SleepingSilence — Roleplayer Guild

It's admittedly not my favorite story, even if I'm tempted to make a wicked audio version of it. But I hope you enjoy the writing presented, as I do find that solid. 1,997 words. (Title not included. But even then it's still below the 1,999 word maximum originally stated in the rules.)

April, 4th

Justice is blind, but can it foresee the unseen? How do you stop creatures that hide within mortals’ flesh and lurk around every corner? Phantoms that possess others to commit unspeakable acts against the innocent. Our beloved kingdom was burdened with rumors as pervasive as the winds whispering outside my bedroom window. But as I write and witness the beautiful starlit sky and smell my sister’s pungent perfume still lingering on my fingertips, I’m reminded that I’m not alone in the unrest; my father is losing his senses. Sharp yet frail like a feather arrowhead, I fear his aim of chasing these phantoms down has risen tensions between our neighbors and brought us unnecessary conflict. We’ve been blessed to live in the most peaceful era in history, but if you listened to their trembling lips you’d believe the earth was collapsing beneath your feet. “May the gods have mercy on your soul if you’re unfortunate enough to be their target,” they say. But as midnight arrives I remain skeptical of such ridiculous...

April 5th

My sister’s scream chilled my bones, but the silence scared me half to death. But I’d rather be a dead man running than live without her. I stumbled through dark hallways of our home, wondering why my father had told the nightly patrol to leave and not trouble our guests. I was compelled to rush outside towards our garden, where my sister liked to wander at night. My sword was drawn the moment I remembered it was strapped to my waist, but I hadn’t expected to face such a monster. A young man with a devil’s grin, his bloody claws twisting the dagger right out of her left hand. Both laying on a bed of white lilies, watered by tears falling from her pale cheeks. Like a dragon’s fury building in my stomach, I felt like spitting fire as I roared. It was the son of the guest that came to end a trade dispute between our kingdoms. His cost would end up being more than an arm and his leg, as the price to be paid begged for war. His expression filled with horror as his head twisted backward, immediately releasing his grubby fingers from her white dress and staining it red. Dropping onto his knees and clutching his face, sobbing and babbling like a maniac.

“The phantoms told me to! The phantoms made me do this!”

My sister stopped me from ending his words with a single strike, keeping two men’s heads on their shoulders. Her embrace calmed us both, as she informed me that I’d arrived in time. She wanted him brought to justice through proper means, not wanting to cause misunderstandings and turmoil for her sake. But knowing the man would be merely locked in the cell until morning wouldn’t help me sleep. As I felt invisible hands gripping my heart at the mere thought of crushed flowers.

April 6th

My father and I waited alone in the dimly lit throne room for the guards to bring in the possessed, at least that’s what he claimed to be. Like the rest of our prisoners, these phantoms served as the underlying cause for their crimes. But these summoners of lies only want to escape the truth and time as it ticked by. The darkness couldn’t cover up my father’s ghostly pale complexion, or stop him coughing into his golden robes. Despite my mind overflowing with thought, I remained silent as I struggled to find the words that would make my father smile and laugh like he once had. Our last conversation related to me claiming his throne after his inevitable passing. How could I confront someone who shook death’s hand, comfortable with having their last dream? 

Interrupted by the clamoring of armor that burst through the front doors, four soldiers carried him in, appropriately trussed like a pig ready to be roasted alive. I remember feeling relief that his hands were tied behind his back and his legs shackled together, but I’d soon learn that wasn’t enough to restrain one’s acts of violence. As the soldiers kept the prisoner's head bent and staring at the red carpet as a reminder that those deemed guilty would bleed. My father cleared his throat before speaking with an authoritative tone.  

“For the evil acts you’ve committed, you’re—” But his words were cut off by screams of indignant passion.

“The phantoms dug their claws inside my brain! They contorted my body with every violent thrust as they penetrated your daughter! The phantoms raped her!” 

The incantations slaughtered my father’s innocent spirit like a baby beaten bloody. The destructive fuel caused his pupils to spread like wildfire. Clutching his chest with an agonized cry, my father had collapsed forward. Nothing we did could bring him back...

The summoner had killed my father and had stolen his dream. With the heaviest of hearts that make strong men buckle to their knees, I intend to accept this anchor and refuse to be dragged into the depths of their despair. By my honor, I will eliminate the speech of liars and cover the mouths of kingdoms that let it fester like an open wound. By my hands, I shall bandage the world and end all of its’ suffering.

April, 9th

My beloved sister was strange. You’d never expect someone so visually pleasing to be so sharp, albeit rough around the edges, like a thorny rose beginning to wilt. She was self-sacrificing to a fault. Donating her long flowing raven-locks, soft as silk, snipped off until she resembled somebody more masculine. When we were younger, I would often tease her about being blessed with hair that grew like a weed. So she'd challenge me to arm wrestling match where she’d always fail with a smile on her face. I never understood why until she admitted it was due to how flustered I’d stay afterward.

But the burial today had the brightness faded from her face. The mood was as gray as the clouds cast over our heads, killing daylight and seeming to promise darker days ahead. The eventual rain accompanied our cold silence as I held my sister’s hand, refusing to leave to her side, until she couldn’t bare the sight of a gravestone and locked herself in her room. I could open the door, but her mouth was sealed and I haven’t been blessed with her voice since. I knew she was hesitant on my call to silencing the possessed and fighting “against what we don’t understand”. But another piece of my soul was stolen from me, and I had every intention of getting it back.

June, 6th

I’d gotten off my mare and tread past some of my fallen soldiers, giving them a silent prayer as I stepped on the slain fertilizing the soil. We made tremendous progress pushing back enemy lines. While their king stuffed his face and sent fodder to die like sheep, I was the Alpha wolf leading our pack to victory. Then I noticed a young man standing alone in the field and hovering over an enemy with arrows piercing their legs, still living and pleading to be spared and treated. Both sides were aware that we had a greater amount of supplies from successful raids claiming theirs to preserve ours. I saw the shocked stare in his eyes as his trembling arms lowered his spear. I felt like I was floating in the air, as he failed to notice my presence until I had gripped his shoulder and grounded him back into reality. His reluctant glance up seemed to expect a scolding, but I gave him a smile and said, “A leader shouldn’t expect his followers to do for him, what he can’t do for them.” 

The young man stepped back to watch as I unsheathed my bloody blade and readied my strike as the injured man had rolled onto his stomach. Suddenly springing up onto his two feet, the enemy’s fist nearly struck my face with his metal glove. I slashed straight through his head and had him crumbling over. The blood sprayed through the air and splashed across my face. Immediately I tried to wipe my eyes, but likely only caused more blood to get into them. The young man took my arm and helped me onto my horse, which he rode back to camp where I was able to flush out my eyes and wash my skin. It didn’t hurt, but my red-eyed reflection in the mirror was a reminder of what I sacrificed that day. And the incredible power I gained that changed everything; Phantom Vision.

September, 8th

With my disciples by my side, I climbed above the rubble of those who thought lowly of us and reached heights rivaling the gods. But even after being humbled by the lavish praise once we returned home, my ambitions felt far from accomplished. My sister seemed to resent me for purging the unworthy. But as I’ve been losing my worthless sight, my third eye has begun opening and I fear the phantoms were always there. No matter how hard I ran, my peripheral vision couldn’t escape the darkness following my footsteps. And I knew I couldn’t sleep when the phantoms were trying to stab me in the back! Rumors spreading like a plague and infecting those I considered allies; it sickened me enough to make me vomit.

“He’s unfit to claim the throne.”

“He’s muttering scary things again.”

“He’s going mad.”

To the summoners and their forked tongues that preach chaos and practice evil; I am not wrong! I could see in black and white and it wouldn’t affect my ability to understand someone’s true colors. My illness has bought me purity! They’ve all been possessed! But I needed to know more and go deeper! My fingernails dug through my eyes to peel away the artificial layer to see the invisible. I couldn’t stop laughing afterward; my eyes now perceive all! The phantoms have thousands of eyes that watch your every move. They steal your breath and exhale poison. Their thin thread-like fingers prick mortals skin like needles and manipulate them like puppets on strings. The possessed beg on their hands and knees for forgiveness, but in their clasped hands they conceal a blade meant to eliminate your existence. But you must never listen, nor stop progressing! Let them sway above and be hung by the gallows! Let them hide beneath their dirt beds! Let them be cleansed on pyres burning in the middle of the town square! If they intend to run their mouths, let them run the rivers red with their screams until they drown! They’ve all got to die!

November 3rd

I’ve felt sick and sluggish, but this will be the last day I can write before I’m completely blind. So I must admit that something has been bothering me. My morning routine went by as usual, passing judgement on those that challenged me. The line of the guilty was always long, but their wait was short. I sat blindfolded upon my throne with my executioner axe in hand, relying on my believers guidance to walk forward until I stood over the possessed. They remained gagged so the phantoms couldn’t steal my breath. I rested my palm on top of their shaking bald head caked in wet mud to know where to swing. I ended their fear when I lifted my hands and chopped off their head. And I repeated the process over and over, until I was ready for them to clean up the mess.

But how I could I feel satisfied when my sister had ran away from home last night and nobody has found her? I know the phantoms have gotten to her and to me. My senses have been playing tricks on me to make my stomach feel rotten. When I struck down my first enemy, I sneezed loudly and snorted. I couldn’t help but inhale the familiar scent of perfu

This was always something I considered, but this question finally gave me a reason to think about it further. I’m afraid my favorite roleplaying characters have been lost with time and other sites that no longer exist. It doesn’t help that I haven’t really had many long roleplays on here, which make most of them less deep and complex as others in my own fiction. Character sheets used to be a lot more fun for me to make, but I honestly find the process tedious now. Most of my effort tries to go into the writing itself versus describing my characters favorite breakfast cereal. But gun to my head, which one here (that I still have any evidence/knowledge of) was my favorite? (Just based on the potential I had in mind for them?)

Well to help me remember, I tried reading some of their introductions and the rest. To see which one resonated with me the most. And well I’m not sure if this sheet is the best, or even the longest one. And their introduction post is the longest, but I don’t think it’s my best work. I still remember being disappointed when creating one of the sections. But I’ll admit, I love creating godly beings. (And so rarely am I able to, when so called creative types limit it so frequently. Even in roleplays where god-like beings are bound to exist.) Azmoday (God Of Sins, Demons and The Underworld) Character Sheet and the introduction.

I probably have more developed and even better written characters, even in this forum. But damn it's a shame that I was unable to develop the story I had in mind for this god and his children. It was just fun to make this one and it probably looks the best visually. It’s not stupid long and overly detailed. But I think it gives you just enough information and snippets of each character to understand their place. At least that’s what my answer is for today... (Favorite character(s)? I don't know that for certain. He might've been if I got the time to build upon them.)

For genre favorite? Easy and probably said before. Dark Fantasy. (Where you can put as much innocent fluff as you want, before getting to the good part. ;D) I’ve just always enjoyed this and I never stopped reading, writing and roleplaying in the genre. (Okay, I really should be reading more of it. On my to do list, I swear.) I think it’s just the freest and most open genre for roleplaying. Maybe you’d argue fantasy would be that, since adding dark presumably puts you in a box, but really it just opens you up for more serious possibilities. Toothless fantasy doesn’t often engage me, and without those dark or sad moments, it feels like a hollow and one-note setting. 

Least favorite? I’m not sure if that’s as easy to narrow down, but I’d have to say Slice Of Life. Because the word itself is almost entirely meaningless. For one, I write things for escapism or to make them more interesting than real life. That’s harder to do, if I’m desperately trying to mimic it. Hell if it’s just to relax, I really don’t understand it. Because reading and writing both take focus, and at that point, why don’t you just go outside? Live the life your writing down. At least slice of life anime or shows, have pretty visuals and music that accompany it. But it's pretty hard to write interesting mundanity, but if you have no desire to write interesting things. It will at least kill some time…

Everyone’s a critic, amirite?

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OC, Plz No Stealz.

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