Tanuchan

Mini-Saga (V. 3.0)

19 posts in this topic

Note: Old versions of this activity, first idealized by Solivagus, can be found at the Vaults (original and version 2.0).

 

~

 

Basics: open roleplay (anyone can join); each post must be under 50 words.

 

This is expected to be a fun, challenging roleplay. A few guidelines apply:

  • all posts under 50 words. Contractions count as one word.
  • for the sake of challenge, please avoid posting twice in a row with the sole purpose of getting more words in...
  • feel free to work on character(s), background, new events, etc. to further the story being told
  • be courteous; characters shouldn't be hijacked without consulting their writer
  • short OOC (out-of-character) comments clearly marked and separated from the text are okay
    • there's usually no need for an OOC thread at the Greenroom; if necessary, we might set one later.

 

Have fun! RP starts next post :)

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The sounds from the ocean were deafening. Waves crashed against stone, mixing their groans to the thunder, to the creaking of wood. The storm darkened the world, and the torn, once-white sails of the ship caught on the sharp edges of the rocks as they were shoved against the cliff.

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The captain shouldn't have even been on the ship, taking over for a friend only because he was getting married. *IT* was not his ship, not his curse. Halfhand Harry just sat in his cabin gulping down glass after glass of rum. There was nothing else he could do.

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"Captain, please," the First Mate pleaded on the other side of the door to his quarters. "We need every man on deck to help! We've already lost a third of our crew!"

His only answer was the smash of an empty bottle thrown against the door.

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A smash that foretold the crash of the ship's hull against the jagged rocks. The icy grey waters took Halfhand Harry and most of the S.S. Minnow's crew as well. There were seven survivors.

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The first hours were spent in chaos, trying to survive the rocks and waters and see who else was lucky to live. Dawn allowed them a chance to start looking for supplies, directed by the First Mate who was beginning to question whether his survival was blessing or curse.

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None of the remaining six noticed when their seventh companion suddenly disappeared near the cave entrance while gathering driftwood, nor did they hear his blood-curdling screams from the depths of the cave. They did manage to get a tidy little fire going though...

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And with the fire, and the meager meal they managed to cook from the few supplies they’d salvaged, there came the stories. (Inevitable, almost - someone had finally noticed Derrik wasn’t with them anymore.) Old legends related to the area they were in, some of them definitely fearsome.

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“I heard there used to be Wendigos in these parts. Monsters that crave human flesh; that used to be human themselves!”

“Come off it! That’s just a story they made up after that ship’s crew had to resort to cannibalism.”

Had to? They had plenty of food!”

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"Yeah, the Cook was fat enough for two people!"

The joke broke the unease, and they settled into a comfortable silence.

 

Until a deep snarling voice interjected, "Two people! I get it!" Standing deeper in the cave was a three-meter humanoid covered in shaggy white hair, laughing merrily through fangs.

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Thinnie, formerly cabin boy for that alcoholic who had served as captain of the Minnow, jumped up in surprise, his cooked chicken leg landing neatly in the middle of the flames, sending up a sudden wave of heat as all the juicy fat on it suddenly combusted.

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The fear was interesting. It fed his hunger. The way the castaways looked at him, also. It always amused him, the reactions he got whenever he appeared. He didn’t even need to move, just look - and the range of emotions changed, mutated, and tickled him.

 

-----

OOC: just to make it clear, "him" refers to the creature - wendigo or whatever (who knows) - that appeared; I tried the neutral form and it was too confusing.

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Slowly, the First Mate got to his feet and brandished a burning log in the thing's direction. If it really was a wendigo, they were meant to be afraid of fire. Weren't they?

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"Oooh! Fire!" The huge hoary hairy beast cowered back from the brandished brand. Was it being sarcastic? Could the bulge in its belly be Derrik?

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Deciding to take the risk, the First Mate hurled the burning stick at the creature and spun around to flee.

 

"Run!"

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One of those fun mortals! There was glee - or what one would call glee - in the creature’s eyes. It grinned, with way too many teeth. Ignoring the stick on fire, it ambled towards the running group.

 

It was faster than one would think.

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Thinnie still stood where the chicken leg had fallen, shock rooting his legs to the ground, a puddle starting to spread between his legs. His fleeing companions had no thought for him as the beast broke his neck with a single glancing blow and ran on.

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He was having fun. It had never been about flesh- or emotion-feeding, as tales insisted; it had always been about how long he could keep the fools running and screaming before sending their souls to his Lord. Mortals were gullible, and getting sacrificial maidens got boring after a while…

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Old Tom doged to the right and ducked down behind a bolder.

The monster ran by following the others.

Old Tom pulled out his pistol.

He'd only get one shot.

Praying that the part about silver bullets wasn't true

He took aim...

Edited by Zatar

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