I'm up. (#4)

You can feel the wind brushing against your cheeks as you tear through the field. Every time your feet propel you across the grass you can hear the soft, rustling crunch that you love so much. The sky stretches over you infinitely, clouds whipping by with their distorted, bloated white shapes, changing from everything to taper into nothing. You're not shivering and you're not sweating... It's a perfectly cool day.

It is perfect. It's absolutely perfect.

You can feel the corners of you mouth stretch into a big smile, teeth bared and a healthy heart beating inside of your chest. You can feel your hair sticking to your face and bobbing wildly as you continue to run. You can even feel that breathy hitch in your throat, a mix between a beginning exhaustion and giddy laughter.

Another sound creeps into your ears, the sound of rubber hitting rubber. You tilt your head down and along with the blurred definition of the grass is a soccer ball alongside your foot. You hadn't noticed it before, but you're handling this rather well. You don't miss a beat guiding the ball, the cheers and shouts of the mixed crowd around you letting you know just what kind of caliber you are as an athlete.

A crowd. There are other people here. You look up and can't see a single soul, but there is no doubt that a gathering of people are collected at this field. And you know they're responding to what you're doing. You shift left with the ball... You shift right... You slow down and you speed up, and each time elicits a different reaction from your fans and enemies.

There's something surreal about this environment. No matter how far you go there is no goal. The sky keeps going, stretching on and on and on... And the continuous echoes of the crowd around you never seem to get significantly louder or quieter. And that sound, the wonderful, steady sound of your feet sprinting against the grass, is the most wonderful, joy-inducing sound that you've ever heard.

You actually laugh, you're so happy. You shut your eyes tight and open your mouth as a string of laughter comes out. Each sound echoes five times further, filling the air with an ecstatic dissonance.

It feels good. You feel good. Everything has its own rhythm and harmony, singing to you on a deep spiritual level that you didn't even know you possessed. It's bright, and it's warm, and it's got you completely drugged on this elation. You stretch open your arms in an attempt to soak up as much of this beautiful day as possible.

You could do this forever.

The ball is still within your range, close enough for you to control how you'd like to handle it.

A. Keep kicking the ball.

B. Stop kicking the ball.

>Stop kicking the ball.

>>1351644
>B. Stop kicking the ball.
Aren't there still 2 people who could potentially die from Buff Monster?

By the way, it too me a bit to consider the reason you were stretching the last chase scene for as long as you did, hoping one of us would remember something important before we dead-ended ourselves. You could try integrating that sort of stretching of time into an in-character hint where the character has a feeling or sixth-sense that "We're forgetting something important, but can't put our finger on what or why that is," to give us a clue that we should go look back on previous scenes to check for a detail before we wreck ourselves.

>>1352749
(>>1350540 ...I'll remember that for the future, but the chase scene is over.)

(You chose to stop kicking the ball.)

Your feet slow, and your little black and white companion starts to roll away from you and across the grassy field until it's out of sight. You begin to lose your momentum until you've made a complete stop.

But the world around you did not stop. Even as you stare, eyes pointed on the horizon, you can see that the sky is shooting across the grass. The clouds billow and roll as if they were running themselves, and the grass flutters in silky waves. You could swear the ground was moving under your feet, but you tell yourself that it's simply an illusion.

The cheering and applause that filled your ears has been replaced by the wind, shrieking and howling with incredible violence. It would be more fitting to pair this sound with a destructive storm; a natural disaster would be more appropriate than an open, bright field.

You look down at your feet... Your legs. From your ankle to your legs are far thinner than you remember, awkward and bony right up to the knee. Your hips are thinner, and draw a straight line up to your chest.

It seems that you're much younger in this dream. Adolescent, even.

The sky is beginning to throw off your balance. It starts to roll with a speed you didn't think possible. You're starting to get dizzy and almost a little nauseous.

You can taste something acidic in your mouth. It's immediately recognizable-- The taste of saliva before vomiting, probably induced by motion sickness. With the way everything is moving around you, you're not surprised. At this point it feels like you're being sucked into a vacuum.

If you don't do something, you're going to be physically ill.

A. Close your eyes.

B. Move forward again.

C. Turn around and walk against the 'current' of the sky.

D. Other (specify)

>>1353053
C. Turn around and walk against the 'current' of the sky.
FIGHT IT.

>>1353583
>Seconding

Good night yall

File: girl.png (417KB, 900x650px) Image search: [Google]

417KB, 900x650px

(You chose to turn around and walk against the 'current' of the sky.)

You shudder a bit as your stomach lurches, breathing a bit deeper than you normally would to calm yourself. You turn around and try to watch the landscape behind you, thinking that looking at the sky from a different direction might help ease the motion sickness coursing inside you.

You turn and notice that facing this way is significantly brighter. It makes you wince, and you wonder if the sun is shining from this direction. You have to shield your eyes for a bit, and your cheeks puff out in a reaction to your increasing nausea. You lower the arm cutting the glare, automatically reaching around your stomach to hug yourself and choke down the rising contents of your stomach.

A grunt escapes from your lips, the noise entering the air around you and disappearing in a whisper... Little more than a force of air, as if the noise was sucked right out from you. You think your knees might buckle, but you remain standing.

...The distraction of almost vomiting left you numb to the realization that every noise around you has simple ceased to be. It's dead silent, to the point where you wouldn't have been surprised if you were struck deaf. You open your mouth to make a sound, not a word but just a noise, and find that it's sucked from you in the exact same way.

It leaves you unnerved.

You straighten out your posture, still dizzy but far more concerned with what's happening to the environment around you. It takes just a moment longer for your eyes to adjust to the brightness, but what you see ahead of you is as clear as anything you've seen before.

A young girl, no older than nine or ten years of age, stands in the grass. She seems to be dressed for far colder weather than what you're experiencing. A pink and purple scarf and jacket set... grey skirt... and what you think are stockings are actually light grey sweatpants sagging slightly at her knees. Her hands are at her sides, and she looks at you with a sweet, friendly smile. Her skin has a slightly darker pigment than yours, light brown hair framing her face in an unkempt bob... But her eyes have the same striking blue color that yours do. It's identical... A piercing, icy blue with dark, defined pupils. You've seen those eyes every day since you can remember, but seeing them on another person feels incredibly unnatural.

You stare at her, and she stares back. You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. It's completely silent.

The girl's smile shifts, and you can see her teeth from the part in her lips. She holds out a hand towards you, the cuff of her jacket sliding back to reveal down to her wrist. She beckons to you, curling her fingers and her palm to motion you over.

(1/2)

File: chilled.png (103KB, 750x450px) Image search: [Google]

103KB, 750x450px

>>1354895

You think to move forward, but you can't. You're completely frozen. You can't even open your lips at this point to call out to her, to ask her a question or to tell her something.

...What do you want to tell her?

The more you look at her, the more you feel you know this girl. There's something incredibly familiar and inviting about her calling you over. You want to go to her. You feel a -need- to go to her.

She lowers her arm, still smiling at you... But she turns and begins to walk away further in the direction you came from. Your lips are completely stuck together, and any air forming in your throat is nothing more than a pathetic wheeze by now. It physically hurts to keep breathing.

But you have to reach her. You -have- to reach her, somehow.

With a strength that defies your age you clench every muscle in your right arm, and you can hear a cracking as you pull it away from your stomach. It's as if bone is splintering, but there is no pain. There is only the shattering sound of ice as you rip the appendage away from your body, and it disintegrates into dust. You watch in disbelief, absolute shock as your arm becomes lost in a silent wind that doesn't exist, the destruction rising up to your shoulder and across your side.

It reaches your face, and your eyesight. Every survival instinct in your body tells you to move, to flinch, to look away but you're completely immobile. The only thing you can do is watch this girl walk away as the world before your eyes simply disappears.

You try to scream but nothing comes out.

...

Darkness. The next thing your eyes register is darkness. A blue midnight that's just above pitch black. You can't tell if it's hot or cold... You are completely numb. You try to move, to wiggle a toe or lift a finger, but you can't. The only thing you are able to experience are the little memories of what brought you here.

A gargantuan man. The chill of death. It all seems jumbled in your head, but you know just how real it was. How cold it was. You can see something... At first you think that it's smoke, but from the way it evaporates you recognize that it's your breath hitting the air.

You are breathing.

At first you're relieved, but then it dawns on you just where you are. You know that shade of dark blue moonlight... It's the house where you found your clothes and your bags. The house where you were brought to after being stuck in that room.

...You can't remember anything that happened before that.

You remember the girl. The stranger. The specter. The voice on the other end of the phone. But you don't know who you are. You don't even know your own name.

What would you like to do?

A. Try to speak.

B. Try to look around.

C. Try to move again.

D. Try to remember something/think about something (specify).

E. Try to listen for something.

F. Other (Specify).

(2/2)

>>1354935

(I am very sorry for the lack of content tonight, I have some general health problems and today was a day I needed to focus on them. I am getting a little tired of talking about my health over and over, though, and I doubt people want to keep reading about it so on future days like this I'll just put up a warning that there won't be frequent posts.)

>>1354935
>Listen and look.

>>1354946
Hope you feel better.

File: television.png (365KB, 900x500px) Image search: [Google]

365KB, 900x500px

(You chose to look around.)

Your eyes dart quickly from side to side, although you head does not move. You are unable to twist your head in any direction, and even blinking is far more difficult than a simple, involuntary action.

Your eyes shift right, and all you see is a wall. There are no pictures, nor are there cracks, scrapes, or dents.

You angle your eyes down towards your feet, the highs of you cheeks slightly cutting off your vision. You see that there's a large blanket on the lower half of your body, knitted and hugging your legs. You don't feel it... You don't feel the fabric, nor do you feel warm. Everything is completely numb.

Something is glowing against you, reflecting blue light on the outer frame of your body. You let your gaze fall to the left side of the room. A bright, blue light assaults your eyes, and you realize that it's the light coming from this television.

You must be in the living room, then. And from the look of the arm next to your feet and cushions against your side, you'd venture to guess you're laying down on the sofa.

The television casts the blue light over you, as well as the rest of the room in front of it. It's not making a sound. Only silence is present, just like before. You also see that the blanket isn't the only thing different in this room. A box of tissues and some kind of steaming mug is on the coffee table. But you can't feel any change in temperature, nor any moisture from the steam covering your skin.

A hot mug and a blanket tucked under your legs. Someone did this for you, and to you.

You listen for a moment, focusing solely on trying to pick up any kind of sound.

You hear nothing.

Until, of course, the television turns from blue to a harsh, popping, hissing static. It jolts you a little bit, and if you were able to move you would have jumped off of the couch.

And then it stops. In an unexplained, split second the screen cuts to black and the room falls silent again. A small sense of discomfort creeps up your skin, and your heart begins to pound in your chest louder, and louder until you can hear it ringing in your ears. You lay there, paralyzed...

...But you can feel your heart. You can feel your core shake with each bump your heart sends through your chest. As if your body were reviving itself involuntarily, a sharp pain shoots through your lungs and out of your throat... Eliciting a loud, shriek-like gasp. The sudden shock of the air makes you aware that, just moments ago, you weren't breathing at all.

Your eyes widen, and you wheeze loudly. Every shuddering breath stings your core with a dull ache, but you know that through the pain you are alive. Your heart is stirring you, and from your position you can see that both your legs and arms are shivering to your heart's beating. And then, the pain subsides. Your body seems to have regulated itself.

That... May have been death.

...You think you should try to move.

A. Try to move your arms.

B. Try to move your legs.

>>1355758

(Thank you. You guys are so good. I'm going to try to get a regular schedule on these quests instead of just when it's convenient.

We're going to have a full afternoon session tomorrow, and then two full days Wednesday and Thursday. I function on Central Time USA, so if you're available we'd love to have you.)

>>1355758
A. Try to move your arms.
Gotta get that warm mug.
>>1357171
Your first priority should be your health.
If something happens to you, something happens to the quest.

>>1357185
Seconding

(You chose to move your arms.)

You try to lift one of your fingers and find that it feels like pins shooting through your skin. Your muscles haven't caught up yet, it seems, as your arm is apparently asleep.

You keep trying, though, trying to manipulate your arm through your shoulder. It's almost worse than before... All you're doing is flopping around like a fish. After a few minutes of useless wiggling around you lift your arm. It shivers, weak and barely capable of functioning. But you need to get warm, and this mug seems the best way to do so.

You extend your shivering hand, slowly and carefully, towards the mug. You look at your skin and see that, apart from the midnight glowing in the room, you look blue. Incredibly blue. It unnerves you, and you try not to think about what may have happened to you were you not brought into this house.

Was that what happened? You were brought in, tucked in, and given a warm mug of something? You don't know, but it makes sense, doesn't it? You certainly couldn't have done it yourself. You can barely breathe, how could you have set all of this up?

Your left hand is just inches away from the mug, and you carefully reach out to coil your fingers around the handle. It's a tight grip, for one thing you don't want to let go of this, and for another your joints are stiff and your skin looks as if something's crusted it over. You do manage to grip the handle as steadily as you can, and you successfully bring the mug to you. You rest it against your stomach to avoid spilling it all over yourself. You can actually see little dots of white in the rim... It looks like hot chocolate with marshmallows.

Your skin can feel the slight tingling of... Something. The mug is successfully warming you up. You don't think you should let go of it yet.

What would you like to do?

A. Try to drink the hot chocolate.

B. Pour the hot chocolate over your body.

C. Keep holding the mug as you are.

>>1358830
>C. Keep holding the mug as you are.
Don't want to pour it up our nose and drown ourself, we just got back.

(You chose to hold the mug.)

You rest the mug against where your chest and stomach meet, letting the heat find you. You feel as if you've been like this before, tucked in and laying down. It doesn't strike any chords inside of you, and common sense dictates that you've probably been sick before.

You think about before, the first time in this house. It triggered two of your memories... The first being that you went to high school and the second being that you had a farm animal style, Russian nesting doll.

You think about how little that means, yet that's all you've got to hold onto. Without a name, without an age, without any recollection of year or place you just simply exist. You've been able to maintain most memory of the events that have happened since you regained consciousness, but nothing else. It's frustrating. It's frustrating and it's agitating you far more now, considering all that's happened. The town you were dumped in, the things that you've seen... The monsters and the unexplained occurrences... In a way, you're almost glad your mind is void of everything else because the past few hours have been enough to process on their own.

And then you think about the dream you had, or if it was a dream at all. The girl in the field felt like someone you knew. Someone important to you, whose name should be at the tip of your tongue but it's not. It could have been a delusion sparked by being so close to death. Perhaps it was even after death.

Speaking of which... You're starting to register feeling again. You can feel the heat seep into your core, as well as the weight of the blanket on your legs. The numb prickling is beginning to subside, though it is not entirely gone. But there's something else you can feel. It's weakness. Not necessarily your strength, but something in your gut is telling you that you're not going to be able to handle as much harm done to your body as you once able to.

(The loss of your chase has caused a permanent, irreversible -2 to your total HP. Your maximum HP is now 63.)

You lose yourself in these thoughts, coaxed by a low hissing noise... And from your recollection of this house, it's coming from the direction of the bathroom. It's definitely running water, like someone left the sink on.

Is someone else in here with you?

A. Get up and go check it out.

B. Call out to see if someone else will respond.

C. Lay quietly and do nothing.

>>1359181
Drink the hot coco, then investigate.

File: livingroom.png (188KB, 850x550px) Image search: [Google]

188KB, 850x550px

(You chose to investigate.)

You find that you're able to move slightly, and though you probably wouldn't try to run in your condition you are capable of sitting up. You bring the hot chocolate to your lips, the warm steam coming out of the mug tickling your face, and you tilt it back.

Your body instantly rejects even the idea of consuming this drink. You don't retch or vomit, but your mouth seems to act on its own will. Your teeth clamp down hard on your tongue and scrape the surface, pushing back the hot chocolate and spitting the liquid back into the mug before you've even had a chance to taste it. You pull your head back, in total disbelief of what just happened, and look at the rippling liquid inside of the mug.

You attempt to drink again, and are met with a similar response. Every involuntary fiber in your being wants nothing to do with this drink to the point where, when you go in a third time, your lips purse and spray hot chocolate everywhere-- including on your jacket. You spill a little bit of it on yourself, and decide that there will be no more of this.

You remember that you haven't eaten a single thing since you woke up, nor have you felt the need to eat or drink. You wonder if trying to consume other food will have this similar response.

Well, at the very least, the splashes of hot chocolate have warmed you a bit, and the loss of mouth control has snapped you to attention. Very carefully you shift under the blanket into a sitting position. Your feet hit the floor, and then hit something.

On the floor is a pair of pink, soft slippers. Curious, you push your foot inside of them, and you are able to feel that they're incredibly soft. Nothing seems to be wrong with them, although they're a little small in comparison to the size of your foot.

(You've gained footwear to add to your appearance, [Slippers]. There are no special effects.)

You set the hot chocolate down on the coffee table and rise to your feet with shaky legs. A cough weakly forces itself up from your chest, and you listen to see if the running water is still audible. It is.

You make your way down the hall slowly, not exactly gracefully, though. Your muscles ache, and it causes you to stagger around awkwardly. Although, considering that not ten minutes ago you couldn't feel your heart beating in your chest, you feel that this is quite an improvement.

You walk down the hall to the bedroom, the bathroom being through this area. You do take a quick glance at the kitchen and see that there's nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that you haven't seen before.

Your fingers push on the bedroom door and find that it's unlocked. The sound of rushing water is still echoing through the house, louder now that you've closed in on it.

You can feel that sensation again. Your heart sinks in dread as the hairs stand up on your back, the cold sweat coating your brow as it did when the monstrous figure hunted you down.

(1/2)

>>1359380

Then again, you also felt this when the specter approached you to restore you to your full health. She was timid, and you didn't feel threatened at all around her.

This is a situation that you're not completely sure how to handle.

A. Go through the bedroom to listen to the running water.

B. Listen from behind the bedroom door.

C. Ignore it for now and go to another part of the house.

>>1359387
>B. Listen from behind the bedroom door.

File: house map 2.png (282KB, 1200x900px) Image search: [Google]

282KB, 1200x900px

>>1359387

(I forgot to post the map of the house.)

(Key: Grey door = entry

Black door = no entry

Any location that's blacked out or darkened means that at lease one thing has changed since you've been there last. If it's clearly seen, it means that you've been there since it's changed, or that it hasn't changed at all.)

(You chose to listen from behind the bedroom door.)

You put your head against the bedroom door. The sound of the water is clear, but you can't hear much else. You take a moment to collect yourself and see if there's the threat you felt from before...

...It's nothing like you've ever felt before. You don't necessarily feel threatened, but you feel lesser than whatever is in front of you. As if you were far smaller, and far beneath it. It's greater than you, and you recognize it.

"...not even a..."

You heard that. The rest of it is just a murmur, but you could make out that small part. The voice sounds familiar, but you're not sure where you've heard it before. You press your ear against the door's crevice and focus on trying to listen further.

There's rushing water... And footsteps. It sounds even and regular, as if someone was pacing. There are mumbled sentences being drowned out by these noises, but you just can't make them out from your position.

A loud sigh cuts off the rushing water, and echoes through the room.

"This has been a disappointing, rotten fruit."

The voice is bitter, and dripping with venom. It's raspy with age, hissing and spitting out of cynicism. You almost feel as if its hostility is directed completely at you. Perhaps it is... You don't know who is behind this door, nor if they've seen you here. You know this voice... You -know- you know this voice... But from where?

You can hear footsteps again. This time, much louder than before.

(Please roll a 1d20.)

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>1359582
Was it the voice from the phone call, before the phone exploded?

>>1359595
(1d20 roll.)

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>1359595
Sorry, got used to 100's

>>1359656
Shit

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>1359645
>1d20

>>1359656
>Rolled 5 (1d20)
>>1359800
>Rolled 6 (1d20)
>>1359582
>"This has been a disappointing, rotten fruit."

File: house map 2a.png (315KB, 1200x900px) Image search: [Google]

315KB, 1200x900px

>>1359800

(Taking 6 as the highest roll.)

You turn your head, meaning to step back, but it's too late. The bedroom door swings open and smacks you in the face, hitting your nose with a loud impact and sending you back against the wall. It doesn't knock you down, but you stagger around for a moment to try to retain your composure.

You feel for blood, and find that there's none. You can taste something similar to blood in your mouth, but there are no wounds. There might be a bruise later, however. Once you've made sure that nothing is broken or extremely battered, you look up and try to regain your focus.

The door to the bedroom is wide open, and the sound of the faucet has ceased. If something or someone really was in there, you feel as if your chance to see it was taken away as soon as the door made contact with your face.

The door to the bedroom has been left wide open.

A. Go into the bedroom.

B. Go into another area of the house (Specify).

(We're gonna try to go all day for this, so like 8 hours, but replies might be slow due to the usual.)

Go into the bedroom.

>>1360267
Seconding

>>1360267
Thirding

>>1360223
>>1360267
4th.

Damn it
Don't die!!!
ARGH