Dark Nights
From Create Your Own Story
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| - | You have spent your entire life in a quiet little town living in squalor. You were abandoned as a baby, found on the streets by a man you refuse to call your father. A belligerent drunkard that offered no love and no support. Once you were old enough to look after yourself, you ran away, finding that it wasn't as difficult as you had imagined to survive on your own. You've managed to survive this long in the dangerous streets by relying solely on your instincts. Furthermore, you have some sort of innate ability to | + | You have spent your entire life in a quiet little town living in squalor. You were abandoned as a baby, found on the streets by a man you refuse to call your father. A belligerent drunkard that offered no love and no support. Once you were old enough to look after yourself, you ran away, finding that it wasn't as difficult as you had imagined to survive on your own. You've managed to survive this long in the dangerous streets by relying solely on your instincts. Furthermore, you have some sort of innate ability to set things on fire, but you're not completely sure how it works. |
| - | One day a | + | One serene, moonless evening you’re out alone, looking for a place to rest after a day of scavenging, when you hear the creaking of wheels, a wagon slowly pulls up behind you. “That’s the one.” A voice cuts through the eery silence. You turn around just in time to be greeted by a metal object that nearly leaves a dent in your forehead. You are tangled in a web of darkness. |
| - | You | + | You groggily open your eyes hours later in darkness. You try to rise into a seating position but your wrists appear to be stuck to the bed. Your entire torso has been restrained by a leathery material. Silently, a silhouette opens the door to your left, shuffling into the room holding a candle and a cup. “You are awake?” He inquires. You would verbally respond, but it appears that your throat is parched, and so you stare blankly at the ceiling. |
| - | + | The robed figure approaches you, and with his old, pale veiny hands he puts the cup to your mouth. “Drink.” The man commands, and you comply eagerly, draining the container in seconds. As you swallow the last of it, you muse that the liquid leaves a rather bitter taste on your tongue, and you wonder whether drinking it was wise. | |
| - | + | You give the old man a curious glance. “I just want you to know that what you are doing, is very brave.” Suddenly, you feel a wave of both fatigue and nausea. You command your mouth and vocal chords to communicate, but nothing comes out. Your eyelids begin to close, and you lose consciousness. | |
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| - | + | You awaken again hours later to the sight of an vibrant blue sky and white clouds and an incandescent sun that won't relent in burning the eyes out of your skull. You’re surrounded by robed men, women and children, laying on a stone block in the middle of a field. Your back aches, and your head aches even more. The people seem to be muttering things under their breaths, strange things, with tightly closed eyes. “Hello?” You ask, beginning to fear for your safety. Nobody responds or seems to hear your inquiry, in fact, you don’t even think they can hear each other. One of them begins to mutter louder, as he steps closer and draws a knife from one of the many pockets on his robes. | |
| - | You | + | “E-Excuse me.” You say slightly louder this time. You try to rise but both your arms seem to be tightly secured to something. The man raises his knife as if ready to plunge it into your chest, filled with a primal fear, you feel your pulse begin to race, your heart pounding in your chest. you begin to struggle, pulling against the ropes that bind you. |
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[[Category:Dark Nights]] | [[Category:Dark Nights]] | ||
Revision as of 22:38, 13 January 2017
You have spent your entire life in a quiet little town living in squalor. You were abandoned as a baby, found on the streets by a man you refuse to call your father. A belligerent drunkard that offered no love and no support. Once you were old enough to look after yourself, you ran away, finding that it wasn't as difficult as you had imagined to survive on your own. You've managed to survive this long in the dangerous streets by relying solely on your instincts. Furthermore, you have some sort of innate ability to set things on fire, but you're not completely sure how it works.
One serene, moonless evening you’re out alone, looking for a place to rest after a day of scavenging, when you hear the creaking of wheels, a wagon slowly pulls up behind you. “That’s the one.” A voice cuts through the eery silence. You turn around just in time to be greeted by a metal object that nearly leaves a dent in your forehead. You are tangled in a web of darkness.
You groggily open your eyes hours later in darkness. You try to rise into a seating position but your wrists appear to be stuck to the bed. Your entire torso has been restrained by a leathery material. Silently, a silhouette opens the door to your left, shuffling into the room holding a candle and a cup. “You are awake?” He inquires. You would verbally respond, but it appears that your throat is parched, and so you stare blankly at the ceiling.
The robed figure approaches you, and with his old, pale veiny hands he puts the cup to your mouth. “Drink.” The man commands, and you comply eagerly, draining the container in seconds. As you swallow the last of it, you muse that the liquid leaves a rather bitter taste on your tongue, and you wonder whether drinking it was wise.
You give the old man a curious glance. “I just want you to know that what you are doing, is very brave.” Suddenly, you feel a wave of both fatigue and nausea. You command your mouth and vocal chords to communicate, but nothing comes out. Your eyelids begin to close, and you lose consciousness.
You awaken again hours later to the sight of an vibrant blue sky and white clouds and an incandescent sun that won't relent in burning the eyes out of your skull. You’re surrounded by robed men, women and children, laying on a stone block in the middle of a field. Your back aches, and your head aches even more. The people seem to be muttering things under their breaths, strange things, with tightly closed eyes. “Hello?” You ask, beginning to fear for your safety. Nobody responds or seems to hear your inquiry, in fact, you don’t even think they can hear each other. One of them begins to mutter louder, as he steps closer and draws a knife from one of the many pockets on his robes.
“E-Excuse me.” You say slightly louder this time. You try to rise but both your arms seem to be tightly secured to something. The man raises his knife as if ready to plunge it into your chest, filled with a primal fear, you feel your pulse begin to race, your heart pounding in your chest. you begin to struggle, pulling against the ropes that bind you.
