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Brad was a talker. Lucky for him, his voice was not unpleasant. She didn’t mind listening, because it certainly didn’t seem like he was interested in a conversation with her. Sure, he turned to look at her every now and then. Mostly, it seemed, to make sure she was listening. And every time he landed his gaze upon her she was looking right back at him, a smile on her face. It was better if she didn’t have to talk -- better if she didn’t have to try and make up small talk.

They weren’t too far into the trail before Brad announced the name of the trail.

“Spider Lake Trailhead…Sounds ominous.”

She gladly accepted his offer of peanuts and raisins.

“It isn’t really,” she said, chewing on the bit of trail mix he’d shared. She figured they would find a place to rest in an hour or so, and she could eat some of her snacks there. “It’s called that because…well, it sort of looks like a spider from an aerial view. The big main body, and then several protruding branches -- little creeks and such.”

Eva shrugged a bit and hooked her thumbs into the straps of her backpack, pulling on them to ease some of the tension on her shoulders. She had packed light, but she wasn’t accustomed to hiking, and walking with gear on her back was something she hadn’t done since her high school days.

“Onimous,” Brad repeated.

She looked at him with pinched brows.

“Sounds like a good band name?”

She wondered if he was really asking -- if he was, she’d tell him that no, it did not sound like a good band name. But he wasn’t really asking. He just kept talking.

“Jack thinks my violin is a perfect piece for our folk rock image.”

She noticed he had eaten an M&M and frowned internally at the fact that he had not given her any chocolate. Turning to stare straight ahead, she kept walking, as the trail began to climb to a gentle incline. But the ground was wet, and there were smooth, mossy stones along the path which were far more slippery than they appeared

“Not that I like to define my band, that is. It’s more like ‘rock folk’ meets ‘folk rock’, Omina meets Beethoven meets Ozzy Osbourn, and -- Shit.”
Brad came to a sudden stop and the sound of his fingers making a sharp and hard snap caused her to stop as well, and turn. She lost her footing in that moment and felt her heel slide forward causing her to lose all sense of balance. And with her thumbs hooked into her backpack, she didn’t have time to reach out and catch herself.

Eva landed on her ass just as Brad lamented that he had not brought bacon.
She heard him coming from a mile away. The sound of his motorcycle’s engine was so out of place amidst the sacred sounds of the wilderness. It was loud, mechanical, and ugly -- it made her turn her head in the direction of its path. And then, much to her dismay, the loud and clamorous sound turned a corner and headed directly toward her. Never, in all of her life, had she looked favorably upon motorcycles. She thought they were dangerous and that only those people who did not value their lives sought to use them as a regular means of transportation.

It was hard to hide the negative judgment she felt -- more so when the bike came at a standstill not but ten feet away from her. He had waved, to the man on the bike, but she had not returned the gesture. In fact, she had not moved, not even to turn her body, for it had been sufficient to turn her head upon the pillar of her neck. It was a pretty neck, long and pale, and graceful even when mostly hidden in the high neckline of her shirt and the pulled-up collar of her jacket.

The man made a whole spectacle of hitting the kickstand and throwing one wide leg off of the vehicle he had been straddling. And while he glanced, sideways, in her direction, he turned away to focus on his tasks.

It did something to dispel her anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in such a remote location with a complete stranger -- especially one who was unhinged enough to ride a motorcycle. But the man hardly seemed interested in her existence, and that soothed away some of her concerns. However, she remembered that show on Ted Bundy she had seen. The sick-fuck had pretended to have some broken limb, an arm or a leg perhaps, all for the sake of appearing more sympathetic and less dangerous.

No, it was best that she didn’t drop her guard.

She kept her body turned toward him, but specifically, toward the entrance to the trailhead. Her body language shifted, her arms came and crossed under her chest, and she made a very open show of glancing down at her watch again, making it abundantly clear that she was waiting for someone -- and that someone was expecting to find her here.

“There is a lot more to this park than this lot, you know.”

In the same way that he had gone out of his way to ignore her existence, she had very much done the same and therefore was rather caught off guard by his sudden boldness.

Arched brows, perfectly manicured, frowned. But she remembered, it was best not to be confrontational. She was alone with a strange man in the middle of an empty parking lot that led to one of the most desolate lakes in the entire state of Washington. Even if she didn’t want to, for the sake of her own safety, she would have to play nice.

“Oh yeah? I would have never guessed.”

She flashed a smile -- a friendly expression, but not too friendly.

“I mean, I am here with all this hiking gear…”

She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with her line of commentary. Eva was always a little bit awkward.

And then there was another sound, and for a moment she turned her gaze from the man kneeling not all that far from where she stood, and back to the opening drive of the parking lot. Another vehicle was coming.

She saw the flash of red through the trees as the Mustang came at a dangerous gallop around the corner, sending gravel raining into the tree line. Her expression soured somewhat -- her eyes narrowing. With Brad’s arrival came the sound of new machinery, his car, but also music. The rich and exciting sound of it filled the small clearing.

It was difficult to stay annoyed at him. He was so much like a young boy -- happy, excitable, and just a ray of sunshine. The complete opposite of her. He’d be good for her if she could just let him in.

He parked and came out of his car, and she could nearly envision him as a golden retriever.


“Hi, Brad,” she answered, “I nearly got started without you…” Her attempt to tease sounded way more serious than it should have. She immediately regretted saying it and feared that things were starting on the wrong foot.

“Did you have breakfast?"

She shook her head.

“I had some peanut butter toast. Burnt it.”

Eva laughed, she couldn’t help it -- her voice, for the first time, sounded light and pretty.

“Kinda rushin’ out this mornin’. I got this Slim Jim though. Sorry, buddy.”

Brad offered half to her, but she declined with a shake of her head. She looked over her shoulder at Ethan, who appeared to still be busy fixing something in his backpack.

“I prefer for my meat to be real, thank you very much.”

“We ready?”

Eva opened the back door to her silver-colored Land Cruiser -- a tank of a car, a gift from her father. It was used, but they just didn’t make the vehicle anymore. She adored it. She reached into the back seat pulled her backpack out and swung it over her shoulder.

“I am ready,” she replied, stealing a glance at Ethan as she and Brad began their trek.

She made sure to lock her car door.
Eva glanced up and watched how the mist swirled along the distant tree-tops, like some creamy and delicious concoction -- as if it were cotton candy the color of wet sugar. She frowned and felt the rumbling in her stomach as the seemingly vast emptiness of her hunger reminded her that she was an idiot for skipping breakfast, and also for scheduling this date so early in the morning. Of course, she checked her wristwatch for what felt like the hundredth time. The tiny golden hand, measuring seconds, ticked along gracefully over a mother-of-pearl watch face.

“Tick-tock…” she said aloud, before turning to glance back at the empty parking lot.

Her date hadn’t arrived yet.

He was fifteen minutes late.

It wasn’t so bad, given the unique location of this romantic rendezvous. However, she had her doubts about her gentleman friend’s intention to actually follow through with this outing. During their last date, in a more traditional urban setting, she had been awkward and quiet. But it wasn't for lack of interest. Her mind was heavy with troubles. Lately, all she seemed capable of doing was worrying and fretting over her family’s failing estate.

“If he’s not here in fifteen minutes…” She didn’t want to finish the out-loud thought, but she knew that if she didn’t say it -- if she didn’t breathe her conviction into the chill morning air -- then she would never follow through.

The thought carried her through a cold breeze that blew out from the trees at the edge of the trailhead. She marveled at the fact that the forest seemed colder than the wide, open clearing of the parking lot. Whatever the case, it made her pull her black, waterproof jacket a little bit tighter around her shoulders, pulling at the collar and hood until half her face disappeared and she didn’t see her breath anymore.
Character Sheet Outline

Character Name: Eva

Character Type: Victim


Gender: Female

Height: 5'4

Eye Color: Honey Brown

Distinctive Features: Has a two-inch scar along her right inner thigh from where she nearly impaled herself on a sharp stick when she was a child.


[Provide a brief backstory for your character, including their occupation, hometown, and any relevant personal history]

[Describe your character's personality traits, strengths, weaknesses, and any quirks or habits]

Skills and Abilities: Relentless and tenacious, while in and of themselves, these traits are not skills or abilities, they go a long way in her acquisition of skills and abilities she does not have. She has some medical experience.


-Small first aid kit
-a 24-ounce bottle of water
-pocket knife, which she struggles to open
-thick waterproof jacket
-hiking boots
-two energy bars, a small bag of pistachios, and an apple

Character Goals: To survive!

Role in the Story:

A random little hiker in a creepy forest. She had to come up with a third date idea and felt that going on an early morning hike would be unique and interesting. However, she has very little experience in the wilderness and is hoping for something easy and managable.
Character Sheet Outline

Character Name:

[Provide your character's name]
Character Type:

[Choose one: Villain, Victim, Survivor]

[Describe your character's physical appearance, including age, gender, height, build, hair color, and any distinctive features]

[Provide a brief backstory for your character, including their occupation, hometown, and any relevant personal history]

[Describe your character's personality traits, strengths, weaknesses, and any quirks or habits]
Skills and Abilities:

>List any skills, talents, or abilities your character possesses that might be relevant in this setting]

[Detail any items, tools, or weapons your character carries with them]
Character Goals:

[Outline your character's primary goals or motivations for being in the forest]
Role in the Story:

[Explain how your character fits into the overarching narrative and their initial role in the story]

[Describe any pre-existing relationships or connections your character may have with other characters in the role-play]
Character Development:

[Briefly mention any character development goals or potential changes your character may undergo during the story]
Additional Notes:

[Include any other relevant information or details about your character]
Feel free to use this outline to create your character for the role-play, and you can add or modify sections as needed to suit your storytelling needs.

Description of the Forest:
The National Forest of Olympia is hauntingly beautiful, especially during the eerie embrace of autumn. Tall and gnarled trees, predominantly Douglas firs and redwoods, dominate the landscape, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers to claw at the mist that blankets the forest floor. A perpetual gloom hangs in the air, marring the beauty of nature, and shrouding everything in a ghostly haze. The leaves, in various shades of crimson and gold, rustle with an unsettling whisper, as if sharing secrets known only to the trees and the darkness.

Spider Lake Trailhead:
This setting opens at the baleful Spider Lake Trailhead, a weather-worn sign marking the boundary between the mundane world and the mysterious woods beyond. The path ahead is narrow at points, and winding through towering trees that filter the feeble autumn sunlight into a soft, diffused glow. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying foliage, and the ground beneath your feet is a never-ending mosaic of slick rocks, muddy patches, and springy moss.

The Mist:
The mist appears to be a living entity here, forever swirling and moving around tree trunks and through the thick underbrush. Although it may appear all encompassing, there are times and locations where it is completely absent. But when it is present, It carries with it the scent of fertile earth and decomposition. Visibility is reduced to a few feet, making it easy for dangers to lurk unseen.

The Creatures:
Within the dense foliage and hidden hollows, creatures of the forest stir. Some are remnants of folklore brought to life - shadowy figures that dart between trees or eyes that glow ominously in the dark. Others are more tangible threats, like the elusive mountain lions and packs of wolves that roam these woods, their hunger unquenched by their natural prey.

The Killers:
Amidst the natural dangers, human-made horrors also lurk. The forest has a dark history, stained with tales of disappearances and unsolved mysteries. Tales of deranged hunters, dangerous hermits, and bloodthirsty cults have left their marks on this seemingly beautiful landscape. Dilapidated cabins, their windows shattered and doors unhinged, stand as chilling monuments to the forest's dark past. Symbols and cryptic sigils etched into tree bark hint at sinister rituals long abandoned but not forgotten.

Role-Play Mechanics:
-Players must choose to play as a villain/creature, a victim, or a survivor when they join the role-play.
-Those who choose to play victims must be willing to accept the possibility of their character's death, which requires at least 10 posts.
-There is no strict posting order, allowing players to engage directly with others in their storyline without waiting for unrelated interactions.
-Players are encouraged to craft substantial posts with proper grammar.
-Players must create a character sheet.

As your role-play unfolds players will need to navigate not only the treacherous terrain and the elusive creatures but also the chilling knowledge that killers, both supernatural and human, could be lurking behind the next tree. The atmosphere is one of constant tension and foreboding, where every rustle of leaves and every shadow in the mist might be a harbinger of doom.
In Hello 3 mos ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
Welcome to the party Die!
For three days and three nights, Gabriela slept.

It was a profound sleep, devoid of dreams -- and nightmares. She was not haunted by the ghosts of those she had killed, nor was she tormented by the one who owned her soul. There was only the darkness of exhaustion, and the peaceful river of the abyss, which carried her under a star-filled sky. But she could not see these stars, even as they bore their light down and illuminated her passage over the dark waters, she could only sense them against her skin. She was aware of the existence of the world beyond her unconscious prison and mindful of the passage of time that did not stop simply because she was no longer participating in reality.

There was a risk of slipping into torpor.

The exhaustion was so heavy, and at times it felt like the black waters of the abyss would lap over her body and pull her under. She would cease to exist them. She would forget the world, lose all track of it, and sleep until such a time as fate deemed her worthy to be awoken once again.

However, this was not the fate she chose. She did not sacrifice everything only to birth Orisia’s Seed into the world and abandon it. She could not merely plant the seed of paradise and hope that it would survive. No -- this new world needed her. She would nurture it. Gabriela fought against the demons of her debilitating fatigue and managed somehow to crawl back out to the surface.

But a great many things were lost in the trauma of it all…

As the first rays of moonlight broke through the dense canopy, casting a pale, white glow over the mystical forest, a woman slowly stirred beneath the towering trees. From a cradle of roots, shaped to protect her small figure, she slowly moved to sit up. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a radiant golden gaze that mirrored the hue of the setting sun. And the moment that her eyes opened, a sea of lanterns flickered to life, casting warm firelight all abound.

This was a marvel to her. She lingered, looking up through dark lashes, at the golden show of lights above her head, the warmth of the lanterns reflected in the color of her eyes. And when she could drink no more of the sight, she felt herself take a breath -- a deep and needed breath.

She sat up, and her dark, chocolate-brown hair cascaded down her back and fell in thick sheets all around her. The forest was alive with enchantment, and she did not know whether to be delighted or frightened. The lanterns that floated gracefully from the branches above, illuminated and revealed a path that opened ahead of where she lay. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant calling of a nightingale shifted her focus.

With an elegant grace that she did not realize she possessed, the woman rose to her feet and revealed a figure that epitomized delicate femininity. Her attire, though tattered and worn, clung to her form and accentuated her slight curves. The black tunic she wore was loose but torn in so many places that it barely concealed the pale, moonlight skin of her back, her belly, and her shoulders, and her tight breeches, though soiled with grime and dirt, clung to her hips, her rounded bottom, and shapely thighs, highlighting her lithe physique.

Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory.

Who was she?

How had she come to find herself in this strange place?

And the hunger.

What of the hunger?

For there was a hunger within her, an insatiable thirst that gnawed at her very being.

Curiosity mingled with trepidation as she cautiously began to explore her surroundings. Every step she took seemed to be guided by an invisible force, drawing her deeper into the heart of the forest, until eventually, she stood upon the very path that had been lit for her. The lanterns gently swayed in the breeze and cast playful shadows before her -- teasing her to follow.

As she ventured onward, a subtle aroma filled the air -- a scent that set her somewhat numbed senses ablaze suddenly. It was the unmistakable scent of life, of warm, pulsing blood. Her golden eyes widened, reflecting the predatory edge that lay dormant within her. She knew what she craved -- what she needed to survive.

In the distance, a soft whispering sound reached her ears. The calling of a nightingale. Intrigued, she followed the sweet song until she arrived at a tranquil clearing. The lanterns, ever her companions, lit up the opened space amongst the trees. There, amidst the dappled moon and starlight, ran a peaceful stream, its waters shimmering like liquid silver.

Unable to resist, she went to the water's edge and knelt down, peering at her own reflection. She became captivated by the juxtaposition of the captivating beauty she witnessed and the darkness that lurked right behind her own golden eyes. The face staring back at her bore the marks of immortality -- a timeless and ethereal creature that barely concealed an eternal hunger.

With trembling fingertips, which she only now realized were badly injured and painful to utilize, she touched the corners of her mouth. And while she stared at her own reflection, she parted her lips and saw the sharpened canines that sat so neatly along the top row of her teeth. Without consideration, her tongue ran over the surface of one of these sharp incisors until she felt the prickle of pain and saw the stain of black blood dripping down her chin.

And although blood is what she craved, the taste and sight of her own filled her with a familiar dread she could not exactly explain. She cringed and quickly did away with the droplets of vita with the back of her sleeved hand until there was no evidence of the self-inflicted wound. And when it was all said and done, she sat back, her bottom resting on the back of her caves, and her hands dipped at the edge of the cool waters. Her eyes were shifting, examining her surroundings once again.

She had smelled blood but there was no sign of it.
After leaving the nameless tavern behind, with a heavy sense of dread following close on her heels, Gabriela had spent the better part of a month traveling. She headed north, following the unfamiliar stars that shone brightly during the night, and when the sun shone bright and she was weak, she slept in the dark places she could find. And so, along with her dread, there was a distinct and heavy weight upon her chest -- a sort of longing mixed with anxiety. She wanted to go back. She wanted to return to the only home she had left. The further away she got from Him the greater the distance she put between herself and any hope of returning to that place. But the logical part of her, that very delicate part of her mind that was slowly mending back, knew that there was no home to go back to.

Orisia was gone.

Valucre as well.

The world she knew no longer existed.

Through valleys, and over hills, beyond great expanses of thickly wooded territories -- she moved in search of something she could not yet name. She carried with her a single and precious possession. A tiny grain of white sand from the tropical beaches of Versilla. The small, glass-like jewel of a speck had been found upon one of her eyelashes, a forgotten relic of the kingdom she had nurtured and then destroyed. Gabriela carried it with her as if it were a child, for indeed it was.

And then, at long last, on a tepid night, when the breeze blew the sweet perfume of star jasmine and the faintest hint of orange blossom, Irene Gabriela DuGrace, known as the Black Queen, ventured deep into the heart of a secret grove.

Her mind was heavy with remorse and regret more so than usual. The warmth and the fragrance of the night stirred the deepest and darkest parts of her memories. So the weight of her past actions came down, and hung like a shroud around her, suffocating her with each step she took. And the grove, secluded and untouched -- mostly dead --, seemed like the perfect canvas upon which she could paint her redemption.

From the remnants of a tattered satchel, she produced and cradled the Seed of Orisia -- that tiny grain of sand, all that was left of her true home. And with renewed purpose burning in her summer-set eyes, she entered the grove, though the shadows seemed to whisper and the trees bent away from her. She was not wanted in this place, but she did not care. She would make this her home, or it would become her grave.

It wasn’t hard to select a place, nestled in the moss and soft wet earth, where the grove’s magic pulsed like a massive and ancient heart.

“I will begin anew,” she said to herself, and to fend off the harsh criticism of her logical mind.

This wasn’t right.

She could not bring another country to existence -- she could not be the mother to a new nation.

And yet she did and she would -- for she birthed a new realm in that very moment, a new kingdom that would right the wrongs of her past.

Gabriela knelt on the ground and plunged her hands deep into the soil, marveling for a moment at the warmth and feeling the earth’s pulse beneath her fingertips. With every ounce of power she still possessed, she lovingly planted the Seed of Orisia, a beacon for all of her aspirations of redemption and renewal. And the grove responded to her touch, stirred by the echo of La’Ruta that still resided deep in the bones of the Black Queen.

The air changed, the energy becoming a nearly tangible thing as the dormant trees and other vegetation stirred to life. Lanterns, ethereal and otherworldly, flickered to life, casting a warm, and soft glow upon the newly birthed territory. It cut through the darkness of the night and created a sort of radiance around the edge of the thicket, a thing that fought back the frightful shadows that had once crept without any hindrance.

As the grove blossomed with life, Gabriela knew that her sacrifice was not yet complete. She understood that the revival of Orisia and the creation of the Illuminated Grove required her to give more than her power. For there was no birth without blood and pain -- one could not bring life into the world without being torn apart.

Her child demanded her blood, her essence, and the remnants of her godhood.

It was her only inheritance to give.

With a resolute determination, Gabriela curled her fingers into her palms and tore into the tender flesh with her glass-like fingernails. She felt the bite of it deep into her bones but did not so much as whimper at the pain. Rather, she focused on the sensation and breathed through the agony of her life force flowing into the soil. Like black fire, she felt her vita pour out of her -- leaving her as nothing but scorched remains. Her blood mingled with the earth, her sacrifice breathed life into the very roots buried beneath her, and from there, traveled across a vast network that connected all of the trees within the woodland. Shadows from her blood swirled, blending with the Seed of Orisia, infusing it with the remnants of her divine power.

The heart beneath her hands beat stronger and faster, while her own slowed and ached to carry on.

The process was arduous and draining, consuming her with each passing moment. Gabriela could feel the last vestiges of her strength being siphoned away, but she pressed on, fueled by her desire to rebuild and redeem -- even if she did not live to see it.

When it was all said and done, and the ritual was over, Gabrela could barely keep her golden eyes open or control the sharp tremble in her arms and shoulders. The grove stood vibrant and alive, glowing with a magnificent radiance that was simply uncanny, the legacy of Orisia reborn. The Black Queen's task was complete, her work a testament to her unwavering determination. And she, utterly exhausted, collapsed into a cradle of uprooted tree limbs that sprang forward to catch her.

As she surrendered to the embrace of sleep, her hands blackened with soil, torn flesh, and blood, Gabriela found solace in the knowledge that she had paved the way for a new world, a realm where her regrets could maybe be transformed into hope, and her pain could find purpose. And as the night whispered its lullaby, the rejuvenated grove cradled her, guarding her slumber.
How could he have known that guilt was the silver bullet that would render her useless? Like an arrow through the heart, she felt herself bleed straight out into the night, and breathe through a gaping wound in her chest. She didn’t need much of a push toward that deep and dark edge, and she could so easily fall off and into the abyss of despair. She already considered herself a monster of the worst degree. And this man sold it soo well -- with his peppered hair, his tired expression, and his human frame and all of its human aches and pains.

“You’re not normal.”

The words were an accusation.

Her eyes were misted with bloody tears.

He took a step back, and she mirrored the action, stepping away as well, increasing the distance between them. The shift caused the cloak to fall closed over her small shoulders and completely cover her figure. Still, all that was visible was the small curve of her chin, and her trembling bottom lip as she resisted, to the best of her abilities, the sudden urge to cry.

The man gathered his things, but not before flinging the poor falcon into the air with all of his strength. Gabriela managed a small, heartbroken cry, but nothing else. Somehow, she managed to contain herself and not reach out, not run out after the small creature as if she could hope to save it. Luckily, she did not give away her ignorance. She stood there, managing her guilt, her sorrow, and her horror.

“Fine. Fine… All your’s. Don’t follow me.”

He shot her a glare over his shoulder as he pushed off the large stone where he had set up his small set of supplies. She watched him, mute and frozen -- traumatized it seemed -- from the strange interaction. But then her head turned, and the hood fell away as her golden gaze shifted to the distance, the tavern where they had both been just a moment ago. The look on her beautiful face was one of pure distress as she seemed to examine the building in the distance as if she were waiting to hear or see something.

She looked petrified.

When she looked back, her face, finally exposed by moonlight -- looked young and lost.

“Fine, I’ll leave.”
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