Circle 2Daniel Blackwell"Fuckin' pistol. I should've left the safety on- The hell?! Did those suicide roombas send me here?!"
You struggle slightly, none too happy with your confinement in the glowing bedsheet. The world is still pretty damn fuzzy, and you can't work up a good head of steam or a cogent thought through the soporific waves. Lacking a decent plan of action as well as a functioning brain you decide to wait, maybe soak up some of the warmth and peace while it lasted.
Frank MorrisFrank opened his eyes. The last seven days were a blur; there were no distinct memories among them. Just the usual haze of duties for the cult. He was pretty sure he had sacrificed a woman at some point during the week to Tel'ars, but he couldn't be certain when, or what had happened before and after. He thought about matters. The last thing he remembered for certain was reading from the book at noon. Beyond that, no clear line from one thing to the next. He knew he was dead. That much was obvious from all of his studying on the subject, along with others related to the supernatural. The 'how' and 'why' were what was confusing him.
Forget it; it wasn't important. He wasn't moving on yet. He still had things to do. He had to complete the cult's destiny; to bring the only true lord into the world. He moved toward the light, certain it would bring him back to the land of the living; it sure wouldn't take him to heaven, not that he cared.
You mind hazy from dying you put together most of what you can remember, it isn't a lot but it's a place to start. The light seems to be the only distinct path, the only chance of getting back to the mortal world. [Will+0=Partial Success] Your feet move slowly, and your entire body responds sluggishly to the commands of your torpid mind. Still, you're closer, closer is better.
Raymond Connor"What... whuh? Where am I? Am I having a NDE? Okay... must not go near the light. Going near the light is something what I will not do as it probably is a very bad thing to do. Gotta... gotta wake up now somehow. Hmmmm... *touches head* Okay. No fractures or anything. Good. I seem to have lost my stuff though... Oh wait, there's still my pistol. That's good. I guess doing a Leeroy wasn't such a good idea after all. Hmmm. WWLJD?
Hmm... This is a dream after all, nightstick induced dreams are always strange anyway. Well, it's your head, even if you're insane you should have a plan of action. After a moment of thought you decide to yell your name loudly and struggle ineffectually. It works in bed, why shouldn't it work now? [Charisma+Perform=Complete Success]
"RAAYYYMMMOOONNNDDD COOONNNOOORRRR!" You burble happily through your shroud as you put on a show of kung-fu within your soporific covering. You can't be certain but you think someone on the outside of reality just told you to shut up. Your dreams can be so hurtful.
Jhon HarleyDamn, that hurt like a mother, how am i still ali... (expletive)
Putting your keen detective senses to the test you attempt to perceive your accepted reality. [Perception+Awareness=Meager success] Option A. You're dead, not likely but still... Option B. You're dreaming, more likely considering stress and long hours. Option C. Narcotics finally got sloppy and mixed up the white powdery substances in the coffee. All in all taking it as a dream seemed to be the most healthy option.
Mr. RogersFour new enfants from a single accident of fate... Sons of Tertullian or Magi would have already escaped their cauls by now, which meant they were normal humans. The Gaunt called Mister Rogers smiled slightly at that thought, well as normal as any human who became a wraith. [Fatalism+Perception=Meager Success] This many newborn wraiths in one spot clouded fate's design, but he could still feel the other Reapers moving, drawn to such a prize as this without judgment or hesitation. The gaunt though did hesitate, he did not like to act without the lady of fate guiding him, but now he had to make a decision for good or ill.
Mr. Rogers strode forwards towards the enfants, the necropolis could use some new blood, particularly that which did not lie in chains. The gaunt inspected the four new arrivals, movement lurked beneath most of their cauls and one was even walking slightly. Mr. Rogers shook his head, that was something that should have stopped long ago, the tempest would shred a young soul in moments in these days... being drawn to it like a moth to a flame made enfants almost akin to lemmings.
All around him, just out of sight but definitely there, he could feel the other reapers. He could feel their frustration that he was the one to claim these four, none of course would challenge his claim openly, but they would resent it for a time. Smiling at their predicament the Gaunt cut the cauls of the new arrivals open with a quick slash of his pen knife. The shimmering veil shrinking away from the stygian iron and collapsing into a shining lump no larger than a child's clenched fist.
AllWithout warning a slash opens in the veil that surrounds you, letting in cold air like the opening of the door to a deep freezer. From the diminishing folds of the veil slip a few items of yours that somehow got bound into it with you. The veil then falls away completely, shrinking rapidly and revealing the scene around you. Curiously for everyone but Frank this is roughly where they already were, a small coffee shop. The differences are strange and subtle, graffiti long since washed out still lies plain on the walls, the stools in front of the bar are ripped in places and the metal tarnished, bright blood stains the area where Daniel died, though by rights it should be congealed and dark. The light, once clear and aided only slightly by artificial sources is now the tinged with the orange-green glow of stormlight.
There is also a man standing in front of you, his clothing was in fashion before America became a country and he's holding a small knife in his right hand. Thin lines of abstract tattoos in every color imaginable shift slowly across his skin, and his blacked out spectacles glow as though lit from behind. As you regain your senses he gives you a mockery of a bow
"Welcome my friends to the rest of your death. If you have need of it you may call me Mr. Rogers."Quest added, All:Mr. Roger's Neighborhood: Talk to Mr. Rogers.
In my time of dying: Find out what's happening to you.
Items AddedTaric,Laptop
Suicide Pistol, Five-seveN 19/20
RaymondTaurus Revolver, 5/5
Spray can
Frank MorrisPage from the Book of Tel'ars
Jhon HarleyNightstick
Black book
White book
Author
Topic: Wraith: RTD from beyond the veil. That's why you should avoid skinfreak clubs. (Read 41169 times)