocked by what was happening. She tried to fight against his hold, yelling and struggling, SHE stumbled and fell over the railing. He never pushed her, the railings just weren’t tall which was a safety hazard and she was just too drunk that she lost her balance. Jasper never walked away, he ran, screaming and yelling for help, desperate to save her.

But Carolyn never knew the truth. Her drunken memory would be the one she carried for the rest of her time. It wasn’t god who answered her prayers, it was the Entity. The Entity fueled her need for revenge based on what she thought had happened. After she blacked out from hitting her head on the rock, her body floated downstream with the river’s current. The fog appeared, enveloping the water and swallowing her body whole.

NOW.
Carolyn – no, The Nun, stood in the middle of her former convent, a place now haunted by her sins and mistakes. The whispers of the Entity echoed in her mind, telling her everything she needed to know. It reminded her how it had answered her prayers, granting her the chance for revenge against the life that had been taken from her, for the betrayal and pain she had endured. Carolyn was no longer herself. She had made a deal. A deal that filled her with darkness and transformed her into a monster. Her soul was now twisted with pure evil, and her wish had been granted. The small part of her that had once cried for her mistakes, for not listening to her mother, for not staying at the convent – that part of her was tucked away and hidden for good. She died, and took a malevolent offer. The sad part is she’ll never know what truly happened, she’ll never know the truth. She’ll never know Jasper truly loved her.

Wyll · Aug 21, 2024

/* --- base code --- */
© akeno.

1989

FULL NAME. Modupe Alistair

D.O.B. February 8th

P.O.B. New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

GENDER. Male (He/Him)

SEXUALITY. Heterosexual

ALIAS. The Sprout

ROLE. Hysteria

SPECIES. Human. Troubled, but human.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Dark skin covered in scars, burns and blemishes that have all faded into his skin over time, hinting at how long they have been there. At 5'10" and a lean build, he's the type of guy you could walk past or even bump into and barely pay any mind.

ATTIRE. The dark is his playground, his home, his comfort. He wraps himself in it. No matter what, he dons himself in a thick, dark, charcoal-coloured trench coat. His hands don't actually go through the sleeves, rather, he lets the coat hang on him by his shoulders, making him look bigger and wider than he actually is. The loose sleeves also add an extra element of surprise as his victims often mistake him for having no arms. The rest of his outfit is black as well. From the loose linen shirts and pants to his heavy, leather boots. His outfit alone seems to suck all the light around him, making him little more than ominous, heavy footsteps in the dark. His hair is dark brown, wavy and just past shoulder-length. It seems to have a permanent glisten to it, never looking dull or dry. What muscle he has is tight and lean rather than bulky, however they still pack a lot of power in each swing.

WEAPON. A simple crowbar. Perhaps not the most effective weapon - but he is not doing it for the kill, he's doing it for the screams. A crowbar allows him take his time.

FACE CLAIM. Maximillian from Vampire in Brooklyn (Eddie Murphy)

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
Sweets
Orchestral music
Playing games
A good fight
Validation/Praise
Kids (will pretty much never harm a kid)

DISLIKES.

Long silences
Small, enclosed spaces
Being bored
The smell of burning flesh
Being told he can't do something
Weakness

HOBBIES.

Playing hide and seek with his nephews and nieces
Pulling pranks on people
Escape rooms

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Tactful
(+) Relentless
(+) Opportunistic

(-) Tunnel-vision
(-) Loud boots
(-) Impulsive

FEAR.

Failure: He spent a lot of time not being good at anything and knows the humiliation of failure. His drive comes from never wanting to experience that failure again - it is why he takes it so personally if someone that he captured escapes.

PSY.

Virtues:

Refuses to hurt kids - Would rather face the wrath of the entity itself than harm a child

Reliable - If he says he's going to do it, it will be done. Just...don't ask how

Undaunted - 'If you can't fly, then run. If you can't run, then walk. If you can't walk, then crawl. By all means, keep moving forward' personified.

Vices:

Deceitful - Uses lies and tricks to get into peoples head and throw them off balance

Proud - It is not uncommon for him to spend so much time messing with the survivors that they escape because he didn't hook them quick enough. This becomes a problem for the next group of survivors as now he just becomes more vicious.

Vengeful - Takes things personal quick. You hit and hurt him while trying to get away? You get a Mori. You escape or help someone else escape? You get a mori too.

abc's

POWER.

In The Walls
He can cause any part of his body to grow out of any surface that he has previously marked with chalk. For clarity, he doesn't grow an extra one of this body part, rather the existing body part leaves his body and appears somewhere else. Most commonly, he makes his eyes appear on a wall and scope out an area but, for that time period, he cannot see the area around his original body. As the body part is still his, any damage it suffers stays when he returns the part to his original body. That's why he typically doesn't use larger parts of his body as those are easier to notice and therefore damage. This body part also carries his presence with him and so activates his perk in the area.

Side objective for survivors:
Be on the lookout for walls with tallies. If you are able to wipe these marks off, you limit the number of walls he can spy on you from.

THE MORI.

His mori uses his power. He takes a small piece of chalk and tosses it into the survivor's mouth, forcing them to swallow it and he grows his hand out of the markings the chalk makes inside them (think chestbursters from Alien)

BELONGINGS.

Chalk: Single sticks of chalk left scattered around the map and used to mark walls to activate his power

Children's Picture Book: A tie to what little humanity he has left. He'd read from this book to his nephews and nieces every night he was with them to put them to sleep.

Disassembled Electric Chair: Source of what broke his mind so he broke it. He still uses it for killing but now he does it the way he feels it should be done - the right way.

Prison Uniform: Dirty, tattered and bloody prison uniform from when he went on his rampage in the prison.

Slasher mask: A memento he kept from the first time he successfully scared somebody - the first time he successfully did anything.

HISTORY

BEFORE.
Modupe was born as a regular child to a regular family save one thing - for all his boisterous energy, he was gloriously inept. He was slow to walk, to talk and didn't pick things up very quickly. When all society around you progresses at double the rate, in makes for a very challenging childhood. There was no derogatory name he wasn't called and there was very little joy to be find in quietly going through motions that he barely knew. Eventually, he would learn. He'd learn to walk, to talk, learn a trade, he picked things up eventually. But even then, he was average at best.

It wasn't until his twelfth birthday that he discovered the one talent he had. What few friends he had - street rats, honestly - decided that they were going to pull a prank on some of the other street kids. It was meant to be harmless. It was meant to be quick. However, the people he called friends would turn out to be cowards; running away at the first sign of trouble when they noticed that the other kids were bigger and more than they had thought. When Modupe was ready to pull the prank, he looked over his shoulder and saw that he was alone, abandoned by his friends. They betrayal he felt was his fuel. He'd go ahead with the prank and maybe once, just this once, earn a little respect.

He watched and waited, waiting for their guard to be down and then, bloodied and with his slasher mask, he gave his best impression of a crazy laugh and ran at the kids. Their screams rang through the streets and they had been so consumed by fear that they didn't realise that it was a 5-on-1 situation and even if he was a threat, 5 of them should have been enough. All they did was scream and cry for help as they ran. Those screams...those screams...they tickled his ear; lit up his heart in a way he hadn't previously known was possible.

It was control. It was power. It was validation.

It was the first time he had felt like he had done something right and it would become his obsession, his purpose. He would search for new ways to incite fear in those around him. New ways to get people to...scream for him. Unfortunately for him, those around him drank it up like fresh water from a desert oasis. It became his reputation. He was the prankster. A damn good one. A part of him felt guilty doing it but if this is what caused him to be accepted, then he would gladly play this role.

THE SHIFT.
He'd been set down a dangerous path. Once again, his demise came at the hands of people he called friends. There was a rich family in the neighborhood that had moved in recently and the kids were a little too pompous for the liking of Dupe's 'friends'. The plan was just to break in and rough them up a little bit. They all broke in and ran through the house, grabbing its inhabitants roughly and throwing them on the ground. It was savage and bloody and even Dupe knew that this was wrong. However something happened that changed everything for him.

With the whole family on the floor in front of him and his friends, he saw something that stirred a memory within him. They looked terrified. It was the same look the kids from his first prank had. But this was different, it was more...intense. In this one moment, he felt more power and control than he'd felt previously. He'd discovered something new and he wanted to explore it.

And explore it he did. He would put on his slasher mask and go round breaking into people's houses and beating them up. He found that a crowbar was just small and hard enough to carry around easily but do just enough damage with. The way they'd scream and beg for mercy from him made his head spin. It was euphoric. He justified himself by saying that he wasn't actually killing them. He was just scaring them a bit. He just wanted to hear them scream. He just wanted to do what he was good at. Surely that wasn't so bad.

He could tell himself that lie until he got carried away one day. It was meant to be the usual thing, but he'd had a particularly stressful week and had a particularly high amount of frustration to let out. He got his screams, he got his pleas for mercy, but he kept swinging. And he kept swinging until the pleas turned to whispers, until screams turned to gasps. And still he swung, until it was silent. He had gone too far. And he didn't know it until he wondered why it was so quiet.

Euphoria was instantly replaced by fear and regret. He got on his knees and now he was the one begging, begging for them to wake up. Begging for them to open her eyes. And he begged until the police came. He begged in the police car. And he begged as he found out that he'd be put on death row.

Day after day, more people would meet the electric chair. The only word he could find for this was torture. He'd killed his first person and the thought still made him want to throw up. And they were just doing it like it was taking out the trash. And each day, he knew that his turn was coming. He would scratch tally's on his cell of how many days he'd been in there for, slowly counting the days until his execution. When his execution day came, he refused to go out that way. He fought and bucked and to run. He knew it was futile, but at least he could say that he tried. His uniform got ripped and bloodied from the fight with the officers as they dragged him to the chair.

"Get me out of here! Get me out of here! Please, I'll do anything!"

Anything?

NOW.
He remembered begging for mercy. He remembered wanting to escape. Now he was here, wherever 'here' was. His role had been explained to him. He knew what this 'entity' wanted from him but he didn't like this twisted game. The entity, however, had promised that he'd never need to kill anyone unless he really wanted to. He just needed to scare them and catch them. And as long as he caught them and kept them, the entity would take care of the rest. That was a fair enough deal. However, if he was given the jail to shape in his image...he'd be making some changes.
/* --- base code --- */
© akeno.

2001

FULL NAME. Jonathan Chen

D.O.B. April 20th

P.O.B. St. Louis, Missouri

GENDER. Male, He/Him

SEXUALITY. Heterosexual

OCCUPATION. College dropout, had become part of a gang that gave him enough of a cut to take care of himself.

SKILLS.
Spatial awareness
Strategic planning
Camouflage and hiding

ROLE. Diversion

visage.

DESCRIPTION. 5,11" with a build that very clearly shows that he works out and does a good amount of physical labor. Deep, black and ever-moving eyes that constantly take in all the information from their environment. Short-cut and messy hair that looks like it needs a lot of loving. Fair skin that tans rather nicely under the sun.

ATTIRE. They look for clothes that make them not stand out. When he's not dressing to hide, he typically wears some cheaper version of whatever is considered to be in fashion; and so his outfits are rather easy to casually glance over. When taken, he was wearing a charcoal-grey jean jacket over a simple white tee and dark cargo pants with some sneakers from Walmart. Over all a simple yet comfortable fit that he will be keeping in the trials because it is breathable and easy to run in.

FACE CLAIM. Ki Hong Lee

LIKES.
─ Money
Spicy food
Chess and other board games
Anything that has the word "Free" attached to it
A good, structured plan
Drawing

DISLIKES.

─ list up to five dislikes.
Fights
Working in groups
Being the center of attention
Responsibility
Feeling unprepared
Being rushed

HOBBIES.

─ did they have hobbies before?
He genuinely enjoyed playing chess; he could understand it and it helped him understand life.
Other board games, especially those that were strategy-based were fun for him as well.
People watching; you learn so much about a person - about society in general - just...watching.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

─ three strengths and weaknesses that would benefit or hinder them in a trial.
(+) Observant
(+) Cunning
(+) Physically strong
(-) Not a team player
(-) Overthinker
(-) Remarkably pessimistic

FEAR.

─ the entity likely picked up on this when they got close to the fog, what are they most afraid of?
He craves control. The less control he has of a situation, the more he starts to freak out because he is terrified of not being able to have a say of what does and doesn't happen in his own life - more so, his death.

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

Virtues:

Charismatic: His words are honey on ears and he knows just what a person needs to hear to motivate themselves

Adaptive: He picks up on change of situations very quickly and has been taught how to take advantage of the situation, no matter what it is

Creative: He is innately unpredictable but clever, it would make it hard to set traps or plans for him

Vices:

Selfish: He is not here to help anybody but himself and (at least at first, before glorious character development) will even be willing to put others in danger if it means he gets to live.

Competitive: Once he understands that the goal is to survive, he will want to be the first or best survivor, failing to understand that there is no such thing

Incredibly morally gray: The lines between good and evil are as blurry for him as trying to see a pencil stroke that has been wiped off with an old, dirty eraser/rubber.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

to be used as clues: this rp will include a mystery element. please list out at least five belongings that your survivor would own to be found in rp for lore purposes? example: a family photo (elaborate on the importance, doesn't have to be more than a sentence)
Club membership card - His gang used this club as their main base of operations.
Child adoption certificate - He has seen many of these. He loathes them.
Chess set - This was the first game he learned to play and how he's learned to see life.
A picture of Chef with his old friends, including Modupe - Chef was the closest thing he had to a real, permanent, father-figure in his life. The one person he could say had his respect.
Bloodied stuffed toy - A relic from when he still had his innocence, the last time he could remember being a child; being good.

HISTORY

BEFORE.
Jonathan's birth home - and birth parents - were...unkind to say the least. They had high expectations, nigh unreasonable expectations, and all those expectations were cast on Jonathan with sever repercussions if they weren't met. He learned very quickly - right around the time he could start forming cohesive sentences - that if you do good, you don't get punished. And so Jonathan sought to be the best by whatever means necessary. At least, that way, he would be safe. Well...safer.

After a particularly difficult test in grade school, CPS had to be called to take him away from his parents for the child's own protections. However, emotionally scared as he ended up being, it was difficult for him to fit in anywhere - he would always have an unhealthy competition with the other kids around him. Due to this, he ended up being bounced around within the system, Jonathan was fine with this. He didn't mind. HE didn't care. However, he knew that he craved some form of stability in his life. Everything was always changing and so he had no anchor, no true north, no foundation.

At least, not until high school.

This was where he found and ran into the gang that would later become the closest thing to family. He learned quick and adapted quicker, eventually making a name for himself within the gang. He made such a name for himself that he eventually had a meeting with the head of the gang - a man that only went by Chef. The "meeting" was more of a sentence and then Jonathan was dismissed.

"You're good, kid, but don't be too good; the really good ones always end up going crazy like ol' Dupe."

The words didn't make sense to Jonathan, not at the time, at least. But, in high school, he learned that, when you're too good, you're taken advantage of. When he got a job, he learned that if you're too good, you're "indispensable" and also taken advantage of. If you're too good in a gang is probably the worst of it, because that paints a very actionable target on your back. The better you are, the bigger that target.

And so he learned something. He learned that, with a few well-placed words and subtle suggestions, he can change people's perception. He could shift glory and blame like people would shift pieces on a chess board. He could use people's desires to play them like a fiddle, getting into their head and driving them for his own benefit. He could be the best and not a soul would realise it.

Throughout high school, he continued moving up the ranks, but he made sure to bring others up with him - sometimes even faster than him. By the time he reached college, he'd moved so far up that he was no longer doing street runs and everybody above him owed him because they knew he was the one that got them there. He was giddy with the power. When he had become this successful, what did he need an education for? That was his thought as he dropped out of school and moved into a house of his own.

THE FOG. what were they doing, where were they, when they stumbled upon a corrupted area and were taken by the fog?
Everything was going so right for Jon, was going so perfectly according to his plan, that something was bound to go wrong. But what possible could? He'd made sure he'd taken everything into account, planned for everything, prepared for everything. What surprise could catch him off guard?

These were his thoughts as he was walking back to his house from the gang's usual meetup. There was a particular member that had gotten on his nerves and Jonathan was now working to knock them down a few pegs, again, never once revealing his hand of influence. So far, everything had gone according to plan.

Then it happened. Jonathan no longer knew where he was. He felt a chill run down his spine. Something was wrong...something was very wrong. He looked around trying to see if he had been followed but the fog around stopped him from being able to see anyone.

No. Nobody would dare come for me. None of the people lower than me are that bold and all the people higher than me need me. I'm safe. I should be safe.

"Who's there?!"

No response. Of course not. The chill only grew colder and his heart beat faster as he realised the weight of his vulnerability. Nothing had ever made him feel this way before. This was something new to him; something foreign; something he hadn't planned for. Knowing the danger of something unknown, he ran. He didn't know where he was running or how long he was running for, but the fog never seemed to stop. If anything, it grew thicker no matter which direction he ran towards.

He had been caught.

NOW. the trials have not started, they have only just been taken by the entity where the rp will start off - but how would they react and feel to this new life of theirs?
He is still trying to wrap his head around what all this means and entails. It's unfamiliar to him. But his main objective for the moment is to figure out whether this world, these "trials" work with the same rules as the world he was just coming from. If it did, it was just a new game of chess - all he had to do was learn how the opponent played.

spareparts · Aug 21, 2024

SURVIVOR. BOTANY KNOWLEDGE.

/* --- base code --- */

2001

FULL NAME. APOLLINE SÚKENÍKOVÁ

D.O.B. march 14, 1977

P.O.B. zokopane, ukraine

GENDER. cis female. she/her.

SEXUALITY. bisexual.

OCCUPATION. new graduate, veterinarian surgeon’s assistant, just completed residency for cardiothoracic surgery

SKILLS. extensive knowledge on medicinal and diagnostic practices, utilization of natural remedies, nature smart

ROLE. survivor. botany knowledge.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. cool-toned skin with the lightest natural flush, only flared in bright pink across her cheeks and nose in stress or anger, muddied pale green eyes reflecting towards others in constant wishful thinking or indecision–her eyes wide and rounded with sincerity and a gentle nature even so. subtle shadow depicting quiet fatigue that’s clung below her eyes for a life time. a face softly angular, characterized by her sharp features. cheek bones curving into a soft heart shape down towards her chin. the softest wild honey brown, muted gold toned high lights in hair that falls just below her shoulders–textured and cut by her own hands. scars marr her wrists up to her elbows, some silvered into ghost-like traces while others bare a slight swell–a quiet testament to her life’s greatest struggles. a frame that conveys both delicacy and strength–once a swimmer, her shoulders and upper body still bare remnants of her time in pools. once strictly compact and lean, now more hollowed. like a sketch of her former self.

ATTIRE. a soft mohair baby blue zip-up hoodie, fitted to her ribbed white tank-top–muted camel brown lace trim at the neckline. a tiny silver chain with a silver 4-leaf clover charm attached. hi-waisted classic blue denim flare pants–softened and worn out, distressed at the bottom hems from wear upon wear. classic black chucks with white laces, also worn out from everyday use.

a black spandex high neck zip up with thumb-hole sleeves now replaces the once cherished mohair jacket, something she picked up during her time in her new reality. also an insulated coat, she was gifted that she ties over one shoulder across her body just in case she gets cold.

FACE CLAIM. mélanie laurent

LIKES.

─
herbs and greens. while she wasn’t technically a proclaimed vegetarian, leen often included greens in 70% of her diet. she loved to cook with them, experiment with different kinds–never picky, just curious of what they could offer to her health. herbs were a must-have on her at all times, for light medicinal purposes to teas to calming agents. she loved to share her knowledge of their benefits or gift them to those she loved most and was very passionate of their various uses.

people watching. apolline loved to stand out on her tight balcony and watch the rooftops and other balconies like her own bustle with life or even glance thoughtfully of the absence of life from them. at parks, she could never help herself from taking even half an hour to waste her time observing other’s lives in a peaceful look-out spot. she scouted for good areas when she wasn’t busy. sometimes, she’d journal her discoveries.

learning. reading everything from literature, poetry, historical accounts, how-to’s, hell–even the dictionary at one point. apolline felt a strong gravitation towards memorizing as much as she could about this world. learning languages is one of her passions. she loved to take free classes on most anything in her city.

children. having kids one day was always on apolline’s mind since she was a small child. she loves everything about them, finding them fascinating and often volunteering at ‘Škola v prírode’, a program to introduce and connect children to nature.

DISLIKES.

─
the cold. so much so, she’s cried. her fear of it stems from stressors in her childhood. to counteract this, she had always equipped herself with blankets and good coats instead of spending money on other clothing items. always candles, always paid her heat bill on time.

being the center of attention. growing up on the shyer side with not much outward support from her parent’s in her endeavors and interests quieted her. she prefers to share herself with close confidants or strangers if it’s 1 on 1. she’ll speak up if she really has to, but it makes her heart race terribly so.

long hallways, open fields especially filled with darkness. for some reason the abundance of space with nothing to fill it brings her some anxiety, thus why her home was always very maximilist.

heartless actions. these include neglect of children and animals, one of the only things in life that’s ever really enraged her. she’s quick to protect either and has many times before in her volunteering work. she’s the type of person to not be able to hold her tongue to violence or abuse happening in public.

HOBBIES.

─
Apolline's favorite hobby was volunteering at a local children’s camp as a nature director, where she taught kids about plants, natural remedies, and the beauty of nature. She was passionate about all her philanthropic efforts, frequently volunteering at soup kitchens and boys' and girls' clubs throughout Trnava.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

( + ) extensive understanding of medicine and the human body.
( + ) meticulous with a steady hand in the case of administering emergency surgery, unwavered by the sights of the grotesque in moments of dire need.
( + ) expertise in general diagnostics, skills picked up from her time doing rounds.
( + ) craftiness, utilization of objects or outside medicinal properties to heal.
( + ) self-sacrificial, compulsive aid, to the point of throwing her own life under the bus to ensure
( + ) the safety of others, she will be there if she’s able.
( + ) nature smart, having spent lots of time in nature and learning the beneficial's to harmful's.

( - ) depression-induced hallucination. her sadness never clouds her willingness to aid or her knowledge, but there have been times where she’s been lost in her own thoughts and seen or heard things that may not really be there. her eyes and ears can play tricks on her and if she’s vocal about them, it may confuse others.

( - ) survivor’s guilt. apolline desperately hates losing others, often taking it very hard especially if she’s suffered no physical consequences. always pushing herself too hard and needing to have done more to change situations that may have not been her fault at all.

( - ) fear of the cold. the one thing that can send apolline over the edge is on the off chance she’s left bare to face harsh elements, something that has never happened but something she often has nightmares of. being from the tatra mountain’s means her threshold of surviving the cold is very high, but it can definitely cloud her judgement if she’s feeling the stress of an unforgivingly freezing climate.

( - ) morning sickness. an unexplainable sense of naseua washes over her at random, prompting her to either leave the situation and dry heave or throw up. perhaps because of the overlap between having her baby and her reality being ripped out from underneath her, her brain plays tricks on her thinking she still harbors a pregnancy.

FEAR.

─ the bitter cold

PSY.

include from three to five virtues and vices. elaborate on how they would be with other survivors - if they're stubborn, how would they deal with trials? if they're afraid, how would they deal with their fear?

Apolline is relatively quiet, often lost in thought and somewhat distant due to her persistent depression. She's very sweet to especially those she finds connection with, but more often is she plagued by a new-found soft spoken silence.

Despite her own struggles, she consistently assures survivors of her unwavering support, even if their relationship is strained or unusual. Due to occasional hallucinations, she might speak softly to herself or ask others if they can see or hear what she perceives. This can be unsettling for some survivors, so she makes a concerted effort to keep her inner turmoil from affecting her surroundings. Though she manages her fear well, the cold tends to exacerbate her stress and cloud her thinking.

Apolline occasionally experiences random morning sickness, which can cause her to dry heave. Stress tends to make this symptom worse, adding to her overall discomfort.

Apolline’s survivor’s guilt weighs heavily on her whenever she loses people to the Killers. She is exceptionally hard on herself, and managing these feelings can be challenging, often making her emotional turmoil difficult to contain.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
tatra’s embrace. delicate filigree of silver that mimic that of the tatra mountain ridges, a center piece of deep blue topaz stones with white topaz gems surrounding it. a prized possession of apolline’s that was lost in the shift.

infant frock. a-lined silhouette, flaring out from bodice to hem–neckline gently scalloped. pristine white and adorned with 3 tiny yellow daisy blooms at the center of the chest. reserved for her lost baby, lost once again.

herbal satchet. intricately embroidered organza sachet sewed with a nude velvet ribbon w/ white lace trim. durable yet holds lavender that starkly permeates, something she always had on her. something she longs to smell again.

razor blade. not proud of her once dire need for this keep sake. always there to relieve her stress, yet still to keep her down. she always had it on her, now she’s had to learn to live without it as it harms more than helps.

music box. compact, made of mahogany and adorned with brass and wood burn of a sleeping deer. connected to it is a brass-finished crank. metal combs produce the sound of the principal theme of liszt’s liebestraume no.3 : nocturne in a-minor. a special gift hand made for her by a past lover before he died in the soviet-afghan war. she misses this dearly.

HISTORY

trigger warning: abusive home, abusive relationship, self-harm, loss of pregnancy

BEFORE.

Apolline was born to the town butcher and his young wife in Zakopane, a quaint settlement nestled at the base of the Tatra Mountains. Their home was a modest cabin situated behind their butchery, where Apolline grew up immersed in their small family business and the care of her paternal grandmother, who also lived with them.

From a young age, Apolline was a vibrant spirit, reveling in the company of the livestock on their small ranch and chattering endlessly about everything and anything. Despite the family’s financial struggles, particularly during the harsh winter months, they managed to scrape by. Her father, a stern and distant man with a formidable temper, showed little interest in Apolline’s upbringing. Her mother, just seventeen when Apolline took her first steps, was a kind yet reserved woman, lacking formal education. At the time, her mother's undiagnosed Asperger’s and aggressive early-onset dementia went unnoticed. She could only manage to entertain Apolline for brief periods, often leaving her to amuse herself or participate in after-school programs, which only fueled Apolline’s mischievousness.

The atmosphere at home was further strained by her paternal grandmother, whose frequent and harsh beratings of Apolline’s mother for even the smallest infractions added to the household’s tension. Apolline struggled to comprehend the source of her grandmother’s relentless anger, feeling the weight of familial discord as she navigated her formative years.

Whenever Apolline angered her father, his rage would drive him to throw her outside and lock the doors behind her. She would be left to wander in the cold, returning again and again to pound on the doors and plead for forgiveness. During the day, it was somewhat bearable, but at night, she would shiver from the cold and cry out until she was let back in. As she grew older, her father's cruelty only intensified. With a passive mother and a grandmother just as harsh, all equally terrified of him, Apolline felt perpetually vulnerable to his punishment.
At sixteen, Apolline started meeting with a girl, Elia,—a close friend whose connection had first been introduced through her family's ties to the butchery. Upon hearing of this romantic relationship from the girl’s own father, it provoked her father’s wrath and took Apolline completely by surprise.

He yanked her from her bed in the dead of night, his furious voice slicing through the stillness and driving her out into the biting cold. The wind howled mercilessly, but even through it, Apolline could hear her father's enraged shouts echoing from within the house.

Instead of waiting around crying like she always did, Apolline fled into the night, her heart pounding as she raced through the frigid darkness in nothing but her boots, thermals, and sleeping dress. Directionless, she stumbled upon a night train–slowing into a roll and about to exit the small town. Seizing the chance for escape, she slipped into a train cabin, blending herself amid the cargo. With desperate resolve, she made her way to the rear of the car, where a layer of hay provided a makeshift refuge among the sheep. The warmth of the hay and the rhythmic rocking of the train soon lulled her into a quick slumber. By morning, she awoke to the gentle prodding of the animal tender, the harsh reality of her flight softened by the fleeting embrace of sleep and a bright morning.

The animal tender’s mother took pity on Apolline, welcoming her into her home and treating her like one of her own children alongside her four sons. In this new, nurturing environment, Apolline found a place where she thrived, growing into a young woman with a fervent passion for medical science. Her new life led her to Trnava, where she moved to pursue her education with dedication. Despite these positive changes, a persistent void lingered in her heart, a remnant of her painful past. The shadows of her past haunted her with night terrors—guilt over leaving her sweet mother behind, regret for abandoning Elia without a word, and even the betrayal of her father.

THE FOG.

Seeking escape from her tumultuous thoughts, Apolline often found herself in bars after long nights of studying, wandering through red-light districts in search of distraction. It was there she met Arden Van Vliet, a jazz percussionist from one of Europe’s most prestigious conservatories. Their romance ignited quickly, and they became inseparable throughout her university years. Arden’s severe addiction to pharmaceutical opiates should have alarmed her, but instead, it intrigued her, and she found herself drawn to the drug’s effects. Their relationship, while deeply passionate, soon encountered severe challenges. Arden’s addiction not only jeopardized his dream of becoming the main drummer for a renowned jazz quartet but also led to a serious car crash that worsened his condition. Apolline, determined to support him, found herself enmeshed in his struggles, even resorting to forging signatures to obtain drugs for them both.

When Apolline became pregnant, she convinced Arden to seek sobriety with her. She painted a hopeful vision of a future away from the chaos of the city—a life with a stable income from her medical career, surrounded by nature, where Arden could record his music and they could build a family they would cherish. Initially, they made a concerted effort to change their lives, but Arden’s struggle with addiction proved more formidable than anticipated. By the time Apolline was halfway through her pregnancy, she had managed to stay clean, but Arden’s failure to do the same created additional strain. Despite her burgeoning medical career and her determination to stay positive for the baby’s sake, her life seemed to unravel further. Arden’s relapse drove him deeper into his addiction, leaving Apolline, eight months pregnant, facing tremendous hardship. She indulged in other harmful vices to combat her stressors, self-harming being the worst of them. Apolline was recognizing just how fearful she was of bringing a child into this world, when she herself felt still like a lonely, wandering child. She wanted to change, but nothing around her seemed to be going right. It was a torturous pregnancy to say the least.

Induced into premature labor, she endured ten grueling hours alone, with Arden arriving only during her final moments of consciousness. Feverish and disoriented, Apolline felt a strange, overwhelming sensation as if she were being transported from her hospital bed to a new, unforgiving reality.

NOW.

She awoke not in the world she knew but in a dark, damp, and desolate forest, where towering trees and a chilling breeze surrounded her. She tightened her mohair jacket and pulled up her hood, wincing from the pain in her abdomen. Her baby was gone—vanished as if it had never existed—yet the ache inside her remained, an inexplicable reminder of the loss she had endured, something she’d carry for the rest of her days in this hellish lair.

nightshroud · Aug 23, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2142

FULL NAME. Rowan Munday
D.O.B. January 12, 2114
P.O.B. Creston, British Columbia

GENDER. Male, He/Him
SEXUALITY. Homosexual

OCCUPATION. Engineer turned survivalist.

SKILLS. A special interest in tinkering propelled Rowan through life and came especially in handy when the world as he knew it ended.
ROLE. Technician

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Rowan Munday stands at five feet ten inches tall at the age of twenty-eight. Due to his circumstances, not much care has been put towards appearances. His face is scraggly and the dark brunette hair upon his head has been cut short only for means of convenience. Physically though, Rowan has a lean amount of muscle beneath skin paled from a lack of sunlight and nutrition. He certainly had enough free time to spend a portion of it keeping fit through a tired cycle of excercises.

ATTIRE. Rowan doesn't have a big commitment towards his clothing garb, preferring function over fashion. His choice is often a plain, neutral coloured t-shirt and a well-used pair of jeans. He also often boasts a pair of grey coveralls accented with a deep blue, particularly when doing work or going through the muck and mud of trials. A pair of round, thin-framed glasses that sit upon his face have probably seen better days.

FACE CLAIM. Conor Murphy

LIKES.
─ Reading technical manuals, strawberry flavours, word puzzles, nature sounds, romcoms

DISLIKES.

─ Routine disruption, inactivity, horror movies, fishing, large bodies of water

HOBBIES.

─ Work and play were often intermingled for Rowan as he grew up and into adulthood. He was the kid that enjoyed school and never complained about homework and as he discovered his enjoyment of working with machines and electronics he curved his education in that direction. Any clubs that he would join would focus on those same topics of tinkering, time spent outside of classes was spent on activities to get more credits. By the time he entered the workforce, Rowan was more than prepared. Except for the social aspect. He found it difficult to relate to his other co-workers so soon he was trying to adapt to their own interests, digesting the latest media so there was something relatable to talk about or trying to kickstart conversations into his own passions before they could stray into something unfamiliar.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Resourceful. Rowan has had to make-do with very little. He has taken the knowledge learned and skills honed to make somethings out of nothings.

(+) Autonomous. Surviving the trials is often a team effort, but that doesn't mean Rowan won't take the initiative if he needs to provide a distraction by himself or work on an objective alone.

(+) Dedicated. Rowan will throw himself into his tasks with abandon. As long as everything goes right, one would be hard-pressed to put a stop to his tempo.

(-) Cynical. If one thing goes wrong, it's all over. Rowan is prone to fits of despair if something doesn't go exactly the way it panned out in his head.

(-) Brazen. Rowan isn't exactly used to working with people. Not for several years anyways. When he sets his mind and hands upon a task, he wants it done his way because he assumes it is more efficient without waiting to hear the opinion of others. After getting this far in life, or death, how could he be wrong?

(-) Tunnel vision. Sometimes he will get so wrapped up in his current objective that he fails to take notice of what else is going on around him, sometimes to the detriment of himself or others.

FEAR.

When Rowan first confined himself to the underground bunker, there was a panicked loneliness that had settled deep into his mind. No one was here and no one was coming. However, it was something he could grow used to as time inevitably passed by with no prejudice. As that happened, something else took its place. How long would he have power that kept the lights above him illuminating the almost claustrophobic spaces? His heart jumped each time they would flicker, wondering if he would finally be plunged into an over-encumbering darkness. Fated to stumble through the shelter that was once familiar but now foreign and terrifying. And there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

PSY.

Rowan often throws himself into his tasks with a hundred percent effort. He holds a steady passion for anything that catches his interest. That enthusiasm has the potential to come back and bite the survivor however, getting so wrapped up in it that he shirks other responsibility.

A prison sentence of loneliness has left Rowan vulnerable, quietly craving any sort of attention and affection. He is likely to latch on to anyone he can find who will give him the time of day, whether they have good or bad intentions. This also means he is quick to try and present himself in a genuine manner, something that could be considered a double-edged sword. Rowan isn't afraid to voice what is on his mind when the situation calls for it, even if it might upset someone. At the same time, it means he can and will fess up to wrong-doings even if it takes a bit of effort and doesn't come immediately.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

Packet of seeds. A small and unlabeled brown paper envelope containing a handful of seeds. Rowan had to adapt when it came to learning autonomous survival on the fly which included developing a source of renewable food.

Batteries. A couple of small batteries that were saved for a flashlight that went unused, now long gone.

Handheld game device. Every minute spent was cherished, a temporary break from reality, played until the last drop of power was gone.

Geiger counter. A handheld device to be used when Rowan made it to the surface. Something he never managed to accomplish before the Fog took him.

Small novel. A choose-your-own-adventure book Rowan has had since he was a child. Reading material to keep the mind sharp- if it wasn't geared towards such a younger age group. Still, the pages are dog-eared with love and he's more than likely to have memorized every possible route and outcome at this point.

HISTORY

BEFORE. There was little to be desired in Rowan Munday's life. He was quickly crowned a light prodigy as a child, displaying an excellence in his educational journey. Anything mechanical or electronic was something he craved to learn about and work with. It took him into the shoes of an engineer, quickly finding a firm to work at with his high test scores and recommendations from professors.

It wasn't Rowan's first choice, the company mainly working in militaristic technologies. The idea of the violence that all this progress being made was contributed towards never sat right with him. But the praise was undeniable and so it was a concern shoved to the back of his mind and locked away with a smile.

Having this connection to the conflicts of the world meant that Rowan could see the signs of impending danger. Threats tossed carelessly about by leaders now warping into something more tangible and threatening. He couldn't say he was exactly surprised when the sirens began screech, a signal of the very real danger approaching.

Maybe it was sheer luck that Rowan had been working overtime, many people barely having time to collect themselves and rush to safety. The facility he was at had a shelter beneath the basement, something he scrambled towards in haste. Prying open the heavy hatch, Rowan slipped inside before everything went nuclear. Alone but alive.

THE FOG. How long had it been? Several years for sure. Rowan had lost count at two-thousand-three-hundred and seventy-seven days. At that point, was there any use to keep counting the time that passed him by? What was he even counting towards? No one was coming. He was alone beneath the ruined and radiated earth, barely surviving day by day.

A sense of hopelessness seized his chest, gripping his heart in an almost suffocating clamp between strong jaws. His vision blurred, tears welled up and splotted against his glasses that could have used a good cleaning anyways.

Like a programmed robot, he was stuck in a routine that almost seemed pointless the longer that time dragged on. Wake up, exercise, make sure the small amount of crops were growing well, check on all the technical parts of the bunker, exercise again, and then sleep. Even the strongest of hearts would find it hard-pressed to keep up hope when it was difficult to find a light at the end of the tunnel to reach towards.

Fuck it. He'd go outside for the first time in what felt like forever. There was a fear towards the uncertainty of what sort of carnage he would find. Waste and devastation and likely no longer habitable, but Rowan was tired of being cooped up alone and barely living.

As he approached the tightly sealed hatch and gripped the vault wheel with sweaty hands, a fog began to seep into the bunker, eventually covering everything in a suffocating darkness.

NOW. Rowan isn't sure if this is better or worse than his previous life. Obviously there is a point to be had that suffering death after death in the most gruesome of ways isn't exactly a walk in the park, but there are other people. He isn't alone any longer and even if not everyone may get along, it's better than a deafening, hollow silence.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

2142

FULL NAME. Waylon Perrott

D.O.B. July 28, 2105

P.O.B. Stonewall, Manitoba

GENDER. Male, He/Him

SEXUALITY. Bisexual (Closeted, hetero presenting)

ALIAS. The Overseer

ROLE. Blood Warden

SPECIES. Human

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Waylon doesn't have an appearance that might suggest a monster lurking beneath the surface. He stands at just over six feet tall with light brown hair that frames his narrow face. His grey-blue eyes are capable of holding a warm, welcoming aura but can just as quickly switch to something vicious and cruel. Whether from stress or age, wrinkles have formed faint creases across the killer's forehead and corners of his mouth. His physical build is suited more for strength than dexterity.

ATTIRE. There isn't much choice when you're suddenly uprooted from your every day life and thrust into an enclosed space with limited supplies and only the clothes upon your own back. Waylon wears a pair of brown pants kept secured by a black belt with a silver buckle. An equally dark short-sleeved button-up shirt is worn above a red-orange undershirt, the only pop of colour in his outfit.

While in a trial, upon his face is a multi-segmented mask of a bone-white colour. The top half is always the same. It has two spaces cut open for the eyes and short, pointy horns above the forehead. The bottom half is interchangeable between three different variations. One is a toothy smile frozen in time and stretched wide. The second is a deep seated and disappointed frown. The last is completely blank aside from scuffs and dings from years of wear.

WEAPON. Cattle Prod. Once a tool used for herding, now its voltage has been tuned up to be ten times as strong. The shock is enough to send anyone reeling if the killer gets close enough to jab someone with it. Additionally, if he just feels like being cruel, it can be used like a baton to deliver nasty, bruising blows.

FACE CLAIM. Ethan Hawke as The Grabber

LIKES.
─ card games, cold weather, documentaries, sunrises, fireworks.

DISLIKES.

─ animal harm, defiance, rainy days, alcohol, laziness.

HOBBIES.

─ Waylon never had much bandwidth for hobbies. Farm work required most of his free time and that was combined with not having friendly company to share and discover activities with. It culminated into the reason why making hobbies did not become a familiar pastime. When Waylon did have some space to breath, he often spent it watching television or learning games he could play by himself with an aged deck of cards.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Dominant. Waylon won't stand to be beneath someone else's shoe. It is almost a necessity for him to be in control at all times.

(+) Ruthless. Not afraid to get his hands dirty, the killer has a penchant for bloodshed. No amount of reasoning could get him to back down in the face of violence.

(+) Patient. Sometimes waiting is the best option. Suspense can make one shaky, breakable. It never hurts to prepare and come up with a plan first.

(-) Arrogant. Never expecting to make a mistake, it always throws Waylon off balance when it does happen whether by his own hand or a survivor's meddling.

(-) Short-tempered. It isn't difficult to get under the skin of someone who is truly so very small on the inside.

(-) Vindictive. When felt he is wronged, the killer sees red. Even if it's not the most efficient action, he'll often focus shortly on enacting revenge upon the offender.

FEAR.

─ Waylon has developed a complex for being incompetent over the years of his upbringing. He can not face the possibility of blunder after working so hard to become someone who is efficient and skilled. The biggest trigger for cracking his exterior is a mistake, no matter how small or inconsequential. Often times he will attempt to pass the blame for the mistake upon another person or something that was out of his control. Anything to avoid looking like a failure.

PSY.

Before he was taken by the Entity, Waylon had grown into a rather demanding person. His newly gained power went straight to mind and ego. There was no room for anyone to go against his regulations and rules. Whatever he wanted, he would take. The man held no loyalty to even those who treated him as a genius leader. Waylon never saw a reason to put his confidence in anyone else so he himself became untrustworthy.

Above all else, an unstable demeanor lurks beneath The Overseer's presence. While he holds a confident and disciplined aura, it is a hair-trigger away from snapping into something far less controlled. A deep-seated anger, made more white hot by the Entity, waits to be unchained and unleashed against anyone who stands opposed to him.

abc's

POWER.

Waylon has had plenty of time to work with his hands. Sometimes issues on the farm required practical solutions or a problem in the underground bunker necessitated some tinkering and innovation. He puts this to more nefarious purposes during the trial. Anything that the survivors can interact with are within his limits. As they shove their hands into the tangled wires of a generator it might blow back at them with more force than usual. Or, if they try and throw themselves through a window while he chases after them, they may find their hands torn and shredded by a layer of barbed wire or glass. Those are just a couple of examples that can vary based on what the environment around him offers. The killer can be patient, laying these traps so when the game is really on he can easily gain the advantage.

THE MORI.

The Overseer kicks his victim to the ground before delivering several harsh and blunt blows to their head with his cattle prod. Wounded and dazed, the survivor is unable to fight back as Waylon balls a fist into their shirt, lifting them up off the earth. He makes sure to look them in the eye before shoving the weapon through the socket in their skull, grinning while the electric current courses and seizes through the survivor's body.

BELONGINGS.

Hunting crop. A tool used to dish out physical punishment to residents of his shelter that didn't perform up to standards.

Reading glasses. Slightly farsighted, Waylon developed the need for a pair of thin spectacles when reading in the dim light of the bunker.

Gardening gloves. Something he happened to have shoved into his back pocket when sealing himself and his group into the bunker.

Farm equipment magazine. Waylon was looking into some upgrades for the estate before the world turned upside-down.

Rooster tail feather. While working on the farm, Waylon grew quite fond over a rooster named Henry. The bird would often follow him around as he worked, strutting around with confidence as if an acting supervisor.

HISTORY

BEFORE. If Waylon was asked for one happy memory in his life he probably wouldn't have been able to answer. There was always something simple like seeing his favourite movie at the theatre or ordering his favourite meal at a well-reviewed restaurant, but nothing truly substantial. He had never showed any promise or talent growing up, just barely getting passing grades to brute force his way through school. Going to college or university was out of the question, for reasons both involving grades and financials, so instead he began to work for his father at the farm just after graduation.

It wasn't easy work, often stumbling and making mistakes as his father poorly tried to teach him everything he needed to know. Frustration and anger often followed these slip-ups, resulting in harsh words and the occasional rough cuff over the head. What Waylon found most difficult was the slaughter, or even just the times where he was instructed to get a bit rough with the animals. They had never done anything to deserve the treatment. Not like the way his father would lash out at the tiniest of blunders.

As time passed, Waylon inevitably grew much better at all of the tasks required for the upkeep of the farm. His father grew older, frailer, more paranoid. Talks of foreign threats and nuclear warfare had the man more often than not preparing for such a terrible outcome, leaving Waylon in charge of almost all of the farm's duties. There was no complaint to be had, having since surpassed his father in terms of efficiency. So while beneath the ground a shelter was being constructed, Waylon kept everything running as it should so they wouldn't fall into ruin.

During one sweltering afternoon, his father in the pighouse making sure food and water were sufficiently supplied to fatten the animals up. However, only a few days earlier he had sustained an injury to his knee while working on the bunker that caused a limp at every second step. That combined with age caused him to fall face first into the muck and mud that coated the floor of the sty. He called for Waylon to help, struggling to find purchase to pull himself out of the mess. Waylon heard. And did nothing.

So his father perished there, surrounded by the squealing pigs. Waylon avoided the area for a few days until he was sure there was next to nothing left of the body. It was not long after that the bombs really did drop, so perhaps there was one thing he could be thankful to his old man for. Chaos erupted but he managed to gather a small group of people consisting of neighbors or anyone who had been lucky enough to be in the area at the time.

They sealed themselves inside the shelter, only twenty minutes later feeling the earth tremor and knowing that there was no way they would be returning to the surface in their lifetime.

THE SHIFT. The following days within the shelter were quiet, people barely raising their voices above a whisper as everyone tried to sort themselves out. There needed to be a specific kind of order if they were to survive down here with the limited supplies that were provided. But there were always grievances, disagreements, and soon enough it was clear that the group was not going to succeed without some form of leadership.

Waylon saw his chance. A chance to rise above the rest and finally wrangle some control into his life. Control of everything. He stepped up and exerted himself, laying down the law that people would follow as well as the work that needed to be done. If he was questioned they were beat down, by his own words or physically by the few who had become deeply devoted to his authority. Ruling was done with an iron fist, making sure everyone played their roles or else they would suffer punishment.

There was no room for mistake here if they were too survive. Everyone knew that, Waylon just knew how to make it actually happen. His leadership wasn't bound to last though. Quiet whispers of descent and upset rippled through the numbers that didn't have a blind loyalty to the overseer. Those that had been punished one too many times and were ready for a change of administration.

They plotted and planned until finally ready to put an end to Waylon's life. Gathering outside of his room's door with all manner of weaponry, bursting inside they were not met by the warden awake or sleeping. A thorough search throughout the entire underground bunker revealed that Waylon was in fact no where, as if he had vanished into thin air.

NOW. There are still people to herd like scared little rabbits. Except instead of caging them all in a dictatorship of safety, they instead meet their violent ends at his hands. Maybe they should have ran a little faster. Worked a little harder. The morbid outcomes are all their faults, he's merely encouraging them through tough love. And he'll do it over and over and over until they finally learn, enjoying every sadistic second of it.
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© akeno.

The sun's first rise

FULL NAME. The swarm, the pack, dogs

D.O.B. When the first rays of sunlight blessed Arduinna's surface

P.O.B. The primordial soup of Planet Arduinna

ALIAS. The Swarm

ROLE. Pentimento

SPECIES. Alien

visage.

DESCRIPTION. The Swarm exists of several almost identical creatures, only told apart by slight differences in build and vocalizations. Something that one would have to stop and observe to notice. They are quadrupedal creatures covered in scruffy black fur that seems to almost soak up all the light around them. The monsters don't appear to have eyes or a nose but upon opening their jaws it reveals rows of sharp, glowing blue teeth.

WEAPON. Primarily the strength of their jaws as well as the multitude of fangs and sharpened incisors found inside. However, The Swarm's speed is not to be underestimated as well. They will chase their prey tirelessly, gaining on even the fastest of runners.

FACE CLAIM. Monsters from Attack the Block

LIKES.
─ fresh meat, cloudless nights, scratches under the chin, the thrill of the hunt, and a good hearty nap.

DISLIKES.

─ water and wet fur, the smell of rotting food or flesh, loud and high-pitched noises, becoming separated from each other, and an empty stomach.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Relentless. There is a violence that comes in the form of a storm of teeth and claws. To hold back is not something The Swarm is very familiar with.

(+) Agility. For a teeming group of monsters, they are surprisingly nimble when it comes to navigating many of the Entity's realms. A lifetime within dense jungles has given them that skill.

(+) Communicative. Although not a word would ever be uttered from their monstrous mouths, the pack seem quite capable of working together in harmony to achieve their goals.

(-) Distracted. Acutely observant of their surroundings can sometimes throw The Swarm off. A new sound or smell or motion can suddenly grab their attention despite being in the middle of a chase.

(-) Pain Adverse. Even the simplest of blows will often make the pack falter to reassess the situation. Their care for each other will make sure they are able to pursue their target(s) without risk to one another.

(-) Loud. It isn't very difficult to tell when The Swarm is approaching. Whether it's the thud of many paws against the earth or the yips and howls birthed deep in their chests, there is plenty of warning before they descend upon their prey.

FEAR.

─ Living on a planet absolutely teeming with life, extinction seems like such a silly idea. That was until it was ravaged by people fueled by nothing but their own greed and a bid for power and control. Faced with a ruined habitat, The Swarm was forced against struggles they had never known. There was a weighted unease that no amount of camaraderie could bring them back from the brink. There was no shelter to escape the elements, no fresh water to quench thirst, and no prey to fill their bellies. Nothing but the inevitable cloak of death creeping ever closer.

PSY.

The Swarm is deeply loyal to each other. A slight against one is a slight against all. They are almost always seen travelling together even if one is weighed down by illness, injury, or age. When something does threaten their group they will become ruthless until the menace has been extinguished. It would take an incredible force to stand up to the pack when they are out for blood, their numbers having the most impact upon anything they needed to fight against.

Almost hivemind-like, a cooperative disposition comes easily to the creatures. While they might communicate with sounds and gestures that can only be described as animal-like in quality, one might wonder if it was deeper than that. As if connected to each other through some otherworldly tether to share thoughts, feelings, and more.

Not much changed when the Entity stole them from their ravaged homeland. If anything, it played upon a thinly veiled savage nature and increased it tenfold for its entertainment. No longer does the pack hunt solely for food, for their place in the cycle of life. Now it is for sport. There is nothing more brutally satisfying than teeth crunching down upon limbs, splintering bone and drawing blood.

abc's

POWER.

Jaws full of rows of sharp teeth as well as the biting strength to rival even the greatest predators of earth. The Swarm boasts fangs that can tear through most material, including sinew and bone. If one manages to escape the crunch without being badly lacerated, they'll have to deal with the source that makes their teeth glow a fluorescent blue. The Swarm's saliva is an acidic like substance to help with both ripping their prey apart and also digesting it. Even if their target gets away, they'll have to deal with the burning pain of the spittle eating away at their body as well as their resolve.

For a short burst of time, The Swarm is also able to enter a state of ferocious excitement. They separate, chasing after the scent of any survivors that they pick up on. When their energy is depleted, the pack ignores all objectives to return to each other.

THE MORI.

The pack of creatures surrounds the fallen survivor, blocking any pathway of escape. Each one goes for a limb, clamping their maws down hard until bone threatens to splinter. Tearing in opposite directions, the victim is ripped apart like pulled pork. With a gluttonous ferocity, the Swarm descends like a flock of piranhas to feast and devour.

BELONGINGS.

Bundle of berries. A short twig with several berries in a cluster attached to the end. They're translucent and iridescent, almost like a gathering of bubbles stuck together. While the skin itself is see-through, the sweet, sticky juice inside actually reflects the light in a way that supports the fruit's almost transparent nature.

Coated bone. A think bone, likely from an arm or a leg, that's covered in a dark, rough material. Like chocolate drizzled over the top of a granola bar. Whatever the substance is, it seems to resist the acidic properties of The Swarm's drool making it the perfect chew toy.

Shiny rock. Perhaps of a similar material to what coats the bone, this stone also appears to have a safeguard against The Swarm's saliva. Instead of dark and dull though, the rock holds a dark red shimmer that changes to a vibrant orange when held at the correct angle of light.

Scrap of metal. Torn, rusted, and littered with tooth marks. It is unclear what exactly the fragment is from besides that it was man-made.

Large bowl-shaped leaf. A small pool of glowing liquid rests within the confinements of the leaf.

HISTORY

BEFORE. Like every other planet that hosted a variety of life, nature had a cycle to keep everything in a carefully precise balance. Plants fed the herbivores, herbivores fed the carnivores and scavengers, and then their bodies eventually returned to the earth to feed the foliage and begin everything once more. Arduinna was no exception to this rule, home to a singular large continent covered in dense tropical forests that were occasionally broken up by plains of soft meadows.

This is where The Swarm was born and lived. They had no names, no individuality besides perhaps a small variance of sizes and tones of their vocalizations. All they knew was that they were a pack, the pack stuck together, and they hunted for their meals in their place within the food chain. Like all things on the planet, they were a part of mother nature's cycle.

There was never any outside visitor's to Arduinna's surface. While obviously it was teeming with life, the land itself was far too hostile to attempt the beginnings of a civilization. Though, that didn't mean that there weren't people who would try in the name of greed and power. Unexplored and likely teeming with resources just waiting to be capitalized on, the planet was doomed to eventually meet a selfish avarice.

THE SHIFT. Giant machines drilled into the earth, seeking precious minerals but finding acidic liquid that ate away at their carapaces. Metal monsters chewed through trees only to be met by vicious offense by the creatures that lived within the jungles. Any form of shelter that was attempted to be built was torn asunder by beast and storm alike.

However, despite the way that the planet fought back against its invaders there was still irreparable damage done. Arduinna was devastated by the interruption against nature. Those that had tried to forcefully carve a place onto the planet caused nothing but disruption and disease. It had ravaged the ecosystem, leaving only decay and rot in its wake.

The remaining survivors of the pack were devoid of prey to continue sustaining the family. No matter how far their paws led them across wilted earth, there wasn't a single trace of a living scent of a creature fit for consumption. Doomed to an eternal hunger and to wither away from starvation, The Swarm kept moving without purpose until swallowed up by a cloud of thick, dark fog.

NOW. Very little has changed besides being confined to the rotation of several different terrains. They are still free to hunt, to chase, to gnash flesh between teeth until its mangled and unrecognizable. The Entity may have made them more savage with a hunger that is never satiated but here they are provided with an endless amount of food. What might be hell for many others only seemed like paradise to the pack. There was no more worry about how they would sustain themselves, they need only to follow the whims of the incomprehensible force that brought them here.

irregular-neptune · Aug 25, 2024

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© akeno.

1985

FULL NAME. simone leroux
D.O.B. september 15th, 1956. twenty-nine
P.O.B. toulon, france
GENDER. woman, she/her
SEXUALITY. lesbian

ALIAS. the chef
ROLE. save the best for last
SPECIES. human

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
simone has an oval face with sharp cheekbones and round, icy blue eyes. the bridge of her nose is straight and her nose is round, residing over thin lips. her dark brown hair is parted at the side and is wavy down to her shoulders, often pulled into a pony-tail or bun at work and her face rarely donned makeup, not wanting to stick out amongst her male-dominated, often sweaty field.

after being taken by the entity, her teeth grew sharper, her nails much longer. her face is gaunt, body hungry for the food the entity dangles just out of her reach.

ATTIRE.
she often opted for the practical clothes, a typical white or black button up and black slacks that her job called for, but when she wasn’t at work, she would still end up in some version of that uniform. a white t shirt and black pants, sometimes overalls or button ups. her style was more masculine, never really being seen in skirts or dresses.

when she was taken, she was in her work uniform: black slacks and a black short sleeved button up, her apron stored away at the kitchen. in the trials, her white apron has been returned, bloodstained and dirty.

WEAPON. cleaver knife - a large knife with a wooden handle and large curved metal blade with an abstract design etched into it

FACE CLAIM. Bridget Regan

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.

★ nature. when it comes to the outdoors, she enjoys exploring the forests and beaches around her hometown, on a very similar peninsula to her realm
★ creativity. she mostly exercised this in the kitchen, experimenting with different foods to make something new
★ fire. always a bit of a pyromaniac, the beauty of the flame entices her with its colors and its ability to influence so many things
★ cooking. her biggest passion in life, she loves pushing the limit of flavor and trying new things, making things people enjoy and enrich their lives
★ mathematics. her passion before she found cooking, she still enjoys how precise mathematics are and how everything has to fall in place just so for a problem to be correct

DISLIKES.

★ mess. a very clean person, simone can’t stand it when things are messy – dirt is one of the things that irk her the most. if she wasn’t at work, she was cleaning her apartment spotless
★ weak people. she pulled herself up with her own grit and determination, so if someone else can’t she just sees them as weak and worthless
★ being ignored. used to being ignored, she won’t accept that in her life now – she was meant for greatness and you will listen to her
★ intolerance. though she’s intolerant of certain things, she doesn’t allow for bigotry. if someone is cruel for the sake of what someone looks like or their lifestyle, she won’t stand for it
★ her mother. the source of all of her strife, the reason why she agonizes over everything being perfect and can’t let go to the point of annoyance for others, leaving her to have social issues despite her best attempts at being better

HOBBIES.

★ cycling. she always tried to stay active when not in the kitchen. she wasn’t one for going to the gym, so she opted for riding bikes – it was good for her solitary nature as well.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) charming simone has spent most of her life behind a carefully constructed facade – though she doesn’t care much for other people’s feelings, she has learned how to use her words to charm others for what she wants. sometimes what she wants is a friend, sometimes it can be more nefarious, like information. either way, she knows how to sweet talk others.

trial: it’s possible that simone can sweet talk her way into a survivor’s friendship, convincing them that they are special or that she has something to offer them. in the end, simone’s one goal is to feast. she has no use for others any more. however, when it comes to the other killers, she will have little trouble making allies amongst them.

(+) meticulous simone’s plans are painstaking, she tries to prepare for every possible outcome and when it comes to tasks, she is very detail oriented. she was one of the best at plating in her culinary classes and in the kitchen. she has a steady hand and does things just so.

trial: in the trials, this means that she tries to look ahead and see things from the survivor’s point of view. this is not to sympathize with them, but to understand them in order to see what their next plan would be in order to be ahead of them. however, she’s grown a little sloppy under the entity’s grasp, and when things don’t go her way, she gets upset.

(+) passionate despite her denial, simone feels things very strongly, and has lots of those feelings. before, her passions were mostly towards what she could accomplish. but when astrid came along, it opened something in her and she started feeling passionate about a person and her passionate nature really began to bloom.

trial: even now, she can’t help but feel passionate about things. now, she’s passionate about her craving, how to get it at any cost. but sometimes… a survivor breaks through her haze and she grows fond of them.

(-) ravenous even before the discovery of her longing for flesh, simone has always hungered for something – before, she thought the feeling was truly symbolic. it was a burning desire in her heart to be something, turn herself into someone she wanted to see in the mirror. she was always striving for more, pushing herself harder despite what it did to herself and the others around her.

trial: after she discovered that her “burning desire” was really an empty clawing feeling in her belly, she is hungrier than ever, vicious in her quest to consume. even eating won’t fill the void, a gluttony possessing her like never before.

(-) callous simone doesn’t care much for the feelings of others, not understanding people who are driven by their emotions. she was driven by her own desires, not letting any sadness or even momentary happiness get in the way of her goals. she simply became callous to even her own feelings, distancing herself from them. her callous nature tends to put others off because it doesn’t make it easy to connect with her.

trial: she doesn’t tend to show mercy to survivors that she doesn’t feel a particular affinity for. she doesn’t care about the survivors’ reactions or pain and sees them as little more than cattle for slaughter.

(-) impatient since she knows what she wants, she isn’t keen on waiting to get it. she doesn’t have the patience for people getting in her way and doesn’t have time to play games. the times that simone most often shows her negative emotions is when she’s impatient, often complaining or having outbursts about it despite not meaning to.

trial: she doesn’t have much time for the survivors who like to play games, losing her patience on the ones who tend to fight back and rescue their friends. she will shift her attention to the survivors that do this, wanting to wipe them out first and leave the weaker ones behind (unless this fighter is her obsession, who she will always save for last)

FEAR.

★ losing control: while she likes control of everything, she understands she can’t control every aspect of her life. however, when it comes to herself, she’s always had immaculate self-discipline. she’s held herself back from most things – never being one for luxury, spending most of her time in dedication to her craft, work or school. something else controlling her, or losing the carefully constructed hold on her facade is what she fears most.
★ failure: her whole life was built on running away from failure – her parents were thinly veiled failures, obviously displeased with their lot in life, and she wouldn’t be like them… she couldn’t be

PSY.

Prone to losing her patience, Simone easily becomes furious – this is something she’d often struggle with in her life before. Holding back her emotions left them to be pent up, often leading to explosions that left destruction within her wake. Whether that was in class, at home, or ultimately in the kitchen, she would often throw her own form of tantrum when she wouldn’t get her way. She’s thrown things at her siblings and classmates and nearly burnt down a kitchen. Her fury is likely what holds her back from promotion – how is she supposed to lead a kitchen if she can’t keep her cool?

in the trial, this manifests as her quickly losing her patience on the survivors, flying off the rails whenever things don’t go just so, her actions unpredictable.

Simone can’t help it when a thought won’t leave her head – she can become extremely obsessive. This includes obsessing over what outcomes can happen, over a specific person, or over a concept. An idea for a recipe will seize her and she can’t help but think about it until she gets it out of her head and onto a plate. When it comes to people, she was never obsessed with someone she knew until Astrid came into the picture, but she’d obsess over her idols – a famous chef, mathematician or scholar that she enjoyed the ideas of. She’d go to any lecture or travel across the country to go to try a dish at a specific restaurant.

in the trial: when there’s a survivor that intrigues her, she can’t help but think about them – it’s not always an infatuation, it’s not always logical, sometimes it’s just someone that fascinates her. This can manifest in her seeking the person out in the trial – not always to kill them, sometimes to watch them or try to charm them for the next trial. It also leads her to obsessing over a specific strategy for the game, or an idea about where she is – when memories come back to her, she obsesses until she can figure out where she came from.

With Simone’s tendency for rage, she can be very reactionary in the moment. While she likes to think things through before, once she’s in the thick of something she can’t always control her reactions to things. This leads to her tantrums and tendency to explode on others.

in the trial: when survivors mess with her plan or throw her off guard, she can become very reactionary and explode on them. it can lead her to being unpredictable to survivors or her peers.

when she has a fascination or interest in someone, she can be protective over them, going to any lengths to protect them where she can or get vengeance when she can’t. any friends she had growing up knew that people couldn’t mess with them if she was around – talk out of line or attack the people she cares about and her wrath knows no measure.

in the trial: when it comes to the obsession, she is very protective of them. she won’t let anyone else hurt them or get in her way, even if her plan in the end is to mori them. outside of the trial, if she befriends other killers, she intends to keep them safe and not allow the survivors or other killers to insult or endanger them.

abc's

POWER.
spice it up
simone has a spice shaker that she fills at the beginning of the trial for one use and can refill throughout. Three bulk spices are randomly located in the pantry that she must find to refill the shaker before the survivors cut her off.

Pepper: The survivor will be affected by breathing in the pepper, causing them to cough loudly and makes them easier to find.

Saffron: The survivor will be charmed, making them more susceptible to suggestion by Simone and easier to sway to her side.

Cayenne: The survivor will take a small amount of damage and be slowed.

She sprinkles the specific spice on the ground, over or at a survivor for these effects to take place.

survivor’s side task:
In the pantry room (in her realm) or around the map (in other realms) lie three different bottles that contain the spices that Simone uses in her shaker. The survivors must find each one and destroy it by taking it into the kitchen on the floor above and throw it into the oven (in her realm) or a source of fire (in another realm) to destroy it. the destroyed spice bottles respawn after a minute.

THE MORI.

the final course: the only way simone can feast is if she can mori, grabbing the survivor by the shoulders and using her sharp teeth to rip flesh from bone, frenzy feeding on the survivor's body while they are alive, feeling every bite.

BELONGINGS.
★ a small notebook. a spiral bound black flip notebook that simone used to write new recipe ideas and notes
★ a bracelet. a homemade bead bracelet with alternating black and red heart beads, with an “s” letter bead in the center, given to her by astrid
★ a photograph of simone and her six siblings. three brothers and four sisters, simone, sixteen, is standing behind two of her younger siblings with a hand on the shoulder of each. despite being the oldest and tallest, simone looks like she’s trying to hide
★ a degree. a framed degree from le cordon bleu with simone’s name on it for the culinary sciences, dated 1980
★ chef’s kit. her professional chef’s kit containing everything (various knives, a potato peeler and a grater) but the chef’s knife.

HISTORY

TW: murder, blood, homophobia, description of cannibalism

BEFORE.
simone leroux was born into a strict military family, with her father serving as a general in the french navy and her mother, a strict homemaker who placed strong expectations on all of her children – especially simone, the eldest. simone had always felt something was missing in her life, an emptiness in the pit of her stomach. she was born striving for more, filling the emptiness with being the best. she was always the best in her class, the strongest competitor and the most precise with any project. she would always hold her peers to her high standards. as the eldest, her siblings had to be just-so, a curse placed upon her both by herself and her mother. if one hair strayed or one article of clothing wrinkled, it would be the end of the world. simone would have a meltdown brought on by her mother’s chiding. her siblings would always take the brunt of the anger of both mother and daughter.

as she got older, simone learned to turn her perfectionism inwards, wanting to work on her own in school and never connecting with her classmates. she became the valedictorian, much to nobody’s surprise and everyone’s chagrin. she may have been known at school, but nobody liked her. her hard ass personality didn’t make it easy for her to play nice, and she didn’t care to change, not needing the approval of others, just herself (or so she was convinced).

the only time she ever felt passionate about something was in the kitchen, cooking. she learned this soon after graduation, when her parents said they would not be supporting her in college because their funds had to go to her many siblings (an infuriating statement considering all she’d given to please them). so, she went to work at a local kitchen to fund her way through her mathematics degree, only to find out that she loved it there. the expectations in a kitchen aligned with hers – nothing less than perfection was accepted. the orchestrated chaos, it was all perfect. she worked at her first kitchen job for several years, working her way up from a dishwasher to actually learning the basics of the art of cooking. she changed her focus in life to this, deciding to go to a culinary school and get her degree so she could work at a star kitchen in paris.

of course, she succeeded, as simone did with anything she set her mind to, and as she found herself at the top, she couldn’t help but still feel that numbing emptiness inside. at thirty-two, she was where she’d always wanted to be, so why did she feel so empty? the answer, she thought, would come when another woman came to work in the kitchen. astrid fournier. a beautiful blonde woman who drew simone in immediately. astrid was gentler than she, and she softened simone in a way she’d never experienced before. they became quick friends, always on the border of friendly and flirtatious, and that’s where they sat for a long time. being the only women in the kitchen, they’d developed a camaraderie only they could understand, and they protected each other fiercely. it took them a year to understand that, perhaps, they were more than friends after all.

astrid worked as a dishwasher and busser in the kitchen, and simone would often be tasked with doing prep work for the following day, left by the men of the kitchen to do tasks on their own – tasks that, while separate, they would often help each other with. astrid would peel potatoes and simone would help to clean the kitchen. they resented the tasks, but not the stolen moments they got to spend together alone. often, simone would spend this time bemoaning her station, always striving to be promoted, wanting to be even considered for sous chef but always being looked over despite sacrificing three years and most of her time to the restaurant. always, some new bumbling man would be brought in to take the role and she would anguish about it. astrid would always listen, trying to soften the blow.

“oh, mon chou, the world just isn’t ready for you yet,” she would say and simone would argue with her but she knew that no kitchen run by a man would let her have this.

they would realize that they loved each other when they accidentally shared a kiss. it was short, a peck in the kitchen that simone would uncharacteristically brave – and to her shock, astrid would return it. they’d spend their lives in these fleeting moments on evenings of cleaning and a couple of stolen nights at simone’s apartment.

THE SHIFT.
before they could be anything more, tragedy struck, as it was always bound to. they shared a kiss after leaving the kitchen one day, on the sidewalk before parting ways to their respective apartments. it was no different than any other night, until simone returned to work the next day and astrid was nowhere to be seen. simone questioned everyone and nobody knew where she was, so she began to search hospitals and call the police until she found her. in the hospital, brutally beaten and unresponsive. this lit a rage in simone she’d never felt before, and she went to work the next day with a fire in her eyes.

as fate would have it, she overheard the latest sous chef gossiping with another chef, bragging about a violence he committed, peppered with homophobic slurs, and she suddenly remembered all the sideways looks he’d given the women, and how he seemed to linger occasionally at night. it was almost like he’d been trying to catch them, trying to find a reason to brutalize one of them.

simone made a meticulous plan for revenge, grabbing her chef’s kit and stopping him as he left the next day, making herself look small and afraid. “do you think you could walk me home? i don’t feel safe after what happened to astrid.”

he bought her small and meek act and agreed to walk her home, their apartments in the same complex. as she suspected he might, the dumb brute, he invited her in for a drink before they parted ways, and she accepted. she stood in his kitchen as he poured her a drink, calculating her plan to scare him, to make him leave the kitchen, leave her and astrid alone. with his back turned, she pulled the knife out of her kitchen set and lunged towards him, knocking the glass to the ground and putting the knife to his neck as he hit the wall.

the man jerked, fighting her off, and in the tussle, threw simone to the ground where she hit her head with a crack. the rage in simone swelled greater than it ever had before and she shot up at him, pushing him to the floor and found herself stabbing him over and over until he stopped moving. as she looked down at his lifeless body in shock, she dropped her knife next to him and beside him, her hands bloody and shaking. she’d really just meant to threaten him, to scare him off… she hadn’t meant to effectively end everything that she’d worked for by stabbing him. but as the blood dripped from her hands and she faced her bleak future, she heard a voice in the back of her head.

”taste it.”

the red blood glistened on her hands and she slowly, hesitantly, lifted a finger to her mouth. it was a taste so exquisite that matched nothing she’d ever tried before, satiating a thirst she didn’t know she had. she felt an empty hunger in her stomach as she looked over at the man’s body, inviting her to partake in a taste of a delicacy that had never occurred to her before. simone was in a daze as she busied herself, washing her hands and turning on the stove, carefully selecting her cut of meat, her seasonings. as she sat down, the fork hadn’t even touched her mouth before she felt the entity’s tendrils wrap around her, pulling her away from anything left of her sanity.

NOW.
angry, starving and volatile, simone plays with her food as much as the entity is playing with her. she relishes in the pain, the screams, because it externally mirrors her own. driven mad by her hunger, the entity strings her along with promises of unyielding food, flesh that is tender and sweet and abundant. only if simone participates in the trials. and only if she can accomplish all her tasks like a good little pet.

[/div]
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1985

FULL NAME. astrid fournier
D.O.B. november 13th, 1950 thirty-five
P.O.B. belfort, france
GENDER. woman she/her
SEXUALITY. lesbian

OCCUPATION. dishwasher
SKILLS. sprinting. on the track team in high school, bad at endurance runs, basic first aid. certified after her daughter was born, problem solving. quick on her feet
ROLE. parental guidance

visage.

DESCRIPTION. astrid has a square face with a defined jawline and soft cheeks. her upturned nose sits just above her soft pink lips that hide her larg teeth. she has the beginning of smile lines and, especially lately, prominent dark circles under her eyes. astrid has pale blonde hair that isn’t her natural color – her roots give her away more often than not, the upkeep of her color a difficult task, one that chemically damages her hair, leaving her to have to decide whether to have healthy hair or the colors she prefers – she doesn’t mind the roots showing because of this. her hair is wavy, ending at her shoulders, and she often has it pulled back. her eyebrows are dark, like her natural hair color. she has big ears that she used to be self conscious about, but she’s tried to be prouder of them when she noticed her daughter being self conscious about her own ears. she has almond shaped bright blue eyes.

ATTIRE.
astrid has a pretty basic and practical sense of fashion – she usually wears tennis shoes with pants and some shirt. usually, it’s a graphic tee or a band shirt and high rise pants with converse. sometimes she wears boot cut pants with doc martens or a jump suit. she tries to be somewhat expressive with her clothes, but doesn’t picture herself as very girly, always opting for comfort where she can. but she likes to incorporate her favorite colors, blue and yellow, into her outfits and will sometimes wear a cute necklace and earrings.

when she was taken, she was wearing blue wash jeans with a yellow pink floyd shirt and a fleece-lined denim jacket with white converse. outfit

FACE CLAIM. vanessa kirby

LIKES.

☼ children. she didn’t always like kids, but since her daughter was born she has an affinity for children and childlike adults and feels protective over them
☼ coffee. the dark circles under her eyes can attest to this – when it’s hard to sleep, the next best thing is caffeine. will probably have caffeine headaches unless they happen to find some
☼ puzzles. mostly crossword or mind puzzles, doesn’t really like jigsaw style. she thinks they’re fun even if she’s not always good at them
☼ meditating. a good habit she picked up from the hospital – when her thoughts can’t calm down, she'll find a quiet space to herself for a few moments to meditate
☼ reading, specifically biographies. one of many recent habits – suddenly being in your own quiet space makes it easy. she likes reading about actual people and a little bit of true crime

DISLIKES.

☼ most meat. she’s primarily pescatarian
☼ disorder. it makes her quite anxious if things aren’t just right and if there’s chaos
☼ liars. she has a hard enough time trusting people, she doesn’t want to have to read into every word you say to see what’s right
☼ being controlled. she hasn’t had much control over her life as it is and was just getting a grasp on things when she was taken, she doesn’t want to go back to what once was
☼ alcohol. her father would often drink and henri was a mean drunk, she doesn’t think it adds anything good to any interaction

HOBBIES.

☼ watercolor painting. a hobby she took up during her therapy, she would do it any time she was feeling anxious
☼ writing. she was compelled to keep track of her life, especially after she lost her brother.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) reflexes. due to being in sports in high school, she has a good sense of the world around her. it could also be due to her daughter being rather rough-and-tumble, often needing to be saved from danger at every turn – astrid liked to think that she was good at protecting her. throwing a hand in the way of clementine’s head about to smack into a table or a wall, catching the toddler tripping over things on the ground, and catching objects thrown during a tantrum practically became a sport to her.

trial: she is good at dodging projectiles and avoiding obstacles in her way when she’s trying to run away from a killer. she can also catch things quickly and make decisions on the fly as long as she doesn’t get in her own way.

(+) patience. astrid is slow to irritate or anger, often giving grace to people who don’t deserve it and letting things slide more often than she should. on the flip side, she is a good person to come to with your concerns because she will listen calmly and give you her best advice.

trial: she can easily be a confidant for other survivors (or killers?) who need a calm and collected listener. she could also be a mediator between arguments and will step in the way if someone is pushing the buttons of the other survivors. she is also good at hiding and waiting for the perfect moment when escaping killers during the trials.

(+) leadership somehow often finding herself in leadership roles in her life (she was the captain of the softball team, worked as a teacher’s assistant in school, and when she was working often found herself in management roles), she is good at organizing a team and keeping them on track. it isn’t her favorite role, but she understands that people often need a leader to accomplish their goals

trial: it’s not hard for her to fall into a leadership role during a trial, trying to keep the team of survivors organized and keeping up with the tasks they need to do in order to escape. she is also often protective of the others that she is in trials with, watching over the whole team where it is possible and stepping in when someone needs help.

(-) stamina despite being sporty in high school, she’s lost a lot of the stamina she once had. despite being fast in short bursts. she often runs out of breath when she tries to push herself. she can jog at a quick pace, but when she tries to run or do anything,

trial: unless she can break line of sight with the killer, she’s likely out of luck if she’s in a chase – the killers most likely have more endurance than her. this makes her prone to playing a safer game, though she will sacrifice herself for her friends if she has to. she sticks more to the shadows and tries to play a smarter game rather than an aggressive one.

(-) unstable astrid is often ruled by her emotions and doesn’t have an easy time controlling them. this can cause her to seem unstable, often crying at conflict and getting upset over small things when they pile up. she often feels childlike in her reactions and she knows that others see her the same way. in the past year, she’d been getting a handle on evening out her reactions and not swinging wildly from being happy to crying or being cool to being angry.

trial: this can cause her to seem a little hot and cold to the other survivors sometimes, her reactions can make people think her views on them have changed drastically when she’s just having a moment that she’ll soon get over. it can cause her to be cool and level headed in one trial and be completely overcome with anxiety the next. she can be fine under a killer’s immense pressure and lose her mind over something menial at the campfire.

(-) aloof she has a very hard time trusting others, her closest recent relationships burning her in a major way. some small part of her honestly believes that the only person who she could ever trust was her brother, nolan. she keeps people at an arm’s length, even the ones she seemingly trusts. simone taught her that people weren’t always what they seemed and she doesn’t know if she can let someone in like that again.

trial: she tries to keep distance between herself and the other survivors – she doesn’t know these people and she can’t ensure her own safety when she’s worried about them. it can cause them to think that she doesn’t care about them and wouldn’t be a good ally, which could cause her to be isolated from some of them. she tries to keep a cool exterior, but despite this, she can’t help but care about other people.

FEAR.

☼ commitment. after her two most important relationships crumbling in the way they have, she doesn’t think she can put herself in a vulnerable spot like that again. this translates over to platonic relationships as well – she doesn’t know how to trust anyone more than an arm’s length. she lives by “don’t make promises you can’t keep” and won’t promise anyone her loyalty for a long time. she has to look out for herself in order to get back home.
☼ scopophobia. eerie eyes looking towards her or disembodied eyes really creep her out, it’s part of why she’s agoraphobic. she doesn’t like the thought of people watching her that she can’t see and can always feel people’s eyes on her even when nobody is looking – or are they? photographs or art work of people in public make her extremely uncomfortable, even if they aren’t posed to look right at her.
☼ puppets/dolls. she’s always hated them, and while their eyes are primarily what creep her out, the uncanny way that they look like people doesn’t help. her belief is that any doll can be haunted. it’s a bit of an irrational fear but she’s afraid of them enough to never give her daughter a doll and get rid of any she was gifted – she prefers to give her faceless or cartoon stuffed animals over plastic or ceramic dolls.

PSY.

something that astrid has always been is empathetic, always seeing the pain of others and wanting to fix it. she often goes out of her way to make things for other people more convenient, even at a loss to herself. it makes her kind, motherly – always wanting to take care of the little maimed creatures and when it comes to men, she’d think, “i can fix him.” it’s how she ended up nursing many animals back to health as a child – and how she ended up with henri, who’s cruelty and manipulation kept her with him for the sake of convenience to himself and her child, though she would ultimately choose herself, though that came with a loss of its own.

trial: her empathy extends to the survivors and killers alike, with some killers tugging at her heart as she learns more about them. she would likely sacrifice herself to save others if she has a soft spot for them, especially if they remind her of her daughter.

spending a lot of time by herself has caused astrid to be very observant, keeping an eye out for danger and analyzing people’s reactions and emotions to keep herself safe. her husband henri also helped her to hone this skill, always having to stay on her toes to make sure she attended to his moods when she could.

trial: being observant helps her keep track of the killer and pick up on information about them – what are their tendencies, who do they seem to pick on more often? it also helps her find the other survivors when they need her help and gives her good sense of where things are during the trials. she can memorize the realms easily.

always taking things to heart more than she should, astrid has learned to be critical early on. without much parental guidance growing up, she never learned what expectations she should have for herself, so instead of never having them she gives herself expectations that are way too high, getting held back by them. this also causes her to make snap judgements on other people based on her own arbitrary rules. she over analyzes everything – especially the way that other people treat her.

trial: this could easily cause her judgment to be clouded, not allowing herself to trust people who would likely help her in the trials due to them not being perfect in her vision or crossing an imaginary line that she has.

despite her best attempts at squashing it, astrid is often ruled by her fearful nature. her list of fears has dwindled more in the recent past, being summed up in her diagnosis of “agoraphobia” – she’s afraid of public spaces and large groups of people, the chaos of it all too unpredictable. her preferred place to be is in a room with four walls where she can tuck herself into a corner and see all angles, knowing where everyone in the room is at all times and what’s always going on. outside is too big, too scary. she was making some progress until her attack.

trial her fears could be her worst downfall in the trials – even at the campfire and in their downtime, most of their time is spent in the outdoors, with lots of unpredictability and chaos that can throw her off in a big way. luckily, she is good at putting on a mask and keeping those fears inside until they all bubble up into a panic attack that can send her spiraling. hopefully they won’t hit her until after a trial.

insecurity is something that astrid has always dealt with. she’s not always sure about her choices – doubting her own abilities and analyzing every decision she’s made after the fact. sometimes she’s a little better at it and only feels those insecurities after the fact, but other times they hold her back from making any decision at all.

trial: her insecurity can cause her to hesitate in moments where her quick reflexes could have saved someone or herself. it can cause her to spend her time at the campfire overanalyzing what she could have done better, and to hide her inner thoughts from her fellow survivors due to not giving herself the credibility that she might deserve.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
☼ a polaroid of her daughter, clementine. the most important person in her life and a photograph that she’d carry with her everywhere. ma biquette written on the back
☼ a pack of smokes. a symbol of her addiction and anxiety, a crutch she often leaned on before the fog
☼ friendship bracelet from Clementine. pink and blue beads alternating, the center is white beads with black letters that spells out ✦ M O M ✦
☼ psych ward discharge papers. written on it are diagnoses: panic disorder and agoraphobia
☼ her journal. a brown leather journal with “a. f.” inscribed on the inside cover that includes entries about Simone and secret letters and loose leaf notes between the two of them

HISTORY

tw: homophobia, death, psych ward

BEFORE. astrid fournier was born the second of two children in a working class family. her father worked on the local trainyard and her mother in a factory, leaving her older brother, nolan, to primarily raise her. they were close as she grew up; he was the one there for her first words, her first steps. he taught her how to cook, how to do laundry. it was almost surprising that she even knew their parents existed, as they worked long hours and nolan was there for every second.

but when the time came, nolan would leave to build his own life – not intending to abandon her, but that’s how ten-year-old astrid had felt. her parents praised her for being independent, and she used the skills nolan had given her to survive their unintentional neglect until she was old enough to save enough money to leave and go to a local school.

at the age of twenty, she’d leave to pursue an interest in engineering. she’d explored many things at school that she hadn’t before, including dating, but she never had good experiences with the men she’d find, and ultimately decided to focus on her studies. this wouldn’t last long due to henri vidal, a man who would inevitably cause her to drop out when, in her third year, they would have a relationship that culminated in astrid becoming pregnant. this would lead to a shotgun wedding that astrid didn’t even want and she would drop out with her degree nearly in her grasp.

at first, she didn’t think she’d want her baby either; but once she was born, she would steal her heart away. astrid’s whole life became about her daughter clementine – she’d stop going to school and wouldn’t work a job, total dedication to taking care of her daughter and her and henri’s household. while clementine might have owned astrid’s heart, it wouldn’t be long before astrid realized that henri didn’t, a man full of cruelty and misogyny, who wouldn’t show her kindness in their entire marriage. astrid thought she’d just put up with it – she could survive until clementine was old enough.

at least, this is what she thought until her brother died and she had a complete nervous breakdown. she’d have an involuntary stay (thanks to henri) at a psych ward, a cruel place in 1983, but it would leave her time to analyze her life. feelings that were inside of her bubbled to the surface and she couldn’t ignore them any more. she didn’t love henri, she didn’t even like men, and what was she supposed to do? sit around until she faced her own mortality like nolan, never living up to her full self? she couldn’t do that, even her love for her daughter couldn’t overpower that.

astrid would return home after a couple of months. she’d spend the next year saving, siphoning money from henri’s checks until she could get herself an apartment in paris, and the first job that she could find – a dishwasher in a kitchen. it was far from what her dreams had once been, but it was better than living in henri’s cruelty. except that his cruelty would reach her even here, with him trying to use her mental health as a way to keep clementine away from her, and their visits would be few until astrid could “prove herself”.

enter simone, a chef who worked at the kitchen.

THE FOG. simone entered at a vulnerable time in her life – she didn’t have access to her daughter and was feeling alone, desperate for a companion and to explore her newfound feelings for women. astrid had to know that going off on her own to become herself was worth it. it was, for a while. things with simone were… nice, even if the other woman was a bit high strung. astrid enjoyed her company, even if she wasn’t ready to commit to something very long term. she could tell the younger woman’s intensity didn’t match her own – simone seemed like someone who’s feelings only had one setting and that was 100%. but she really enjoyed being around simone and their stolen moments in the kitchen made her days better while she bided her time to get more custody of her daughter. and who knows? perhaps things with simone could work out in the end.

until the night of the attack, when everything seemed to fall apart around astrid. she remembered giving simone a kiss before they parted ways and making it about halfway to her apartment before she realized she’d left her keys behind at the kitchen. she backtracked and ran into a man – she didn’t see his face, just felt herself being thrown down to the pavement and blackness. when she would wake up in the hospital, she almost expected to see simone, but she wasn’t there.

instead, she’d wake up to a police officer and questions – about the night she was attacked, about her friend simone. she’d learn of her lover's crime – of the gruesome way that the sous chef from the kitchen would have been found, that simone had yet to be found and she felt sick. she didn’t know simone as well as she’d thought, and couldn’t believe what she’d heard. how the other woman had snapped.

she’d be released from the hospital, return to her apartment and wonder if she should just return to henri – she’d at least be with her daughter. she at least wouldn’t be alone. she packed her things, ready to leave and at least stay with him for a while – with simone yet to be found, she didn’t know what to think, didn’t know if she was in danger.

her hand on her apartment’s doorknob, she takes one last look behind her at the life she’d tried to build, then takes a deep breath before taking a step out of her door and into… mist? the fog was waiting outside the door, swirling around her feet and her hand still on the doorknob until it pulled her in.

NOW. before astrid even opens her eyes, she immediately smells the scent of smoke – a fire, bright and hot in front of her. it almost blinds her when she opens them, the fire all that she can see in the darkness. she looks around at her unidentifiable surroundings and all she feels is fear, chilling her to her very core. despite seeing a few others, she feels utterly alone.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

962

FULL NAME. Grímhildr Huld
D.O.B. 960
P.O.B. Scandinavia
GENDER. none & it/she
SEXUALITY. n/a

ALIAS. the jotunn
ROLE. haunted ground
SPECIES. a norse giant, half tree/half elk

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
The Jotunn stands at 12 feet tall, towering over her victims and blending in with the trees of its home forest. Its body is that of an overgrown elk, skeletal and shambling, with protruding wooden spikes along the spine. Its head is made of two torsos put together, the top one’s arms sticking up and turning into wooden antlers and head missing, instead becoming a tree trunk. The bottom torso houses its face, dark and hidden with only bright yellow eyes to be seen. The lower arms of this torso are her functioning arms and what she uses to attack her victims. Before the entity, her size was smaller and she wasn’t as skeletal, having fur on her elk body. After the entity, only patches of fur grow occasionally on her body, most of her flesh sloughed off and revealing a woody skeleton beneath.

ATTIRE. N/A

WEAPON. a staff made of twisted brown ashwood, one end is a sharp metal spearhead and the other, a decorative deer head

FACE CLAIM. moder from the ritual

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.

※worship. it enjoys praise and worship, an offering left behind in the woods.
※ trees. they are what keeps the forest interconnected and makes her feel at home
※ stories. her creator used to come into the forest and read her stories -- though she didn't understand everything, she still enjoyed them
※ flowers. growing along the forest floor, she thinks flowers are beautiful -- her creator used to wear them in her hair and the jotunn always wished she could too
※ people who remind her of her creator. a blonde woman with an extremely kind spirit -- a viking herself, and powerful but gentle.

DISLIKES.

※ human made items of wood. this is offensive to her as it is basically a corpse.
※ destruction. she sees no purpose in it, needless destruction is what she was created to combat.
※ men. the usual perpetrators in her domain, they tend to be the source of the destruction, aggressive axe wielders without a care.
※
※

HOBBIES.

n/a

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) size. she is extremely large and can see much throughout the realm, though when in her shrunken form she can't see much at all.
(+) strength. she is quite strong, though it can take some time for her to catch up and reach the survivors beacuse she doesn't easily navigate through human made locations, built more for the forest.
(+) soft. underneath her barbaric nature, the jotunn can sometimes even be kind, though it is a kindness of her own and not the humans -- she might still destroy you, but less aggressively, strewing you amongst the flowers. sometimes she won't even kill you, for those patient enough to learn to communicate with her.

(-) communication. the jotunn cannot speak and has only picked up a bit of human speech. though she is sentient, communicating ideas isn't the easiest, especially with her tendency to be defensive.
(-) vengeful. she can be more barbaric when she sees people specifically disrespect their surroundings, especially nature. she can take out any rage she's felt before on that specific person. this can cause her to switch gears easily when she sees people doing something disrespectful to nature.
(-) small thinking. the jotunn isn't much of a strategizer, primarily just attacking whatever thing is in front of her initially -- whatever survivor she first sees or senses, the first distraction she sees -- rather than focusing on just one thing at a time. she can be easily distracted, thrown off course or tricked if you can think like her.

FEAR.

※ fire. her forest is all she has and fires have threatened it’s existence before. anyone who has ever created a fire in her domain has suffered her wrath
※ humanity. always wanting to use wood to grow and expand their worlds to shrink their own, their wanton carelessness terrifies the jotunn because humans seem to know no bounds.

PSY.

the jotunn was born for only one task and it is all she knows: protect the forest. this lead it to being consistent in its goals; it has one objective and it sticks to it without being swayed any other way.
in the trial: she adapts her goal for the trial but is still very focused on it -- this time, her goal is retribution, a hatred running through her for all of humanity.

not knowing human morality or feelings, the jotunn can be barbaric in the way it carries out its kills. she doesn't care one way or the other what humans say or think, so no amount of begging will stop her. she often kills just from people being in her forest, even if they were protecting it themselves.
in the trial: she doesn't have much descretion over who she kills or how she does it, other than what the entity says, placing it in the place of her original creator.

if the jotunn takes a liking to someone or something, it can be extremely possessive -- though it may like you, sometimes not being killed can be worse -- it has kept people as hostages/pets in its domain before, and it's possible it could again.
in the trial: she can want to keep some of the survivors, guarding them or holding them close like a pet. she only does this to survivors she likes, likely ones that remind her of her creator.

abc's

POWER.
stalking prey: the jotunn can shrink down to half her size, vaguely resembling a large elk, to stalk her prey more easily, watching them from the shadows. if survivors get close, she will be exposed, as she only resembles an elk from a distance, something uncanny up close – when she is discovered or is ready to reveal herself, she rises to twice her size and can begin her attack.

THE MORI.
return to the forest: it grabs the survivor by their feet and rips them down the middle before strewing their body parts around, mimicking branches of trees across the map.

BELONGINGS.
※ norse rune necklace. algiz, a trident like symbol that represents protection and strength
※ a carved wooden doll. hand carved and featureless, a doll carved from a piece of tree with horns on either side of its head
※ a shedded pair of antlers. white with a black base, they are antlers from an elk she protected in her forest.
※ a detached braid. blonde and still tied together, the braid belongs to a victim of the jotunn and her forest.
※ a mossy cloak. a giant cloak that once rested upon the jotunn’s back, hiding her spines. mossy and covered in leaves, it resembles the forest floor.

HISTORY

BEFORE. the jotunn was born the way any small god is born: with a belief, a belief in protecting the forest, a necklace with a ruin and a sacrifice left behind led her to becoming something more than her creator had ever expected. it is a manifestation of the anguish for its forest's suffering and the expansion of humanity into ancient places where they don't belong. all she knows is to protect her forest -- and for a long time, she was fed with praise by her creator who would leave offerings behind. a flower, a doll or a lock of hair would all be sacrifices that the jotunn would accept.

she protected the forest by scaring away anyone who came to harm it; often just her presence terrifying the working men who would enter it. however, it would kill anyone who would continue the process of destruction. any pain the forest felt, so would the jotunn, unable to separate her essence from the forest itself. the jotunn has no care for human life other than its creator.

THE SHIFT. unfortunately, the jotunn didn't have long to protect its home -- soon, a group of raiders would come through the local village, plundering and killing her creator in the process. lost and without its master, the jotunn began to starve, afraid for its home and not sure why her master abandoned her. she would begin to appear on the outskirts of the local village, watching them and looking for her master. in those days, she'd leave the forest unattended and in a weakened state. upon her return one day, a group of carpenters had entered and chopped several of her trees down. in a rage, she attacked the carpenters who were still there, causing one to drop his torch and set the forest ablaze. frenzied and afraid, the jotunn tore the carpenters apart in her charred forest, leaving them as a warning to any who dared try again.

homeless and motherless, the jotunn sets off to initiate her wrath on the local village before the entity's tendrils wrap around her and whisk her away.

NOW. their forest destroyed by fire and axe, the jotunn is glad to be born again in the entity's world. disappointed to be out of the forest, she knows she will enjoy raining her wrath upon the members of humanity who come long after and destroyed many forests after her own.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

962

FULL NAME. vidar østberg
D.O.B. 935. twenty-seven.
P.O.B. Skjaldborg, Scandanavia
GENDER. man, he/him
SEXUALITY. bicurious. only been with women

OCCUPATION. carpenter, raider
SKILLS: endurance. extremely used to having to wait out those he’s raiding, he’s quite good at a waiting game or long runs without stopping, though he’s not very fast. hand to hand combat. good at fighting in tight quarters and gaining the upper hand quickly or during a surprise attack. building. he has carpenter skills and can easily help build something better than the given tents for the survivor’s shelter
ROLE. decisive strike

visage.

DESCRIPTION. standing a bit taller than the men of his time at 5’11, Vidar has the same stout and sturdy build of his fellow viking. he has a rugged boyish face that dons a beard and mustache with battle and sun-worn skin. his eyes are a piercing blue under brown hair that is often tied back in a braid and short on top with his sides shaved.
ATTIRE.
he is usually wearing a woolen shirt with woolen pants and leather boots. in the cold, he dons a woolen cloak and fur coat. when in battle, he has a set of leather armor and bracers that he puts on over his set of wool clothes. when he was taken, he had his full set of armor on, bloodied and battle-worn.
FACE CLAIM. travis fimmel

LIKES.

✣ stories. telling stories by the campfire was common in his village – he particularly likes telling ghost stories
✣ board games. specifically tafl, a viking board game similar to chess with many variations – the base version has a kind piece that needs to escape to the corners while the other player tries to stop him, but vidar loves learning new games
✣ arts. though he doesnt consider himself an artist, he’s always had a great respect for anyone who can create things — especially brush on canvas and more modern techniques fascinate him
✣ wrestling. this or roughhousing is how he gets out any of his pent up energy, a common activity for men in his village
✣ swimming. though afraid of what’s in the water, he enjoys swimming in the shallow spaces and he feels at home in the water, reminding him of his village

DISLIKES.

✣ fish. the meat reminds him of lonely voyages without his sister, and the stench of fish is worse than any other
✣ cowards. though he himself has been prone to acts of cowardice, he doesn’t have the time for others who are. he is trying to be a new man.
✣ needless mercy. having mercy on someone who is cruel or did you wrong isn’t considered bravery where he comes from, but foolishness.
✣ serious people. despite his demeanor and some of his more serious beliefs, vidar is actually one of the more goofy and sensitive men in his clan, and he doesn’t get along with people who take themselves too seriously
✣ things he doesn't understand. modern technology or things from other places confuse him and seem very alien

HOBBIES.

✣ wood carving. he does it as something to busy his hands — he prefers working on larger projects like chairs, tables or statues, but has been known to whittle smaller pieces when he has less access to larger project

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.
(+) courageous. in his culture, anything less than bravery isn't acceptable, so he's learned to be courageous even in the face of his fear. he doesn't pretend like he's not afraid, he just tries to stand up and face it.
in the trials: he isn't a slave to his fear and he tries to control it, harness it for his good, but after holding it in for so long eventually he's bound to collapse
(+) sturdy. physically sturdy, vidar isn't one to fall under the pressure of battle
in the trials: he can hold on a long time before collapsing, which could lead him to be the preferred victims of some of the more aggressive killers.
(+) sincere. vidar is certainly not a liar, he can't even hold a secret if you tell him to. while this could be good because you know you can trust his word, it is hard to trust him with sensitive information.
in the trials: wouldn't make him a very good person to share covert information with or gossip with because he'll likely tell the person you are talking about, however you know he won't betray you.

(-) unruly. a boyish trait, vidar can be playful to an extreme degree -- it can cross people's boundaries of "having fun" very quickly, though he doesn't mean to.
in the trials: this can cause him to be loud and he isn't a very sneaky person so if trying to sneak up on a killer, he shouldn't be the first choice.
(-) irrational. a lot of his beliefs are outdated due to being several centuries in the past, though he isn't a bigot, he just believes a lot of superstitious stuff about gods and spirits that others just do not. his leaps of logic also often don't make sense and can cause him to be angry without a reason.
in the trials: can cause issues with other survivors because they don't understand each other, with vidar praying to gods and adhering to beliefs centuries before most of the other survivors. he doesn't understand a lot of what they speak of and thinks a lot of the other survivors are from other worlds. he can also easily get angry and lose his cool or get frustrated with them in the middle of a trial
(-) dramatic. he makes wide leaps from small information, blowing things up into a bigger deal than they often are. he catastrophizes before he should, thinking things are going badly at minor inconveniences.
in the trials: he can have a pessimistic outlook about the trials, especially as he sees a lot of the other survivors as weak compared to him because many of them seem to have values that are more people-centric and not merely survival centric like himself. when things start to go badly during a trial, sometimes he will give up before they've even started

FEAR.

FEAR.
✣ claustrophobic. terrified of closed or tight spaces, it’s one of the things that makes him feel like a child. he can’t take being in any space tighter than a hut.
✣ deep sea creatures. common lore among the vikings is that there are giant deep sea creatures under the waves and the thought of a tendril picking him up from a boat or a giant shark capsizing their great ships make him tremble.

PSY.

vidar grew up in a place where men were very abrasive and loudness a virtue. he doesn't know how to control his tone, is very loud and doesn't hold himself back.
in the trials: he can be a bit too loud and give away his position, as well as alienate other survivors due to them misunderstanding him.

he is prone to trusting those around him, leaving vidar to be very gullible, often easy to prank and feed misinformation to that he will wholeheartedly believe.
in the trials: this can lead him to taking figurative things very literally or be misguided by another survivor or killer

despite seeming very booming and aggressive, vidar is quite good-natured and ready to share a joke with anyone who is around. once his shell is cracked, he is very fun to be around and will try to improve your mood, though his jokes don't always land.
in the trials: if people aren't off-put by his loudness, they could be charmed by him and enjoy being around him, which could gain him allies.

growing up around battle and danger leads him to be confident, he doesn't doubt his choices or overthink himself. even if he ends up being wrong, he feels like any choice is better than indecision, so he does what he feels is right in the moment.
in the trials: this can cause him to be a good ally to have to rescue you in a pinch, but it can also cause your destruction due to vidar's bad judgement.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
✣ a set of norse runes. used for symbology, certain runes can be carried for protection. also used for runecasting, a form of divination
✣ game piece. a piece from the board game tafl a viking strategy game, similar to chess – this is the tafl king piece, one that Vidar carved
✣ drinking horn. a cattle horn hollowed out and smooth, used as a cup to drink – vidar made this one from one of his family’s cattle
✣ his sister’s ring. his sister Bryn’s ring, a family heirloom that he took over when she died, he typically wears it on his left pinky finger, it is made of metal with a dotted pattern on it
✣ old spearhead. a spear his grandfather created, now detached from its pole and worn on his belt as a reminder of those who came before him and what honor he has to uphold

HISTORY

BEFORE.
Vidar and his older sister Brynhildr had the average norse childhood – that is to say, by the age of ten, they were both learning important skills to be used in their village. Vidar followed in his father’s footsteps to be the village carpenter, learning how to carve figurines and build huts, while Bryn would help out her mother with household tasks. They would both learn to fight, taught to use all manner of weapons as children. Bryn wasn’t one for the homely life, so as they grew up and Vidar began to be taken on the raids, Bryn would come along as well despite their mother’s protests.

Their village would go to war with a neighboring one and both Vidar and Bryn fought in the battles. Bryn tended to be the braver sibling, with Vidar often freezing up and not trusting his instincts where she would throw her fears away in the heat of battle and overcome them. Vidar highly respected her and strove to be more like her, though often his fears would get to him in the heat of battle. many of his viking bretheren would fall in his early days because he could not trust himself. his older sister would be his rock in battle and at home.

They would grow apart as they got older, Bryn feeling the pressure to stay at home despite having no obligations of a husband to keep her there. vidar would rather be at home than in the battles sometimes, but he would always have the expectation of honor and glory placed on his shoulders; he would always return to the battlefield and eventually to the ships that would carry him all around the world, seeking culture and riches. he loved the stories of the other cultures, though it would be rare there would be anyone left to tell him – he’d often have to read the stories in books and scrolls he found along the way. he got braver in those years, having closer calls and exhausted of losing his friends -- he learned that he was a stronger warrior than he'd given himself credit for.

to show himself he was batter than the man he'd been before, he went on an exploratory voyage for three years. his sister Bryn died in a raid four days prior to his return. He’d made it just in time to see her burial and as the flames licked at her body, he promised himself he would never return to the the coward he’d been and he’d throw his all into battle, even at the expense of himself.

THE FOG.
Following Brynhildr’s death, the village went into mourning. Vidar was more full of rage than ever before, joining every raid and battle he could. Those at the other end of his spear, axe or arrow would regret ever crossing his path, his aggression at an all time high, showing less mercy than ever before. Where he used to be kind hearted and soft, he’d grown hardened to the world he lived in. His final battle would be during a raid against his village, the enemy village crossing into their homes and hurting their families. Vidar would throw himself in front of a sword to save one of his only friends, a man who he'd been in battle with for many years, one of the only ones he'd had left. he felt the pain of the sword, the glory of Valhalla and the joy of seeing his sister again – for only a moment, as the entity’s smoke coiled around him and pulled him into the unknown.

NOW.
Vidar wakes up in an unfamiliar place with really odd people – he doesn’t understand why he’s here, only that the glory he’d worked so hard to attain in battle was ripped away from him by some… god? He wonders what he did to cause the gods to curse him like this, and if he’ll ever make it into Valhalla… He will try to make it up to the gods by protecting his new acquaintances and maybe learn how to let go of his rage.
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1971

FULL NAME. aloysius leitz
D.O.B. january 5th, 1915. fifty-six
P.O.B. frankfurt, germany
GENDER. man. he/him
SEXUALITY. heterosexual

ALIAS. the woodsman
ROLE. barbecue & chili’s
SPECIES. human

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
Aloysius is 6 feet tall with shoulder length solid gray straight hair. Usually he wears his hair down and shaggy, though he tries to keep it cut to shoulder length. His face sports many wrinkles of a long and stressful life, including bags under his eyes, his smile lines and between his eyebrows. He has a connected mustache and goatee that is also almost pure gray white. His eyes are a darn brown, small and squinty, and he has a small downturned nose. His lips are thin and has a scar that stars from his left upper lip and goes to his left ear in a glasgow smile that he received in an attack in battle.

ATTIRE.
He usually wears practical clothes, that of either a hunter or an office worker. He was either seen in a button down shirt with slacks and a tie or wearing a t-shirt with camouflage when he was off hunting. When he was hunting his favorite prey, he was seen wearing a shirt and tie with a trenchcoat and a mask with buttons for eyes and a zipper mouth that matches his glasgow smile and leather gloves. When he was taken, he was wearing a sweater and some pants because he was at home.

during the trial, he dons his hunting gear and the mask is fused to his face and he can’t take it off.

WEAPON. a bowie hunting knife with a solid black obsidian handle and a solid silver knife

FACE CLAIM. tommy flanagan

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.

➹good wine. though he might have grown up into a beer drinking family, wine was one of the more luxurious things he allowed himself.
➹luxury. growing up with nothing and growing old throw tribulations cause him to seek out the finer things in life, especially as the entity permits in other realms
➹attention. not used to people enjoying his presence, he enjoys a good conversation and having people include him
➹ the woods. it's what got him into this all in the first place -- enjoying being in the woods, spending most of his time there and experiencing the traumas that he did but he still finds the beauty in it

DISLIKES.

➹complainers. whining is for the weak and he doesn’t have the time or patience
➹a messy kill. he likes it when things are clean, follow his plans and are just so. it messes with his vision otherwise
➹perfume. many of his victims were chosen specifically because their pungent scent wafted through the forest and made it easier for them to follow
➹ littering. despite his own crimes, he doesn't like it when people treat his woods in an extremely crass way -- some of his victims wouldn't have been if he hadn't caught them in the act

HOBBIES.

➹ hunting. always an constant in his life, it seemed like he revolved around doing this -- when he wasn't hunting, he was thinking about when he next would be.
➹ reading. a well educated man, aloysius loves a good book and can always get deep into a novel, enjoying the great old literary works and detective novels (enjoys the description of the crimes and gets his ideas from them)

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) navigating. he's spent most of his life in the forest, woods or battlefield where it's necessary to know where you are and how to get from point a to point b.
in the trial: he knows the forest like it's the back of his hand and can quickly get a grasp on the location he's in in other realms, good at figuring out the mapping of where he is.

(+) tracking. he's also spent a lot of his life following what he hunts -- he can catch a scent or sight of tracks quite easily.

in the trial: once a chase has started, it's hard for him to lose the trail, sticking onto the survivors for a long time once he's found them.

(+) calculated. he keeps a cool head when he's following his prey, good at staying quiet and hidden when he can and good at coming up with a plan on the fly

in the trial: he's good at making plans quickly even with multiple people

(-) arrogant. full of himself, he knows that he's good at what he does, but it can be to his detriment because he can often get an inflated ego, causing him to have a lot of close calls.

in the trial: whether it's due to taking his sweet time planning out how to kill his captured victim or monologuing to them how he was once a great serial killer and how what he does is an art, he gets caught up in himself and it can be the cause for survivors to escape his clutches.

(-) self-indulgent. aloysius enjoys luxuries he hasn't had and enjoys different twisted ways of killing his prey -- in his later killing years, began to make sculpture from his victim's body parts, a likely reason that he was caught by the police

in the trial:

(-) temperamental. though he'd like to say he's calm and collected, he can lose his cool, a quiet and unnerving anger, but anger nonetheless.

in the trial: can cause him to throw his plans to the wayside and focus on one person if they get under his skin. he doesn't like doing this, and it can cause him to be far more cruel than before if he must change gear

FEAR.

➹ being forgotten. it's why he almost was glad when he got caught -- he knows that the nature of his passion is to be forgotten, lost in the mystery of the kills. a good serial killer isn't one who's name is well-known past their alias and he didn't feel like it counted. to disappear, be lost in oblivion or erased from people's minds is a persevering fear of his and what drove him to make his name well known.

PSY.

aloysius has always enjoyed exploring not only his woods but also the world, an adventurous person – this is in part why he joined the military, hoping to see overseas. while he got his wishes for a time, returning back to his home town and settling down wasn’t in his cards and it gives him jealousy for any traveler.
in the trials: he might be prone to talk to those who are from other places, survivor or not. just because he’s going to kill a survivor doesn’t mean he can’t get a story out of them.

trying to break away from his poor, German family, aloysius strove to sound more well-educated than he saw his father, becoming an eloquent speaker, barely even having an accent any more, spending more of his years in america than out of it.
in the trials: this can lead him to pontificate, talking about random stuff once a survivor is caught. though it can also lead his fellow killers to be bored by his droning.

never backing down from what he feels, aloysius is extremely assertive, not letting people walk over him or ignore what he has to say. if he wants something done a certain way, he won’t let it slide. he doesn’t tend to hold back.
in the trials: he doesn’t allow other killers to push him around and can focus on survivors who are more aggressive.

something inside of him twisted long ago, turning him into something cruel and unwavering. he doesn’t care how much pain something might cause someone nor does he know how to bite his tongue. if he doesn’t like you, you’ll know with biting words. he doesn’t hold back when he’s hunting or in the trials and it can cause him to go overboard.

abc's

POWER.
it’s naptime: a tranquilizer gun that he uses to shoot darts at the survivors – it doesn’t fully knock them out, but instead slows and disorients them for a short duration of a couple minutes – his magazine holds three darts, after which he must visit a hunting stand to reload

THE MORI.
got guts? when he finally catches his victim, he picks them up and hangs them upside down on a butcher’s hook, gutting them like a deer and leaving them as an effigy for the entity.

BELONGINGS.

➹ button collection. various buttons, collected from clothing of his victims and repurposed as eyes for his mask when they fall off, which is often. they are in a small leather satchel.
➹ a photo of his wife. addie rowe, a woman who wrote him letters while he was at war. despite being twisted, she is the one thing he loved and didn't destroy
➹ a bullet shell. almost killed in the war, he keeps a shell of a bullet that hit his canteen instead of his heart as a reminder of his greatness
➹ a pair of binoculars. he would use these from his hunting stand to find his victims
➹ a rusty bear trap. a memory of something that happened to his brother, a defining moment in his life

HISTORY

tw: bear trap leg injury, military mention

BEFORE.
aloysius was born in frankfurt, germany to a soldier and a nurse as their second child. while the economic situation in germany only grew worse, the decided to move to minnesota in the united states. six year old aloysius and his ten year old brother emmerich were pulled along to live a life in poverty in a different country, following the hopeful dreams of their parents. oskar leitz became a hunter and a butcher while their mother, sabine worked as a telegraph operator. the boys would go to school and then come home and help their father with his business.

they would get along fairly well throughout their childhood, though even in those early days, you could tell that aloysius grew jealous of his brother, emmerich, who seemed to be the favorite.

oskar leitz’s butcher shop would sell all kinds of meat – from the deer, squirrel and rabbit that he’d hunt and prepare, to locally raised cows and pigs. most of the fare was hunted by oskar, taking up a large portion of his time. the boys would help him by greeting customers in the afternoons and making sales while oskar would carefully cut the meat he’d hunted that morning. after two years in america, oskar would let the boys join him occasionally on his near-daily hunting trips. eight year old aloysius seemed more keen than his brother – eager to spend time with his father and he seemed to have good instincts for the task.

both of the boys were proud to follow in their father’s footsteps… until the day when emmerich would step right into a bear trap. aloysius would stand, frozen, while his brother would scream until their father found them from across the woods. it was too late for both of them, aloysius facing the gore of his brother’s leg head on and emmerich passing out. oskar would act quickly and get emmerich to the hospital just in time. emmerich’s leg suffered a compound fracture that didn’t heal perfectly and left him with a bit of a limp. aloysius would be left with the image of his brother’s broken bones in his mind for years to come.

it started small, almost imperceptible, on a hunting trip. while oskar leitz had taught his son to make their kills swiftly and with respect to the animal that they were using as food, aloysius would grow curious – how long could the animals last under great strain? it was the ‘before’ part of a serial killer documentary, and oskar would grow worried about the condition of the animals he was receiving. as aloysius grew older, he would go on the hunting trips more often and even by himself. when he turned sixteen, his father told him that he had to stop. he was worried for aloysius, he had spent more time out on the hunt and the animals bodies had grown more mangled with every trip. he needed to spend his time with other hobbies, he couldn’t spend his time all alone in the woods any more.

so he stopped, tried to adopt to the interests of his peers, but he couldn’t connect, always feeling like an outsider. his thick german accent, gangly frame and seeming weakness made the other students single him out and bully him. as he got older, he tried to please his father by joining the military, unknowing that a great war would be ahead of him. he was trying to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he would soon discover his thirst for blood.

as the world descended into violence, so would aloysius. during his first battle, he was shaking – but while his fellow soldiers were shaking with fear, he was shaking with excitement. gun between his hands, he’d finally found something more enjoyable than hunting deer.

while he was gone, he received letters from a woman named addie rowe, an old classmate of his who found out that he was off to war. she just wanted to send him letters that reminded him of home, but along the way they fell in love. after experiencing an accident that caused his face to be scarred at thirty-five, he finally returned home for the last time. though they’d only visited each other a few times during aloysius’s life at war, they married upon his return.

THE SHIFT.
upon his return, he did good for a while. he got an office job at addie's request -- filing shitty paperwork for the government, sitting at a typewriter every day. it was mind numbing and he tried to fill the emptiness within him before he finally decided that there was something missing – a feeling he’d only felt while he was gone. he started out hanging out at his local woods like he used to when he was a boy – spending time amongst the animals and the quiet. hunting deer. but one day, while he was hunting, he encountered a person. they didn’t see him and he snuck up behind them and pushed them down a cliff to their doom – a death doomed accidental, but he knew the truth.

this event shifted something in him, made him realize what he needed and started his descent. he made a mask of cotton, a zipper and two buttons to hide his identity. he’d keep returning to the forest, butchering people in increasingly creative ways, eventually earning him the title of “the crow wing killer” in the papers. this was the name of his forest, and he maintained activity until one of his attempted victims got away after seeing his face and went straight to the police. a few days later, he was arrested. as the officer cuffed him, he’d be surprised to find out that they were cuffs of smoke and not metal, the entity’s tendrils swirling around his wrists.

NOW.

he wakes up in the same forest he disappeared in, only now something’s different – he feels a power, a strength he’d never felt before. the entity whispering in his ear – and the possibilities stretched out before him.

hotsauce · Aug 27, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

2002

FULL NAME. emerson "emmy" turner
D.O.B. october 29, 1980
P.O.B. belmont, california
GENDER. female, she/her
SEXUALITY. bisexual, female lean

ALIAS. barbie
ROLE. plaything
SPECIES. human

visage.

DESCRIPTION. emmy has long blonde hair, mostly straight but having a slight wave. she has fair skin with what her mother calls a "peaches and cream" complexion, giving her cheeks a pretty, natural rosy glow. she has blue eyes that she loves putting a nice coat of black "cat eye" liner on and a button nose with a sprinkling of freckles. she's a bit over average height at 5' 6" with a slim, graceful build.

ATTIRE. the outfits she normally wears look like something out of mean girls (the og, not the new one). she is dressed very stylishly for the time (and technically also for 2024 now that 2000s style is coming back). she wears a lot of pink, but will also wear neutrals and some other light colors. some of her style icons/inspo are elle woods (legally blonde), bianca stratford (10 things i hate about you), and cher horowitz (clueless). the outfit she wore when she was taken was a pink halter top with a denim miniskirt and ballet flats.

WEAPON. cutesy pink knife; she loves fighting in close quarters, treating it almost like a dance or a game.

FACE CLAIM. renee rapp

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.

─ dancing, acting, singing, movies, bedazzling everything she owns.

DISLIKES.

─ being single, missing out on drama, the rain, loud noises, men.

HOBBIES.

─ acting, fashion, being hot

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) clever (though she may not seem it, emmy is incredibly quick-witted and intelligent, liking to play with her prey before killing them)
(+) charismatic (despite her very obviously being a killer, she’s very hot and flirty and does it in a jennifer’s body sort of way, trying to convince her prey she’s just doomed to the narrative instead of an active participant)
(+) graceful (she is quite agile and graceful, especially in close quarters)

(-) vain (to the surprise of no one, emmy is incredibly vain and will freak out if she thinks she looks ugly)
(-) egotistic (due to her beauty and brains, she has a bit of an ego, and will avenge herself for any perceived slight–she can also be distracted by playing to her ego quite easily)
(-) crushes easily (this might not necessarily seem like a weakness, but she fancies that she is in love with some of her victims and will actually listen to them, more or less)

FEAR.

─ being unlovable, worthless, or ugly. she is terrified that no one loves her or cares for her, taking it by smothering those she “loves.” her ego and vanity also makes her terrified of being ugly or aging (honestly she’s glad she hasn’t aged in this world so she can be 22 forever.)

PSY.

— (+) charismatic – part of the reason that emmy garnered so much attention when she was younger was her charm; a combination of that with her wealth and beauty was near unstoppable in her personal relationships and led to her always getting her way.

trials – emmy tries to use her charisma and confidence to her advantage, trying to lure her opponents in by promising them their freedom if they rat on the others, or by flirting with them and trying to get them to see as an object of romantic affection. she is good at reading people and using that to her advantage.

— (+) confident – no matter what happens, it takes a lot to really give emmy pause. she's confident and knows that she can handle a lot, giving her surprisingly good composure unless one knows where to strike. she's gotten a lot of things she wanted just with her sheer belief she deserved them.

trials – emmy is hard to shake unless one strikes her weak spots (physically or by playing to her ego or vanity). she knows what she wants and goes for it without hesitation, so being too nervous or slow to act could end badly for any survivors near her.

— (+) fast learner – she was able to copy others who she admired, quickly learning from her actions in a given setting what would get her the attention or adoration she desired. she was clever, using people’s bad judgment against them should she catch them lacking more than once.

trials – though emmy has a few noticeable weak points and is clearly enamored with some of her victims, wanting them to love her the way she “loves” them, she learns fast. if you fool her or manage to blindside her once, good luck doing so again, because she’ll be waiting for it.

— (-) fake – emmy was so terrified to open up and be vulnerable that she never did in life, instead putting on a show to give people what they wanted (though in the end it seemed like it did not work). she is not as good of an actor as she thinks she is, because people can often sense when she’s putting on an act.

trials – though she is charismatic and charming, if one is good at reading people or observant, it’s entirely possible to see through her little act quite easily. she can get predictable in this state, playing into what she thinks the survivors want to hear, though her acts of “love” differ from this in that they’re the only authentic emotion she shows.

— (-) prideful/vain – emmy was prideful as a peacock, strutting around as if she owned the world. she did not listen to others and ignored all advice. she always thought she knew better than others. she put so much stock in her appearance and knew she was beautiful, but would rely too much on that and not enough on anything else.

trials – sometimes emmy will overestimate her own smarts, giving the survivors a chance to blindside her. she assumes she did such a good job that the survivors cannot hope to make it out and prematurely celebrates, making her not quite as observant as she would need to be to win.

— (-) impatient – emmy was never a patient person. she hated waiting, preferring to do things the easy way because it was quick. she would let opportunities go because she could not be bothered to put the time and effort into them, getting annoyed when nothing came of a half-hearted attempt.

trials – if one wants to beat emmy and has exhausted the option of using her vanity or pride against her, the best way to win is to wait her out. emmy despises waiting and will go looking for survivors and get frustrated if she has to sit for too long, giving the survivors ample opportunity to escape. her waning sanity doesn’t hurt either in this regard, causing her to throw a fit when she doesn’t get her way.

abc's

POWER.
“lights, camera, action!” at any point, emmy can trigger a spotlight by clapping, causing the survivors' position to be spotlighted on the map. when she does this, she grants herself one of two boons: "celebrity aura" or "puppy love." when she chooses "celebrity aura," it causes any survivors in her vicinity to slow their repairs, making any progress take longer to achieve. when she chooses "puppy love," she charms one survivor in her immediate line of sight, causing them to hang onto her every word. these boons can both be stopped by completing the side objective, which entails locating and destroying the multiple film cameras throughout the realm (which is set up like a film studio.)

THE MORI.
emmy would like to dance with her prey, leading them in graceful duet, before leaning in almost close enough to kiss and then stabbing them directly into their heart multiple times until they’re fully dead. she would want it to happen fairly slowly at first, give it time for romance of it to fully bloom before she ended their life.

BELONGINGS.
— a diary (filled with rantings about her latest love interest or obsession, she wrote in it nearly every day in her life.)
— a golden locket with no pictures inside (she got it as a gift from her first romantic partner, tearing out the pictures once they had broken up in a fit of rage.)
— a video camera with most of the film used up (she would practice self-taping auditions and scenes that she or a more creatively inclined friend wrote for hours.)
— worn dance shoes (worn from her many auditions for musicals, which she liked but didn’t love as much as film. didn’t stop her from trying though, since she wanted to be an actress with all her heart.)
— a compact mirror (she used to bring it with her everywhere inside of her purse to fix her makeup. she places most of her worth in her appearance.)

HISTORY

BEFORE. emmy was always a bright girl, learning quickly and able to replicate what she learned even faster. however, she was easily bored and lost interest in things that didn’t serve her. she was a bit of a mean girl in school, not looking beyond her own experience and reveling in her parents’ wealth and her beauty. however, as she got older, she got more and more anxious about her own fate. she moved to LA just after high school, barely sticking around long enough to get her diploma before she headed out, certain she was meant for stardom. but after many failed attempts at leading roles (or even supporting ones), she grew vengeful and angry. emmy had hardly ever been denied what she’d wanted before, and those close to her didn’t care enough to truly give her helpful advice or the truth. the only thing she had never been able to get by force was love, something that she had been obsessed with since she was a child as well. her parents were distant, clearly not wanting a child but forced to raise one anyway. her friends were surface level, only valuing her for what she could get them (trips to the beach, rides in her fancy car, etc). previous boyfriends were either close to her for the money or emmy ended up being bored with them too quickly.

she experimented with girls in LA, but knew that she could never bring one home to her parents, going through many abusive relationships with women (and a few with men), before starting to despair in that category too. she wanted love so badly, she would do anything for it. even kill. she could already see her dream job going down the toilet, and her parents cut her off once they realized she wasn’t going to “do anything with her life” in a half-hearted attempt to teach emmy a lesson, adopting a new baby and actually seeming to take the time and care required to raise her. emmy was just a practice for the real thing, she realized. none of her relationships or experiences mattered. no one cared who she was or what she did. so that was when she hit a new low. she applied for minimum wage jobs only to be denied from those, something that she had previously looked down on. all of these things threw her into a rage, knowing that once her golden years of youth and beauty were gone, she would have nothing. and it wasn’t as if she could afford her nice apartment anymore, so she had to find money somehow or she would be living on the streets. the experience broke her, leaving her ripe for the entity’s plucking.

THE SHIFT. after she had lost in every avenue of her life, being desperate enough to call her friends and beg for money, with them laughing in her face, she realized that no one truly cared about her. she was all alone. so she would kill those who didn’t love her, driving her a bit insane. her first kill was a girl who had she dated and who had abused her, leading her on and making her feel worthless. despite her knowing better somewhere in the back of her mind, emmy was still in love with her. and if she couldn’t have that girl, no one could. because emmy always got what she wanted. it was then that the entity knew it had her. that crime was a crime of passion, no thought or premeditated intent. but as emmy is stuck in her realm, she relives that moment in her mind, playing over and over like the horror movies she loved in life.

NOW. the entity has emmy in its grip, the last vestiges of her remaining sanity slowly ebbing away. every once in a while, she’ll realize exactly how horrible her situation is (and especially that of the victims, occasionally genuinely feeling remorse for them), but part of her is relieved that she can finally express how thin the line between love and violence has been worn in her brain. now everyone else has to bow to her whims, and she can kill the prettiest ones for all that she believes she was wronged in life.

hotsauce · Aug 28, 2024

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1886

FULL NAME. Ambrose Moore
D.O.B. August 5, 1865
P.O.B. Tombstone, Arizona
GENDER. Male, he/him
SEXUALITY. Gay gay homosexual gay

OCCUPATION. Former cowboy/animal herder, current outlaw
SKILLS. Intelligent, slippery, fast, good with a gun, nimble, sly.
ROLE. dance with me

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Ambrose is average height for a guy during his time period, making him slightly shorter than the average man (which he will take offense to if pointed out—he's 5’8”). He has messy brown hair that he often wears a cowboy hat over, covering it up since he’s far too lazy to style it. He has fair skin, which was more tanned when he was a cowboy, but his outlaw days have led to him covering up a lot of skin so he’s less easily identifiable. He’s got mischievous brown eyes and an easy smile, with a few freckles smattered across his nose and cheeks.

ATTIRE. He’s wearing pretty typical cowboy attire, with a loose cotton button-up shirt, khaki-colored trousers with a brown belt, and brown cowboy boots. Of course, he’s also got a brown cowboy hat and a bandana around his neck.

FACE CLAIM. Jack Wolfe

LIKES.

─ Card and dice games, animals, reading, dancing.

DISLIKES.

─ Rich people (eat the rich!), the heat, being kept in one place for long periods of time (lol), losing (sore loser).

HOBBIES.

─ Card and dice games (read: gambling), reading, horse racing, square dancing (badly), gardening.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Luck (he’s got incredibly good luck for some reason, Ambrose isn’t sure if it’s some sort of cosmic force working in his favor or mere coincidence but he’s thankful for it nonetheless).
(+) Wits (he’s very good with strategy and coming up with plans to escape alive, as well as collaborating with his partners/teammates).
(+) Attention-grabbing (he was often used as the diversion in his little band of outlaws, so he knows how to put on a little show; he loves an explosion).

(-) Addict (he’s addicted to gambling, and as such, if he sees the chance to take a lucky gamble and get away with more, he’ll take it, even if the odds aren’t great).
(-) Stubborn (while this can sometimes be helpful on occasion, his stubborn side has hindered him more than once as he’s stuck to his guns instead of just letting the other person be right).
(-) Reckless (especially once he finds out that he can’t die in this realm, he takes greater and greater risks, caring more about the win than his own hide sometimes).

FEAR.

─ Ambrose isn’t afraid of much, but he is terrified of being in enclosed spaces and letting people down.

PSY.

— (+) Fast. Ambrose is a fast runner, a good horseman, and quick-witted, being fast in every sense of the word. He was always slippery as an eel when people like police or other outlaws were trying to catch him, slipping through their fingers in the nick of time.

Trials - His evasiveness really helps when it comes to surviving the killers, as he's fast and agile, able to keep the killer's attention and then run for the hills, hoping that his companions can escape in the confusion.

— (+) Lucky. Ambrose has always had a lucky streak; perhaps it's what got him started in gambling. He's uncannily lucky at times, escaping with little time to spare or pulling off a heist with the perfect conditions.

Trials - This luck aids him in his attempts at escape from the killers. But is it truly luck, or is the Entity toying with him? Or perhaps it's something more akin to fate? No one knows.

— (+) Cunning. Ambrose has a sharp wit and a head for strategy. A good part of the reason that he managed as long as he did as an outlaw is attributed to his knack for plans, especially when things initially go wrong. His time to shine is when things are truly crazy, letting him unleash his equally crazy ideas.

Trials - Ambrose can use his cunning and wits to evade enemies, figuring out plans and diversions. He'll use everything at his disposal to survive.

— (-) Loyal. You might be thinking, why would Mac put this as a weakness? Simple. Ambrose values the lives of the other survivors a lot, sometimes too much, and he might go back for them, especially if he's formed a connection. This is especially true if he cares about someone. He wants the others to survive as much as himself. He wants to help them for the crew he couldn't stop from being arrested.

Trials - Ambrose might waste opportunities to escape if it means leaving someone behind, or do stupid things like make himself the center of attention to stop the killer from murdering someone else.

— (-) Trusting. If you tell him something, he will most certainly believe it. He isn't really skeptic, and a big part of the reason he wasn't caught sooner was because his former crew were largely trustworthy people (and his best friend was more of the skeptical type to Ambrose's gullibility).

Trials - If another survivor says they will help him, he'll believe it. He might even stop to listen to a killer's story if they seem human enough, being both gullible and highly empathetic.

— (-) Dense. Though he loves people and making new friends, Ambrose is bad at reading people. He's gullible, falling for lies somewhat easily, and dense, not knowing what people want from him.

Trials - Ambrose might misunderstand his allies, leading to some big errors on his part. He might also try to have a conversation with the killer, if they are humanoid enough to seem human. He really wants to believe in people, not always seeing the obvious.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

— Pack of playing cards – Ambrose got them as a kid; they were the first pack he ever used and his gateway to befriending some of his closest friends.
— Old-fashioned gun – his weapon that he always had on him; he’s never used it except for practice.
— Battered copy of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow – Ambrose's favorite book, which he carried with him on the trail as a cowboy and kept at his home base as an outlaw.
— Worn photograph – Ambrose's only photo of his parents after they died when he was sixteen.
— Small rock shaped like a heart–kept as a good luck charm – Ambrose brought it with him everywhere. It was given to him by his best friend when he was seventeen.

HISTORY

(tw. murder)
BEFORE. Ambrose was born into a world of cowboys and outlaws in what is known today as the “Wild West,” with his parents being prospectors. The small town he lived in was mostly populated by prospectors, cowboys, and smugglers. However, the legendary tales of gunslingers and outlaws the populate the Wild West happened near him and in his town as he grew up, with Ambrose growing to admire those who had the guts to go against the law and win. His family was relatively poor, and he had always been envious of what he knew of the more comfortable wealthy people living in bigger cities, stepping on the backs of those unluckier than them to get what they wanted and caring little for others. He wanted to be a “good outlaw” (as he called it when he was a kid), stealing from the wealthy and giving to the poor, a sort of Robin Hood, if you will. He was fascinated with that story, and any sort of mystery or horror he could get his hands on. In fact, Ambrose was a voracious reader since he was young, his mind sharp despite his parents’ shabby attempt at homeschooling him. He truly loved his parents and they him, but he knew they would disapprove of his ambitions. When he was sixteen, he was laying asleep in his bed when his parents were shot and killed by an infamous serial killer.

Luckily, he woke up to the sound of gunshots and was able to escape, but his life was forever changed. At first, he swore to have an honest life, going on to be a cowboy and meeting some of his closest friends through that lifestyle. However, he still had the thought that he could make a difference, that he could stop people like the killer who’d murdered his parents, though he would never dream of working as a police officer. His head was full of vigilante ideas, and he kept making plans of how he would accomplish what he so desperately wanted. He would fix the system his way, and whether that aligned with the law at times and went directly against it at others, he didn’t care. He loved the thrill of it. So, he eventually convinced a few of his cowboy friends to join him in his Robin Hood-esque vision, which they were able to carry out. They mostly stole from those with riches and power, though on occasion they did manage to catch and bring in those were hurting other people. Much of the money they stole was donated to those in need (which of course included Ambrose and his friends), and Ambrose used what money he kept for himself mostly in gambling, finding his keen mind and good luck won him quite a bit.

THE FOG. The last heist Ambrose had planned was destined to be in last, in one way or another. One of his friends had tired of the outlaw life, despising being on the run all time and blaming Ambrose for getting them into this when he had been perfectly content without this layer of stress. That friend had given the authorities the information about the heist, and despite Ambrose’s desperate gamble of a distraction to save his friends, no one escaped. Ambrose did not go down without a fight, though, and as he was attempting to make his last stand, he managed to escape into alleyway for a few moments to catch his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, preparing himself, but when he opened them, he was somewhere completely different.

NOW. Ambrose wants to help the others in the way he couldn’t help his friends. He wants to escape. He wants to make the killers suffer for what they’ve done and what they’re doing to the other survivors. But most of all, he wants answers. What happened to him? Why is he here and what does the Entity want with him, with any of them? What is the Entity exactly? And how can he put things back the way they should be?

CrimsonInk · Aug 28, 2024

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© akeno.

2015

FULL NAME. Madison Anne Lambert

D.O.B. August 9th, 1989

P.O.B. Los Angeles, CA

GENDER. She/Her

SEXUALITY. Bisexual

OCCUPATION. Student (Major Sports Medicine) | Part-time Retail Worker

SKILLS. Quick thinking, adaptability, teamwork, communication, and CPR certified

ROLE. Unbreakable

visage.

DESCRIPTION. There is a captivating warmth from a woman who radiates the essence of a sun's gentle kiss. Her skin gives off a golden complexion paired with an amber hue, shimmering like the first light of dawn. There is a smoothness when you glide your hands against the baby hairs from years of care and shea butter. Eyes reflect pools of gold and bronze coins that glimmer and reflect with a soulful invitation. Her hair cascades in lustrous, dark brunette ringlets, bountiful and effortlessly framing her round face. A smile confident and full of laughter, she gives a blend of approachability and charm. Her body is well trained from years of track and field, and water polo from her adolescence.

ATTIRE. Madison's typical fashion is all about comfort. Though anyone would ask her to get rid of her mountain of flannels and band tees that she has in her closet. Her default would be a band tee, dark flannel, skinny jeans, and combat boots ─ let's not forget about the beanie, glasses (accessory), and ~~obnoxious mustache necklace~~. She will be wearing this in a trial.

FACE CLAIM. Brittany O'Grady

LIKES.
─ running. running that track was a way for her to clear her head. home wasn't a safe place to go to, so she ran until her legs felt like jelly and her heart begged for rest. It's also a way for her to get rid of the excess energy she has in her system.

─ video games. playing games with her friends was always a fun pass time. While she may not be good at COD, she still enjoys games like Resident Evil, Until Dawn, Final Fantasy X, and Mortal Kombat. Horror games are her favorite.

─ caffeine. Coffee, tea, energy drinks ─ while she understands they're not good for you they are guilty pleasures she can't get rid of.

─ the beach. Living near the coast area has its perks. One of them being able to go to the beach. The waves crashing into you, the sun's rays ─ ~~let's just not talk about the sand getting everywhere for weeks on end no matter how many times you cleaned your car/clothes HOW IS IT STILL EVERYWHERE!?~~

─ traveling. Going to new places is a fresh breath of air from being in one place for too long. Home is home, but there's so much more and Madison enjoys going to new places.

DISLIKES.

─ white bread. Never liked it, never will. Don't ask.

─ sand. Messy, gets everywhere -- what the hell man.

─ messiness. Anything from her room to the kitchen to the damn door ─ just clean after yourself!!

─ bullying. The kind where you're purposefully being mean to someone for no reason. It speaks insecure and no one likes ugly behavior. She doesn't mind if its between friends or family, because they're people you love.

─ hospitals. She associates them with the death of her mother and tries to do her best to stay healthy to not ~~relive the memories~~ end up in one.

HOBBIES.

─ watching movies. Mainly animated or true crime. She's a huge fan of Ghibli movies and watches them to comfort her inner child. That and the Cinderella movie with Brandy and Whitney is the best thing ever (fight me on this, I dare you).

─ exercising. From light to intense, she enjoys just working out and blowing off some kind of steam. Swimming and running are some of her favorite ways to work out her body ~~and anger~~.

─ singing. Karaoke nights with friends and family are always fun. She enjoys having them consistently and singing her heart out.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) ─ resilient. Madison has learned from a young age that the world doesn't stop while you're in pain, so why should you? She takes everything with a grain of salt and is unyielding to the obstacles thrown at her.
─ trial. The girl would continue to fight no matter how many times she's been hurt, injured, or caught. Her body may be taking the hits, but her relentless spirit is what makes her become a force to be reckon with.

(+) ─ loyal. Loyalty is a privilege no one should take advantage of. People need people to stand up against greater threats.
─ trial. Her loyalty becomes a building block of support and dependability in the trial and shows her value of the kind of player she is.

(+) ─ communicative. She'll say what's on her mind and be civil about it. Others may not agree, but she is willing to come to some middle line to work together with others.
─ trial. This becomes a huge factor in a game of survival. for Madison she needs to have communication with other people to make sure that plans are placed to ensure their survival at the highest rate.

(+/-) ─ risk-taker. Madison knows when to take risks, but that doesn't always mean they'll always end up in someones favor. Whether it was a logical risk to take or a decision on the fly, doing something at that moment for her is better than not doing anything at all.
─ trial. even in the face of killers, risks need to be taken. Madison tends to play the hero in her rounds and would make decisions that could lead to your demise. a fighter blinded by the goal to survive is willing to tolerate the uncertainty of the unknown.

(-) ─ gullible. To be human is both a beautiful and miserable thing. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt is something she carries to heart. People deserve second chances, and that ideal has led others take advantage of it.
─ trial. Killers who are observant of their prey will find Madison to be a caring woman. With a heart of a lion, she may be easily tricked to help someone and fall into the killers trap. Their whispers burden her with the possibility of whether or not it is a survivor that needs help.

(-) ─ impatient. Always on the go and never stopping, living in an environment that is fast paced has molded Madison into being restless and easily irritable. You must be quick and diligent in her presence, or you'll have to find a way to be accustomed to her vices.
─ trial. Sometimes the weight of being hunted can create a great amount of stress for someone, especially to a person who is both stubborn and restless with her ways. She sets unrealistic expectations on others and burdens them with this ideal in her rounds. Madison will become easily frustrated as time is moving faster in her head, rushing you in your tasks.

(-) ─ micromanage. Those who feel they have no control will search with desperation for something to grasp and take the responsibility as their own.
─ trial. In the trials, Madison will automatically take the position of leadership. This lioness proves herself to be dependable and passionate, but she is unable to see the harm it causes in the other survivors. Her hubris blinds her undermining the other survivors and their own unique abilities.

FEAR.

─ monophobia. The fear of being alone.

PSY.

Virtues & Vices

─ virtue: dauntless. Madison has never backed down without a fight. Her courage is driven by an unshakeable pride and a deep-seated valor. She steps up to be the sword the other survivors need in the face of adversity.

─ virtue: receptive. Stubborn as she is, she is willing to hearing out the concerns and ideas of her fellow survivors, even if her own views are strong and established. This receptive nature allows her to build alliances and understand the needs of her group, hopefully as a way to allow others see the kind of leader who values input and collaboration.

─ virtue: innovative. There are times where you need to bend reality to your will and force it to work in your favor. Madison’s innovation is not just about making things work; it’s about transforming limitations into advantages.

─ vice: capricious. Survivors will soon learn that she is a walking double edged sword. Her actions and decisions can be erratic, and this could lead them to be unsure of her intentions and stability.

─ vice: stubborn. When her mind is set on a plan there is no changing it. The trials will test her stubborn nature but must be willing to tolerate an unyielding survivor ready for the fight. While her determination ensures that she will see things through to the end, it can also lead to inflexibility and resistance

─ vice: arrogance. Her pride in her abilities and her sense of self-worth often lead her to believe that she is indispensable to the survival of the group. This arrogance can manifest as a dismissive attitude and can lead to provoking resentment among the others.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

─ maroon jacket. It belonged to her mother before she died and keeps it in memory of her. It still carries her scent, even if it is the scent of decaying flesh.

─ father's military I.D. Her Father is Air Force. she would always see it in his wallet as a kid on the military base. he never leaves without it. why is it here?

─ hospital bracelet. Memories of that day haunt her from this bracelet. her mother's death was hard, but watching her father grieve was much harder growing up.

─ swimming goggles. These were days she wished to go back to ─ when all that mattered were getting good grades and winning her water polo/track and field matches.

─ running shoes. Running was an escape that helped keep her grounded. These shoes in particular were a gift from her mother and father, and she kept them even if they were torn apart. Their value and memory are something she holds close to her.

HISTORY

BEFORE. Madison's childhood was marked by stress and loneliness. As a military brat, she moved frequently, never knowing what a true home felt like. This instability led her to adopt a minimalist lifestyle, striving not to be a burden to her parents, especially her mother, Laura. Madison watched as her once vibrant mother transformed into a frail shadow, reliant on monitors for survival. Despite reassurances of love and recovery, Madison understood the harsh truth: her mother wouldn’t get better. Her father often urged her to "soldier up," believing it would uplift her spirits, but this only drove Madison to suppress her own feelings of sadness.

Years passed after her mother’s death, and Madison struggled to grieve in a safe environment. Unable to cope, she started getting into fights at school and faced an ultimatum: behave or face military school. Taking her father's words to heart, she chose to "act right." In a household filled with grief and expectations, Madison Anne Lambert felt she couldn't afford the luxury of being a normal kid. While her grades and social life improved, she merely buried her demons deeper.

In her early 20’s, Madison delayed starting college, prioritizing her father’s health. With his illness worsening and insurance failing to cover necessary medication, she took on multiple jobs—first at a grocery store, then at an ice cream shop in the mall, and even babysitting neighbors' children some nights. She worked tirelessly, determined not to lose another parent.

After years of hard work and saving for her father’s medications, Madison finally felt ready to pursue her education. Her father was improving slowly, and all the long hours were paying off. Working at the grocery store for so long had led to an unexpected promotion with excellent benefits—benefits that helped cover her father’s medication, making that difficult job one of the best decisions she had ever made.

Why couldn’t the universe allow her some peace?
Last summer, her father’s health took a serious turn for the worse, revealing that the nurse assigned to him had been neglectful. Frustrated by the mistreatment, rather than depending on another possible incident with another nurse, she decided to be his caregiver. They relocated to an older building to a room that had been closed to the public for years; it once belonged to a tenant's daughter, Catherine, who had mysteriously disappeared. Fortunately, the landlord was understanding and kept the rent low enough for them to manage on her income. However, this meant Madison had to return to working night shifts. The museum near the college was hiring for a gift shop worker, and Madison landed the job thanks to her experience.

Soon, she began to notice strange occurrences between school and work. Items she had put away would inexplicably end up somewhere else. Her work locker would be found open during her graveyard shifts. Sometimes, she could even hear whispers and footsteps echoing when she used the restroom. It never crossed her mind that either place could be haunted, let alone that something might be following her home. It had to be in her head, right?

Only after when she was leaving her shift one night did whatever was haunting her reveal itself. The lost daughter of the tenant, Catherine, stood before her. It was her chilling smile that sent shivers down Madison’s spine, prompting her to flee home in a panic.

THE FOG.
Madison was part of the closing shift that night. The day had dragged on, leaving her with aching feet and a mountain of homework. To top it off, she had to walk home alone. As she made her way through the dimly lit neighborhood, an unsettling feeling crept over her—someone, or something, was watching her. Panic surged through her, and she quickened her pace, heart racing. Suddenly, she found herself somewhere completely different. It was then that the haunting presence revealed itself: the lost daughter of the tenant, Catherine, stood before her. A chilling smile spread across her face, sending shivers down Madison’s spine and propelling her to flee home in terror. Running home Madison crashed into a thick, caliginous black mist that appeared out of nowhere and swallowed the scant light around her.

NOW. She doesn't know how to properly feel. Agitated, scared, and the need to survive above all else are what she feels at the moment. Thoughts of her Father springs to her mind. His health, if the tenant was nice enough to check on them, something. She needs to find a way back. She needed to find a way back. Just, what the hell was going on?
/* --- base code --- */

© akeno.

1993

FULL NAME. Catherine Louise Addams

D.O.B. September 9th, 1957

P.O.B. Los Angeles, California

GENDER. She/Her

SEXUALITY. Heterosexual

ALIAS. The Mother

ROLE. Grim Embrace

SPECIES. Demon (by Possession)

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Catherine was always described to be a pretty woman. Tall, lengthy, and model-like -- but she was never vain about it. Her hair is naturally a dark chocolate coat, but dyed it to something more maroon and wild. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, and held a kindness to them. Her skin was fair from years being in doors. Now her skin is sickly, veins popping with blue and violet hues. The sockets are as red as her hair, and bloodshot that a sickly green replaced those beautiful blues. No longer were the eyes of kindness and warmth you see from a Mother -- instead you are met with a demonic entity that uses her flesh as a host to cast hell to the living.

ATTIRE. Before her transformation, she was a simple woman who loved simple clothing. Anything baggy, oversized, and in neutral colors she was comfortably in style. Her toes were always painted, and she always wore sandals. When she was taken, she wore a white overside shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a single button undone, baggy capris pants that allowed her to move easily without restraint, and brown sandals.

WEAPON. Her nails. The nails from her hands grow long and sharp, ready to tear and dig into your meat. Her claws are at the ready to punish rebellious youth.

FACE CLAIM. Alyssa Sutherland

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.
─ coffee. Enjoy the simple pleasures in life. Coffee being one of them.

─ worker at the museum. In her human life, being a worker at a museum of history was something Catherine was very passionate about. A little too passionate some would say. It was the negligence of the museum's curator that brought her to a deadly fate.

─ family. Family is a value important to Catherine. Growing up with a divided family, she wanted one as a whole. Only that her life never gave her that chance.

─ renaissance paintings. Elisabetta Sirani, Timoclea Killing Her Rapist (1659), being one of her favorites. The rage of a woman shouldn't be taken lightly.

─ rainy days. On days where the rain really pours and the day is quiet, it becomes one of the most relaxing things to enjoy.

DISLIKES.

─ child abuse. Children are such delicate creatures. That is why Mothers protect their tiny spawns with such ferocity. The moment she sees a bruise or a tear, you better hope she doesn't find the one who did it.

─ perfume. The ambrosial scent is too warm and lively for this demonic spirit.

─ surprises. No one likes the unknown creeping onto them. Even this demonic being is cursed by the unknown.

─ disturbance. To be disturbed in the middle of her hunt would be unwise for them. Don't bother mommy, especially when she's hungry.

─ loud noises. You would be surprised how loud noises disturb her. The racket makes her irritable and distracted.

HOBBIES.

─ art. Painting was a way Catherine used to relax on really stressful days. A lot of her paintings are of nature.

─ reading. From Beowulf to Macbeth, she finds herself going back to read these pieces of literature she adores.

─ music festivals. These were rare moments she allowed herself to have fun. If only she had more freedom to go to them.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) ─ deceitful. Parental figures tend to lie in order to protect their kin. This demonic entity uses their lies to deceive you into believing its motherly affections. You shouldn't be surprised. She'll use her calm voice to coax you into submission as it gives her the chance to devour you whole.

(+) ─ intimidating. Even her presence leaves an impressionable print in your skull, especially when the first words of her mouth are, "You're grounded."

(+) ─ resilience. Being able to withstand the physicality and recovery is something you should be weary of. Mother's are built different after all.

(+/-) ─ consciousness. To be aware allows you to understand your surroundings with a careful eye. It's also a downfall when your perception could be clouded by hubris.

(-) ─ loving. Love is such a strong feeling. You may find that while she does intend to kill, there is this contemplative sense of thought behind her smile. A mother so loving shouldn't hurt such pretty flesh, but it's too tempting when your screams are what fuel this demon's spirit. Her love for you is just as deadly.

(-) ─ emotional. She can't help but feel the emotional dysregulation of a worried parent.

(-) ─ malevolent. To be an incarnate of evil like this one makes her feel wrathful and spiteful of the living. Especially ones who like to fight.

FEAR.

─ thanatophobia. Fearing death is one thing, but fearing the death of a child is much more haunting.

PSY.

VIRTUES & VICES

─ virtue. opportunist. When she sees an opening or a chance to graciously attack her prey, she takes it.

─ virtue. motherhood. Being a mother requires patience, sacrifice, and unconditional love. You don't ever want to test her patience, her love, and what she is willing to sacrifice.

─ virtue. tenacity. Persistence runs through this demon's spirit.

─ vice. insatiable. A Mother's love is never-ending. Even after each trial she yearns for more survivors and more blood.

─ vice. imperiousness. Obey your mother. You must obey to authoritative figures otherwise who raised you with such ill manners?

─ vice. nurturing. Caring for others emotionally may not be her strongest suit, but it doesn't mean she wouldn't try. That is the kind of nurturing you receive is hopefully genuine.

abc's

POWER.

motherly love: possession and shapeshifting. Misguided intentions from a false promise of motherhood have made this demon's power become dangerous and unnerving. If a survivor ends up being scratched or injured, this allows her to have access to the host's memories and shapeshift into the person that makes them most vulnerable: their guardian or guardian figure. Carrying the image allows them to manipulate the survivor's reality and give them a false sense of security. Who wouldn't want to be loved by someone who makes them safe? If the wound is deep and mixed with her blood, she may also possess the infected for up to a minute.

side objective for survivors. To limit her deceit, the survivors must find three pieces of a broken lamia statue and connect them together in order to slow down the dark spirit. If they are unable to

THE MORI.

The moment she is in your presence, her nails dig into your skin and infects your blood. Soon the black bile begins to spill from your eyes, nose, mouth....and her possession starts to kill you from the inside. Making you her precious 'child'.

BELONGINGS.

─ ultrasound picture (behind says: Emma). The reminder of this pain opens wounds that Catherine isn't ready to face.

─ wedding ring. Being married to someone, especially your first love, should be the best thing on earth. Not the worst mistake of your life.

─ a mysterious leather book. Where did you find this? Why is it broken? DO NOT SAY THE WORDS INSIDE.

─ old stuff elephant. It was supposed to be her first gift.

─ red hair dye. The moment she was trying to be a new version of herself.

HISTORY

[TW: Mentions of child abuse, domestic abuse (physical & emotional), pregnancy/childbirth, miscarriage, violence, and possession.]

BEFORE. Catherine was born into a life of misfortune. Her parents bickered constantly, often blaming their child for their unhappiness. All Catherine ever wanted was their affection and attention, but their neglect pushed her toward independence. When her parents divorced, her mother left her with her father, which, in Catherine’s opinion, was probably for the best. By age seven, she had taken on the dual role of daughter and caregiver, cooking, cleaning, and managing her homework. Her father would come home, smoke a cigarette outside, grab a beer, and sit in front of the TV until bedtime—a routine Catherine accepted as her normal.

In high school, she fell in love for the first time with Daniel Addams, a football player who, despite his jerk-like behavior toward others, was head over heels for her. They became high school sweethearts, but this was the first mistake Catherine made. Her father disapproved of Daniel, as any protective father would, especially after Daniel made her cry on prom night and called her a slut. Yet, Catherine, conditioned by her childhood to take the blame, dismissed it all.

When college arrived, Daniel’s support for her dreams waned. He coaxed her into believing she could rely on him to provide for her, promising a life of comfort. Catherine fell for it. However, once they married, her rose-colored glasses shattered. She cut ties with her father and friends, confined to her home once again—alone.

This bitter loneliness left her feeling melancholic and helpless. Some days, Daniel returned home angry, yelling and blaming her for things beyond her control. Yet he would later apologize, professing his love, drawing her back into the cycle. Then one day, feeling unwell, she took a pregnancy test and was filled with excitement. But that joy was soon overshadowed by worries about Daniel’s reaction.

To her surprise, Daniel greeted the news with the gentleness she remembered from high school. The smile she adored returned, and for a few months, everything seemed fine. But as her pregnancy progressed, normal activities became exhausting. Six months in, something felt terribly wrong. A doctor’s visit brought devastating news.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Addams. Your child is… dead.”

Unbeknownst to her, Catherine had been living with an undiagnosed thyroid disorder, which led to her miscarriage. When Daniel learned of it, his fury turned violent; bruises decorated her skin. But Catherine was fed up with the mistreatment and the blame. Leaving a relationship with her first love was difficult, but realizing this “love” wasn’t love at all was harder. Months after the miscarriage, she reached out to her father and returned home to restart her life.

Back in school, Catherine interned at a museum downtown, rediscovering her passion and beginning anew. She hoped for a fresh start.

THE SHIFT. One night, Catherine was asked to stay late to assist with the graveyard shift, a frequent annoyance caused by the museum curator's irresponsibility. It felt like a broken record—always the same demands without any consideration for her time. While moving merchandise to the gift shop, she accidentally bumped into an artifact in storage. Her heart sank when she discovered a broken statue.

Suddenly, black smoke began to swirl around her, creeping in and possessing her on the spot. A nefarious evil infiltrated her body, extinguishing her spirit and igniting the pent-up rage of motherhood that had been taken from her. In that moment, she transformed into what she was destined to become: The Mother.

NOW. The entity has granted her what she longed for: something to love, and now she revels in spilling blood to keep it.
coming soon

REVAMPING

Alessandra

role: botany knowledge

fc: brenna d'amico

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coming soon

beyond the fog

Lisa

role: N/A

fc: Megan Fox

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AI10100 · Aug 29, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

2021

FULL NAME. Richard "Richie" Tarly
D.O.B. December 21, 1998
P.O.B. Vancouver, Canada
GENDER. Male, He/Him
SEXUALITY. Asexual

OCCUPATION. Online business / Content Creator
SKILLS. Observant, quick thinker, creative, iron will, high stamina and endurance.
ROLE. Diversion

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Richie is a relatively tall man with a solid height of 5'11 and he prides himself in taking care of his appearance. After all, he has a persona to uphold for many of his viewers and you would never know when you might bump into a fan, right? As such, he can always be seen in a well-kempt appearance, or he would be fixing it as soon as he is able.

ATTIRE. It was a godsend that when he was taken by the fog, Richie had been wearing something other than his damn medical gown when he was taken through the fog. Instead, he had been wearing what appears to be surgical scrubs.

FACE CLAIM. Grant Gustin

LIKES.

Streaming: Unsurprisingly, Richie actually loves being under the limelight and, thus, loves the fact that he can share his experiences with his viewers. As vain as he might seem, he genuinely loves talking to viewers about literally anything and everything.

Exploring: He's a very active person so, ever since he and his friends began exploring the woods one day, they had begun making more and more trips to abandoned areas. He began to seek the thrill of it all, though still makes sure to not reveal the locations they've been in to preserve the area.

Video Games: Alongside streaming his urban exploring, Richie is also fond of streaming video games that pique his interest. His range goes across the board— sometimes playing multiplayer games with other streamers or something a lot calmer like simulation games.

Talking: And wow can this guy talk. He has an array of topics he would talk about and likes bouncing off others too. He's just naturally extroverted and likes filling the silence around him. Perhaps it's something that he developed as an instinct due to being used to streaming or perhaps...

Heights: He likes the weird thrill that goes into him whenever he's at the edge of a large height. He understands why it is a fear for many people but he always feels at peace than when he's at the top.

DISLIKES.

Stalkers: Richie has had his fair share of run-ins with insane people who tried to reveal his location and all of his information public. He tries to foster a positive environment and this has soured it considerably.

Boredom: He has never once been comfortable about not doing anything. He's always been an active person and he would rather be off doing something than being at home and doing absolutely nothing. He has to keep himself busy which is why he has so many hobbies.

Being alone: Richie thrives in a group of people. Remove that from him and he is out of his element. He is a performer! Give him someone to perform to!

Sickness: Been there, done that, Richie is not a big fan of it.

Snakes: He knows they're fine and some can even be used as pets but please keep them away from him or he will freak out.

HOBBIES.

─ Urban exploration, Spelunking, Gaming, Streaming,

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Observant: In any given situation, Richie is aware of the current lay of the land and of how other people are behaving. Chalk it up to a good bit of paranoia to make sure he always has an escape route planned out.
(+) Quick-thinker: While he seems to be a little bit of an airhead, Richie is as quick with his creative ideas as he is quick on his feet. He can arrive at decisions on what to do in a snap of a finger, even better if there are a lot of options that are available to him.
(+) Urban Explorer: Richie is used to navigating around abandoned man-made structures and the athleticism to prove it. This makes it easier for him to adapt to his environment.

(-) Unserious: Richie doesn't actually think much of their current predicament. He thinks of it all as a game: after all, he just keeps coming back, right? Why should he care about what happens to himself if he's fine at the end of the day?
(-) Show-off: Look, he's a fantastic distraction because he's so loud when he needs to be. Unfortunately, he is also loud when he doesn't need to be. He will do things with a little bit of a flare, taking precious moments to look or do something he deems as "cool" regardless of the situation he is in.
(-) Technical Skills: The trials' goals are to be able to escape by fixing one's getaway vehicle or using the gate. Unfortunately for Richie, this is something he is not particularly good at so he works a lot slower than the other survivors when it comes to fixing the needed items.

FEAR.

─ Losing everything he holds dear which currently are the survivors of the game, Snakes

PSY.

— (+) Compassionate. Richie uses a lot of his influence to give back to the community. He understands how difficult it is for people to find a safe place and he has always wanted to give that to people. He has always led a comfortable life and wants to share that with as many people as possible.

Trials - He is always willing to go above and beyond to help the other survivors regardless of personal cost. He would offer his aid to anyone who needs it if it would mean that his friends would have an easier time.

— (+) Optimistic. He has always had this uncanny ability to see the silver lining in everything. Some might take this as him being naive but he prefers to not dwell on the negatives of things. He believes that there will always be a way to make things right even if you'll have to be in it for the long run.

Trials - Regardless of how hopeless a situation may seem, Richie will somehow find a way to look at the bright side. This allows him to have the strength to power on despite being in an extremely disadvantageous state and he can extend this odd sense of optimism to his fellow survivors should the need arise.

— (+) Creative. He thinks outside the box more often than not. For streams, he has a reputation for coming up with out-of-this-world ideas to make it more interesting for the viewers. While it often doesn't manifest in most creative fields, he has a specific talent for directing films and videos while also taking care of the legalities surrounding them.

Trials - This can make him highly unpredictable and can pull out eureka ideas on the fly even during high-stress situations. Of course, it can be a double-edged sword as it may lead to more destructive and failed plans.

— (-) Self-sacrificial. Richie is too selfless. He's too afraid of being alone that he would rather have himself in harm's way than other people. There are times in his life when he had to choose between cutting someone off and going solo and he would stay with them until he was sure that he could find someone else to stick to.

Trials - He can be fooled into going along with something if it means that he wouldn't be forced to be alone. He wouldn't do well with inner conflicts within groups and would try to start peacekeeping despite knowing someone else was in the wrong.

— (-) Desperate. While it is not overtly obvious, Richie has gotten to his last legs when he was taken to the realm by The Entity. He wants to make the most out of this second chance that was given to him no matter how bad the current predicament is.

Trials - He would be making the most rash decisions to make it more fun for him. This often translates to him being more and more reckless as time goes by, especially now that he has realized that The Entity isn't going to let them die. This might be off-putting to other survivors and make him actually seem more untrustworthy than he really is.

— (-) Impatient. Richie is someone who is always on the go which means he doesn't do well with tests of patience. A lot of people have attributed this trait to him as being undiagnosed with ADHD but even he isn't sure if this would be a possible explanation. Many have grown frustrated about this particular trait of his.

Trials - This manifests terribly within the realm. Plans that involve him having to wait for a lured killer or something along those lines have a high possibility of falling through or he might simply just go rogue to do his own thing. He is apologetic about this but apologies can't turn back time nor the trust that is lost. As such, he pre-emptively tells people that he would be better off constantly on the move.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

— Smartphone – Someone of his generation cannot be found without a phone in their hand or their pocket. It has become such an important part of his life— practically a lifeline at this point. Interestingly, this item does not run out of battery but has a lot of its major functions locked.
— Head-mounted gopro – This item is something he uses to record his urban exploration videos to give him free use of both of his hands as well as giving the viewers a good sight of how he plans out his routes.
— Group photo – A photo of him and his YouTube group, the same ones he makes his videos with. It consists of five people— two men and three women. All five have different colored scarf bandanas worn at different parts of the body.
— Pulse oximeter – Something from his recent days when he was contracted with COVID.
— Red scarf bandana – An item that he matches with his friends. It is rolled up into a bandana that can be worn on the forehead.

HISTORY

BEFORE. Richard was born to wealth— with his father being a financial advisor and businessman and his mother being a successful doctor. Comfort and luxury were all he had ever known and the support of his parents was never far behind that. They encouraged him to be young and to enjoy his childhood as much as possible. One could say that he was part of the lucky people in life but his parents made sure to never spoil him and to instill a sense of responsibility. They reminded him time and time again to look to the future and build on the foundations of it as soon as he can. They put him through many lessons in hopes that one would stick but he grew out of most of the hobbies he went into. Sports was nice but he didn't want to do it all the time then he didn't have much talent in the ways of arts and music. Though his parents were frustrated that their son appeared to simply take his life one day at a time, they eventually relented to his apparent flighty nature.

At the very least, they thought, he had a group of friends. His best friend, Angela, had been with him ever since he was a kid. The two were each other's closest confidants and competition. Whatever one tried, the other was soon to follow. With a nearly inseparable bond, they lived their life together. In middle school, their friend group increased. Angela's boyfriend, Steven, was integrated and two other people, Chloe and Ingrid eventually joined after a school field trip brought them together as a group. It was Angela's boyfriend who first suggested urban exploring. He claimed that it wouldn't be all too challenging and that his older brothers were going to help them. Needless to say, the group got addicted to it. The thrill, the enjoyment, the potential. Chloe suggested they should take a video of their first solo exploration and they posted it without thinking much of it.

Then they gained traction. They were dubbed "The Explorangers" after a few videos of them went up. His parents had been supportive of his new hobby that he seemed to be very interested in. As long as they were safe, they didn't mind. Eventually, the group went into streaming to take advantage of their growing popularity. Richard's cheerful and boisterous personality certainly helped boost his reputation until he had a large following apart from the supporters of the Explorangers. Eventually, they all settled for making videos for the Explorangers of urban exploring and going to haunted spots to check them out. In between filming those videos and other skits, they streamed on their own.

When 2020 and the pandemic hit, their following had gained a massive boost due to the quarantine. They put a stop to the Explorangers until the quarantine was lifted, as was advised by his mother. It had driven him insane to only be stuck in his house and he had run into many problems regarding other streamers. As such, he had taken a break from streaming and settled for volunteering for aid shelters during the quarantine to work off his energy.

Unluckily, he contracted COVID a few months into his volunteering and ended up in the hospital where his own mother worked at. To add insult to injury, despite his healthy nature, the sickness progressed severely and much too quickly— so much so that his own mother was growing desperate to try to cure him. Due to his mother's actions, Richard was moved to another hospital to avoid the meddling of a family member with his hospitalization stay. All this time, Richard struggled heavily with the consequences of being bedridden and attached to a machine all day long with nothing to do but think. The fact that he couldn't even get visitors drove him almost insane in bed. Hearing their voices wasn't enough and Richard slipped into deep depression alongside the pain of living.

THE FOG. There was a time when he did get better. "Better" being a relative term. He could sit up instead of having to lie down, and he could understand certain things the doctors told him. But still, Richard wasn't satisfied. He had been confined for months with almost no contact with anything outside the white walls of the hospital room. He saw the season change outside his hospital and, with it, his will to continue on. Everything was painful and boring and... well, what was there to live for?

Angela happened.

Somehow, she had snuck into the hospital. If he was well enough to sit down, surely he was well enough to grab some air outside, right? It was stupid and rash but Richard did his best to be able to recover enough to do it. It was like a second wind. He wanted to go out and feel the wind against his face again. Another month passed before Angela returned and she put him in scrubs and wheeled him out with his respirator. She didn't explain to him how she got this approval but he didn't care. He didn't care until he was at a field behind the hospital. It felt good like he was revitalized. Angela left for only a minute. Only a minute and the fog rolled in to claim him.

"Would you like a second chance?"

NOW. Richie finds this as his second chance at life. In this realm, he has no COVID, he isn't bedridden and his physical health was at its peak. It was like it had never happened. It didn't matter where he was— he was going to be make the most out of this. Nothing could pull him out of the optimism of this second life, even if it meant he was going to die over and over again. As long as he was still alive, nothing mattered.

hotsauce · Aug 31, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

1458

FULL NAME. Robert Harrington (though once he joined the Entity, he no longer uses this name)
D.O.B. March 28, 1420
P.O.B. London, England
GENDER. Male, he/him
SEXUALITY. Not sure, the language of the time didn't leave much room for non-cishet identities

ALIAS. Jester
ROLE. Hysteria
SPECIES. Not quite human, but it's not clear exactly what he is

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Most of Jester's appearance is not specified, unable to be seen underneath his costume. All that one can make of his appearance is that he relatively tall and skinny, though his exact measurements would be difficult to say, as it almost seems like his appearance is not solid from moment to moment. What little skin you can see through the costume is bone white.

ATTIRE. He wears a jester suit, bled of all color that jingles softly as he walks. Despite this, he can blend into the shadows and be quiet surprisingly well when he wants to. He also wears what seems like a white joker mask, but it's impossible to tell whether it's a mask or his face, with each moment the perception changing slightly.

WEAPON. Scepter that is riddled with spikes at the top like a mace. The top of the scepter is a miniature, grinning human skull. On the whole it is a mockery of a king's staff.

FACE CLAIM. The Fool from the Tarot movie

fill out the realm form on discord.

LIKES.

Cracking jokes: It's unclear what the intended reaction is from the people he jokes to, though he clearly enjoys it when his prey screams. He has a grating, haunting laugh and a voice like serrated steel on gravel.
Damp, dark spaces: He tends to find the most disgusting places the best, though he can't quite place why.
Causing mischief: He enjoys playing "pranks" on survivors and killers alike, not caring one iota about anyone else so long as he gets his fun.

DISLIKES.

Unreactive people: When his jokes and pranks have no effect, it makes Jester quite testy. Not reacting is very boring for him.
Being bored: He is bored quite easily, and he does not enjoy it. If he can't find entertainment, he will make some.
Displays of affection or friendliness: He is miserable most of the time, and if he has to be miserable, so does everyone else.

HOBBIES.

Jester does not have any apparent hobbies besides pranks and jokes, and he cannot remember what he enjoyed in life.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Unaffected -- Jester is not easily moved or affected by anything his victims or fellow killers do, making him hard to rattle. If anything, he will laugh madly at whatever happens instead of feeling afraid or confused.
(+) Stealthy -- Despite the bells on his costume, he is quite stealthy and can sneak up on survivors, loving to scream something such as "PEEK-A-BOO!" once he reveals himself, swinging at them with his scepter. He can melt into the shadows and travel quickly through the darkness.
(+) Perceptive -- Jester has a keen sense of hearing, sight, and smell, being able to detect nearby survivors relatively well. He pays attention to surroundings, making it difficult to get past him when he is the vicinity.

(-) Dramatic -- Despite his stealthiness, Jester loves to make an entrance. He is incredibly dramatic and will do some things just for the entertainment value and drama of it all, not caring as much as he should how it affects his hunt or his prey.
(-) Not the smartest -- Due to his lack of knowledge on anything that happened after 1458 (and much of what happened before, being uneducated), he gets confused easily. He is easily outfoxed if one is clever, and he cannot outthink many people if he is boxed into a bad situation.
(-) Short attention span -- The opposite of being stubborn, he will let one victim go in favor of the next one that he sees, forgetting quickly about his old toy. He sees the survivors as expendable little toys for his own vicious amusement, but like a child, will forget about one should they slip away while he's distracted.

FEAR.

─ On the surface level, his fear is boredom and stagnation. However, somewhere much deeper that he refuses to acknowledge, he is truly afraid of remembering his past.

PSY.

— (+) Sense of humor– In life, Robert could laugh easily at himself and at others, not taking things too seriously. He brought some levity to tough situations.

trials – Once he surrendered himself to the dark talons of the Entity, Jester's sense of humor has become warped and dark. He is not smart, not is he clever, but when it comes to entertaining himself, he can put his tiny brain to use. He will do anything not to be bored or stagnant, making his determination stronger when he thinks the survivors are doing too well.

— (+) Perceptive – In life, he used this ability to understand those around him, trying to know what they were trying to hide. He was a good liar since he knew what others were looking for in deception, but even better at parsing out others' lies from truths. He knew when his jokes were about to go too far, straying from that so he could keep his head.

trials – Now Jester's perception is used to stalk his prey, using his keen senses to determine where they are if nearby. Unless he's distracted with another survivor or a joke that he's making, not much will get past him.

— (+) Creative – Robert was a creative guy, coming up with new and interesting jokes to keep the king and his court entertained. He had a way of reinventing classic tropes to make them entirely new, making people laugh.

trials – Now, Jester uses that creativity in his killing methods. He can't just kill someone; he has to make it interesting. Though he lacks the wit to truly outthink people who have a modern education or are well-versed in this dance of predator and prey, his creativity can show up in the strangest of places.

— (-) Short temper – Robert has always had a short fuse, getting angry quite easily and keeping that anger locked up until it released in a whirlwind of pent-up rage.

trials – This translates to Jester being a very sore loser, getting mad if he has to wait too long to interact with survivors or if several manage to slip out of his clutches, leaving him alone. He will react erratically, striking harder but less focused. His senses dull in his determination to hurt something.

— (-) Inattentive – He would always flit from one thing to the next, letting last year's fashion or jokes go out the window as quickly as they came. It was the same with friends or lovers most of the time, since he cared little about anything but keeping himself entertained. He was always fashioning new jokes, not particularly listening to others in a conversation unless he got something out of it.

trials – He will go to the next shiny new thing once he gets bored of a survivor, or a new survivor interrupts whatever he was doing previously. He doesn't care which survivor he's chasing or torturing, only that he has one to mess with. This can leave him to be quite inattentive of whoever is in his clutches once a distraction occurs.

— (-) Cruel – He had few true friends in life, actively not caring about most people. While Robert wasn't outright cruel to most people, he was cold.

trials – Jester is cruel, going out of his way for the "joke," laughing as his victims scream. He wants to hear them scream, treating the sound like the laughter and applause he received in life.

abc's

POWER.
"Laugh it up, why don't you?" Jester's favorite sound is the screams of a survivor. Proximity to him is enough to fill a survivor with fear, which intensifies the closer one gets. He has the rechargeable ability to cause a survivor to scream, paralyzing them with fear. To do this, he must either have that survivor in his direct line of sight or they have to be near something with a figure of a jester on it (like a playing card). This effect lasts while he maintains concentration, which he can do while moving, but he cannot do things such as hold a conversation or pursue another survivor while using this ability. He can only use this on one survivor at a time.

THE MORI.
He likes each kill to be different, distinct. But there is one thing Jester always does, and that is draw a hideous imitation of a smile on his victims once they're dead (or sometimes, while they're still breathing). Sometimes he draws it in their own blood, but his favorite is to carve it out of their face with the rusty spikes of his weapon, causing maximum suffering. At the end of this affair, he laughs maniacally, cackling as he tips his head back to the sky, somewhere between a scream and a laugh.

BELONGINGS.
— A quill and ink -- simple writing implements from his time alive
— A beat-up Joker playing card -- used as a good luck charm in life, it looks like it has seen better days.
— Juggling balls -- the colors are faded and they are worn, but Robert would practice with him nearly every day.
— Letter from a nobleman -- while the Old English is near unintelligible to more modern speakers, it is clear the writer was close with Robert.
— Broken Lute -- an instrument that Robert had once loved to play, after it was broken it fell into disuse.

HISTORY

BEFORE. Jester doesn't remember much of his life before being taken by the Entity, but little he does remember is wracked with confusion and pain, tinted over in shades of gray. He was a royal jester, performing for the king and his court. He didn't hate his life in that position, since though he was frequently mocked and made the butt of the joke, he was also allowed to get away with things that no others could. He had once desired to be more of a bard, but that dream was crushed when his musical partner was forced to step up and become the man of his more noble house after his elder brother died. Robert himself was from a poorer background but was able to rise through the ranks as a jester until his promotion to the court. The rest of his life is remember in snippets--him arguing with said nobleman, a run-in with a cold knight, and his plans to run away. But the thing he remembers the clearest is the drop in his stomach as he was accused of witchcraft, the pain as he burned alive only to rise from the embers as something completely different.

THE SHIFT. Jester was not certain what he had become, since his body was stitched together in a way it hadn't been in life. It took some getting used to, and he could still feel the burning sensation whenever he prodded too deeply into his memories or annoyed the Entity. He was no longer human; he was a tool of the Entity.

NOW. Due to his lack of memories, Jester also has nothing to tie him to the things that make a person human--his emotions, his memories, his love. He only knows the cruel, dark embrace of boredom and melancholy, and the rush of adrenaline as he kills the survivors over and over again. It makes him feel almost alive as he gets a reaction of them, carving up their faces afterward in a mockery of a smile.

hotsauce · Aug 31, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

1458

FULL NAME. Isabel "Bel" Banister / Ben Banister (fake name used for her knightly endeavors)
D.O.B. September 8, 1438
P.O.B. Loughborough, England
GENDER. Nonbinary (though there isn't really a term for that yet lol), she/he/they
SEXUALITY. Unsure

OCCUPATION. Knight
SKILLS. Horse riding, sword-fighting, investigation, deception, dexterity, physical strength.
ROLE. Adrenaline

visage.

DESCRIPTION. Bel has dark brown hair, cut short to pass as a man so she can continue to be a knight, though that has continued to be harder as she gets older despite her lying about her age initially to cause less suspicion (she said she was two years younger than she truly is, so most people believe she is 18 instead of 20). She has brown eyes and fair skin, standing at 5' 7", which is around average height for a man at the time. She has a thin build with lean muscles, binding her chest under her shirt most of the time to avoid suspicion.

ATTIRE. They were wearing full plate armor when the Entity took them, causing quite a hassle when it comes to stealth or speed, but being great for enduring blows or strength. Underneath the armor, Bel has on a simple tunic and pants. They are wearing sturdy boots for footwear, helping in their escapes.

FACE CLAIM. Ruby Cruz

LIKES.

Horse-riding: It's something that he's been doing for a while, and it helps him clear his head to have the wind running through his hair while on horseback.
Stories: Though Bel, like many of their time, is illiterate, they love both listening to and telling stories passed down throughout the years. It inspires them to hear about people and events greater than themself.
Games: To Bel, games are a form of entertainment and a way to keep her mind sharp. She is fascinated by new games, but is happy to play games she already knows as well.

DISLIKES.

Pranks and practical jokes: Bel is a fairly serious person, being straight to the point and eager to get things done in the proper order. She doesn't enjoy practical jokes or pranks due to how little reward she sees from them, especially if they hurt someone's feelings or property.
First impressions: Though skilled at acting and pretending, Bel does not like meeting people for the first time. They have to make split second decisions about presentation and the words they say that could potentially be catastrophic for them, considering their position as a knight.
Disregarding formalities: Especially since he doesn't understand modern-era slang, disposing of formalities and immediately saying or doing gestures that were considered more intimate in the Middle Ages sets him on edge.

HOBBIES.

─ Horse-riding, sword-fighting, jousting, storytelling.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) Controlling their emotions - In order to pass as a knight and get anywhere in Medieval society, Bel had to master outwardly controlling their emotions and slightly changing how they present themself depending on who is present.
(+) Combat - Due to the nature of her knightly position and endeavors, Bel is familiar with different kinds of combat (mostly sword-fighting, jousting, and hand-to-hand). She is good at analyzing situations where combat could be used and deciding what to do in a given situation that might require this skill.
(+) Battle strategy - Despite not having any sort of schooling or formal education, Bel has been taught about battle, both practical and the type meant for entertainment. Though his knowledge does not extend past what Medieval battle theory was, rendering him useless if any sort of firearm or complex modern strategy is involved.

(-) Lack of education - Though Bel is no idiot, they also have had no formal schooling or education and therefore lack knowledge that many of the others would know. This puts them at a disadvantage towards anyone coming from a more modern era.
(-) Hesitant - Whether it's combat or social situations, Bel has a tendency to observe before getting involved. While this can be helpful in providing a more sensible approach, it also hinders the speed at which he gets things done.
(-) Judgmental - Coming from nothing, Bel worked hard to be where she is, risking her life and safety many times by pretending to be a man and becoming a knight at a young age. If she deems someone didn't do the work or doesn't uphold the strong moral standards she had to, she casts judgment upon them without hearing their side of the story.

FEAR.

─ Being helpless, at another's mercy and unable to do anything about it. Or watching someone they care about be helpless while they are unable to help.

PSY.

— (+) Brave Bel has never been afraid to put her life on the line for a cause or person she believes in (or at least, she's been able to overcome her fear).

Trials - This translates into her being able to make the moves needed, despite the risks or the terror. She knows what needs to be done and she is willing to do it.

— (+) Level-headed Years of controlling their emotions make Bel a tough person to break. They are able to analyze things with a clear head, taking their time instead of making reckless or thoughtless decisions. They are led by their head, not their heart, therefore deep emotions don't seem to affect them as they might affect others.

Trials - They are incredibly useful in high-stress situations or when the enemies are near, adrenaline and training taking over. They can make sound decisions most of the time, relying on both previous knowledge and instinct.

— (+) Patient Bel came from a time long before most modern comforts, not having a computer or even a book to turn to when he was bored. As a consequence of this, he can wait for long periods without growing bored or tired, mind either focused on strategy or finding ways to entertain himself.

Trials - If he comes up with a plan of attack, he will wait as long as needed to find the weak spot of the killer and pull it off. He doesn't not rush into things, instead taking his time and knowing how to outlast others.

— (-) Hesitant Due to his patience and strategic thinking, he is not the type to rush into things. However, this can be a hindrance when it comes to snap second decisions. Being rushed makes him irritable and uncooperative.

Trials - In the trials, this could manifest badly if the enemy is the sort to strike quickly from the shadows and disappear back into them just as hastily. Bel's insistence of getting an idea of what his opponent is trying to do or a lay of the land could mean taking too long to act.

— (-) Lack of empathy Though Bel can be empathetic and does have the capacity to be emotional, they rarely show it. This can come across as them being cold and unfeeling, or possibly unempathetic of others' struggles. They will always do what is best for the greater good, even if that means potentially hurting someone else.

Trials - This can come across negatively in the trials. While Bel's goal is for the most survivors to make it out as possible, if it is a case of sacrificing one person to save two others, Bel will do it. They are not selfish, prioritizing themself the same as any other survivor, but their judgement sometimes fails to take people's feelings or needs into account.

— (-) Arrogant Due to Bel becoming a knight younger than most, she feels a sense of pride that can turn into arrogance when left unchecked. She knows her abilities and strengths, sometimes leading her to build herself up too much.

Trials - This trait can impact her getting along with or listening to the other survivors. She might have a different idea than one of them during the trials, but not wanting to be wrong, she'll argue her position, assuming she is correct unless proven wrong. She might also be hesitant to follow the lead of someone she does not know as well or think is worthy of it.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

— Well-kept sword – A polished metal sword with a worn grip and scabbard. It isn't the highest quality but is clearly well-loved.
— Wood comb – A comb that has seen better days. Though has been carefully cared for, it is not in the best shape.
— Shield – A round wooden shield with a faded family crest. The crest contains a green dragon.
— Rusted brooch – A brooch that looks like it has not been used in some time. The design is practical.
— Sewing implements – Wooden sewing needles and some string, along with a pair of half-darned socks that rest in a simple wooden case.

HISTORY

BEFORE. In the feudalist world of the English Middle Ages, Bel was already off to a rough start. Born as an illegitimate child of a lesser noblewoman in a dalliance outside of her marriage, Bel was looked down upon since she was a child. As a female, she already was not able to inherit any of her family's wealth or land, except as part of a dowry. But Bel had always been too curious for her own good. Her mother refused to talk about her father, so she tried to investigate as a kid, but didn't get very far. Bel has always been somewhat stubborn, becoming fascinated with something and continuing that course of action as long as they could. Though that wasn't the only thing Bel was curious about--far from it, in fact. They had never wanted to marry and though their mother was relatively progressive for the time period, she didn't have a good way to save Bel from that fate. So one night when Bel was fifteen, he left home, only leaving behind a note for his mother to discover. He knew that the only way for him to learn more about the world and escape the small village he lived in was to become a knight. In this quest for the truth, Bel learned a lot and gained many skills, rising up the ranks surprisingly quick. As Bel's star power grew, they continued their investigation into the identity of their father, knowing only that he had ties to the capital and possibly the castle within. The more Bel trained and gained a comradery with her fellow knights, the more she adjusted to the lifestyle, feeling freer than she ever had in her double life as "Ben." But the older she got, the more scared she was that someone would figure out her deception and dishonorably strip her of her knighthood and potentially kill her.

THE FOG. In the days leading up to the fog, Bel was getting closer in his search for the truth about his father and his family in general, raised as sheltered as he was. He was missing his mother, debating taking a short leave to journey to see her. But as things began to slot into place, Bel realized that the machinations of the royal court went further than they had previously thought. But Bel felt something odd at play, something unnatural. The Middle Ages was a superstitious time, and Bel was particularly sensitive to parsing out what they deemed to be a closer to the other side and supernatural than most. But just as they were on the precipice of finding the truth that would change their life forever, Bel suddenly felt lost and swallowed up by an entity much more terrifying and larger than they could have guessed.

NOW. Bel doesn't know what to do, having nothing to compare the Entity to or logical explanation in her brain. She can only guess that some force didn't want her to know the truth, or someone had a specific vendetta against her, but she is determined to escape and figure out the truth back home. Bel has no time for bullshit. They will find a way out or they will die trying. At least, that's the plan.

evermoon · Sep 1, 2024

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1978

FULL NAME. rosemarie hirtl.
D.O.B. early spring, 1901.
P.O.B. austria.
GENDER. cis female, she/her.
SEXUALITY. she has a chosen a path in life that forfeits the acknowledgement of sexual attraction.

ALIAS. the sister
ROLE. dark devotion
SPECIES. she was human, but has become a thing between human and demon

visage.

DESCRIPTION.
before, rosemarie stood at about five feet and four inches. her hair was long, pin-straight, and light brown. her face had naturally soft features to go with the warmth of her brown eyes. she was slight in frame and appeared, to most people, to be quite small.

now, her once peachy skin is a pale purple-gray color that looks primed to fall off her bones. her eyes are a sickly amber that gives off a faint glow. when she parts the blue of her lips, she reveals blood-red gums sharp teeth that have yellowed like they've had years of age. the nails on her fingers come to a similar point. her habit seems to hang off of her, and a person who watched the way it moved for long enough might think her figure was skeletal beneath it.

ATTIRE. however corrupted, she retains her black habit. she has not worn other clothes since she was a young girl.

WEAPON. what is their weapon of choice? example: cleaver, war fan, katana. with a brief description of what it might look like (pictures are fine).

FACE CLAIM. taissa farmiga

LIKES.

[+] stained glass: as someone who grew up living a very plain lifestyle, there were many things she was astounded by the first time she began to visit actual cathedrals. the stained glass windows were a quick favorite of hers.
[+] gardening: tending to the garden had always been rosemarie's favorite activity in the convent. she liked working the earth beneath her hands and watching life spring forward from it.
[+] lavender: the smell and appearance of lavender has always been a favorite of hers. her mother grew it in small bunches behind their house, and she tended to the patches of it ion the convent while cloistered.

DISLIKES.

[-] meditation: this used to be an activity she enjoyed-- she liked to find her peace in silence, feel the presence of God around her. after her possession, however, meditation became a time where she sat in silence and felt nothing around her. it was an activity she grew to resent.
[-] hymns: singing was her least favorite part of worship even before her possession. now, the sound of a hymnal seems to grate on her ears.
[-] downtime: the sister hates a time during which she has nothing to do. the longer she goes without something to invest her energy in, the more antsy she becomes.

HOBBIES.

- rosemarie's daily activites have always centered around her religious status. her days were spent engaging in prayer, meditation, gardening, and reading. these are, to be frank, the only real hobbies she can remember partaking in.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

[+] driven: the sister will be merciless in her pursuit of survivors. she has spent her whole life devoting everything within her to following the will of something. if that something greater is the entity, then so be it. she will listen.
[+] perceptive: she's always had a shrewd eye, and the entity has only made that stronger. she notices even the small things, like slight changes to the environment or ways to trap survivors. this is especially prominent when she's in a space she's familiar with.
[+] methodical: in addition to the above, rosemarie takes her time. she is meticulous in seeking out the survivors, and moves like a well-oiled machine as she attempts to track them down.

[-] slow: she isn't physically slow-- on the contrary, she can move quite fast when in pursuit of a survivor. however, her detail-oriented nature means that she often picks her way across the realm with care. if a survivor is good at hiding their tracks, they can move across the realm faster than she can.
[-] tunnel-vision: in her life, the sister has also been very resentful of various forces. this means that insult or snub from a survivor can throw her off her usual strengths and instead, turn her into a beast focused on one goal.
[-] sensitive: the above is compounded upon that rosemarie is sensitive. the slightest wrong move from others can be seen a slight that invokes her fury. while this is often bad news for then, this can be used as a distraction or a way to lead her into traps.

FEAR.

the sister fears, above all, a lack of purpose. she fears the empty feeling that comes with not knowing what drives you, not knowing what you stand or work for. this is the feeling that pushed her, despite the holy path she walked in her youth, to seek out the demonic of her own volation. she would do anything to have a puprose.

PSY.

In life, the sister was a quiet pillar of her convent. As someone who took her vows quite young, and lived a pious life even before then, much of who she was had been shaped by religion. She followed the values that she'd been taught-- offered kindness to others, lived modestly, and devoted her life to God.

As her opinion on her religion shifted after her experience with possession, so too did her personality. The sister she had been before disappeared into the after; she became withdrawn and resentful. Over time, she would become antisocial, secretive, and obsessive as she fell further and further from the values she'd grown into through the Church.

Now, this obsessive nature persists in the form of her connection with the entity. For the Sister, little exists outside of the world they live in now. After all, it has given the purest form of the only thing she understands how to want: purpose.

abc's

POWER.

the light of the window: there are stained glass windows dotted in many places across the sister's realm, even in places you would not expect to see them within a cathedral. the windows are gorgeous, but not all of the imagery seems to fit within what you'd expect of a typical religious space. every minute, three of these windows light up like the midday sun is shining behind it. any survivor in the light --whether they are under the window when it lights up, or the accidentally stumble into the light it casts-- finds themself frozen for three seconds, and slowed for a further six. in addition, when a survivor is seen by the window's light, a room-specific noise sounds throughout the cathedral, telling survivors and killers alike what room that survivor was caught in.

survivor's side objective: they're just windows; they can be smashed. however, the windows seem to have a sense for when someone is trying to smash it, and will likely be the next to light up if you aren't careful. smashing a window is best done by a survivor who is careful to time when the window lights change, or someone strong enough to throw something heavy outside the swath of light the window casts. every window smashed is another window that cannot be used as an alert. in addition, the sister is slowed for three seconds every time a window is smashed.

THE MORI.

the sister operates on drive, not sadism. her kills are clean, like a means to an end rather than something she takes joy in. this control seems to slip with her mori. a survivor who meets this fate is grabbed by the throat and thrown to the ground on their back. before they have the chance to stand, the sister descends on them, straddling their waists. despite her waifish appearance, the weight of her feels like tons, trapping them in place. she holds them down with her hands: the right under their collarbone, the left on their chest. as her eyes glow yellow, her hands crush into their body, until her clawed hand pierces through into their heart.

BELONGINGS.

- trowel: a small gardening tool. it is of simple design but decent quality. the trowel appears to be nondescript save for way the end of the handle appears as if it was smashed into something.
- knife: a butcher's knife. it's bloody. it seems... self-explanatory.
- rosary: a simple rosary. the beads are brown and the cross is carved with wood. the shape shows imperfection, and it seems likely that this is also hand carved. one side of the cross has a faint etching: r.h.
- worn blanket: a well-loved blanket that has clearly seen years of use. it's too small to be that of an adult, cobbled together with various patches of fabric that are held together by faded yellow thread.
- scorched bible: a traditional and plain bible. the front appears normal, but examination reveals that the back is completely scorched, and this travels up the sides of the bible, blackening the edges of the pages. flipping through the bible might reveal that all the Ls in Lord and Gs in God are lowercase.

HISTORY

BEFORE. rosemarie was raised... well, to be quite honest, in a convent. she had a life before that-- parents, three brothers, one sister, but most of that time is a distant memory. nothing of this time seems to hold weight in her head anymore, and all she has to speak of it is distant glimpses of a life before. tearing through fields of grass with her sister, bowing her head in prayer over dinner, brushing the hair back on her newborn baby brother's head. the echoes of a simple life.

the convent became the center of her life early, from the time she was... ten, maybe? in her family, time passed in seasons, and it was easy to lose track of how many had gone by. she was pretty young. younger, maybe, than the estimate. but her parents had run out of space and food for the mouths they had to feed, and she was the eldest of their daughters; we all know the shoulders of an eldest daughter are born to bear the weight of sacrifice.

the tone here might imply that these are the glory days of her life, and that everything went downhill after she joined the convent, but there is a lack of truth there. the convent had a warm bed for her every night that she never had to share, and the food was plain but frequent. the lifestyle of a convent may not be the most glamorous, but to a girl like rosemarie, it was heaven.

even better, maybe, was the work. back home, there had been so little to do once the chores ran dry. if she'd swept the floors and hung the laundry for her mama, what left was there to do? afternoons spent chasing after little siblings in the grass grew tiresome when the cycle repeated every day. but at the convent, there were always things for her to do. she nurtured plants in the garden and helped cook dinner in the evenings. there were prayers to learn and hymns to sing. the sisters even taught her to read, bowing their heads beside hers into a bible. the life of a nun far outshone the life of a poor man's oldest mouth to feed.

her family was quick to become thoughts she let simmer on her backburner. they came to visit every so often, maybe three times in the first several months after they'd sent her to live with the sisters. her mama came a few more times beyond that, but by the end of the first year of living in the convent, she hadn't seen another member of the hirtl family for four months. her younger sister had been slated to join the convent when she was of a reasonable age, being six seasons younger than rosemarie, but anna never appeared at the convent. rosemarie hardly noticed, and when she did... well, it was long after anna should have arrived.

(good for them all, then, that they could keep their other daughter. good for them that their circumstances could have changed so quickly. good for them that anna could stay home and have a full belly-- isn't that what they'd sent her away to accomplish in the first place?

it didn't matter. it didn't matter. this was where rosemarie was happy. this was where she had a place to belong.)

rosemarie continued to live in the convent until she was sixteen, when she was finally allowed to start her official journey into becoming a nun. whereas she had simply been a ward of the convent before, she was now allowed the chance to become a sister. the process was lengthy, but rosemarie relished in it. every step was another towards the life she knew she'd been meant to live; she was born to walk in the footsteps the Lord had laid out for her, following a path of life that honored him above all. it was the Lord who had created her, and it was the service of Him she would pledge her life to.

while she wasn't granted the privilege of being assigned to the convent she'd grown up in, she found that she enjoyed her lifestyle the same in the cloister she was sent to as much as the one she'd lived in before. in fact, the garden here was even bigger, bustling with lavender and other flowers to tend to. the simple come and go of her days here were peaceful.

she was only twenty-two when she'd been possessed. the memories of this time are warped; as she lost control of her body, control of her mind seemed to go with it. there are flashes from this time. the demon who took ownership of her attempted to fit into the daily life of the convent, waiting for... something. whatever held her was patient. it spent months in her body, laying low and following the routine of her day. at night, it did... something, something rosemarie has less memory of. she learned that blood was warm, and tasted metallic. she learned how smooth it is to cut through human fat if you don't hesitate. she wouldn't be able to remember how she learned that.

it wasn't subtle enough. the other sisters took notice-- rosemarie's smiles were forced, and her eyes lacked warmth. the plants she had tended to with such care now seemed to wilt under her hands. and perhaps the most telling, she began to sing the hymns with something almost like passsion; her fellow sisters knew this was her least favorite part of service. the demon in her body had not been able to play her well enough. or maybe its nighttime activities had been discovered. either way, rosemarie's body was hauled to the cathedral of their bishop, and under his watchful eye, the demon was exorcized. after over half a year of possession, rosemarie was alone in her body.

she wanted to be grateful. for a few days, she was. it was nice to have control of herself again, to sleep at night at work during the day. but some of her fellow sisters still eyed her, like they no longer trusted her, and everything in the convent felt... different. there was an empty feeling in her chest now. it took her a while to realize that the empty space was the parts of her that she had devoted to god. she'd spent over a decade walking in the path that honored him most, devoting even her formative years to prayer and worship. she very well could have been the most pious sister in the cloister. and his reward for her had been this? he couldn't even offer her protection from demonic possession. there were dozens of other nuns in the convent and she was the one the demon was able to possess? how was that fair?

THE SHIFT. rosemarie was left empty, in the wake of her possession. her trust in god had crumbled, and there was nothing guiding her anymore. her faith had been her guiding light, and now... it all seemed dark. what was left of rosemarie? what was she to do with herself if she didn't believe in her lord anymore?

what she needed was a purpose, and if she couldn't trust in god to provide that for her anymore, she would find it herself. after all, god was supposed to protect her, and he hadn't. now? now, she would choose a path where she would never need to rely on his grace again. she may have been a victim before, forced into possession by something she hadn't known to fight off, but this was her choice. she could choose where her feet would carry her now, and she would choose a path where nobody would ever be able to make her a victim again.

the once pious rosemarie, then, turned to the demonic by herself. she began to seek out dark entities such as the one that had controlled her. and when one whispered, she opened her arms. the demon brought rosemarie what she wanted, the one thing the convent had always offered her: a purpose. when it asked for devotion, she offered it. when it spoke to her of grander futures, she listened. and when it demanded blood, she lured people from the local villages and splatted the forests with their blood. with everything she gave it, their connection grew. her strength grew. her power grew.

when it told her it was time, she was ready. under its watchful eye, she slaughtered the rest of her small convent in entirety, painting the walls red with blood. when that work was done, her and her demon marched miles to the cathedral where she'd been exorcized before. the people there fell at her feet the same way that they had in the convent, and she tore through them all until it was only the bishop stood before her. his crosses and prayer were no match for her anymore. she killed him the same way he'd killed the demon; crushing him with her weight and pressing down into his chest. the only difference was that he'd had a bible.

rosemarie had claws.

NOW. the cathedral where rosemarie slaughtered the bishop is home to her now. whispers tell of the haunting here, that the ghost of a nun scorned who slaughtered her bishop floats among the halls. it stands tall her it was abandoned, and blood still stais the wall.

what the world doesn't know is that rosemarie is still here. she does not age. she does not perish. she subsists, still, on the demon's great revenge. and they both hunger for more.

evermoon · Sep 1, 2024

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2004

FULL NAME. ethan 'fick' ficus.
D.O.B. june 27th, 1981
P.O.B. manchester, new hampshire.
GENDER. not fussed about gender, uses he/him for convenience.
SEXUALITY. bisexual.

OCCUPATION. assistant manager at hannaford supermarket.
SKILLS. empathy & compassion, intelligence & the ability to think ahead, a head for logic & planning, the ability to stay calm under pressure.
ROLE. parental guidance.

visage.

DESCRIPTION. fick is a bit of a short guy, standing at only 5'4". despite having earned the nickname 'fick the stick,' he grew into a bit of a bulky guy-- broad shouldered despite his height, and quite solid in terms of appearance. his hair is a dark ginger, and his eyes are green. he isn't the most muscular, but there's a definite build to his arms and legs.

ATTIRE. fick's wardrobe consitents largely of lowkey graphic tees, many sporting jokes or puns. this wide array is paired with cargo pants in all but the hottest of tempatures, which he largely escpaes due to living in new england. if the weather demands, he will add warmth to his outfit with a plain-colored button down as an overshirt. in colder tempatures, he wears his faux fur-lined dark denim jacket. for trials, you'll see him in his usual t-shirt and cargo pants-- no frills.

FACE CLAIM. seth green.

LIKES.

─ horror movies. fick loves a good horror movie. he's familiar with all the major franchises, b-movie deep cuts, cult classics, and anything in between. he loves both the watching of the movie, and the analyizing of it afterwards-- what makes the movie good? how was the movie constructed? what are the tropes?
─ snack cakes. fick is a little debbie fiend. he will eat any and everything that they're ever made.
─ concerts. he likes all music, but he's always been of the opinion that music is best listened to live. he was the kind of guy who would go with you to see just about any band, no matter what kind of music they played.
─ photography. fick's second favorite pastime before he had his normal life stolen away from him was taking photos. he's quite good, actually-- could have studied it in college if he thought he was worth the education.

DISLIKES.

─ soda. fick is the kind of guy who drinks three things: coffee, tea, and water. he cares about staying in... decent-ish shape, and why would he drink a soda when he could absolutely crush an oatmeal cream pie instead?
─ hot weather. he hates to have to wear shorts, but he hates overheating even more. he was lucky to be born in new england-- or does he feel this way because he's from new england? the world may never know.
─ flying. if humans were meant to go through the air, they would have been born with wings. fick is very content to stay on the ground, thank you very much.
─ the circus. clowns freak him the fuck out, thank you very much.

HOBBIES.

fick's had a lot less time for hobbies since his daughter was born, but he has always been very into horror movies. jacey went to bed? time to watch jeepers creepers. jacey went out for the day with grandma? let's pop in children of the corn.
he has also long-loved photography. he's quite good, if untrained. most of his camera roll these days consists of jacey, both by herself and with her mother.
fick also enjoys video games, although those are more of a social thing for him. he doesn't really play on his own, but he's more than happy to plug in a controller and play with a friend for a while.

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) intelligent. fick is smart. he often thinks his actions through, and is planning his next move before he takes it. he will often avoid traps or see his way out of a problem if given a moment to think.
(+) calm. this is a man who can keep a cool head in the face of a fire. even when frightened, he can often keep a cool head and stay focused on what he's doing in the moment.
(+) a team player. if there's any lesson fick learned from being a parent, it's that working together and sharing the load makes almost anything more manageable. he will always do his best to work with those around him.

(-) unassertive. he is smart, but often will not stick up for himself or his ideas. he could have the best plan in the entire world, but if the people he's working with don't see his vision, he won't argue for it.
(-) unathletic. he may be a bit strong, but he is not the fastest or the most stealthy member of... well, almost any team, really. he's not horribly slow, but honestly? he's gonna do a lot better hiding than he is running.
(-) unimaginative. as smart as he is, fick has trouble thinking outside of the box. he might overlook possible avenues of success or escape because he simply doesn't register them as real or logical.

FEAR.

─ his greatest fear is losing his daughter, but being taken from her is a close second. he also fears heights to an extent.

PSY.

fick is, at his core, a laid-back guy. a little unambitious in his youth, to be honest, but someone who rocks a pretty chill vibe. he is often kind to others, and fairly easy to get along with. he often gives good advice, as he tends to think things through and tends to be good at understanding people and their motivations. while he might not come off as the most outgoing person, he is social, and cares deeply for the people around him-- something that got even more pronounced once he became a father.

he can, at times, be a bit aimless. talking to fick for a while might reveal that, outside of providing a good life for his daughter, he doesn't seem to have much ambition or vision for his life. this had been a core issue in the relationship he shared with his daughter's mother at times, as he doesn't seem to have many goals for himself in terms of personal achievement. if he had a daughter, he might be the kind of guy happy to spend his whole life bumming in a shitty apartment that he pays for with an even shittier job as long as he had good company.

despite that, he is genuinely good person. he wants the best for the world around him, and would go far to make others happy. he also cares about being a better person-- he takes criticism to heart and tries to be the best version of himself. fick wants to be a positive force in the lives of others. becoming a father really did kickstart his sense of drive, even if it's in the name of providing for jacey rather than it is for building a life, so to speak.

abc's

BELONGINGS.

─ broken camera. a broken canon camera of decent quality. there's a little heart drawn on the corner of the holder's side in sharpie, but it's shaky-- the person who drew it probably didn't have full control of their motor skills yet.
─ car keys. the keys to fick's beloved '91 dusty blue honda civic. attached is a hand-drawn shrinky-dink keychain from the movie the evil dead.
─ snowglobe. a small plastic snowglobe containing a small models of nondescript skyscrapers. it still works when you shake it. the writing on the base of the snowglobe reads 'cincinnati, ohio.'
─ waterlogged letter. a lined piece of paper that held a letter once, but has been so soaked through with water that it's almost illegible. as the water stain lightens near the bottom, the following can be read: '... miss you two. i'll see you in a few weeks for thanksgiving. love, win.'
─ photograph. a picture of his daughter when she was less than a year old, holding onto her mother's hands as she practices standing for the first time. she's looking right at the camera-- right at her dad, really. her mother is looking at her, smiling like she's never been more content in her life.

HISTORY

BEFORE. ethan 'fick' ficus was born to two perfectly average parents three years after they had his older brother, and two before they had the son that would follow after him-- not to mention their youngest, who would come five after ethan himself.
well, maybe perfectly average doesn't cover it. russell ficus was an overworked man who spent his life working to provide for his family, and much of his time at home having to be a strict parent to support his overworked wife. marilyn ficus was a mother who, while not unloving, had her time rather stretched. not only was she a mother of four boys, but her third child had been born with smith-lemi-opitz syndrome.

this meant that, while ethan's parents were not horrible, being the middle child of four boys-- and the older brother of a child that had a lot needs-- meant that ethan often escaped notice from his parents unless he did something that stood out enough to warrant attention. he learned quickly that earning attention usually came in the form of getting in trouble, something he cared little to do. as a result, he settled into being the member of his family who got to fall into the shadows. he didn't mind it so much, really-- he became a kid who stayed out until dinner playing with his friends, and fell asleep reading books through the moonlight that came in through his window at night.

while he was born on the coast of maine, his family moved to new hampshire to be close to his mother's side of the family when he was eight. his new school wasn't bad, really. the only thing that was really different from his old one is that kids here couldn't seem to say his last name. instead of saying ficus, like the plant, several of them pronounced it as 'fick-is.' the more ethan tried to explain how it was supposed to be said, the more it became a thing. all it took was one older boy to make a joke about what a skinny kid he was, and the nickname 'fick the stick' was born. while he would lose the end of that title as he grew older and filled out, he would carry fick with him into adulthood.

fick went on to spend the rest of his adolescnence the way you'd expect of a child flying under his parent's rader-- sleeping over at his friend's houses, staying out until the streetlights came on, and generally enjoying his boyhood. the distance between him and his family grew-- his brothers started playing sports, he started drawing comics. his older brother jimmy started working out, and he got his first camera. still, going unseen in his family wasn't so bad as long as he got all of his non-social needs met. there was always dinner to be had in the ficus house, even if it was boring or basic, and he was always warm and clothed.

fick's memory starts to get hazier around his sophomore year of high school. there was a girl-- her hair was blonde, and she used to laugh so quietly if there were other people around. every time he tries to think of her now, fick can't seem to remember her; her face is blank in his mind, her body is half-formless, and he can't even recall what her name is. there's only feelings: love, longing, an ache.

he does remember what she gave him. whereas the memory of this girl-- his girlfriend? his ex?-- is hazy, his memory of their child is not. he was a junior when he found out he was going to be a father, and a senior when his daughter was born. jacey was like a light coming on in an empty hallway. while fick had been slipping towards a life led by his lack of ambition, taking whatever life gave him and seeking nothing more, jacey gave him a purpose. jacey gave him a drive. there was a reason for fick to build a better life for himself, no matter how content he might have been in mediocrity.

his parents were not thrilled by the early transition to grandparents. with so much else on their plate, they informed fick that if he wanted to act like he was an adult, he would need to live like one. his actions had consequences, they said. he hadn't argued much; they hadn't cared when he told them that he'd always worn a condom, nor did it seem to matter to them that he hadn't turned eighteen yet. shortly before his daughter was born, fick was told to leave the ficus family home. he lived... somewhere, he knows, but he can't remember where. maybe with the girl? there were people there, even if he can't remember who they were. all he knows is that jacey was there.

jacey was always there, from the moment that she was born. fick practically limped his way through his senior year of high school, and went from part to full-time at the grocery store from the moment he graduated. his free-time was funneled into fatherhood, a job he found far more rewarding than tiresome. jacey filled almost every spare moment of his life, and he gave that joyfully. after all, what is a man with no purpose but reborn once he's given one?

while jacey was always there, though, the girl wasn't. his memories aren't kind enough to offer him an explanation, or even a timeline. she was there for a while, and then she... wasn't. fick doesn't understand much of the why, because he doesn't understand much of her at all without a clear memory. c'mon, man, he can't even remember her name.

THE FOG. he was in the car, he... thinks. there's blanks there. he was driving, and there was snow-- but it had been too early for snow, hadn't it been? and it was so dark, he could barely read the printed directions he'd gotten from mapquest that afternoon.

god, where had fick even been going? where had he ended up? why the hell did he keep driving when he could barely see anymore?

NOW. fick is a father first and above all. as soon as he gets his bearings, his first priority will be finding out how to get back to his daughter. even with some of his memories missing, he remembers jacey better than anything else, and he knows she's the most important part of his life.

on the other hand, his missing memories are burning a hole in the side of his brain. he craves to have the pieces of this girl he's lost, both out of a desire to understand his past and a deep-seated feeling in his chest that tells him she's important. the normally well-balanced and intelligent fick may be compelled to act a bit reckless if he thinks the reward will be a piece of this puzzle.

lostbird · Sep 13, 2024

FIRST ROUND OF APPLICATIONS ARE CLOSED!
(sans the three day extension for others)

ACCEPTED SURVIVORS:
- Greta Waverly as Spine Chill, Nellwyn Bratt as Repressed Alliance (MOI)
- Cyra Ashford as Ace In The Hole

mi casa
- Isabella Montgomery as Object of Obsession

angel doe
- Catalina Mendez as Built To Last

.sol.
- Marcey Welling as Clairvoyance, Jason Hall as Plot Twist!

Bluesky_101
- Roy Boucher as Saboteur

bad wolf
- Jonathan Chen as Diversion

Wyll
- Apolline Súkeníková as Botany Knowledge

spareparts
- Rowan Murphy as Technician

nightshroud
- Astrid Fournier as Parental Guidance, Vidar Østberg as Decisive Strike

irregular-neptune
- Olivia Reynolds as Parental Guidance, Dr. Ming Min as Technician, Hana Wakamori as Adrenaline

Scatterbrain
- Ambrose Moore as Dance With Me, Ben Banister as Adrenaline

hotsauce
- Madison Lambert as Unbreakable

CrimsonInk
- Richard Tarly as Diversion

AI10100
- Ethan Fick as Parental Guidance

evermoon
- Floyd Wright as Adrenaline

Eteri

ACCEPTED KILLERS:
- The Host as Cyrus Cain

anyasjoy
- The Doll as Floods of Rage (MOI)
- The Dread as Devour Hope, The Nun as Dark Devotion

Bluesky_101
- The Pantomime as Make Your Choice

bad wolf
- The Sprout as Hysteria

Wyll
- The Overseer as Blood Warden, The Swarm as Pentimento

nightshroud
- The Chef as Save The Best for Last, The Metamorph as Haunted Ground, The Woodsman as BBQ & Chili's

irregular-neptune
- The Demon as Dark Devotion, The Wyrm as Spies of the Shadow, The Chairman as Blood Warden, The Beast as Hysteria

Scatterbrain
- The Barbie as Plaything, The Jester as Hysteria

hotsauce
- The Sister as Dark Devotion

evermoon
- The Grim Rest as Hysteria

spareparts
- The Judge as BBQ & Chili's

Eteri
- The Mother as Grim Embrace

CrimsonInk
- The Trawlerman as BBQ & Chili's, The Sphinx

Twist

CURRENT EXTENSIONS:
- myself & my wife

anyasjoy ,

mi casa

angel doe

armeen

CrimsonInk AND

Sagey is reserved.

spareparts · Sep 17, 2024

HYSTERIA. TRIGGER WARNING: DRUG ABUSE, FAMILY ISSUES, ED, ARSON, MURDER,

/* --- base code --- */

1970-1997

FULL NAME. John Øst

D.O.B. December 30th, 1970.

P.O.B. Cutler, California

GENDER. cis male. he/him.

SEXUALITY. bisexual

ALIAS. grim rest

ROLE. hysteria

SPECIES. human in perpetual insomnia & methamphetamine-fueled bender

visage.

DESCRIPTION. pallid pale skin tinged with a sickly canvas of yellow, gray, and purple, a testament to his illness, easy bruising, and wasted appearance. his eyes, a murky blend of green and gold, carried a shadow of dread beneath their surface. half-closed, as if he were perpetually on the verge of sleep, yet strained–a war with rest. the strained intensity hinted at a profound, almost otherworldly dread--sunken and hollowed with a vacant stare of a soul trapped in relentless torment. gaunt frame, silhouette of skin and bones, every rib and vertebrae sharply outlined like a living anatomy chart–his every move looked to others like it hurt.

ATTIRE. in life, he was rarely seen outside of his job or the dingy bars he frequented in the dead of night. clad in his threadbare uniform or keeping the pants to instead sport the grimly splotched white shirt he’d worn underneath it. scuffed, black steel-toed boots to match. most of his life was spent rotting away in his home, with his shirt off–revealing his emaciated figure and denim jeans that hung off him like extra skin, black leather belt barely keeping them on. in this relentless death match, he’s been trapped in what he’s always rotted in–mirrors all around to remind him of the grotesque reality of his condition.

WEAPON. cutting torch. used to bludgeon and prod–with a finishing move of the gas can in the basement doused on the survivor, the torch emitting a continuous, intense flame ending their lives in one cruel move. john prefers ashes as a means of ridding his victims. at times bones do not become pure ash like the rest of the body, he chucks them in the corner of the room–the first thing survivors see when they’ve been dragged into the basement.

FACE CLAIM. christian bale

fill out the realm form on discord. --will do boss.

LIKES.

isolation. john finds solace in being alone, away from the prying eyes and judgments of others. his isolation mirrors his mental state and contributes to his paranoia.

routine. despite his deteriorating mental health, trevor clings to the routines and habits he had in his work at the factory. often, he works on projects within his realm for his own enjoyment. this routine provides a semblance of control in his chaotic life and new reality.

darkness. his factory realm is dimly lit. he prefers it to be, having a discomfort with light and too much clarity.

methamphetamine. john’s means of staying awake and managing his chronic fatigue and deteriorating health in his reality. the drug exacerbates his paranoia and delusions, providing a deceptive burst of energy and focus at work. since being taken by the entity during a drug-fueled binge, he experiences the lingering effects of the drug as an unrelenting, driving force.

his metalworking projects. john sees old machinery as a way to channel his obsession. with a deep familiarity with the factory’s equipment and a lifelong interest in repairing and working on machines, he derives a perverse comfort from manipulating industrial tools. what was once a consuming passion in his reality remains a central fixation in his current realm.

DISLIKES.

social interaction. trevor is uncomfortable with socializing and becomes increasingly hostile or withdrawn around other people, preferring to avoid them. once, long ago, he was decently adjusted and had friends around him–but towards the end of his life he saw them more as nuisances.

lights. harsh or bright lighting is unsettling for trevor, exposing the truth he tries to avoid and intensifying his paranoia. he hates flashlights.

total silence. he constant roaring or humming noises in the factory keep his mind occupied. he prefers it to be this way. he also hates when survivors don't entertain him. although he's adverse to social interaction in casual settings, his meetings with survivors serve as his only means of interaction--and he takes full advantage of such things.

mirrors. john is haunted by his reflection and struggles with self-image, making mirrors a source of discomfort and distress. every mirrored object in his realm are grotesquely warped, serving as confusing source of truth for any survivor resting their eyes too long on it--adding to the sense of eerie paranoia within his factory.

tough guys. john has always had a deep mistrust of authority figures, often fighting with his coworkers and managers in his reality. especially men who give off an arrogance over him. he is especially cruel to them, less cruel to more cowering people or women.

HOBBIES.

─ elaborating later, sorry i forgot this one

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

+technical expertise. john has a deep understanding of machinery and industrial equipment, allowing him to operate and repair complex tools with proficiency. his skill in this area makes him highly adept at manipulating and using factory equipment to his advantage.

+resourcefulness. his experience with machinery and problem-solving enables him to improvise and adapt in challenging situations. he can find innovative solutions using the tools and resources available in his environment.

+physical resilience. despite his deteriorating mental health, john displays a level of physical endurance in part to his methamphetamine boost. his ability to continue pursuing under extreme fatigue and stress demonstrates a form of gritty determination.

+attention to detail. john's obsessive nature allows him to focus intensely on tasks, often noticing minute details that others might overlook. this can be an advantage when dealing with complex situations.

+stealth. john's preference for isolation have honed his ability to move quietly and evade detection. in the chaotic environment of the factory, the constant loud machinery becomes a form of camouflage for him, almost transforming into a new kind of silence. this cacophony, which he has grown accustomed to, becomes a strategic advantage, as survivors are often disoriented and thrown off by the overwhelming noise, making it easier for him to remain unseen and strike unexpectedly.

-psychological instability. john's severe paranoia, delusions, and insomnia undermine his mental stability, leading to erratic behavior and impaired judgment. this instability often clouds his decision-making and affects his interactions with others.

-lack of sleep. chronic insomnia has severely impacted his mental health and physical well-being. his inability to sleep, a problem that plagued him in life, continues to haunt him in the realm. the ongoing sleep deprivation further deteriorates his cognitive function and emotional stability, making him increasingly erratic and unpredictable. in the realm, it manifests as an endless, restless vigilance, adding to the oppressive atmosphere that surrounds him.

-physical deterioration. chronic fatigue and poor health have taken a toll on his physical condition, making him weaker and less coordinated over time. his physical state can hinder his effectiveness in hand-to-hand combat which is why he prefers trickery and deceit to lead his victims to the basement where they're immobile and vulnerable.

-hesitance towards vulnerability. it leads him to be somewhat more lenient with individuals he perceives as vulnerable, particularly women. his interactions with these weaker targets often reflect a twisted sense of empathy or hesitance. as a result, vulnerable people, especially women, may find it easier to evade or escape from him compared to others. this leniency stems from his complex mix of guilt and an oddly protective impulse, which makes him less aggressive towards those he views as more defenseless. while he still poses a threat, his approach to these individuals is marked by a certain reluctance, making their escape slightly more feasible in the face of his otherwise relentless pursuit. though, this weakness is ever fluctuating due to his mental instability. he’s picky.

FEAR.

being alone forever, or being the way he is for forever. it’s obvious john has always been one to self-sabatoge his relationships. but in the back of his head, he’s struggled with the fear he’s gone too far with his mental and physical condition. that he won’t have a chance at being normal ever again. his fear of being trapped in perpetual loneliness is exacerbated, making the prospect of eternal isolation feel even more overwhelming. to cope with this fear, he immerses himself in constant activity, trying to keep his mind occupied and avoid confronting the painful reality of his solitude.

PSY.

john was always a quiet child, a solitary figure who often tried but rarely succeeded in making friends. he gravitated towards other outcasts, finding solace in their shared sense of displacement. from an early age, he developed a passion for video games and building things, a love nurtured by his father's mechanical work. yet, john struggled with depression and acute anxiety throughout his life. even as an adult, he largely isolated himself, spending most of his time in his apartment. he made an effort to socialize with co-workers at bars and maintained relationships with women, though these connections began to unravel following an accident. in the final years of his life, john's physical and mental health deteriorated further, plagued by emotional instability, drug use, and a secret that he kept hidden from those around him.

(gna elaborate on this further, but that's the gist).

abc's

POWER.

Distorted Mirrors. John’s placed three Distored Mirrors around his factory. The corrupted mirrors, warp the survivor’s view when they are within a certain range–in direct view, those who look at a mirror are afflicted with dread–revealing their location to John for a limited time, his terror radius reduced greatly. John’s paranoia is connected with these mirrors, leading him to them with hast if they aren’t able to shake the dread in a timely manner.

Dread affects survivors differently, those who are categorized as more weak of heart or vulnerable will have a harder time looking away–becoming “exposed” and for a short duration, makes them vulnerable to a one-hit downs. Physically, a blurred vision effect reduces their ability to see other survivors and objectives clearly thus making them easier targets.

Particularly, those who meet the Distored Mirror completely alone are at risk to suffer from a “broken" status effect lasting for a grueling ten minutes, preventing them from healing themselves or others during this time.

The entity has perpetually trapped John in a relentless methamphetamine high. Those who stick together in a group of even 2 are at a higher risk for this to be triggered, fueling a paranoid frenzy that increases his movement speed by 5% after he’s aware you’re in a group–this could be from running into you, or after a Distorted Mirror is triggered. The more people together, the higher his movement speed becomes.

THE MORI.

After downing the survivor, John slowly approaches with a menacing gait, dragging the surivor into his factory’s basement littered with ash and industrial equipment–in the farthest corner back, only emitted by the low light by the edge of the stairs are a pile of charred bones. He douses the gas canister over the survivor and ignites his cutting torch. The survivor is engulfed in flame–an intense and unrelenting final blaze. The survivor’s screams are drowned out by the roar of fire and the factory’s noise seem to grow so loud it can be heard by neighboring realms.

BELONGINGS.

blueprints. Dirty, water-damaged blueprints of the factory, reflecting his obsessive connection to the place and its machinery.

leather bound notebook. Crumpled and scribbled notes or journal pages filled with erratic writings and delusions, symbolizing his psychological instability and fractured thoughts.

love letter. An old, crumpled love letter from a past romantic interest that ended shortly after his accident and descent into drugs–sabatoged entirely by himself.

military camp souvenir. A small, personal item–a locket of him and his friend– from his time at the military camp, showcasing the brief connection he had with his friend and the shock of betrayal.

old work id badge. His ID badge from the factory, a photo of him pictured before his accident–a hopeful, yet shy smile.

slaughterhouse-five by kurt vonnegut. a book he read many times in his life–a mirror to his own fractured existence.

HISTORY

BEFORE.
John was primarily raised by his grandparents while his young parents worked to stabilize their lives. At age 12, he moved in with his father and stepmother but continued to see his biological mother, as both parents had successfully overcome their previous substance issues. Despite maintaining a cordial relationship with his family, John struggled with truancy, which led to his expulsion from most schools in the county. Growing up, he was shy, socially awkward, and had low self-esteem, making him an easy target for bullies and further isolating him.

After a year of homeschooling, his father sent him to a military camp, where John finally made a close friend who shared his ideals. However, after being expelled from the camp for smoking weed, John discovered that his friend was plotting a mass shooting, with a manifesto full of violent rants against women and authority. His friend was arrested for illegal weapons possession, and John was sent back home to finish high school in a nearby town. The 13 year old was shocked by the ordeal, deeply traumatizing him and his trust since it was nearly the only real friend he thought he’d made.

tumblr_inline_oe9rtoBS8q1t2kn7o_400.gifv

Back home, John's father relapsed into substance abuse, causing his stepmother to leave him. John had to take on various jobs, including car repairs and odd jobs around the neighborhood, to support his increasingly dysfunctional household.

His mother, unwilling to deal with the situation despite not even living with either of them, moved out of state and severed all contact with John and his father.

When John finally moved out of Cutler, it was after his father had entered a long-term sober living program. Their house had been forfeited due to unpaid bills and deteriorated conditions. At 21, without much direction, John decided on a whim to relocate to a small town outside Eugene, Oregon.

THE SHIFT.
In Eugene, John threw himself into work, trying to escape his troubled past. His commitment to his job became obsessive, but it was a desperate attempt to find purpose. One fateful night, while rushing to get home after a long shift and a couple too many drinks at a bar with his coworkers, John accidentally hit and killed a young boy in a hit-and-run. The incident shook him deeply, but he couldn't bring himself to confront the guilt nor turn himself in.

Instead, John sought solace in methamphetamine and alcohol. His use of drugs and alcohol quickly escalated, and he began suffering from severe paranoia and extreme insomnia. His condition deteriorated over the next year, causing erratic behavior at work. His coworkers noticed his declining state and accused him of endangering their safety on account of several workplace accidents and near fatalities.

On a drug-fueled bender, John broke into the factory under the pretense of working late. In his increasingly fractured state, he started a fire and then watched it burn, detached from the reality of the destruction around him. Unable to muster the will to extinguish the flames, he succumbed to the blaze, yet woke up in a hospital bed–badly burned and disoriented. The police confronted him, and he confessed to everything he’d been hiding for the past year.

In waiting for his condition to get better, he succumbed to his injuries–drifting off into a forever sleep and straight into the entity’s lair.

NOW. John keeps himself occupied, a relentless whirlwind of activity driven by his perpetual sleeplessness and the drug-induced haze that the entity has ensnared him in. His days are rigidly structured, a dutiful adherence to routine that masks the turmoil simmering beneath. Though he maintains a facade of order, the ceaseless busyness is but a fragile shield against the gut-wrenching misery that gnaws at him. Trapped in a cycle with no apparent escape, John is haunted by a desperate longing for another chance, a chance that forever eludes him. The harsh reality of his inescapable situation is a constant companion, a bitter truth that he confronts with unrelenting harshness, all while grappling with the crushing weight of hopelessness.

lvcid · Sep 29, 2024

/* --- base code --- */

1986

FULL NAME. margaret “maggie” hatfield
D.O.B. may 13th, 1965, twenty-one
P.O.B. sterling heights, michigan
GENDER. cisgender female, she/her
SEXUALITY. unlabeled

OCCUPATION. college student; was one year away from finishing nursing school
SKILLS. her knowledge of human anatomy gives her insight into how much damage the body can take; first aid training; did track in high school; self-preservation instincts
ROLE. adrenaline

visage.

DESCRIPTION. maggie’s face is one that conveys an air of innocence; her doe eyes and rounded cheekbones incite an inane feeling of trust in all who gaze upon them—truly, she could get away with murder if she so chose, but malevolence has never been in her nature. her spirit is soft and gentle, much like the waves in her tawny hair. her skin is tanned and dotted with freckles from years spent leisurely beneath the warmth of the sun, and a small birthmark sits just to the side of her left eye—a source of insecurity in her childhood, though she wears it with pride now. she’s the epitome of a girl-next-door—pretty, yet not to the point of her beauty being intimidating or unapproachable. even so, she’s more than just a face that’s easy on the eyes—at 5’5”, she doesn’t appear to much of a threat, but looks are deceiving. her body’s toned from years of running track and field, a hobby that she still keeps up in the form of morning jogs. her physical fitness and health is something that she’s always valued, and it’s come in handy on more than one occasion.

ATTIRE. taught to think highly of the clothes she puts on her body, maggie’s outfits have always been very put-together. sweater vests and button-up shirts have always been a staple in her wardrobe, typically paired with a plaid skirt or a pair of stiff high-waisted jeans that she claims “aren’t as uncomfortable as they look,” with a reassuring smile. on the night she went missing, though, she was on her way home from a date gone awry, and she’d been dressed a little nicer than usual: a red, sleeveless button-down blouse donning a floral pattern, a jacket in the same hue, and a denim skirt, all of which were described in the missing flyers that’d been hung up around town in her absence. perhaps the most notable bit of her ensemble, however, were her crimson reebok sneakers—a useful tool in her hasty escape as she ran unknowingly into the fog.

FACE CLAIM. ella purnell

LIKES.

─ list up to five likes.

DISLIKES.

─ list up to five dislikes.

HOBBIES.

─ did they have hobbies before?

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

(+) endurance: not only is maggie fast, but she can maintain speed for long distances. she spent countless hours training for track meets while she was still in school—the trophies lining her old bedroom’s shelves were more than enough proof of that—but little did she know that she was building up a skill that would save her life later.
(+) unassuming: maggie has never been the type of girl to demand attention—in fact, more times than not, she’s more comfortable when she’s not in the spotlight. she’s always been relatively quiet, letting others answer questions she knows the answers to and slipping into rooms unannounced, but she’s found that it’s more of a strength than a weakness as it was implied to be growing up—“god, mags, speak up!”
(+) wound-dressing: she’s well-versed in caring for sport-related injuries—anything from bandaging scraped knees to setting broken shins. she’s still not quite on the level of a seasoned professional, but she knows her way around a first aid kit and can make do with what she has in the moment, if need be.
(-) combat: while maggie may be quick on her feet, she’s not one for fighting—in fact, she tends to run from conflict any time she’s allowed the chance. she’s never thrown a punch in her life—she’s never had to—and if put in a situation where hurting someone else was her only means of survival, she’s not so sure that she would be able to follow through.
(-) overly-trusting: maggie’s biggest downfall, perhaps, is her determination to see the best in people, even when there is none to find. her rose-tinted glasses held a permanent place in her day-to-day wear until it was too late. now, the lenses are beginning to crack, allowing bits of reality to seep through, but she still holds out hope for others when given the choice, affording them the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.
(-) strategizing: this isn’t to say that maggie lacks the brain power required to plan ahead, it’s simply not her strong suit. she often fails to consider possible outcomes, getting too swept up in achieving her goal that she doesn’t stop to think about how exactly she’s going to do so. she’s prone to acting in the moment, something that’s managed to work for her so far, though whether that winning streak will hold fast remains to be seen.

FEAR.

─ claustrophobia: after being locked away for so long, tight spaces or the idea of not being able to leave a confined area at will make her restless.

PSY.

─ (+) compassionate: maggie’s a sympathetic person at her core—it’s what drove her towards the medical field initially. she does what she can to help others, and while she may not always have something useful to offer in every situation, it’s the thought that counts. rarely has she met a person that she couldn’t find some reason to care for.
─ (+) friendly: she may not be the most outgoing person, but maggie likes to consider herself as someone that’s easy to get along with. on more than one occasion, she’s been a listening ear to strangers, told afterwards amid apologies that she just “looked like someone easy to talk to.” she takes it as a compliment that she has an inviting demeanor, though she hasn’t always invited the right people into her life.
─ (+) optimistic: no matter how dire the circumstances may seem, maggie will always somehow manage to find a bit of hope in the dark times—a light at the end of the tunnel. it’s what keeps her moving forward, acting as a driving force to save herself and maybe even a few others along the way, should they be susceptible to her seemingly endless supply of inspiration.
─ (+) resourceful: maggie’s lack of planning ahead makes her a quick-witted person, good at coming up with solutions in the spur of the moment to unexpected problems. she’s adaptable, good at using her surroundings to her advantage, whether that means finding a makeshift bandage or a place to bide her time until escape is a more feasible option.
─ (-) flighty: if there’s one thing that maggie hates, it’s confrontation. she runs from a fight if she can, avoiding it at all costs for the sake of saving everyone’s feelings. the thought of unintentionally knocking someone down a peg just to prove herself right in a given situation doesn’t seem worth it to her. she would almost prefer a lack of closure.
─ (-) naïve: maggie is all-too-willing to believe that there is good to be found in everyone, that those around her have nothing but pure intentions. it’s easy to fool her gullible ears with a sweet lie, so long as it aligns with her view of someone, and she’s more than paid the price of it.
─ (-) people pleaser: telling people ‘no’ has always been an issue for maggie. she wants to make her friends and family—even strangers, at times—happy, whether it comes at her own expense or not. the voice in her head may be sending a distress signal, telling her that something may not be how it appears, but she’s too nice to act upon it, swallowing her worries with a smile.
─ (-) sheltered: due to a life spent being coddled, a lot of things tend to fly over maggie’s head. it could come across as arrogance to those who don’t know her well—a spoiled brat unaware of the struggles of others—but it’s an unintentional downfall on her part. she means well, but things have to be explained to her at times, something that not everyone has the patience for.

abc's

BELONGINGS.
─ heart-shaped locket: hanging from a gold chain, it was a sixteenth birthday present from her mother. the front of the heart is engraved with a pattern of flowers, though it’s been worn smooth over the years from all the fiddling she’s done with it. inside is a picture of maggie with her ex-boyfriend—she never had the time to take it out.
─ first place track-and-field trophy: it’s from the last meet she ever competed in; the end of an era and what she had viewed at the time as the beginning of the rest of her life.
─ pink scrubs: maggie was going to start her internship at the local hospital her next year at college and had bought the uniform months in advance out of eagerness. there’s a heart embroidered on the corner of the pocket—courtesy of her mother, for good luck.
─ walkman & headphones: something she always takes on her morning jogs around the neighborhood. it still has the kim wilde cassette tape in it from the day she went missing.
─ notepad: there’s 56 tallies to mark 56 days spent locked away from the rest of civilization. on the outskirts of her hometown, mere miles away from her house—her family—she had never felt so cut off from the rest of the world.

HISTORY

tw: kidnapping
BEFORE. margaret hatfield grew up in suburbia paradise. her family’s house, with its white picket fence and pristinely-cut hedges, sat just before the cul-de-sac at the end of sycamore drive. she never had reason to feel unsafe, so she never did.

truthfully, her life was hand-fed to her on a silver spoon—her father’s wealth of earnings and her well-meaning mother’s love saw to that. as the couple’s only child, the world seemed to revolve around maggie in those four walls.

outside of them, she had a reputation for being good—maggie was a good girl, she was good in school, she was good with people—but the only thing she was great at was running. all throughout high school, her saturdays were spent on the field, her small community gathered to cheer her on to victory, among whom was her neighbor, gideon adler.

“you’re a slippery one. anyone that wants to catch you will have their work cut out for them.”

maggie had ignored the shudder that’d run down her spine at the man’s odd compliment, reaching up a hand to push back a sweaty strand of her bangs as she offered a stiff smile in return. what reason did she have to be wary of him? he was respected within the town, a familiar face. each morning when maggie was going for her runs before school, gideon would be out getting mail two doors down from her own house. sometimes they stopped to chat, others it was nothing more than a friendly wave exchanged in passing, but he’d never given her cause for concern, even if his words didn’t always align with the kind look in his eyes.

yet.

some people weren’t nearly as open about their intentions as maggie was, but her sheltered childhood had given her a warped view of how the world worked.

take her boyfriend, for example. he only wanted one thing from her, and it wasn’t the kind of love she was ready to give—maggie told him so, too, in the same breath that she demanded the car be pulled over so that she could walk the rest of the way home. it was a long time coming, really—long distance relationships never worked, and after she graduated college, her hometown visits would be few and far between. with only one year left, the curtains were already closing on their coupling—maggie had just sped up the process.

the soles of margaret’s sneakers splashed against wet concrete as she trudged her way home. it was dark now, and the walk was longer than she had anticipated.

a pair of headlights illuminated her from behind, the sound of tires crunching against asphalt slowing as the vehicle approached.

maggie rolled her eyes, poised to turn around and tell her ex-boyfriend to get lost, but she stopped short when she saw who sat on the other side of the open window.

“need a ride?” gideon asked. “i’m headed that way.”

except, he wasn’t. not after he had maggie safely strapped into his passenger seat.

gideon had never meant her any harm—he just wanted someone to play house with, but no one else saw it that way.

maggie kept track of the days spent in gideon’s cabin on a notepad she hid beneath her pillow each night. her college’s classes had started back a week ago, and she was still no closer to escape than she had been the night he’d first taken her there, thrown over his shoulder, kicking and screaming.

next month, her internship would start.

for someone who the world had spun around for so long, it was doing an awfully good job of continuing its rotations without her.

THE FOG. day 56. maggie’s clothes were starting to smell now. gideon provided food and offered cheap forms of entertainment in the form of card games, but he hadn’t lived with another woman since his mother had died. he didn’t know how to take care of one. he could barely take care of himself.

gideon never came that night.

maggie was rarely one to wish ill upon another human being, but it was what she’d been praying for for months. she didn’t care what ill fate had befallen him, but she was alone. finally.

unbeknownst to her, gideon had been detained for questioning at the local sheriff’s department regarding his odd behavior recently and whether or not it had anything to do with the missing girl plastered on milk cartons all over the city, smiling at passersby from posters on every telephone pole they passed.

margaret acted fast. gideon ensured he locked the door each time he departed from their odd visits. she had no hope of escape that way, but with enough force, she was able to break out a window panel using wooden chair in her bedroom.

that damn chair. maggie couldn’t count the times she’d awoken at night to find gideon sitting there, watching her sleep. it only seemed fitting for it to be a part of her release now.

maggie paid no mind to the bite of glass on her skin as she pulled herself out of the hole she’d created in the window, toppling to the ground with a wince. she scrambled to her feet as fast as her pained legs would allow, and then she ran.

she didn’t know where she was going, but she wouldn’t dare stop herself once she’d started. trees passed by in a blur, pine straw slipping under feet and maggie propelled herself onward. her lungs stung in the cold air, head pounding with each step she took, but still, she ran.

she ran until the familiar line of her neighborhood’s roofs peeked over the horizon, but if she’d been going slower, she might’ve stopped to take note of the fact that something just wasn’t quite right.

maggie climbed over the white picket fence that kept her family’s backyard tucked away from the harshness of the world. the lights were out inside, and as margaret pushed open the sliding glass door, a sense of dread settled over her. she was still alone.

NOW. maggie gasped, sitting up among the leaves. her arms and legs were still streaked with dried blood, and the campfire across from her had been put out, smoke spiraling into the grey sky. where was she?

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