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[Splendiferous]

Basically a story-rant, similar to my earlier "noir detective" endeavor

Anybody knowledgeable on Lovecraft lore is free to join in. Just create and be a character that would fit in the story. Use your best Lovcraftian verbage and style. and have fun.

We're all basically killing each other, going bat shit, or stumbling upon terrible and/or awe-inspiring secrets that would melt the pinstripe slacks off of anyone slightly less badass.

And we all are seeking the Necronomicon (which we never find)

when talking to another participant, speak normal
when furthering the story, use Italics

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

Name: Chester J. Lunatirus.

Profession: Investigator

Bio:A man accustomed to lurking in the dark places at the edge of the world, he is one who has grappled with insanity before. He is a man who is not likely to give in to the eldritch and the strange. But what hope does he, a mere man stand against the dark forces that tear at our reality and would devour the world of man if they were to notice it?

[Jackrabbit]

Dammit man! You get me all excited and then you make it so you have to have the slightest clue about the subject of the game to actually play!

[Splendiferous]

read the stories I showed you, and you'll get better as you go.
You can also just imitate our style.

[Jackrabbit]

Aha! Flattery!

[Splendiferous]

As I sit here at my computer, the last of my precious laudanum coating my drink, my revolver on the table, I think of all that has happened in these past few days; the grotesque and malign twistings of fate that have scarred my memory forever. I know that there is no hope left for me, that I will soon be set upon by the denziens of that wretched place under Arkham university, and they will drag me back into that place of terror and force me to aid them in their awful quest. So, before I am forever lost into that place, I must write quickly of what I have seen...

EDIT: several spelling errors.

[Killas[SiN]]

Well, I don't know much about Lovecraft, but I'll start reading up on him now.

I'm just gonna go for a 'noir detective' yet with dark influences. I'll probably start off writing like 'Shadow in the North'. That's a good read.

Name: Caino De Bacciaci

Profession: Officially Unemployed

Born in slums, Caino was raised in the brutal backalleys of Chicago. Then he disapeared. Nobody knew where he went, nobody knew he existed. But out of the shadows of the world he came, a dark, haunting look in his eyes, the look of one who has tasted madness and power, of one who seeks something, of one with a palpable aura of torment. This man holds many secrets, yet desires so much more...

Phew, is that alright?

[RAM]

I have never read any Lovecraft, but I do get a warm fuzzy feeling from things that mankind was not meant to know. I had probably better just lurk for now...

[Jackrabbit]

If you are reading this journal, I'm dead. Probably. If I'm not dead, give it the fuck back.

This is my journal. Once I have completed it, if I'm extremely unlucky, it will recount the horrors I have endured, and my eventual death. For reference, if the diary is covered in any kind of fluid apart from water or alcohol or is torn or burnt, you can probably guess what happened.

I'm sitting at my desk whilst writing this. I don't know what I've discovered. It's mind boggling, it shouldn't exist. I can't begin to understand it and something tells me that if I do, I'll go insane. I need to buy a gun, if only to make a brief impression on the world before my demise at the hands of unspeakable horrors. Why did I become a scientist? I wanted to understand the world, but when I finally did, it was terrible. What unkind God made us? A beacon of light in a sea of impenetrable darkness, darkness in which things swim. It's seen me. I'm doomed. At the very least, I want to find out more about this thing, these things before I die. I take a swig of coffee whilst writing, the bitterness mingling with my own. I thank God, though I no longer believe he exists, that I have no family. I'm off to buy a gun.

[Killas[SiN]]

Assuming that your character is male, Jackrabbit:

I knew it was him. He carries himself well, but I know what he thinks. His mind lies open like a map, like a book or a scroll to read. In his head, I see the torment. The fear. The anticipation. He seeks knowledge, he seeks protection. No cold piece of metal will protect him, no matter how hard it is. This man, his heart is true. True atleast, in his fear. He does not wittingly carry the burden... A wise choice. There must... Be a way.

I know there is way.

I hold the key to his sanity, to his life, to his soul.

And now, I approach. I just pray to what ever gods that will accept me that it is not too late.

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

I don't know why I'm writing this.

I've gone nuts, over the hill, brought the damn funny farm, and the worst part is: I still can't believe myself. I'm sitting here, in a padded room in Arkham Asylum writing this, and I'm terrified. The man across from me talks about the rats running through the walls, while the one in the cell to my right screams at all hours of the night in the tongue of the strange intellects beyond this frail reality that we hold so dear to ourselves. At least I'm not that bad, mentally. Physically is another matter, my hair has gone white and is falling out at an alarming rate. Every time I bring my hand to my head it comes back with a great matted chunk of my silvery, fading hair. My eyes are very slowly falling out, every time I blink I can feel them sliding inextricably outwards. It is only a matter of time before I go blind. I'm not even going to start on the horror of what my joints are becoming.

This may all be in my mind, but that won't make my memories any less real, and I feel that someone has to know of what I've seen, even if that person is the next resident of this cell. Now, where to start?

It all began some time ago, on that fateful night. I was leaning against a lamppost, clutching my side. I was running to the apartment of one J. D. Mortimer, last known possessor of a book of ancient lore known as the Necronomicion, when I had gotten inexplicably winded. The Man had been murdered in a grotesque fashion, hanged from the ceiling, his skin stripped off, and his blood used to make a strange sign, shaped like an eye inside a star, inside a circle. Things would only get worse from there...

[Killas[SiN]]

--PRELUDE--

As in, before what I last posted.

He has aged. His sanity is fading. That much is straight away visible. He will of little use to anyone, I must not allow him to degrade further. Yet, outside his cell, I can see him. He is writing something now, mumbling incoherently, revisting that fateful night.

Alas, again, I was too slow. He had hanged himself. There was little for me to do but defile his corpse. My heart burdened and my cheeks burned with shame as I was forced to destroy the peace of my friend's afterlife. I spread his blood into the Eye, all the while chanting. Just another crime against the sanctity of God.

I will make sure what ever forces responsible... Will pay for this.
Even worse, the Necronomicon was no where to be seen. I can only believe it vanished to avoid certain destruction at the hands of those... heretics.

I have to put things together. I must make them meet.
I must send them to their doom, or else we all perish.

Why God, am I tasked to do this impossible errand?



EDIT: My guy sounded like a necrophiliac.

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

I still have no idea why I'm writing this, but someone should know, even if it is only me.

I escaped. There was a... a tunnel... I think. No way to tell if it was something else. Bastard in the cell next to me died overnight. Used his corpse to fake death. I have no idea where I am now. Too dark to tell. Seems hot and squishy, and outdoors as I can see the stars overhead. I think I'm okay, as I managed to find my things -I am unsure of how that came to pass, but I'm grateful for that.

It seems that the things happening to me were just hallucinations, except for the terror of my joints. Oh god why, why must that one be true? In any case, I've got to get back on the trail, even if finding out the truth will break me down to further depths, I must go on; Because they'll kill me anyway.

In any case, I feel a bit better, mind feels more complete, and I think I know where I am now. I'm on the outskirts of the city, about a mile from that accursed asylum. It may have been the one place able to protect me from them, but I don't need protection anymore. I'm prepared to give my life to take those bastards down for what they've done to me and the others.

[Killas[SiN]]

There he is, just on time.

I walk up to him and grab his shoulder.

"Your life will jeopardy if you continue to pursue them. Your soul will be forfeit."

[TheNewerMartianEmperor]

(Who are you talking to?)