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>>3889492

Twitter: http://twitter.com/ravenkingquests

Discord: https://discord.gg/4p9mmau

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>>3889492

SLASHER

In life you were shunned, hated, and feared, a victim of cruelty and injustice. Inside you felt a deep resentment against those who wronged you, a grudge that grew and festered until it became hatred, then malice, and finally, a hunger for revenge.

Your need for vengeance was so strong, that when your life came to an end, instead of falling into death you travelled beyond, passing through realms of darkness and flame. Maybe you found your way out -- or maybe something sent you back. But the truth remains. You came back.

Now you are both more and less than your former self. Your weaknesses were burned away by fire, and your new self rose from the ashes. You are hard as iron, cold as winter, and silent as stone.

The site of your grave is the center of your lair. All those who trespass in your territory are killed, without mercy, and over the years this place has become a rumor-shadowed hunting ground that few now dare approach. Here you remain, ageless, deathless, blessed or doomed to eternally act out your vengeance upon the living in blood and pain.

Who were you, and where did you become undying? What place is now your home forever? With which instrument do you play your music of violence?


>Hunter
>Dark Forest
>Woodsman's Axe

>Hillbilly
>Rotting Farm
>Chainsaw

>Wrecker
>Rusting Junkyard
>Sledgehammer

>Haunt
>Ruined Manor
>Family Sword

>>3889502
>>Hunter
>>Dark Forest
>>Woodsman's Axe

>>3889502
>Hunter
>Dark Forest
>Woodsman's Axe

>>3889502
>Hunter
>Dark Forest
>Woodsman's Axe

>>3889502
>>Hunter
>>Dark Forest
>>Woodsman's Axe

>>3889502
>Hunter
>Dark Forest
>Woodsman's Axe
We're heartless, aren't we? Cold as metal.

>>3889502
>Hunter
>Dark Forest
>Woodsman's Axe

Is the girl the same from last thread or are we creating a new one? Either way is fine by me

>>3889502
>>Hunter
>>Dark Forest
>>Woodsman's Axe

Well, that was easy.

>>3889502
>>Haunt
>>Ruined Manor
>>Family Sword

>>3889502
>>Haunt
>>Ruined Manor
>>Family Sword

Let's pray the slasher wins this time

>>3889502
>>Haunt
>>Ruined Manor
>>Family Sword

>>3889645
I just want a good show man, win or lose, I want to see.

>>3889502
>>Haunt
>>Ruined Manor
>>Family Sword

Can the slasher killer be a former cheerleader?

>>3889795
I think the Slasher killer is the Final Girl from a B-list slasher movie, like the introvert or someshit, I forget what exactly, but it's in the previous thread.

>>3889502
>Hunter
>Dark Forest
>Woodsman's Axe

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>>3889502
>>3889511
>>3889513
>>3889517
>>3889529
>>3889551
>>3889578
>>3889581
>>3889831


For as long as you could remember, you had lived alone with your father in the forest, your mother having long since passed. The dark woods were a harsh and dangerous place, but your father was a skilled hunter, surviving off the bounty of the land, and he provided for you. From a young age he began to teach you his skills, to track, to pursue, to kill. When daylight shortened and winter snows settled on the land, together you would retreat to your sturdy log cabin that was your home. In the glow of the warm hearth, you would listen rapturously to your father's stories of giants and warriors in distant lands. Above the hearth was one of his prize possessions, a trophy from his greatest quarry: the head of a mighty stag, crowned proudly with tall and jagged antlers.

One day, men came to the house, armed with guns. Your father spoke to them. You were too young to understand their conversation, but you could sense the anger in these strangers. A dark fear descended on your heart. Gunshots rang out through the forest. And your father fell, never to rise again. When you pleaded with the men, they laughed at you, and decided that cruelty would be more amusing than death. They cut out your tongue. The knife was cold and sharp in your mouth, the blood hot and wet. Then they placed the prize trophy over your head, the antler-crowned stag, and locked it in place with a steel-jaw bear trap. Laughing, they joked about the creature they had created, and that surely a brave hunter would soon bring you in as his quarry.

After the men left, you recovered, slowly, feeding on the one meal available to you, no matter how grisly or horrifying it might have been. Then you began the hunt. You tracked down the men who killed your father. And you made them suffer. The agony they had inflicted on you was nothing compared to what you did to them. Their screams echoed through the woods, but there was no-one to hear.

From that day on, you lived alone in the woods. You never even tried to remove your new face. The soft, vulnerable thing on your head, that was not your face anymore. Your new face was like you. It did not flinch, and it did not forgive.

You got older and stronger, and grew into a dangerous predator. You started with hares and foxes, moving up to stronger animals like wolves and bears, until finally only the most dangerous game could make you feel the thrill of the hunt. Any unsuspecting travellers who came into your territory were slaughtered, their bodies found with violent axe wounds.

Your humanity was a half-remembered dream. There was only the Hunter.

Eventually, the forest was abandoned. Townsfolk spread the legend of a half-beast lurking in the shadows. The Hunter. It was said that any who dared to enter mysteriously vanished, engulfed by the dark woods, never to be seen again.

>>3889852

When the living trespass upon your territory, it is not enough simply to kill them. That would be too easy, too unsatifying. Dark desires well up within you, hungry for punishment beyond death. They demand more. Your victims must suffer. They must die to serve a purpose, and they must die by your own hand.

Dark Desire
>Blood: You revel in inflicting pain and violence on others.
>Trophy: You have a collection of body parts harvested from each victim.
>Stalker: You watch and observe your prey before moving in for the kill.

Method (Choose 2)
>Traps and snares
>Throwing hatchets
>Bow and arrows
>Hunting knife
>Tooth and nail

>>3889854
>>Trophy: You have a collection of body parts harvested from each victim.
Like a true hunter.
>Traps and snares
>Bow and arrows

>>3889854
>>Blood: You revel in inflicting pain and violence on others
>Traps and snares
>Torch and stake and faggots

>>3889854
>Trophy: You have a collection of body parts harvested from each victim.
and
>Traps and snares
>Throwing hatchets

traps and snares are perfect for a hunter keeping their territory under control, and throwing hatchets double as a nice melee weapon.

>>3889854
>Trophy: You have a collection of body parts harvested from each victim.

>Traps and snares

>Bow and arrows

>>3889859
Support

>>3889854
>Trophy: You have a collection of body parts harvested from each victim.

>Traps and snares

>Bow and arrows


Area control specialist
I dig it

>>3889854
>>Traps and snares
>>Tooth and nail

>>3889854
>Blood: You revel in inflicting pain and violence on others.
>Traps and snares
>Throwing hatchets

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>>3889854
>>3889857
>>3889861
>>3889862
>>3889871
>>3889905
>>3889949


Your desires push you to collect trophies when you kill. For those quarries who are remarkable in some way, whether their tenacity in the struggle for life, or their fairness in a beautiful death, you take from them in the way hunters do.

Your first prey, the men who killed your father and gave you your face. Those men's heads were mounted above the hearth, where your face came from. Today they are only skulls. Others have joined them over the years. Mounted on your walls and hanging from the rafters are a gallery of heads, slowly withering away. Foxes, bears, wolves. Men, women, old, young. The essence of a good collection is in the variety, in the memories and stories they evoke.

When you venture out into the woods, you take your hunters' tools. A bear trap, great steel-fanged jaws rusted from blood, and some lengths of catgut wire to make snares. A bow, fashioned from ash and horn, arrows fletched with crow feathers. And your woodsman's axe, the wooden haft a comfortable companion in your hands. The sharp, heavy blade is useful for trimming foilage for a hide, felling trees for a temporarily shelter, and whenever possible, the killing of prey.

Once the quarry is fallen, your axe takes their head, to be added to the trophies. The rest is used for meat and craft.

In the dark woods, you watch and wait. Another hunt always comes.

>>3889955

Today you have come across the trail of a small pack. You have learned to recognize their prints. Moving through the woods, silent as a shadow, you follow the signs, until you hear their voices, rising in anger. They are arguing, you think. Another of their pointless squabbles. Behind your face you smile. The people outside the wood are such fools. They do not understand that nature is red, and does not forgive weakness.

An older man, once strong, now bent with age, is arguing with another, a man in glasses, perhaps his grown son. A woman is with them, first taking one side, then the other, playing them against each other. Their children wait nearby, an older boy and a younger girl.

The old man is stubbornly insistent. "I'm telling you, it's this way," he says. "I know these things. When I was in 'Nam--"

"Oh, please, dad," the man in glasses says. "Not another war story. Look, the guidebook says we're going the right way. If we just--"

"To hell with your guidebook," the old man says. "That's what got us lost in the first place."

"Some vacation this turned out to be," the woman says, disdainful. "You could have listened to those men at the hotel who told us not to go into the woods, couldn't you, Robert? But you just had to take one of your scenic hikes, didn't you? And you had to drag us along with you. And now look where we are. Nowhere!"

"Linda, please," the man in glasses says. "I'm trying to get us out, so if you'll just stop hectoring me--"

"Don't use me as an excuse, you always--"

"For god's sake, I never should have--"

The young girl says, "When can we go home? I don't like it here. I'm scared."

The adults pause, hesitating, until the woman says, "Soon, honey. Real soon."

>>3889955
Why can't we do a bit of both? We enjoy torturing and making our prey suffer and once they died we collect their parts as trophy?

>>3889956

The girl you must leave for last. Some force has impressed this on you, some unknowable rule beyond your understanding. It cannot be ignored any more than gravity. No matter. You are otherwise free to choose as you will.

>The old man
>The man in glasses
>The woman
>The boy

>>3889958
>>The woman

>>3889958
>The old man
Old but experienced, thus the most likely to catch on and do something in return.

>>3889958
>>The woman
Going for the woman first because losing her will make the men lose their reason. A hunter needs a bait, and she makes a perfect one. Leave her to die last.

>>3889965
honestly it sound like without her they might actually get their act together, especially with two kids to protect. the woman was pulling them apart. kill one of the men and leave her alive, and she'll probably harp on the surviving man and blame it all on him, especially if we kill the boy second.

>>3889958
>The woman

>>3889958
>The woman

>>3889958
>The woman

>>3889958
>The woman

>>3889958
>>The woman

>>3889958
>>The woman

>>3889958
>The woman

>>3889958
>>3889960
>>3889965
>>3889975
>>3889976
>>3890060
>>3890086
>>3890088
>>3890312
>>3890367


The woman, then. Often your first choice. Her kind are all the same. They believe their control over sex and congress gives them power. They are wrong. You run your thumb along the sharp edge of your axe. This is power.

The prey continues to argue, until eventually they split up. The old man and the kids stay behind, while the father and mother go off by themselves. You follow them, a silent presence among the green.

Twice the woman senses something, and turns around, searching. But she sees nothing, only the dense foliage of the woods, her eyes passing right over your hiding places. Her growing unease makes her even more tense, and her verbal barbs at her husband become more and more pointed, until they stop searching altogether to harangue each other. They bring up old injustices, unhealed wounds, accusations of infidelity.

"I've seen the way Carl looks at you," the husband says querolously. "You can't tell me that you're "just good friends", I know what's going on."

"If I were doing something like that," the wife retorts. "It's because you're the most boring man I've ever met. Is it any wonder I'd have to find satisfaction somewhere else? If you would just glkkk -- hkkk --" She grasps at her throat, eyes wide in shock and pain, and her fingers scratch at the rough rope snare now looped around her throat.

The rope hauls the woman upwards, suspending her in midair from a sturdy branch of an ash tree. Her feet kick wildly at nothing, losing her shoes in the process. Her face begins to turn blue as her air shuts off completely.

"Linda!" the husband calls out, panicking. "Don't worry, I'll -- I'll get you down from there, somehow!" He unfolds a pocket knife, but can't reach high enough to cut the rope suspending his wife from the tree branch. So he peers into the underbrush, trying to find the other end of the rope, the anchor, to cut.

Instead he finds you.

He doesn't understand what it is he's looking at. He still has a look of surprise rather than fear, as though trying to comprehend what he sees, when you bring the woodsman's axe down on his forehead. His glasses split neatly in two. A thin rivulet of blood trails down his face, now permanently fixed in surprise. You wrench the axe free, leaving a gaping wound in the man's skull, and his body falls to the ground in a tangled heap among the bushes.

The woman sees this happen, powerless to do anything about it except struggle. You watch her writhe on the rope until the last of her breath fails her, and her limbs fall limp to her sides.

You leave her there, for now, hanging from the tree by the neck, her husband's corpse lying in the bushes nearby. Perhaps you will harvest a trophy from them later, but they did not especially impress you.

>>3891200

Retracing your steps, you find the old man and the two young ones, right where you left them.

"Grandpa," says the little girl. "Why do mommy and daddy fight all the time?"

The old man grumbles, "Cause your father married that damn harpy, even though I told him not to. Err --" He pauses, seeing the girl's reaction. "Sorry, sweetie, what I mean is, being a grown-up is hard sometimes. They have a lot to worry about. I'm sure your parents love each other very much, and I know they love you."

The older boy snorts with disgust. "Yeah, right. Those two?" The older man gives him a withering look, and he quiets down.

"Will they be back soon?" asks the girl.

"Yeah, sweetie," the old man says. "They'll be back soon, and we'll have a real nice vacation, with nice hotel beds to sleep in and everything. Once we get out of these damn woods."

It is time. How will you kill them?

>Brazenly approach them, cut them down with the axe.
>Chase them into your traps.
>Shoot with arrows from hiding.

>>3891205
>Shoot with arrows from hiding.

>>3891205
>Shoot with arrows from hiding

>>3891205
>>Shoot with arrows from hiding.

>>3891205
>Chase them into your traps.

>>3891205
>Chase them into your traps.

>>3891205
>>Brazenly approach them, cut them down with the axe.

>>3891205
>Chase them into your traps.
I was hoping for a longer scene. I guess these folks aren't our main prey tonight.

>Shoot with arrows from hiding.

>>3891215
>>3891218
>>3891235
>>3891424
>Shoot with arrows from hiding.

I'll call it here so we don't end up tied again.

>>3891205
>>3891426


You put your axe down for now and unsling your bow, tightening your grip around the well-worn wood. From your quiver you take an arrow, feeling the crow feathers in your fingers, soft to the touch.

The old man is your first target. Despite his age, you can sense he was once a warrior, and might be difficult if confronted directly. Best to take him out silently, from a distance, and then dispatch the young one as he panics.

He knows something is wrong, and hushes the children. "Quiet now for a moment." He listens intently. Slowly, carefully, not making a sound, you nock the arrow to the string, and prepare.

"What's wrong, grandpa?" asks the little girl.

Before he can answer, you draw back the string, feeling the heavy pull of elastic tension, and loose. The arrow takes the old man in the throat. The little girl screams. Blood jets from the neck, and the old man clamps a hand over the wound, but can't staunch the flow. He chokes, struggles, uses his other hand to fumble under his jacket, pulling out an old revolver, but his fingers have no strength left, and the gun falls, landing silently on the thick carpet of rotting leaves.

A second arrow takes him in the eye, finishing him, and his body topples backwards off the stump he sat on.

The girl is still screaming.

The older boy takes off running into the woods, not a thought spared for his young sister. Cowardly. Your arrow takes him in the back, right between the shoulder blades, knocking him to the ground. Re-slinging your box, you pick up the axe and stride towards the boy, whimpering, crawling forward by dragging himself along the ground with his hands, legs lying limp and boneless behind him. You stand over him, raise your axe high over your head, and bring it down, splitting his head like nothing more than a firewood log.

The girl is frozen where she stood, rooted in fear. Her screams have become sobs, tears glistening on her face.

Something stirs in your memory from long ago, when your heart still beat and your blood still flowed. A young boy, crying and alone, just like her.

You take a knee in front of the girl and, reaching out with a hand as hard and cold as stone, use your thumb to wipe away her tears, leaving a smudge of forest earth behind. She stares at you, terrified witless.

>Kill her.
>Let her go.

>>3891517
>Kill her.

>>3891517
>Let her go.

>>3891517
>Let her go.

>>3891517
>>Kill her.

>>3891517
>>Kill her.

>Let her go.

>>3891517
>Let her go.

>>3891517
>Test Her.

>Take the old soldier's head.
>If she runs, Hunt her. If she stands her ground, leave.

>>3891598
Oh, i like this.
Changing to support.

>>3891598
Supporting this.

>>3891598
I can support this test too

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>>3891517
>>3891598
>>3891621
>>3891658
>>3891659


You are undecided. You will watch her reaction to the taking of a trophy. This will prove whether she is worthy of the red world.

Getting back to your feet, you stand over the old man. He was still alert and watchful in advanced age. Had you been less careful, less quiet, he would have undoubtedly have heard, and proved a difficult quarry.

You swing the axe, decapitating him with a single stroke. Raising the head, still with your arrow in its eye, you examine it critically. Yes. This will decorate your hall. Memento of an old warrior.

You turn and look towards the girl. She stands there still. Whether brave enough to withstand the sight of her grandfather's head being held in midair, or merely too frozen in terror to think or move, you cannot say. Still. Deep within the darkness of your cold soul, whatever flickering candle of feeling that remains has been moved. She has earned something from you.

And so you turn your back on her, leaving her there. The rest of the old man you will give to the crows. The others will be meat in the cellar before long. You take out your skinning knife, moving over to the boy facedown with an arrow in his back.

You kneel beside the body, but before starting, you look back over your shoulder. The girl is gone. Perhaps the forest will swallow her up, and she will never see the world outside the woods again. But it is possible she will find the strength in her to go on. You have given her that chance, at least.

You apply your knife, and begin the work.

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>>3891721

KILLER

Two weeks since that night. Two weeks since your friends were taken by the Nurse of Blackwell Asylum. Two weeks since everything you thought you understood about the world, everything that seemed sane and reasonable and ordinary, crumbled to dust.

The funerals were bad. The police questioning was worse. You had no way of explaining that the grisly murder of your friends was at the hands of a merciless slasher risen from the grave. And you were never much of a liar. So you fell back on pretending ignorance, saying you had hit your head and fallen unconscious, and didn't have any idea what had happened. It was a flimsy excuse, and everyone knew it. Only your spotless reputation as a honor student graduate and volunteer at the local homeless shelter kept you from being arrested, or outcast by the town. Even then, it was a narrow thing, and many you were once close to now look at you with guarded suspicion.

You're in your room, on the second floor of the house you grew up in. Once a place of familiar comforts. Now it feels like it belongs to a stranger. Like someone entirely different put these pictures of musicians on the wall, or bought that fluffy pink cushion decorating your bed. The person who did those things had no troubles in her life bigger than her next shift at Townsend Grocery, and hoping she got into a good college next year. She had dreams of a career, a marriage, a future.

All those dreams are ash now.

Even if you hadn't made that agreement with the girl who saved your life that night, you don't think that life is possible for you now. There is no path back to normal. Greendale isn't home anymore.

The only way forward you can see is to join Sarah. To do what she's doing. Take back control. Try to stop this from happening to anyone else, ever again. Nothing else matters. Not now.

Your backpack is almost full. Some practical clothes. A handful of toiletries. A few things you might need on the road. You could take one, maybe two more things.

Choose 1:
>Your favorite books.
>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses.
>Photograph of your cheerleading squad.
>Guitar.
>Snacks.

>>3891793
>>Guitar.
Oh shit, we're playing the NPC we saved last time, dope.

>>3891793
>Guitar.
music to soothe the soul.
or something like that.

>>3891793
>>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses.
If you're gonna die then die pretty

>>3891793
>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses.

>>3891793
>>Your favorite books.

>>3891793
>Guitar.

>>3891793
>>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses.

>>3891793
>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses.

>>3891793
>Guitar.

>>3891793
>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses
Make sure to bring a hat too

>>3891793
>Guitar.

>>3891800
Is she the beauty from last time?

>>3891793
>Guitar.

>>3891793
>>3891800
>>3891804
>>3891806
>>3891819
>>3891835
>>3891850
>>3891860
>>3891872
>>3891894
>>3891977
>>3891985

>Makeup kit, necklace, sunglasses.
>Guitar.

I think we can squeeze these both in there. Writing.

>>3891983
Yes.

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>>3892064

In the last space available in your backpack you put your makeup essentials, your favorite necklace, and a pair of women's sunglasses. If you're going to die, then you're going to die pretty. You put on a straw hat for good measure.

You zip up the backpack, put it on, then turn towards the door of your room, ready to leave for what might be the last time. Then, on impulse, you grab your old guitar. You haven't played it much recently, but who knows? It might be useful to have some music on the road. Soothe the soul, or however that works. Sarah seemed like a person who could use some soothing. Worst case scenario, you could break it over a slasher's head.

You head downstairs, into the empty living room. Through the door to the kitchen, you can see the note you left on the table. It explains to your parents that you were going away, and didn't know when you'd be back. You couldn't bear to tell them face-to-face. No way you could get through that conversation without crying. And you didn't want to cry. There was a wall between you and the sadness, now, and it was all you could do to keep that wall standing.

People will wonder why you did this. Sure, taking some time off after a traumatic incident isn't so strange. But they'll expect you to be back soon. And you won't. They'll wonder why. Why would you throw away such a promising future?

Everyone always said you were beautiful, smart, flawless. Good grades. Perfect attendance. A long resume of volunteer week. To them, you were perfect. But you knew better. Maybe you looked good on the outside, sure, but you knew that on the inside, you were:

>Cold
>Impulsive
>Lonely

>>3892079
>Impulsive

>>3892079
>>Lonely
So many people's expectations were forced on you, you never really got to know people as equals.

>Cold

>>3892079
>Impulsive

>>3892079
>Lonely
>Tired
all that weight of expectations on ones shoulders so often wears one down, and isolates one from others.

>>3892079
>>Impulsive
>>Lonely
There's something about her that triggers all the death flags.

>>3892079
>Lonely

>>3892079
Lonely

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>>3892079
>>3892082
>>3892087
>>3892093
>>3892112
>>3892188


Secretly, behind your facade of excellence, you were lonely. The weight of expectations fell on your shoulders, wearing you down. Despite having many superficial friends, you became isolated, unable to express your true heart to anyone. Sometimes, alone at night, despair and sadness would overwhelm you. A darkness lived in you, a shadow that you hid from everybody with a bright smile.

No need to hide it now. No need to put on a happy face, not for Sarah, who's already seen you at your worst. You feel a strange, exhilarating freedom, knowing that you went into the darkest place you can imagine, and came out the other side. Changed, yes. But alive. That darkness feels like a part of you, now, in a way you can't explain.

You step out onto the front porch, lock the door behind you. And then, after a brief hesitation, you open the mailbox and drop in the key. If you held onto it, it would only tempt you to come back.

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>>3892226

Sarah's waiting for you, down the end of the block, arms folded and leaning up against her car, a beat-up old Mazda sedan. You're still a little in awe of her. She's older, tougher, stronger, and way more experienced in, well, everything. She turns her head, and your fingers tighten on your backpack strap as her bright blue eyes look your way.

"What's with the guitar?" she asks with a smile. You see the scalpel cut the Nurse left on her cheek has healed, leaving only a small scar.

"I-I thought it might be nice to have a little music sometimes," you say.

Sarah shrugs, opens the rear door for you, and you put your stuff in the backseat. "Ready?" she asks.

You aren't sure you're ready at all, but you say, "Yeah. Let's go."

You both get in. The car coughs to life. Sarah puts it in gear and pulls away from the curb. You twist in your seat to watch your home, the house you grew up in, grow smaller and smaller in the back window, until finally the car turns a corner, and it disappears.

"It's tough," Sarah says. "Leaving your home. But you can't go back anyway. Even if you're there, physically, you're not really there. I'm not sure if that makes sense."

"No, I get it," you say. "You're right."

The car is quiet for a while as Sarah maneuvers her way through Greendale, gets on the highway out of town, starts driving north. You barely notice. You're distracted by your thoughts, bad memories of the night at Blackwell.

Sarah drums her fingers on the steering wheel, clears her throat. "Sorry," she says. "I'm used to driving alone, you know? Been doing it a while. Guess I'm not much for conversation anymore."

"It's okay," you tell her. That said, it's probably better to try and get her talking. Better that than watching another instant replay in your head of Will dying on that rain-soaked roof, sacrificing himself to save your life, the Nurse in her blood-stained gas mask standing over his body. You cast your mind around for something to ask her about.

>Where are we headed?
>How did all this start for you?
>What can you tell me about the monsters?
>Do you have a boss, or a team, or anyone like that?

>>3892232
>How did all this start for you?
hearing her story might help you come to terms with yours.

>>3892232
>Where are we headed?
Enough looking back, it's time to look forward.

>>3892232
>>Where are we headed?
>>What can you tell me about the monsters?

>>3892232
>>How did all this start for you?

>>3892232
>Where are we headed?

>>3892232

>Where are we headed?

>>3892232
>>Where are we headed?

>>3892232
>>3892271
>>3892272
>>3892457
>>3892459
>>3892776


"Where are we headed?" you ask. Keep it simple, for now, and keep looking forward. You've had enough of looking back already.

"First, we're going to do some shopping," Sarah says. "For this job you need the right tools. How much cash you got?"

"Five hundred." This morning you withdrew the small savings account you'd built up from your part-time cashier job at the grocery store.

"That should be enough. I'd like to help you out on this, but I'm broke as hell right now. Everything I've got is for gas, to get us where we're going." Sarah points her thumb at the back of the car, where you head some metallic rattling earlier. "Got some stuff in the trunk you can use. But you should still have something of your own."

"Okay."

"After that, we're going to see a friend of mine up north. Well. I say friend. But he's not the easiest person to get along with. We're not going to see him for his charming personality. You'll see what I mean."

"So, why are we going to see him, then?"

"He's smart. Not as smart as he thinks he is, but still. He knows about these things. A lot more than I do." Sarah thinks for a moment about how to say this. "My job isn't to track these things down. Reading newspaper articles, putting together stats, doing mystical hoo-ha, to figure out where these things are, when they'll strike next? All that stuff is done by others." A wry smile. "I'm just a gun that these guys point and shoot."

"I think you're a lot more than that," you say quietly.

Some time later, Sarah pulls into the parking lot of a shopping center just off the highway. "Here we go. Hardware store, home and garden, hunting supplies. This should have everything we're looking for." She glances at you. "Not your usual girls' shopping trip, huh?"

You reflect on being dragged along with your "friends" in the cheerleading squad on those long trips to clothing stores, smiling and pretending to have fun while they gossipped and bickered. "Fine with me."

Sarah takes you around to the different stores, explaining the pros and cons of the weapons available. "You want something light weight, versatile, and reliable to start with," she says. "Once you get a feel for it, you can think about getting more specialized, but for now, let's stick with the basics. Which of these strikes your fancy?"

>Pistol: Powerful, but loud.
>Crossbow: Quiet, but slow to reload.
>Crowbar: Versatile utility, but low stopping power.
>Hatchet: Reliable, but needs room to swing.

>Pistol: Powerful, but loud.
There's a reason why firearms are considered a great equaliser

>>3893368
>>Crowbar: Versatile utility, but low stopping power.
If I remember correctly, we got trapped by the Nurse in chains at some point, or something like that.

>>3893368
>Pistol: Powerful, but loud.
preferably something of a bigger caliber, but nothing too silly. most if not all the things we may face you dont want to get close to at all, but at least a pistol can still be used with little room too if it comes to that, and you certainly dont want to FORCE yourself to have to get closer.

>>3893368
>Pistol: Powerful, but loud.
Something something outsmart boolet.

>>3893368
>Crowbar: Versatile utility, but low stopping power.

>Crowbar: Versatile utility, but low stopping power.

A crowbar is never not useful

>>3893368
>>Pistol: Powerful, but loud.

>>3893368

>Pistol: Powerful, but loud.

>>3893368
>Crowbar: Versatile utility, but low stopping power.

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>>3893368
>>3893372
>>3893385
>>3893389
>>3893475
>>3893573

"I want a gun," you say, resolved, until something occurs to you. "But--"

"But what?" Sarah asks.

"Well -- you have to be 21 years old to buy a gun. I'm still 18."

Sarah grins. "Don't worry about that. I know the guy at this hunting store, that's why I came here. Give me the cash, I'll get you set up."

You wait in the car until Sarah gets back. She hands you a brown paper bag, and you take it, feeling a metal lump inside. You carefully pull out the pistol, looking it over. "It's smaller than I thought."

"I figured you'd want something easy to handle," Sarah says. "That's a Springfield Armory compact, nine millimeter. And trust me, it's still got a kick to it. I got some ammo for you, too. Ever fired a gun before?"

"No, sorry. It's not very, you know. Ladylike. Wouldn't want to do anything to damage my reputation," you say, and laugh bitterly.

"I hear ya," Sarah says. "I've been there." She sounds like she has her own experiences with that. You wonder what she was like, before all this. Was she like you, trying to maintain this perfect image? Hard to imagine the tough, scarred girl in front of you could ever have been like that. "Anyway, don't worry about it. We'll get some target practice in soon. I bet you're a natural."

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>>3893809


At a gas station, Sarah fills up the car, then buys some sandwiches. You share them both, trading halfway through, while sitting on a rusted bench overlooking the highway. Sarah looks at you a couple times, but doesn't say much. You wonder what she's thinking.

Is she regretting allowing you to come? It's occured to you a few times already that, even after working up your courage to go with her and help her, you might not even be useful. Nothing but dead weight. That dark pit inside you whispers, telling you there's no way she could possibly be happy you're here, that she'll cut you loose at the first opportunity. All you can do is shut it away for now.

"Okay," Sarah says. She stands up, tosses the plastic wrap into the garbage, then stretches her arms above her head. "Let's go meet Mr. Funtimes."

Through the afternoon, you watch through the passenger window as forests and hills go by. With every mile you travel, you move farther away from the only home you've ever known, and towards something new and terrible.

You could stop this, something tells you. It's not too late. Ask Sarah to turn around. Take you back. Apologize to your parents. Ask Bruce at Townsend Grocery for your job back. Date a boy. Be normal. Be happy.

You realize your fists have tightened up, and force them to relax. You look back out the window, and say nothing, just let the car take you onwards.

Eventually, Sarah leaves the main highways and starts heading into the country, deep into the forest. After several winding dirt roads, you come to an tall iron-rail gateway with brick pillars on either side, and a fence extending off in either direction. Sarah stops several feet from the gate, and gets out, leaving the car running. She walks up to the gate and hits a button on the intercom in one of the pillars. "Rhodes, it's me," she says. She waves at something, and you see a small security camera hidden in the branches of a tree. "Let me in already."

A red light on the intercom turns green, and the gate slowly swings open, automated. Sarah gets back in and drives through. After turning a corner, you enter into the front drive of an old mansion.

The house stands on a hill, overlooking the woods. It's solid, but old, and ill-maintained. No gardener weeds these overgrown patches of earth, no maid sweeps these front stairs of old stone leading up the hill. The grey skies cast a shadow over the forest clearing, and a sense of dread emanates from the house, like a haunted house in a movie.

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>>3893840

"Yeah, it's spooky," Sarah says, reading your feelings. "Nothing here's going to hurt you, as long as I'm around. That is, uh, if you don't touch anything. Touching the wrong thing would be bad. Don't do that."

"What are the wrong things?"

"Anything. Everything. Just stay behind me and keep your hands to yourself, and you'll be fine."

Not encouraged at all, you nonetheless follow Sarah up the stone pathway into the house. She knocks on the front door, and it slowly opens on creaking hinges. Sarah enters, and you step inside behind her, expecting to see your host holding the door, but there's nobody there.

Sarah heads into the house. You take her advice, and follow closely behind her, not touching anything, but you can't help yourself from looking around. You see dusty carpets on the ground, faded portraits on the walls, a broken chandelier in the ceiling. Glass cases cover relics, artifacts, even weapons. Down long cramped hallways you see other many doorways leading to other rooms. Even though it's not a huge house, it would be easy to get lost in here. Everything seems to double back on itself. But Sarah seems to know where she's going, confidently opening doors and turning left or right, so you stick with her.

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>>3893846

You come to some kind of study or library, where a man is standing at a shelf, reading a book. He's tall, mid-30s, with short dark hair. "Miss Jones," he says. "Please have a seat, but this time, try to refrain from putting your muddy shoes up on my tables?"

"Good to see you too, Rhodes," Sarah says, flopping back into one of the comfortable armchairs spaced throughout the room. "Don't congratulate me too fast on killing that spooky Nurse or anything. I almost died, you know. Again."

"I'm sure you have no need for praise from me," the man says. He shuts the book with a thump, slots it back into its place on the shelf, then turns to look at you. "And this the waif you've rescued, hmm? The sole survivor?" A disapproving note creeps into his voice on that last sentence.

"You know this is hard, right?" Sarah says. "I'd like to see you get out there and swing a weapon at a slasher's head. How long would you last? Thirty seconds? Ten?"

The man ignores her, still looking at you. "Joseph Rhodes, at your service." He forces a smile onto his face, like it's an odd set of muscle movements he doesn't quite remember how to perform. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

>Just introduce yourself.
>Ask who he is, what he does.
>Defend Sarah.
>Call him a jerk.

>>3893849
>Defend Sarah.

That she managed to save anyone at all is incredible, really.

>>3893849
> Ask who he is, what he does.

>>3893849
>>Defend Sarah.
That thing killed everyone else, even Will, like it was nothing, and Sarah killed it before it could take you too.

>>3893849
>Just introduce yourself
Sarah doesn't need our help, just make it clear we don't want this guy's shit either.

>>3893849
>Defend Sarah.

>>3893849
>Just introduce yourself

>>3893849
>>Just introduce yourself.

>>3893849
>>Just introduce yourself.

>>3893849
>Defend Sarah.

>>3893849
>>Just introduce yourself.

>>3893849
>>3893885
>>3893920
>>3893946
>>3893948
>>3893962

"I'm Grace," you say. "Grace Clarke. I-It's good to meet you." You're not happy with how he spoke towards Sarah, but she seems to be used to this man's attitude. She doesn't need your help.

"So?" Rhodes asks. "What can you do, exactly?"

"I don't understand."

"Can you shoot a gun?" he asks, impatient. "Swing an axe? Build a bomb? Perhaps you're secretly a witch, and your act of innocence is merely a veil for sorcerous powers?"

"I can't do any of those things," you say, starting to get irritated.

"So how, exactly, do you plan on helping our slasher killer here? What can you do to contribute to her cause, other than draining her meager budget? Perhaps you plan to simply step in the way of the first knife blow that comes her way."

Sarah says, "Lay off, dickwad. She survived the Nurse, didn't she?"

"I hardly think the virgin surviving until last is any great accomplishment," Rhodes says. You realize what he's called you, and you feel heat rising in your cheeks. He must see the red there, because he's thrown off balance for the first time. "Err -- what I mean is --"

"You really have no idea how to talk to girls, huh?" Sarah says. "Don't worry about him, Grace. He doesn't mean what you think he means about -- about that."

"My apologies," Rhodes says. "However ..." He takes a closer look at you, as though actually seeing you for the first time. "Something occurs to me." He approaches you, until he's standing right in front of you. "May I?"

You look at Sarah. She shrugs, makes a "go ahead' motion. You have no idea what this guy has planned, but you say, "Okay?"

Rhodes raises his hand and places his thumb on your forehead. Whatever you were expecting him to do, that wasn't it. "Just relax for a moment, Miss Clarke ...

All of a sudden you're in that dark place, that place of sadness and isolation, that pit of howling winds. Black mist creeps in around the edges of the world. Intense emotions surge inside you, desire and despair, clashing and rolling like a dark sea, but below it all, a feeling, an intuitive understanding, a certainty of something eternal but ever-changing ...

You blink, your eyes stinging, and realize that you're crying.

Rhodes says, "There is a darkness inside you."

"Yes," you admit.

"It is both you and not you," he says, withdrawing his hand. "It can become your ally, if you allow it. The dark can show you things beyond what your waking mind knows." He pauses, then adds, "This is easier said than accomplished. Someone else more experienced in these matters can help you better than I."

Sarah says, "What the hell are you saying to her? Grace, are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine," you say, wiping away your tears. The feelings have passed over you, and left a strange empty clarity in their wake, like dark stormclouds passing over the horizon to reveal a clear sky.

>>3894030

Rhodes says, "Sarah, I think I understand why you brought her. I will accept her as your apprentice. For now."

"Like I need your permission?" Sarah rolls her eyes.

Through another hallway and into a back room, Rhodes brings you to a long glass case, with three items set on cushions. "In the interests of, let's say, preserving the long investment I've made in Miss Jones here, I will you grant you one of these. This is a loan, mind you. I expect you to bring it back to me. Alive." You suppose that's as good as you're going to get in terms of him saying, good luck out there, hope you don't die.

Still, he is letting you have something. It seems like a good idea, until you have a look at the objects in the case. "What are these? They don't really seem that useful."

Sarah says, "Yeah, uhh ... long story short, magic is real."

"What? So these are, what, like, magical artifacts?"

"Pretty much."

"So -- what does each of them do?" You look at Rhodes. "Shouldn't you explain these to me before I pick one?"

"Just let your feelings guide you," he says. "Whichever calls to you will be the easiest to attune with."

>A walkman cassette player, with headphones. The tape inside is labelled "Dark Mix Vol. 1" in black marker.
>An old red bakelite phone, with a single black button where the rotary dial would be. There doesn't seem to be a cord to connect to anything.
>A silver bell, engraved with elaborate, curving designs. A peculiar chill fills the air around it, and frost marks the silver.
>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>A silver bell, engraved with elaborate, curving designs. A peculiar chill fills the air around it, and frost marks the silver.
Bells are always fun.

>>3894034
>>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034
>An old red bakelite phone, with a single black button where the rotary dial would be. There doesn't seem to be a cord to connect to anything.

>>3894034
>A walkman cassette player, with headphones. The tape inside is labelled "Dark Mix Vol. 1" in black marker.

>>3894034
>>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034
>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034
>A silver bell, engraved with elaborate, curving designs. A peculiar chill fills the air around it, and frost marks the silver.

>>3894034
>>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034
>>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034
>>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034
>>A zippo lighter. On the side is engraved a Biblical psalm about the "valley of the shadow of death". On the other side is a dent, about a quarter-inch across.

>>3894034

>A walkman cassette player, with headphones. The tape inside is labelled "Dark Mix Vol. 1" in black marker.

We already got the guitar and who knows, maybe learning to play whatever is in that tape will get us something else.

>>3894855
sound logic, but QM put a Vietnam reference in, so it almost wasn't a choice or guess which was gonna win.

>>3894879
Yeah well, fuck the Vietnam reference choice. I'm going for the thematic choice.

>>3894901
hey i understand i didn't go for it either.

>>3894855
Changing my vote to this one

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>>3894034
>>3894038
>>3894046
>>3894075
>>3894126
>>3894392
>>3894423
>>3894675
>>3894684


Rhodes opens the case, and you pick up the zippo lighter, examining it. The inscription reads, "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil for I'm the evilest son of a bitch in the valley." That's not exactly how you remember the bible quote going. The dent on the other side reminds you of those stories where a lighter in somebody's pocket stopped a bullet.

"A good choice," Rhodes says. "May it grant you the same luck as its former owner."

"Seems like I can use all the luck I can get," you say, laughing nervously.

"Keep it close to you. When in dire need, use the flame," Rhodes says. You want to ask him what he means, but he's already turning to Sarah, saying, "There is already a new target."

"Seriously?" Sarah says. "I was hoping to get at least a few days off here. Train up the new hire and all."

"No rest for the weary, I'm afraid. Samhain is nearly upon us."

You ask, "What's Samhain?"

"Halloween," Sarah answers. "It's like, the wall between the spirit world and the regular world gets holes in it, or something. So more spooky stuff happens."

Rhodes says, "That is possibly the least scientific description of the conjunction I have ever heard. But, not entirely inaccurate. Anyway, I would agree with you that your apprentice here should be trained before engaging a slasher. Therefore, I recommend that she remain in a support role for now. Intelligence gathering and coordination would aid you in your pursuit, while keeping her out of harm's way."

"You want me to stay behind," you say. "While Sarah goes after the monster." You look at her. "What do you think?"

Sarah hesitates, then says, "I think you can handle it. But. Though I hate to admit it, he's got a point. I can't ask you to go out there with me. Not without a better idea of just what it is you're getting into."

You wonder if this is her way of saying that you won't be any use to her, as you are. She doesn't seem like the type to talk indirectly like that, though. Maybe she really is just concerned for you.

>Too bad. If I can be of any use at all, I'm sticking right with you.
>Maybe you're right. I'll stay back and provide support.

>>3895131
Aaaaaand i forgot i was using the wi-fi from my friend house instead of my own. So now i have a new ID. crap.

Anyway, that was my previous vote>>3894075

>>3895141
The second option is obviously the logical answer.
But this is a horror qst
>Too bad. If I can be of any use at all, I'm sticking right with you.

>>3895141
>>Too bad. If I can be of any use at all, I'm sticking right with you.

>>3895141
>Too bad. If I can be of any use at all, I'm sticking right with you.

>>3895141
>>Maybe you're right. I'll stay back and provide support.

>>3895141

>Too bad. If I can be of any use at all, I'm sticking right with you.

>>3895141
>>Maybe you're right. I'll stay back and provide support.

>>3895141
>>3895172
>>3895180
>>3895199
>>3895375

"Too bad," you say, determined. "If I can be of any use at all, I'm sticking right with you. I'll be --" You hesitate, frustrated, and eventually spit out, "I'll do SOMETHING. I'll help somehow. I'll find a way."

Sarah takes a moment to size you up, evaluating something, before she smiles. "Okay. I'll be glad to have you with me."

"I'm not happy with the idea," Rhodes says. "But, as you say. You don't need my permission."

In yet another room, several chairs are set up around a long table, like a meeting area. Several bulletin boards line the walls, covered in newspaper clippings, printouts, and old photographs. There's an old-fashioned slide projector in the room, but Rhodes also has a laptop rigged to a more modern projector, which he uses to display images on the wall. Currently it's a satellite image of a vast forest, surrounded by mountains and valleys.

"Salem Woods, Missouri," Rhodes says. "High up in the Ozark mountains. A desolate region, known for poverty and hardship. Many go missing here, lost to more mundane fates of their own making. But certain patterns have emerged, and Lady Ecdysis has confirmed." Rhodes manipulates a remote, and the picture rapidly shuffles between images of newspaper articles, each with their own sad photograph. "A group of hikers in 1982. A park naturalist expedition, 1996. The Wild Children commune, 2002. And most recently, the Bowland family, who only last week went missing, last seen at a gas station in a small town called Willow Grove." The photograph shows the viewpoint of a security camera overlooking the front of the gas station. A man in glasses is pumping gas into a van, while his family waits inside.

"So what does Her Ladyness have to say about this?" Sarah asks.

"She was ... vague on the details. You know how she is. But she has sensed the presence of a dark heart. She mentioned, what was it, now--" Rhodes flips through a notebook, and reads as though quoting someone. ""Antlers rising into a moonlit sky, and fangs dripping red with the blood of prey. He will kill again before Samhain, and when that night comes, the night of spirits and hollows, he will--"

"He will what?" Sarah asks.

"If I remember correctly, this is when she started screaming," Rhodes says. He shuts the notebook.

"So somewhere in the Ozarks is something to do with antlers and prey, maybe. That's real specific." Sarah rolls her eyes, then looks at you. "See what I have to deal with here?"

"Questions?" Rhodes asks.

Sarah shrugs. "It's about as much as I usually have to go on. Grace? How about you?"

>Ask Rhodes something. (Say what)
>I'm good. Let's get to it.

>>3895705
>>Ask Rhodes something. (Say what)
So, how hard is it to kill one of these things, usually?

>>3895705
>So if these things are basically dead people coming back to life. How do we make sure they stay over at that side for good.

>>3895705
>>I'm good. Let's get to it.

>>3895705
>I'm good. Let's get to it.

>>3895716
>>3895738
>>3895705
ill support these, i dont think it would be too hard to combine them, they are basically asking the same thing anyways in a way.

>>3895705
>Ask Rhodes something. (Say what)
How hard kill spooks? [Yes.]

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>>3895705
>>3895716
>>3895738
>>3895800
>>3895829

"So if these things are dead people coming back to life," you say. "How do we make sure they stay dead this time? I mean, how hard is it to kill one of these things, usually?"

"Each slasher," Rhodes begins. "Has a locus of power. The dark energy that called them forth from the realm of the dead is concentrated in a certain object, which our community has termed, for simplicity's sake, a "dark heart."

"Sometimes it is literally the monster's heart, in which case, application of precise force with the right implement can be enough. The particulars differ. Certain weapons, certain materials, certain consecrations and blessings, all seem to have varying effects, depending on the nature of the creature. The exact rules this method follows are still unclear.

"Other times, the dark heart is an object, something that, perhaps, acts as a link to their life before their transformation. A memento of a lost loved one, for example, or a child's favorite doll."

"Wait," you say. "Does that mean there are child slashers?"

Sarah lets out a sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."

Rhodes continues, "These objects can sometimes be destroyed the same way, with physical trauma, but sometimes certain purification rites are needed. Sarah has, despite her resistance to education, learned the more elementary of these."

""Add salt and burn" is easy enough to remember," Sarah says.

"The body of the slasher itself is extremely resistant to injury, and is unaffected by blood loss or organ failure. Some have demonstrated remarkable regenerative capabilities. Guns, knives, fire, explosives, all have some effect. They can slow the creature down, weaken it, make it easier to handle. But short of destroying the heart, nothing can stop it permanently."

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>>3895865

Rhodes sees you to the front door. "I will continue my research here," he says. "If I learn anything more, I'll contact you immediately." He takes out an envelope from a vest pocket and hands it to Sarah. "I've added a small additional stipend. For your apprentice."

"Thanks," Sarah says. "Well, no time to waste. Let's hit the road."

On the way down the stone steps, you ask, "What did he give you?"

"Cash," she says. "Rhodes is one of the people who funds my "missions" as he calls them." She opens the envelope, rifles through several bills inside. "Being a monster killer doesn't exactly pay much. No hourly wage, no employee benefits. I get work when I can, but most of the time, I'm relying on people like Rhodes to pay the bills."

"But --"

"But what?"

"It seemed like you two hated each other. But that seems like a good amount of money. I'm surprised he was so generous."

"He might have personality issues -- and, you know, I don't claim to be perfect either -- but although he might not like me, he knows what I do is important. And if I don't keep gas in my car and bullets in my gun, it won't happen. Ever been to Missouri?"

"I've only ever left Greendale to visit my grandparents in the next town over," you admit.

"It's a beautiful part of the country," Sarah says. "The leaves will be changing color for the fall. If we die, at least we'll get to appreciate the scenery first."

It is beautiful, you think, as you watch out the passenger window, the car headed west down I-70, though Ohio and into Indiana. The oak leaves have turned brilliant shades of red and orange, interwoven with the still-green pines. As the sun sets and evening falls, the world slowly fades to blue.

When it gets dark, about halfway through Indiana, Sarah pulls into the parking lot of a roadside motel. "I figure we can spring for beds tonight, thanks to Rhodey's generosity," she says. You pick up your bag and guitar and follow her in.

In the motel reception you see worn-down couches, a half-stocked brochure stand, a cigarette vending machine. Sarah has a short conversation with the bored front desk attendant, trades cash for a key, unlocks room 13 and walks in. Wood panel walls, faded carpet. Two beds with floral pattern quilts, one bedside table and lamp between them, a dresser with an old television facing them.

"Hungry?" Sarah asks.

"No." Your stomach feels tied in knots. You don't think you could eat if you tried.

"Okay, well, I'm going to walk to the convenience store I saw on the corner. Stretch my legs, grab a snack. You, uh -- will you be all right on your own?"

"I'll be fine," you say, hoping it's true.

Sarah seems doubtful, but eventually she accepts you at your word. She heads out, leaving you alone with your thoughts in the motel room.

>Play guitar.
>Examine the zippo lighter.
>Look at Sarah's "tools" in the trunk of her car.
>Dwell on the past.

>>3895871
>Examine the zippo lighter.
i would say play the guitar, but its nighttime and trashy motel or not, it would be rude to annoy any other guests trying to sleep.

>>3895871
>>Examine the zippo lighter.
For the same reasons as the other anon.

>>3895871
>Examine the zippo lighter

>>3895871
>Dwell on the past.
Darkness inside us and blah. Do we always need to play optimally even in downtime?

>>3895893
looking at the Zippo is 'optimal'? would've thought looking at the tools in the trunk fit that more.

>>3895894
I can see why you'd think that, but I disagree. Sarah knows more about the tools than we would by picking that, so she'd probably be choosing/telling us about them once it comes time to arm up anyway. But the zippo is largely an unknown, so figuring it out ASAP is on us.

>>3895903
fair point, though as may be obvious now, my point wasn't to be optimal, i was just interested in looking at our magical relic, cause you know, magical relic.

>>3895871
>Play guitar
>Dwell on the past
Because the memory of learning to play it is important.

>>3895871
>>Dwell on the past

>>3895909
Fair enough. It was hasty of me to throw out that blanket accusation.

I mean uh, no fuck you faggot

>>3895871
>Examine the zippo lighter.

>>3895871
>>Dwell on the past.

>>3895871
>Examine the zippo lighter.
let's just get it out of the way

>>3895871
>>Examine the zippo lighter.

>>3895871
>Dwell on the past.

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>>3895871
>>3895877
>>3895881
>>3895887
>>3895928
>>3896018
>>3896103


Sitting on the edge of the bed, hearing the cheap springs creaking underneath, you take out the zippo lighter from your pocket. You have a close look at it, turning it around in your hands. Nothing springs out at you that you didn't see the first time. The inscription on one side, the dent on the other.

There is an odd feeling, though, holding it in your bare hands like this. Something you can't identify.

You try opening the lid ...

Suddenly you're somewhere else -- the motel room is still right there, you can see the wood panel walls and the cheap portrait of a country house, but there's also trees, ferns, flowers -- a jungle? Birds sing, insects chirp and whirr, in the distance a monkey howls. You hear leaves behind trampled underfoot, and realize there are soldiers surrounding you, Americans, walking carefully through the jungle with rifles at the ready.

"Two klicks left," one of them says. "Keep it quiet."

"What they got us out here on a ghost hunt for, anyway, Sarge?" another asks.

"I said keep a lid on it, Johnson," the first man says.

The man in front holds up a fist in the air, and everyone stops.

"What is it, Ramirez?" asks the first man.

The only reply is the loud crack of gunshots, so loud it could split the air. You barely keep from screaming at the roaring noise. Bullets tear through the foliage. One soldier is hit, the others hit the dirt. The first man is shouting orders. A great darkness fills in around the edges of the vision, starts closing in, contracting, and there are eyes in the darkness, great glowing eyes, and a bright burning light --

You realize the burning light is real, a flame shooting out from the lighter so high it reaches the ceiling, and with a yelp you snap the lid shut. The flame cuts off. You hold your breath, listening to the sudden silence. No fire alarm. Either you shut the lighter in time, or this motel doesn't keep the batteries replaced. And those bullet sounds must not have been real, or that definitely would have drawn some attention.

Flopping backwards on the bed, you let out a groan. Just what have you gotten yourself mixed up in?

A few weeks ago the world seemed so ordinary. Now people come back from the dead as monsters, magic is real, and there's this whole network of people who know about all this. Just what else will turn out to be true that you once dismissed as fantasy?

You leave the lighter alone for now. Maybe you should've got Rhodes to explain how it works to you. On the other hand, he might've just said something cryptic. "Only you can understand when and how it can be used," he might say. Jeez.

>>3897189

Part of you keeps going back to the past, thinking of that night at Blackwell, hearing and seeing your friends picked off one by one. Mike was grabbed right in front of you, right as he promised to protect you. A cold hand dragged him into the darkness, and you heard him screaming in pain, awful sounds. You were so afraid. All you could do was climb into that closet and hide, hands clapped over your ears to block out the screaming. The memory of that fear fills you up, overwhelming in intensity--

But you remember what happened next. What you're holding on to.

You met her.

When Sarah returns, she drops her backpack on the ground by the other bed, then tosses you a pair of granola bars. "Here."

"I said I wasn't--" Your stomach growls loudly, and you realize you're ravenous.

"I had a feeling," she says, smiling. "There's more in my bag if you want. I'm going to hit the shower."

Sarah heads into the bathroom in back of the room. She turns on the shower before closing the door all the way. Through the open crack, with her back turned, you can see her pull her shirt over her head, revealing a slim black sports bra. She takes that off next, and you feel a sharp intake of breath. Her back is slim but muscular, an athlete's body, with long cut scars criss-crossing her shoulder blades and lower back. She shuts the door without looking around, and you hear her humming a tune as she steps into the shower.

Your pulse is racing, you realize. It's that same feeling you had in the changing rooms with the other cheerleaders. The one you could never tell anybody about. Not ever. You were going to date boys, and get married, and be normal, no matter what.

But now -- now you're not normal. Not at all.

And you can't stop your heart from racing.

>Get flustered.
>Hold steady, ignore it.
>Distract yourself.

>>3897195
>>Distract yourself.
It ain't real if we pretend it ain't. Right? Fiddle with your guitar or something.

>>3897195
>Hold steady, ignore it.

>>3897195
>Hold steady, ignore it.

Gay? Not in my Christian quest!

>>3897195
>Get flustered.

>>3897205
That guitar's not the only thing we'll be fiddling with tonight if ya know what I mean.

>>3897205
Actually,
>Get flustered.
While TRYING to distract yourself with the guitar.

>>3897195
>Hold steady, ignore it.

>>3897195
>Hold steady, ignore it.

>>3897195
>Distract yourself

>>3897195
>>Hold steady, ignore it.
oh great, we're a fucking lesbian now. This quest starting off very promising but now it's some teenager YA bullshit.

>>3897195
>>3897206
>>3897213
>>3897229
>>3897232

>Hold steady, ignore it.

>>3897264

Un-rustle yourself anon, I gave you the opportunity to steer away from it and you've taken it. We're getting back to being a murderer shortly.

>>3897195
>>3897360
Guess I'm the only one thinking we might be a bit flustered about
>with long cut scars criss-crossing her shoulder blades and lower back
? It seems the kind of thing that might make us a bit uneasy.

>>3897195
>>3897360


Stay cool, you tell yourself. Hold steady. This isn't a problem. Putting this off might leave you vulnerable later, but now isn't the time to deal with this. Not when you've just gotten on the road with your new partner.

Sarah exits the bathroom along with a cloud of steam. You catch a glimpse of her, clad in a loose t-shirt and boyshort panties, toweling her hair off, before you look away. She asks, "You want to use the shower?"

"I'll have one tomorrow," you say, not daring to look.

"All right. I figure we should get an early night, head out first thing. Key's on the dresser there if you want to take a walk." Sarah sits down on her bed, stretches, yawns. She doesn't seem to notice anything wrong with you. "G'night."

"Good night."

Sarah is asleep soon, gently snoring, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Not knowing what else to do, you switch the light off, undress, and get into your own bed. You haven't been sleeping well lately, so you're expecting it to be some time before you fall asleep, but to your surprise you find yourself drifting off right away ...

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>>3897416

Darkness, surrounding you everywhere but above, as the moon is glimpsed through the tops of trees. Branches against your fingers, as you push them out of your way. You are walking into a dark wood.

Up ahead you hear animal sounds, a grunting and snuffling, a cracking of bone. Something is feasting. Despite the fear, you can't stop yourself, and push forward, twigs and thorns scratching at your bare skin.

In the clearing ahead, you see a dark, hairy shape, crowned with antlers, standing over its prey. It raises its head to look at the moon high overhead, and you see it, with blood dripping from its fangs, and you begin to scream ...

Something drags you away from the darkness. You feel your shoulders gripped hard, shaking you. "Grace!" someone is shouting. Sarah's voice. "Wake up!"

You surface back to waking. You're still in the motel room, in the middle of the night. Sarah is standing over you with her hands on your shoulders, the look of concern on her face barely visible in the moonlight through the window. You try to talk and realize your throat is raw from screaming. You take a moment to swallow, and manage to say hoarsely, "I'm okay." You can't help resting one of your hands on Sarah's, just for a moment, feeling the strength there. "Thanks."

"Was it the Asylum?" Sarah asks. "Were you dreaming about the Nurse?"

"No," you say. "It was something else. It was -- it --" The memory slips away into darkness, like paper burning into ash. "I can't remember."

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>>3897419


SLASHER

Several nights have passed since the family of prey wandered into your woods. Though not the most exhilarating hunt, you always take some pleasure from hunting the beast-that-talks. Their bones have been carved into crude scrimshaws with your knife, their guts dried for snare wire. The old warrior's head adorns your hall, someday to wither to a skull with the others.

You have hunted a deer, since then, eating of its cold and bloody flesh under the stars. You have made the rounds of your territory, checking that no other predator has intruded on your hunting grounds.

As you were doing so, you also checked the circle of offerings, placed at intervals around the edge of your claim. Small wreaths, hung from tree branches, made of twigs and bird bones tied in certain knots. You can't remember how you learned to make these. But you think that it was not in the days when your blood still flowed, when a man taught you to hunt. It came after. In that other place. The place of fire and darkness.

One of your wreaths was broken, the one placed to the northeast, the small delicate bird bones snapped cleanly in two. You understand what this means. When a danger comes -- and it is rare, for very little can harm you now, but it does come -- an offering breaks, to show you the danger is on its way, and which direction it will come from.

Something that can harm you is on its way.

Very well. Let the danger come. After all, the greatest hunts occur when one is both predator and prey.

What will you do to prepare? Choose 2:

>Finely sharpen your axe.
>Set several traps in that direction.
>Craft many arrows.
>Prepare a toxic concoction.
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.
>Dwell upon the darkness, on whatever taught you to make the offerings.

>>3897421
>Dwell upon the darkness, on whatever taught you to make the offerings.
>Prepare a toxic concoction.

>>3897421
>Craft many arrows.
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.

>>3897421
>Dwell upon the darkness, on whatever taught you to make the offerings.
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.

>>3897421
>>Set several traps in that direction.
>Prepare a toxic concoction.

>>3897421
>>Set several traps in that direction.
>>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire

>>3897421
>Set several traps in that direction.
>Prepare a toxic concoction.

>>3897421
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.
>Dwell upon the darkness, on whatever taught you to make the offerings.

>>3897421
>Dwell upon the darkness, on whatever taught you to make the offerings.
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.

First vote

>>3897421
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.
>Set several traps in that direction.

>>3897421
>Set several traps in that direction.
>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire

>>3897421
>Finely sharpen your axe.
>Set several traps in that direction.

>>3897421
>>3897426
Changing vote to

>Build frightening effigies of bone and fire.
>Dwell upon the darkness, on whatever taught you to make the offerings.

>chose to be a hunter
>all these people not setting up traps against an actual threat
>all these people setting up warning sign fires for our prey to be alerted to us by

i understand not wanting to cheat with toxins and wanting to know more about whatevers talking to us, but those other choices simply dont make a lick of sense from a logic or thematic point of view.

>>3897483
>undervaluing psychological warfare this badly
>thinking they're not already alerted to our presence

Fear is a slasher's stock and trade. It's how we get anything done. Scare the shit out of people so they make mistakes. Get people edgy, get them nervous, get them not thinking straight. Plus there's gotta be some synergy between learning about the darkness and setting up freaky effigies.

>>3897485
not over actually setting up traps its not, and your friend getting suddenly caught in a bear trap or strung up by the neck will do that just as well if not more. plus, again, its an actual threat, if its such, then its less likely for direct methods like fires to have an effect on them. if they could be scared to any real degree by such simple means, they wouldn't be a threat to a supernatural hunter.

plus its literally one of our chosen preferred weapons, while nothing so far has shown us having any actual use of effigy's. we're a hunter, we will always do better striking from the shadows with as little flare are possible, not screaming 'here i am!', regardless of if they know we are here or not.

>>3897483
>implying we can't use the long shadows of a spooky fire that draws attention to strike from

>>3897491
nope, not as easily as actual shadows, as the effigies in and of themselves will put our target more on alert, ruining such an advantage or possibility significantly.

>>3897491
plus, that only works at night, limiting its available times to even attempt to use it for that purpose.

>>3897496
they're gonna be coming at night
this is a spooky thread
cmon bro

>>3897505
>making decisions based off of 'what ifs' no matter how likely OOC
>instead of what makes sense IC.
c'mon bro, really? we're a silent hunter who uses stealth. we're efficient, silent, hidden. not flashy. if you wanted flashy, people should've picked a different slasher. a Hunter is different, they arent just a deranged murderer like the rest, they do things differently, because otherwise they dont get their prey. we hunt, hunting is not done with Pravda or grandiose showings, its done efficiently, silently, and quickly, if it can.

that, and most slashers still dont announce their presence as much as possible, and plenty still have things happen in the daytime.

really, Axe sharpening, arrow making, and trap setting are the only options that make sense to pick thematically.

>>3897510
Man I'm just trying to have fun in a spooky halloween thread. I'm not metagaming that hard as to say, "yeah make effigies because they'll scare the new girl and slow them down." Spooky bones are fun, and they have plenty of practical application otherwise.

Plus, all the options are there because they fit the theme. There wasn't a seduce Grace and turn this into a harem quest #69696969 route was there?

>>3897512
so am i, and breaking from the theme of being a hunter ruins the immersion for me. if we wanted to be something with showmanship, we shouldn't of picked the hunter.

and no, i disagree they all fit the theme well, and even if they did fit, some still fit the theme of a hunter significantly more than others.

>>3897513
>opinion

>>3897513
Alright man, while I fundamentally disagree with you on both of those points, we both voted. Do you.

>>3897513
Who says a hunter can't show off? Collecting trophies is fundamentally about showmanship.

>>3897515
no, not on whats actually appropriate or efficient for hunting.

>>3897517
not during the hunt. that comes after. you show off during the hunt, you lose your prey. hell, depending on what you hunt, you die. Hunters show off by what they hunt, not what they do during the hunt.

>>3897518
>another opinion

>>3897519
>he thinks millions of years of both human and animal hunting techniques is an opinion.
oh, you're retarded, ok.

>>3897520
Nice subjective statement bub

>>3897524
you're the one ignoring millions of years of evolution from the animal kingdom and thousands of years from human ingenuity.

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>>3897421

You set up several snares and deadfalls along trails and paths in the northeast part of the forest, as well as your rusted but still functional bear trap, twin to the one you wear around your neck, a memento of another life, when a man taught a boy the ways of hunting. Then you take the bones of those who you have hunted, and assemble them into certain patterns the darkness has shown you. Against the beast-that-talks, so vulnerable to fear and dismay, they may prove to be powerful indeed.

The next time you check the boundaries of your territory again. This time you find signs of intruders. However, it comes not from the northeast, but from the west. You are confident in your shrike-bone offerings. Whatever has entered your domain, it must not be the threat they warned of.

They are prey.

Something pulses with excitement, deep within you. Another hunting trip, to whet your appetite before the danger comes. If you could feel joy, you would feel it now; the closest is a kind of yearning, a hunger which you know will soon be sated, a feeling of imminent satisfaction.

You follow the trails to a log cabin, abandoned years ago, perhaps when rumors of your dark exploits became too many to ignore. A vehicle is parked on the dirt drive outside. Through the windows of the cabin, you can see the shapes of them moving about, hear their voices faintly in the air. They are young, carefree, ignorant of the fate that awaits them.

The sun hangs low in the sky. You wait in the shadow of the woods, ever-patient, still and quiet as the grave, until darkness descends upon the land.

Inside the cabin, lights have been switched on. You can hear them talking, laughing, enjoying the beauty of being alive, and your desire for vengeance and slaughter grows until it becomes insurmountable.

It is time. You may do as you will with them.

>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.
>Shoot an arrow through an open doorway or window.
>Set traps on doorways and in the surrounding woods.
>Kick in the door and begin hewing with your axe.
>Only frighten them, for now, then come back the next night.

>>3897535
>Wait for someone to come outside

Make a trophy out of them and plant it un the cabin's front door.

>>3897535
>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.

>>3897535
>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.

Slasher trope #1, the victims are unaware of the slasher until about halfway through the movie.

>>3897535
>Set traps on doorways and in the surrounding woods.

>>3897537
Supporting. Maybe have some important part of the body (heart, head) hanging above the front door dripping blood.

>>3897535
>>3897540
actually, hell no to the door trophy thing the first Anon suggested, just killing silently and away from the place is more than good enough, even if setting up traps is more efficient.
changing vote to;

>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.

>>3897535
>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.

Keep our victim alive and crucify them so the people in the cabin can hear their distant screams all night long.

>>3897535
>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.
>Leave a bird-bone totem hanging from the eaves, near the door

>>3897537
>>3897544
A bit of balance on the ideas, yes?

>>3897591
It won't work. It's not as dramatic as a human totem, which is what #1 wants, and #2 is an optimisation autist so any alert at all is something he'll protest. Worth the attempt, though.

>>3897535
>>Set traps on doorways and in the surrounding woods.

Just to add to the discussion earlier, it appears that people we're deliberetly voting for the worst options because they want the girl to win. Which of course is stupid, as I'm pretty sure we're supposed to want the character who we're currently playing to win instead of taking sides like that.

>>3897535
>>Wait for someone to come outside, and silently take them away.

>>3898058
Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity. Or, you know, disagreeing with you.

>>3899181
Anons were voting for the only 2 options that were useless. Building effigies and dwelling upon the darkness. At least one of the useful ones that actually do something passed, but we still wasted the second on useless effigies.

>>3897535
>Set traps on doorways and in the surrounding woods.

Fuck yeah, Slasher Killer! Just caught up and wanted to say thanks Raven for running again.
You know what's really scary? That it's really been a year since the last thread, holy shit

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Sorry for the delay, questers, I've been sick and my brain has turned to sludge. Updates and a new thread will happen within a day or two, so stay tuned, and beware, you're in for a scare.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oF0n6xIsL_U

>>3900556
sorry to hear that OP, hope your heads clearing up and was at least well enough for you to enjoy your halloween!