To be honest, you're not sure why you decided to tackle this house on your own. But ultimately, the less people you have around you when things go bad, the better. For both your safety and theirs. Especially theirs, if this goes entirely bad. Honestly, you can only hope your violent impulses direct you towards the vampire's forces, but there's a very decent possibility. As the iron fence creaks and shudders, you feel a chill. The garden is completely overgrown, moss and vines have begun reclaiming the ancient house, but it remains standing. The old oaken doors seem absurdly pristine in comparison to the failing stonework and lost artwork. A single statue of a maiden in a robe looks down upon all who enter. Her face looks locked into a disturbing, corpse-like grin. Teeth bare, but with no hint of mirth. You take a deep breath, and push your shoulder against the oaken doors. As the dusty hall comes into view with the natural light, you note the shadows seem far thicker and... animated than most. What little sunlight manages to push itself past the shadows seems out of place and unwelcome, and it doesn't take long for the heavy oak doors to slam shut with the same cadence one would imagine for the lid of a coffin.
It feels about the same too. The place is suffocating, too hot and dry for a day as this. You can see many footprints in the dust, most likely from the adventuring party. They're spread all around, as if they wandered no further than this hall. The hall itself is rather long, with a staircase to the far right. Immediately to your right, you can see a salon, lavish furniture and beautiful curtains must once have dotted this hall, but now only faint colors remain. The salon looks massive, enough to grant two dozen men and women their seats, and tables to allow them to place their drinks. You enter this room, considering you will need to explore to discover the basement...
You figure it must be connected to the kitchen, to serve as a pantry. It was a common enough practice for this kind of house, although you are no expert. As you go through the threshold, you suddenly hear the standing clock strike 12. The GONG's set your nerves on edge, and after they subside you wander forward
Into a dark, neverending hole. You scream in terror as you fall and fall and fall downwards, your senses disappearing as you fall further and further from the light. Suddenly, your momentum disappears and you can see a faint light. Then you can hear the
screaming. A woman, sobbing and screaming in pain and terror.
Berthold!? BERTHOLD. LET ME SEE YOU! I CAN'T FIND YOU... I NEED TO CUT THE BAD OUT!Berthold hardly dared to breathe, shaking from pure fear as he heard his mother stomp around. She had gone mad when the flashing began, and the rumble started. Berthold HEARD the change, even now he hears whispers, but he can't understand them. He saw as people began screaming, some went still and very few among them remained as they were. Berthold could only hide as the former servants and friends of the family began wandering around the house, tearing at themselves or others. He watched as her mother jabbed the knife in her eyes, sending spurts of blood everywhere. He screamed, he ran, and now he hides. Inside the clock. The clock had latched closed, and he could only hear his panicked breathing and his screaming mother. Someone else had entered, and she stopped yelling clear words. He heard the grunts of Mr. Aprisco, the massive, scary man with all the scars. Soon, he no longer heard his mother, and only the constant, heavy breathing of Mister Aprisco. Then, he heard clothing tear, and a constant thumping noise. But very soon, all Berthold could hear was his own breathing. The clock was shut, it wouldn't open, it was becoming so hot and his breathing...
He felt short of breath. More and more he hyperventilated, the fear of the outside still too great to call for help. They had all gone mad, and he had to remain safe, in here. Remain safe. Remain safe. Remain safe
remain save. save and remain. safe safe safe safe safe safe
remains. Safe. re ma.;;;
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remain s afe
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re muh ssaa
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sssafe rem rremains
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Suddenly you return to the salon, and you take in deep lungfuls of stale dusty air. You clutch your burning throat, and nearly collapse as you only barely get your air back. That was... What HAPPENED in this house?
What happened to Berthold?
On a terrible, fearful hunch, you step closer to the grandfather clock. You see a small, sturdy latch to the side, keeping the clock shut. You can't stop yourself from shaking as you unhook the latch, and open the clock. Inside, you find a small, mummified corpse, the face still and shriveled. You look away, not able to look at the poor child. He's still dressed in small suit, too big for him back then. You think what little remains of his final expression is still there. It's one you won't be able to forget anytime soon.
You wander on in the saloon, and see clear signs of damage. Some of the seats have been pushed over, and others have been torn open. Seems like a case of the crazies went around, that's clear. You also see a hand come out of one of the holes in the largest couch. There is no body inside the couch or anything, somebody just forced a hand in there. The hand has several broken fingers and is... far too preserved to be normal. It looks like it was cut off yesterday, with only the blackened meat and blood at the stump to show the age. At the end of the salon, there is another room. It looks like... a study. Of sorts. The main attraction looks to be the many, many dusty books that are piled along the walls. Bookcases that go as high as the ceiling are lined at the back, and there are many comfortable chairs spread around, each with distance. A quiet room for reading, you suppose. You spot movement to your right, and in a quick flick you draw you sword at the disturbance. What you see is harmless, but no less disturbing. A man in a suit has hung himself, and is still swinging around. One of his shoes fell off, and he is almost entirely reduced to a skeleton. Faintly, you see wriggling around his torso, causing you to take a step backwards in disgust... The body is too old to still have maggots eating at it, so whatever that is...
It can't be good.
When you look away, to the other exit of the room, you find a more humbly decorated hallway. This likely leads to a place more meant for servants. Just as you are about to cross that threshold, you feel a sudden grip on your shoulder
"
Oh, Brundel, dear, could you bring those biscuits with you? I think it may attract some of the guests to the reading room, I've been dying to discuss my latest novella!" The unmistakable, peppy voice of Missus Brimsly says to Arthur Brundel as he makes his leave to the servants quarters. Even through the thin gloves, the chubby fingers of the pleasant woman are easily felt. She always seemed to wonder where the weight was coming from, even as she partook in yet more biscuits. She had a love for the thing, and her son, Berthold, seemed to follow in her footsteps. At Brundel's suggestion, she has been leaving the biscuits alone, which is a relief to most of the servants. They all know the risks of obesity, since the loss of the master's father, Ser Robespierre. The man looked awful, bloated with gout and seemingly rotting from "Mellitus" as the beaked doctors called it. Not contagious, fortunately, but death came as a mercy. Still, it does not do to think of such horrors at such a joyous time. Master and his son were performing some flight of fancy in the basement, the first time Brundel had ever seen master talk fondly to his son since the death of Ser Robespierre. The slow death did not do wonders for the masters state of mind. He shook the thoughts from his mind. He had biscuits to fetch.
As he gathered them on the plate, a sudden flashing of the lights and a rumble shook through the house. For a small time, people looked around bewildered. Then, Martha screamed and took a cleaver to her fingers. And for Brundel, the screaming started. The reminders, the doubting, the orders the work the family
when are you getting the medicine? why don't you care for us anymore why can't the nobleshelp?
It was the damned plague! He couldn't do anything as the sores appeared and his wife wouldn't let go of the festering child she still called his son! He was a plague victim, nothing more. Keep our son out of it, he's gone, damn you! He's gone and so are you! because you wouldn't leave theat
thing alone. I don't want to be alone don't leave let me go. . . . ..
The
damned whores guests don't care for Brundel.
He'll go to the one place where they might still care. The plains of silence, where his family might yet roam. He took the rope as the fat bitch stabbed herself in the eye, bellowing for her spawn. The noose was tied the chair was set the plains of
*crack*You gasp as the tingles of a broken neck still haunt through you, your heart hammering as you felt the pure insanity of that day. This is... You can't...
You swallow, blinking away tears as try to calm yourself. You move forward. You can't leave now, you need to get there!
The kitchens are far less impressive than the saloon, to say the least. A corpse was splayed out across a cutting board, her left arm cut to ribbons and a rusted cleaver still clutched in her right hand. She has a napkin in her mouth, as if to stifle herself. Martha, you presu-
Cut the bad out cut the bad out cut the bad out cutthebadoutcutthebadoutcutthebadoutcutthebadoutcutthebadoutcutthebadout bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad b-b...You clutch your left arm as the tingles of the cleaver still linger. You can't control your breathing anymore, everything is just...
I'm sorry.He bashed her head against the floor again
I'm sorryHe bashed her head against the floor again.
I'm sorryHe bashed her skull against the floor again
I'm sorryHe bashed her brains against the floor again.
I'm sorryHe bashed his hand against the gore again.
You vomit. It's an awful, dark red color, and you taste the blood. It makes you even more sick, and you take slow, halting breaths. You look to the left, cleaning away tears.
You can see the corpse of the man, still lying over the far smaller corpse. His arm is mangled against the floor, and his face is completely gone, leaving nothing but a skeletal face.
He kept bashing. Why did he keep bashing? Why did any of this happen? Shaking, stumbling, you struggle forward in the house, mostly on autopilot. At the end of the servants quarters, you see the door to the cellar. Ancient bloodstains still mark the door. Claw marks, deep in the wood and a mummified corpse with the fingers ground down to the nubs!
get in there get in there get in there make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP.Your fingers hurt. You grind your teeth in frustration. The door is locked. The fucking door is fucking
LOCKED!Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUUUCK! you yell, finally reaching your breaking point.
Leave nowKill. KILL! KILL!Break the door down. I WANT INSIDE. LET ME THE FUCK IN
Ransack the houseYou want to stay here so bad? I'LL BURN IT TO THE FUCKING GROUND. Basic Stats
Level: 9 XXXX
HP: 40/40
Mana: XXX
Stress: 60/60 (YOUR MAXIMUM SANITY HAS BEEN REDUCED)
hUNGER
Items and equipment
Equipment:
Carapaced leather armor
Vampire's Blade
Scythe (dull)
Gardener's Shield
Bolas(x4)
Handmade Bola
Wooden Crossbow
Bolts (x10)
Author
Topic: Web of Life: A Drider's Adventure (Ended) (Read 188553 times)