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Fear Mythos Off-topic



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Post Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:25 pm

Fear Mythos Off-topic

I was told that this was a good idea, so here it is!

Also, I'm going to upload a selection of quotes highlighting the various Fears from OH GOD THE RAPTURE IS BURNING. I'll add to the list later, and make it more complete. for now, this is all I have.

Edit: I've gone through over twenty Fearblogs, and I think I'm going to call this finished. If anyone has any thoughts, or possible additions, let me know.

The Fears of the World (Formerly called "Fears of the Rapture")

A man in a gas mask. A man without a face. A face without a man. A shadow of your former self. A boy in isolation. A girl who pulls the strings. A man who is a dog. A dog made of men. A man who has our pasts. A blur in our perception. A convocation of birds. A thing with ill will. A judge in the sun. A beast below.

The shadow of the man spread his shadow arms out wide and then seemed to split - one half became a small little boy, the other a very tall and thin man. They walked around each other, circling. The boy jumped up and suddenly became a tall woman, but her face was...weirdly shaped. The thin man's shadow turned around and transformed into the shadow of a wave and then a flock of birds. The woman's shadow knelt down and became a hunched old man in a long coat. The shadow birds flew together and turned into a dog and then the dog became more humanlike and it's paws became hands with long, knifelike claws. The shadow of the old man stood up and grew a beak like a bird, then the beak became a mask. The two shadows then dissolved in a thin fog of shadow, then formed together, building up higher and higher, constructing shadow buildings and shadow skylines until there was an entire shadow city.


And then I heard The Rake howl, and The Slender Man start walking, and The Plage Doctor glide across the forest floor, and The Convocation soar, and The Black Dog leap, and The Wooden Girl dragging herself through the tall grass, and The Nightlanders run away (and yet at the same time lurk even closer), and The Choir dashed in between and throughout the trees, and The Archangel's greatest grunt floated up above in the clouds, and The Cold Boy sang in the bushes nearby, and The Ichor plotted while in the form of condensation on the blades of the grass below, and a floating Eye judged us from a tree a half a mile away, and above us, and though it was night, bees Intruded around above us as though it was a Spring day.

The Rake:

It was pale white, it was crawling on its arms and knees, and its eyes were staring into my soul.

If it looks like a Rake, it probably is The Rake


in my bed
oh god its eyes were like hell

I mean, that looks nothing like Bill anymore. It’s all blood and torn flesh, scattered all over the room. What’s left of Bill is scattered all over the walls and floor and ceiling.
..the wall.

I hear something.
It sounds like the pitter-patter of light footsteps.
Not The Rake’s ferocious footsteps, either. Calculating footsteps.

Anyway, for a few minutes after waking, I just couldn’t move. I felt like something was holding me down. And hallucinations— those were the worst. I saw a thing sitting on me, pale and hairless, kind of humanoid, two big black eyes looking straight at me. I think it was saying something, actually. And then I blinked and it was gone and I could move.

And the fifth figure crouched behind me, and crawled on all fours into my view. He wore nothing, but he had no genitalia. No hair grew on his pale flesh, and knife-like claws jutted from his fingers. But it was his eyes that I was drawn to. Black and empty, like staring into a void, and yet somewhere deep within them I could see something uncomfortably close to humanity.

But I couldn't see it? How could I? He's just a beast. A mindless animal. That's what I saw when I looked at him. That's what we all see.
That's exactly what he wants us to see.
We focused on his claws and his fangs. We forgot about his voice. That voice that implants ideas and instructions in our minds when we are at our most vulnerable.
He is the Feral Beast. He is the Whisperer. He is the Incubus. He is the Lord of Nightmares.
He is the Rake.

No eyes. That thing had eyes. Pitch black eyes and it would always stare at me and I would always hide underneath my blankets so that monster won't get me. I tried telling mommy about that monster but she told me it's not real. She didn't believe me. My dad told me it was my imagination. I tried telling him about the voice, the words of the beast, but he said it could have been the radio.

Pale and ugly was it. Whispering, mumbling. It looked at me with those pit black eyes.
I saw it. I thought some dog came into my room somehow, but dogs don't talk. They don't whisper.


The flapping.. it sounds like.. swishing. Liquid swishing.


It.. it was huge. It was coming out of the ocean. It looked like a giant tentacle.

..I said my name is Jordan.
“Your name is Rael.”
..No, my name is Jordan.
“You are Rael to us.”

"One of us called her the Epping AquaTarkus. Another one of us called her Salmacis. I don’t know what to call her."

They all said “I’m the only one here.” At the same time.
I hear faint splashes.
Mister Finch steps forward.
“In madness, you dwell, Rael. Welcome to The End Complete.”

"If you must call me by a name, there are plentiful from which to choose. I recommend one a female.. what you call “American” human referred to me as, which was The Epping AquaTarkus. When obeying the rules of your language, it produces an acronym structure, a rather peculiar one, of EAT. So if you must refer to me as something, refer to me as that. Or any of my many other names you humans have called me."

"That human had these algorithms, you have a word for it. Hold on a second. ..music. Music. When I presented myself to her, she defended her.. what you’d call ‘self’ with those algorithms, and she wound up naming me after two such pieces. She’s no longer an outsider, and I find the algorithms— the music— to be structured in appealing ways."

"Most of us want to kill you, do worse than kill you. Because you pose a threat, because you’re an X factor. But I don’t. I’m a being of knowledge. Unlike your ‘known rules of survival of the fittest,’ I grow by learning. It’s in my best interests to keep you alive, as you’re an outsider."

"We are The Camper, Rael. EAT is The Camper, and The Camper are EAT."

Plague Doctor:

He was wearing a heavy black cloak and this.. mask thing. A long mask, looked like a giant beak

She’s.. she says she feels like she’s got bugs in her skin. She says she can feel them allcrawling under there, infecting her, muddling up her thoughts, her speech, her everything.

"The Plague Doctor is not one for healing the same patient twice."

"I looked over some security footage and couldn't find anything - until a few days before the raid. A...man walked in and then walked out of the warehouse. He wore some sort of overcoat and a mask, with a long beak. Looked it up later on - it was a Venetian costume, Medico Della Peste. The Doctor of Plague." Tap tap tap. "Just looking at him on the security footage made me want to wash my hands until they bled. And I knew. This man had done something. Just five minutes of being near him and the dealers chugged bleach like they were fourties."

The Archangel:


kay, that’s just a guy. Not a monster destroying my perceptions of sanity and reality. Just a man. The silhouette of a man, for that’s one bright-ass light at the end of the tunnel.
He’s wearing a gas mask.
His arms are spread, like he wants to embrace me. Goddamn, I hope you’re secretly a chick.

"I am The Ecclesiarchway. You may know me as The Archangel, a title dubbed by those who misunderstand. I am the Fear who plans ahead and has the force to set about anything in my power."

"Fight? Now? No. I am only here to overlook."

"But then last night, this big man in a gas mask and full-body suit showed up in the band room. He didn’t even move; instead, zombies just kinda started.. flooding out of him. Yeah, out of him."

Apparently, the -Blackbirds- have started to move in on -Gabriel's- territory.
-Gabriel- won't like that. You see, Gabriel is a very arrogant -Elemental.- It manipulates corpses. Controls the dead. Zombie maker.

Dead bodies, on every visible surface but the highway. The dust of the desert terrain covered many of them, and the shadow of one skyscraper towered over them all. On that building, a twin triangle symbol was marked, letting everyone know that this...
This was the Archangel's territory.

However, this thing is unlike the commonly held perception -- that God is good, and wise. No, the Supremacy is a spiteful, childish, petulant, boastful, arrogant, pretentious, idiotic, sadomasochistic, petty, unjust, morally bankrupt, vindictive, monomaniacal, malevolent bully. There are few other words for it: if the Supremacy is a deity, it is an evil deity. If it truly is the afterlife, it is a repulsive one; like the Abrahamic Heaven, you are forever with God; but God is evil, and God is cruel. This seems almost like Hell; an evil overlord of the afterlife. And it is this very point that irritates me.

do you believe in hell?
we can lead you to heaven.

you have to run. This thing won't just let you go. If you stay here, you'll die, and that thing will take your body and start parading around with it.

There is no escape from the Archangel. I understand that now. To become its slave is the ultimate fate of all humans. The Archangel isn't just some monster. The Archangel is the afterlife, and it waits for us all.

Everyone is a victim, or will be a victim: nobody escapes the Supremacy.

Cold Boy:


"Maybe you’ve met him, too. He’s a little boy. Rogers said the boy knew a lot of nursery rhymes. But the boy was always cold, always a little too cold. He looked like he had just been thawed out of, like.. a block of ice or something. Except he looked like that every time we saw him."

Imagine walking down a dirt road, out in a wide open area, on a hot, breezeless summer day. Imagine that there are no clouds in the sky, and the sun beats down on you directly. No imagine that you are also wearing several layers of clothing. It's so hot that you feel like you're about to collapse.
Now imagine that you hear a young boy's voice behind you, reciting a nursery rhyme.
Now imagine that you suddenly feel quite comfortable in your layers of clothing. It's not hot at all. In fact, it's kind of chilly.

...and now its even chillier. You're shivering. You can't stop shivering. You rub your hands together and breath into your clothes and hug yourself and try to focus on the brightly shining sun but to no avail.
You are cold.
And now your skin becomes numb. Your hands and feet can no longer move. The saliva in your mouth has turned to ice. Your eyes are crusted over.
And then your blood freezes, and your heart can no longer beat.
THAT is how the Cold Boy works. Pray that you never annoy him.

The boy's face was cracked. It looked like he was made of ice and when I hit him, it created a single crack down the side of his face. "You aren't very nice," he said. The floor was covered in frost and my elbow was painfully hurting from where I had touched him. "It's so cold. I think someone left the window open, because it's so cold." He stepped forward again and I pointed my gun straight and fired. The sound seemed deafening in the bookstore and a small hole appeared on the boy's head, but no blood. "You better shut the window," he said, "or you'll let the cold in." He smiled at me again and then he fell backwards and shattered into pieces.



Holy shit, I know the source of the cawing.
There’s a huge flock of birds flying around these mountains. They’re causing the cawing.

It’s.. heh, it’s.. pretty big! It’s just getting bigger and bigger an

The next time he woke up, he heard the clattering of the typewriter again. He rushed into the study and observed three birds, instead of the previous one. Two of them were pecking at the keys, while one was turned to look at him. The one looking at his squawked and the other two stopped their pecking, then all three flew out the window.
Hank stepped forward gingerly. How had they brought the typewriter out? He knew he put it away, but here it was, another piece of paper inside. More words:
"out talons can tear through bone
our beaks can wear down mountains
our wings can cover the skies"

I won't lie and say she didn't have a beautiful body... she didn't have a beautiful body. Once it might of have been, but it was so covered in scars and scabs that anything enticing about it had long since been eradicated. I shined my flashlight on her, and realized with a start that the scabs were moving.
Tiny little beaks burst out of the woman's flesh, and birds clawed their out of her body. Thunder cracked again, and this time when I looked up, it wasn't storm clouds I saw.
Birds. Thousands upon thousands of birds covering the sky, the beating of their wings the source of the thunder.
I stood before the Convocation.

After I went to the bathroom, I heard a whistling. I looked around the corner and I saw Mr. Lappet. He was standing outside Taylor’s locker, stuffing another note inside. He was the one who was writing the notes.
He was whistling this weird tune. I can’t. I can’t remember what it was, but it just made my head hurt. I decided to follow him. I wanted to know why he was putting the notes in her locker. Why he wrote those things.
He left the building and walked down to the quad. He stopped next to a bench and sat down. He looked up and…he opened his mouth. His mouth stretched out. It became wider and wider, larger and larger.
And out of his mouth emerged a beak. Then a whole bird. It stepped on Mr. Lappet’s chin and then flew away. Another bird came out of his mouth. They looked…strange. It flew away as a third bird came out.
Then. Then his mouth opened wider again. There was another bird. A huge bird. It was bigger than his head. I don’t know how it could have fit inside his body, but it did. It emerged from his mouth and then flew away.
Last edited by MesserTod on Sat Nov 12, 2011 3:21 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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Space Police

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Post Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:30 pm

Re: Fear Mythos Off-topic

Wooden Girl:

^ He is mistaken, Jordan. Feel free to leave anytime. <3

it looked like.. a girl, but not. Just not.

She.. she’s telling me to write. In my journal. Like a good boy. She’s telling me everything I want to hear. She’s.. awesome. But she’s so creepy. She says to call her “Mistress.”

Mistress normally puts her strings in anyone who comes near, Mistress usually strips them of her free well.

(The next few pages are filled with tear-stained drawings of Jordan and an unnamed girl doing various things)
(Only two of the seven drawings are sexual.)
(The last page was clearly drawn by someone else. It was of Jordan as a marionette, strings attached to all his joints.)
(DISOBEDIENCE is written below.)

"The Harlequin, for all intents and purposes, is a living puppet. A marionette, I guess you’d say. Except she isn’t controlled by strings. She uses her strings to control us."

She’s in a dark-crimson dress. She’s a ginger. Freckles. A mixture between German and whatever the hell freckled gingers are. And, well, okay, she’s more of a corpse than anything else, a living corpse. Except her eyes aren’t anything like any zombie I’ve ever seen.

Her eyes are conscious and calculating. There’s no rage in those eyes, no impatience, no desire to rush and catch her prey, even though I’ve just been standing here like a sitting duck, writing for a while now.

There in the middle of the living room was a woman I had never seen before. She was covered in som sort of wooden armor, with strings all around her. Her face seemed painted on, and she stared straight at me.

The Slender Man:


"It was the slender man. Tall man. Business suit. His face was…… was… well.. he clearly had a face, but I can’t quite.. describe it. It’s like it’s slipping my mind now."

He was outside again. The Slender Man. I don't know why I did it, maybe my mind was still under the pills' influence, but when I saw Him standing out there, I went outside. I walked right toward Him and stopped about a meter or two away from Him. And I asked Him a simple question: "What do you want?"
Of course, He didn't say anything. I don't know if I expected Him too, but He moved. He lifted His arm, and I just stood there and watched as His hand melted away, revealing tendrils of complete blackness crawling forth from His body. They stretched out toward me, and their tips settled on my forehead. They were cold to the touch, and my skin felt stiff wherever they made contact, and suddenly I wasn't standing in my front yard anymore.

Suddenly, a great blackness fell over me, and I saw an empty face, pale and yet somehow dark, just inches away from my eyes. Tentacles oozed out of the blackness and wrapped around the dealer, twisting the gun from his hand, wrapping around his throat and chocking off his scream. One tentacle lashed out, slicing through his stomach like a blade, spilling his intestines out onto the floor.
And then the Slender Man turned his attention to me.

so many names slim suited man rail thin man skin-and-bones man rawboned man angular faceless long limbed man operator mister gaunt

I was pinned to the floor; I could feel that at least one of my bones had broke, from the pain I could feel; I had no doubt that being thrown across the apartment would have taken me through at least one table. Bruises were forming on my back, if nothing else. But the dark tendril still held my neck; I could just see it. But I wasn't looking at that. I was looking into the sky above me, where It stood.
If there is a god in the universe, this is the face it would have; a face with no identity, or with a hundred thousand identities. In the form of man, and yet not man; perhaps an imitation, or perhaps man is the imitation of it. Not a hair upon it; fallows where eyes may have been, but were there was now only skin. Not a mouth, not a nose, no ears. The face which is not a face; the face of God.
And it was looking at this face that I felt like a child once more; innocent once more; alone once more. How I wanted to touch that face with my hands; to run my child's fingers across it; to be closer to it then I was. But it was in looking at it that I realised that even in the trance of childhood, I have been tempered by the winds of age. Distrust of the Authority; but, above all, the ability to look and to know. This was not a face of a friend; this was a face of a killer. This was not the face of a father; this was the face of my fate. It was nobody's face; it was a face nobody should have.

Blind Man:

This is a library.
The library extends far off into the horizon. It’s one big building.
I guess apocalyptic monsters like to read.

There’s a man here, old man, cloaked in black, wearing black sunglasses. He’s the man who can flip through the books of our lives freely.
He says the time is 8:05 PM.
He says he is blind, says he is colloquially referred to as The Blind Man. He has much to say to me.

"And when I looked into the Grandfather's eyeless face,
when I saw my childhood and memories fade away from my body and into His
glory, I felt at peace.
I knew that I had lost years of experience, but I did not care.
Instead, I resolved to replace all that experience. I would assimilate
knowledge, following in the Grandfather's footsteps.
For the Grandfather is the ultimate collector of knowledge,
and through Him all knowledge must flow."

And there he was. The Grandfather. He approached the Broker I had been sent to find, and he reached out his hand and laid it on the Broker's shoulder. My quarry choked and coughed as if he had dust in his throat (and I think he did). His hair turned gray, turned white, fell from his head. His skin turned wrinkly, livery. His body weakened and stooped. His bones cracked and creaked.
And then pieces of hims began to fall off. His skin turned to dust and his bones turned to stone. He crumpled into nothingness, and the Grandfather turned his attention to me.

There is a man who wanders through the libraries of the world. He wears a long black coat and dark sunglasses over his eyes... or rather, over where his eyes would be. His face is that of an old man, if not for that one missing feature.
In his hand, he carries a dusty old tome, and though he cannot see, he often stops to write in it with an old quill pin.
He is the Blind Man, and within that book he keeps his collection.
What does he collect, you ask?

I'd like to say that I turned and there he was. That's how it happens in films. No; I turned, and took a step. Then turned again; and that was where he was. A dirty brown long-coat, dragging across the floor. A hunched back; clothes which were more dirt then true clothes. Grey hair, which fell in a way that looked too deliberate. And then, there was his face.
His lips were cracked; they looked almost the same as his skin, except for the firm line between them. A small nose. His skin was drawn tight, and yet loose; quite indescribable. And then there were his eyes, or lack thereof; two dark holes from which no light escaped. Like drilled holes in wood, these two inhuman 'eyes' simply bored into that hideous face. No eyes could ever have graced such a monstrosity. I looked into them, and felt myself staring
into an abyss which stared back into me.

He, that man, let me start from the beginning. I got curious. I wanted to see that book. The old man left it on a table. I opened it. Names, there were names in that book and beneath those name stories. I skimmed through it, but I felt a presence behind me. I turned around, still holding that book, and saw the old man staring at me. How long had he been there? I don't know. He could have been there ever since I opened that book. Then why didn't he tell me to stop?
I thought he was going to hit me, yell at me for doing something that I shouldn't do, so I panicked. I threw up my hands to protect myself but my hand must have hit his sunglasses. That man, where his eyes should be were holes. Just holes. He had no eyes and yet he was looking at me. He smiled. I gave him his book back. I gave him his sunglasses.


Oh dear god I’m a shadow.
..I need to get out of here, they say. The mirror depicts a future, they say.

Write or the Shadowmen will come.

When I woke up that first time in the dark, when I was still in the vague place between sleep and waking, I thought I could see shadows moving on the walls.


I took my rightful place with them. Once the sun rose, we moved, slipped down the pavement, across grass and sidewalk, through doors and windows and walls, into a house.
As we set the house in order, I found a computer and came here. This journal was my time spent with the memories of Martin. This was my trial, the journey I went through, coming to realize that the City is inescapable. It is disorder and chaos incarnate. Order is better.
The owner of the house came home a few hours ago. We decided to put his mind in order as well. It was so confused. He is sitting still now. His eyes are closed and I think he is still breathing. How can we lead you out of the caves if you are so jumbled and untidy and disordered? We will help you.
You have come to the end of the book now. And the monster you have been so worried about? It is me.
I am a Nightlander. Hello.

I feel as if these are creatures I cannot name. Nothing can easily describe them.
…except The Victims.
Yes. The Victims. They know me, and I feel as if I know them. They know my delusions all too well, and they have seen my nightmares. They live nightmares every day, trapped in life as eternal shadows.
How did they become shadows? They will not say. They want to say, want to grab me and scream it to me, but they have no way to.
All they can do is shift among the walls of our disillusioned daydreams, and pray we follow them down the rabbit hole.

Then, a shadow passed through his car, covering the interior like all the lights had gone out. When it moved through the car, all the papers and pamphlets the driver had dumped out of his glove compartment shuffled into one large, neat stack and then quietly shifted back into the glove compartment and organized themselves. Everything in the car arranged itself neatly and the driver, in a panic, tried to open the car door.
It wouldn't open. We watched as he tried again and again, until finally he was kicking the door and crying.
The shadows apparently didn't like that. They tried to...they tried to neaten him up. To organize him. A shadow passed over his head and his whole body seemed to stand rigid in attention. His arms pushed themselves down, his legs closed together, and his head snapped upward, his eyes open with alarm.
He tried to turn. I could see him straining. I think the shadows decided to just let him go then, because he head then snapped sideways and he fell down onto the steering wheel with a broken neck. The shadows pulled his body backwards and laid him neatly on the seat and then seemed to melt away.

Black Dog:

Black dog black dog should not be black dog black dog should not be

The dog just fucking slaughtered all six wolves within a minute. The wolves are easily bigger than it. Then the dog glared at us with painfully red eyes and leaped away into the darkness.

I would see it around, and then it started bringing me things. First a railroad spike. Then a flyer for a Miss Teen pageant. It knew. I tried hiding what it brought me. Sandy would take me with her to visit her brother, and he never recognized me, or anyone for that matter. Her family accepted me, for comforting her in her time of need. They didn't know! I had everything but the dog knew. Every time I would look at a young woman I would see the dog and it was watching. It was coming for me. It knew! The more I hid the things it brought, the more it would bring, and the more it would come after me. Always the marks on the face! They were my tears of shame!

The Choir:

"that one is known as The Musician. There are multiple of them, usually several per person. The Musicians are the ones who invented language itself. They have mastered it so well that they can create and edit life merely by speaking words. They prefer to be.. behind your eyes. Hiding in the pit, if you will."

"The Musicians are here to obfuscate."

"He looked away for one second, and all of a sudden there were two tall men standing in the center of the room. He could make out no features; he’d keep trying to focus, but his eyes simply refused to unblur. He tried speaking, but instead of words, the sounds of a saxophone came out of his mouth. The man on the left shook his head and told him not to worry, and then the one on the right said “It’s okay; we’re musicians.” Except the voice sounded so loud, it was as if it was going to shatter his ear drums. Brown woke up the next morning temporarily deaf, lasted a few days. And he never went back in the cafeteria since."

"We are the voice in the wilderness crying, Martin," he said. "We are the choir and the chorus and the song that sings itself. They asked for our help."

"We are the sound and fury, signifying nothing. We are the sweetest songs and the saddest thoughts. You remember our warning, don't you, Martin?"

"we musicians have to look out for each other
now bend over and take the suppository of fact
the stream of thought lies in you still
let’s turn it into a deluge
let us show you the music of our language
perhaps our language leads you"
Perhaps it does. Perhaps it’s full of shit.
"come child
from musician to musician
am i really the enemy you despise
am i really the target of your vocal artillery
the warfare is with the cause
the correlation of gods belongs with the free of mind the correlation of fear begins with the free of heart"

Mrs. Stephens: I didn't mean to say it. I didn't mean to say it. I didn't. I didn't mean to say it.
Baker: Say what?
Mrs. Stephens: I said it, but I didn't mean it. I wanted to tell her to have a nice day.
Baker: Mrs. Stephens?
Mrs. Stephens: Have a nice day. That's all I wanted to say.
Baker: What did you hear?
Mrs. Stephens: I told her. I told her but I didn't mean it. I told her I never loved her. I didn't mean to say it. I only wanted to say have a nice day. Have a nice day, Marie. Have a nice day.

close one eye
step to the side
close one eye
step to the side
close one eye
step to the side

We will always be part of the great misdirect.

The Empty City:

There are records of it (most are false). There are people who have claimed to have seen it (most are liars). There are those obsessed with it (most are like me) and those who wish to exploit it (most are never going to find it).

There is no map to the City, the City of Emptiness, the City Without Shadows, the Constantly Shifting City, where the buildings are never in the same place twice.

There was a bright light and a Door was there. I had never seen a Door just appear before (and hadn't now, since my eyes had been closed) and this wasn't like any Door I had seen. It was tall and majestic and golden. All of the Gentlemen stared at it with awe and rapture in their eyes.
It swung open and a great darkness consumed them. It pulled them in and shut the Door behind it.

This was my trial, the journey I went through, coming to realize that the City is inescapable. It is disorder and chaos incarnate.

The Eye:

"The Eye found me. It entered into me. A new identity was born. I am the Eye. The Eye is me. I am Judgment." Sleight or Judgment or whatever began walking toward me. A knife flashed in his hand. "The sins of my old self burn within me. Soon the flames will consume this body and a new Judgment must be found. But for the time being I live, and I have a purpose. Retribution."

The Mechanical Newborn:

It was big. As big as a car. It had legs like a centipede, many and jointed. It looked patchwork, like it had constructed itself from any materials on hand. I saw prison bars and chair legs and bones. I saw a dark red splotch that must have been Hickson's heart, but in the middle I saw something else. In the middle I saw a snowglobe just sitting there, like it was its brain.

The Dying Man:

"Owen...welcome. Welcome to my land. Where I rule supreme. This is only a glance, Owen. A tiny glance. Only a fraction of how powerful I...used to be. Before.."
"Before Grace." He finishes for me in a calm voice. I should have noticed that...he's not afraid...
"Before Grace, yes. I ruled over this area of Virginia, Owen. King. Everyone was manipulated by me. And I could kill whenever and whomever I wanted. I could do anything! Hell, Owen, did you know that some of the families in Virginia are related to me, somehow? Think about that."
He thinks about that, and gags.
"That's right. I can control many people, since parts from the me long ago are trapped inside of them. You see, I sometimes went out into the countryside and raped. Pillaged, too, but mostly raped. Add that to your gigantic list of "Shit to Worry About."

Oh god...that one kid? What was his name...Drew? Drew Wood? Something like that? I'm positive his last name was Wood anyways...
his own arm was used...somehow...to claw its way inside of his chest. As in, the arm itself somehow stabbed its way into the chest,...and clenched itself around the poor kid's heart.
The kid's own body betrayed him.
And he was only eleven...
I don't know. The bodies seem to move by themselves.
The -Elemental- seems to be like...a demon. Yknow, like a possesion type deal.

Edit: So this is still far from complete. The Dying Man, Eye, and Mechanical Newborn sections need to be filled out some more. But the rest is as complete as I think it will get. Again, if you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know.
Last edited by MesserTod on Sat Nov 26, 2011 8:30 am, edited 6 times in total.
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Post Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:31 pm

Re: Fear Mythos Off-topic

The reason this thread exists is to prevent the other thread from being flooded from fangasms
All I can remember after I closed my eyes, was that first, it got real loud; then, it got real hot; then it got real slimy; then it got quiet; then it got.... unspeakable. And when I opened my eyes, the pool was empty, and three days had passed.


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Post Mon Nov 07, 2011 8:07 pm

Re: Fear Mythos Off-topic

Okay. Fear Quotes compilation finished. See above for the finished (edited) product.
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