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sticksandbones2024-10-14 10:40 am
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in sticksandbones2024-10-14 10:40 am
MINI EVENT: GHOST RESCUE
A HEARTBEAT BENEATH THE STAIRS
As the season turns, and blood sinks into the ground of the Grove, as monsters with your face haunt the halls, waiting to pounce, something else is creeping into light. Distantly one might see a light in the forest at night, and the next it comes closer. And closer. Until in the treeline you can see it: a pitch black manor that looks as if it’s covered in ash. The trees act as its gates, rebuffing anyone who tries to investigate, and the air smells like rot. Something watches in the windows, but vanishes when you blink.
… But not even this dark manor can stand in the way of one very angry grandfather skeleton, who will, eventually, rattle his teeth and bones in a rallying cry and urge others to follow him, sword in hand. It’s time to storm the castle, and Mr. Bone-Jangles has had enough.
The air within the manor is frigid and biting, and the inside itself is as decrepit as you may expect. Lights and candles can light the way… but only for a few minutes. The wood creaks as if the building is breathing slowly, and sometimes you here a loud thum-thump, as if its unseen heart beats while you explore.
For an already imposing building, inside seems even larger and there’s almost no end in sight as it feels like the halls wind on forever and more and more rooms, from libraries to studies to bedrooms to- … is this room dedicated to WWE Wrestler Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? … Needless to say, there’s a lot to work through, but Bone-Jangles urges you onward.
Wisps of color drift through. Are they your friends? Or something else?
… But not even this dark manor can stand in the way of one very angry grandfather skeleton, who will, eventually, rattle his teeth and bones in a rallying cry and urge others to follow him, sword in hand. It’s time to storm the castle, and Mr. Bone-Jangles has had enough.
The air within the manor is frigid and biting, and the inside itself is as decrepit as you may expect. Lights and candles can light the way… but only for a few minutes. The wood creaks as if the building is breathing slowly, and sometimes you here a loud thum-thump, as if its unseen heart beats while you explore.
For an already imposing building, inside seems even larger and there’s almost no end in sight as it feels like the halls wind on forever and more and more rooms, from libraries to studies to bedrooms to- … is this room dedicated to WWE Wrestler Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? … Needless to say, there’s a lot to work through, but Bone-Jangles urges you onward.
Wisps of color drift through. Are they your friends? Or something else?
A NIGHTMARE ON YOUR LIPS
And to those who have been locked away for days, perhaps weeks, nothing in this house feels real. Is it a dream? Is it a nightmare? The mere mention of a potential addition from your lips manifests another new room within the manor, but you cannot touch anything. Light hurts and makes you dizzy, while the night is painfully cold. How long has it been? How long will it be?
The burst of life is- new. Exciting. Distantly, you know these people, but the urges of death are whimsical and cruel. Part of you wants to guide them to the attic, where your souls are chained in full to a portrait of you. Break those portraits, and you're free, coming back to life outside, which is what you want, isn't it? Another part of you wants to chase them out, how dare they intrude upon your afterlife? Another yet thinks it’s time to play, but no longer remembers what ‘play’ is- so surely they can dodge the plates and books, right? Right!
And another yet wants the intruders dead. And if not by your hands, then by the demons guarding this world alongside you.
The burst of life is- new. Exciting. Distantly, you know these people, but the urges of death are whimsical and cruel. Part of you wants to guide them to the attic, where your souls are chained in full to a portrait of you. Break those portraits, and you're free, coming back to life outside, which is what you want, isn't it? Another part of you wants to chase them out, how dare they intrude upon your afterlife? Another yet thinks it’s time to play, but no longer remembers what ‘play’ is- so surely they can dodge the plates and books, right? Right!
And another yet wants the intruders dead. And if not by your hands, then by the demons guarding this world alongside you.
d20 result: 17
[But Dipper is nothing if not made of spite and stubborn will. If nothing else about him remains, this will, and with a furious shout it all goes silent. Dipper's form stabilizes into that gaudy cardigan Mabel would probably burn, and the stabwound from his death.]
I said fuck you!
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And then...Dipper stabilizes! He actually did it, and Stan beams with pride.
Of course, that means it's time to use that pride to shit talk their enemy here.]
YEAH! You hear that, you tacky coat rack? Fuck you! You're not taking us down that easy!
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Do as you are told, whelp.
... Can you clear an 18 this time? Because you gotta clear an 18 this time.
roll result....3....
[That's right, it's going to take a lot more than that to take their family down.]
[But then of course, that brief complacency is what proves his undoing and Dipper is suddenly face-to-face with the monster, being gripped in a way he did not think possible, being as incorporeal as he is. It's uncomfortable, he hates the sensation what ever it is, and he still does his best to fight.]
NO!
[But, he loses.]
[He goes slack and there is an incredibly distant, foggy look in his eyes. His right eye looks almost red when it catches the light, and the contents of the room starts to shake again. This time, the table goes flying towards Stan.]
d20 result: 20!
Wait, don't--! DIPPER! Hang on, you can fight it!
[But, he loses.
There's only a second to react, but Stan manages to duck down and roll in the nick of time. The table is thrown so hard that it shatters against the wall, splintering into pieces on impact, and he can only imagine what that would have done if it clocked him in the head.]
Kid, c'mon! I know you're still in there! WAKE UP!
[Stan doesn't move to fight back at Dipper though. Instead, he grabs for one of the broken table legs and with a wave of an ignited hand he lights one end of it on fire - a makeshift fiery baseball bat.]
And YOU! DEER HEAD! What's the matter? You can't take me on yourself? You gotta make a teenager do it?!
[It takes Stan a second to find where to look in the darkness beyond his flames, but when he thinks he's got it he points the flaming bat as a threat.]
If I'm "still but a man" or whatever then get over here and fight me like one, YOU COWARD!
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I am not the funnest option. But I shall reward your audacity. You may ask me a question, and I will answer truthfully... should you survive to ask it.
This is the result of his display: an honest answer from a demon of the House of Wandering Minds.
But until then, the demon will watch.
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Stan can't say he was expecting a sudden Q&A, and it shows on his face at first. He falters at having to switch gears from wanting to tear this guy apart to an actual interrogation, but he doesn't let go of the flaming table leg - it could all be a trap, after all. Hell, the answer might not even actually be true, because that's the kind of bullshit that would happen if he actually let his guard down.
It turns out he was right to be cautious, but from the wrong angle. This isn't an invitation to an immediate conversation - it's a prize to be won if he survives whatever Dipper is going to throw his way.
--Assuming Dipper hasn't already attacked, of course. That took a whole agonizing five seconds to process and anything could have happened in that time.]
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[Dipper isn't there in front of him anymore, however. Instead there's an echoing shatter from behind him, and Dipper can be seen there instead having just shattered a couple vases on the floor.]
[He flicks both of his wrists and up rises all of the ceramic shards from those vases. Stan has about a second to react before they're sailing through the air like a cloud of fucking knives in Stan's direction.]
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Stan whips around just in time to see way too many sharp slivers flying his way. He brings his free arm up to shield his face, but one of the pieces still nicks him on the opposite cheek. His sleeve gets ripped apart too from a dozen sharp cuts, staining the fabric a deep blue. It quickly begins to stiffen like the world's worst starch, until Stan roughly shakes his arm out. Hardened pieces clatter to the ground, and he flicks a stray pebble of cold blood from his face.
Unfortunately, the whole "being alive" thing has Stan at a huge disadvantage, but on the upside there's very little he can do that will actually hurt Dipper.
Or at least, this is his logic when he tosses another broken piece of table as hard as he can at Dipper's ghost, in the hopes that it will buy him another second to come up with something better.]
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[He walks, silently, pulling down anything in his path as violently as possible. Tables, paintings, it all gets flung across the halls, smashing up against the walls. If Stan tries to back up or put distance between them, he'll yank down the bookcases just a few feet behind him, blocking his path.]
I keep getting nat20s idk what to tell you
His reflexes are better this time. He knows what's coming and backs away, never fully letting himself lose sight of Dipper but also trying to put himself in a position where he can bolt.
He hears the bookcases before he sees the shadow of them, and that's all the warning he needs. He grips the table leg with two hands, the flame roaring larger and larger under his command from close proximity to his wounds, and as he turns he swings like it's a baseball bat.
The force shatters the table leg, but it's enough to knock the closest bookcase to the side instead of letting it fall on top of him. There's still two entire broken bookcases between himself and the attic, and the books on the shelves are quickly starting to ignite in blue flame. That doesn't stop Stan though - he starts trying to climb over them as if they aren't on fire at all, not even flinching.
Does fire slow down ghosts? Only one way to find out!]
STAN STOP STEALING ALL THE NAT20S
[Sounds like Stan might be onto something, if his nephew screaming in a chorus of voices that are like his layered on top of each other like fifty times.]
[The books and debris that have all caught fire, on top of the hardened, ice-like blood that had since clattered to the floor, all of it starts to whirl together in some unholy hurricane of violence and fire. It's going to get worse before it gets better here but.]
[I mean, that was a pretty good roll. Let's see what happens.]
well he rolled a 2 immediately after that so...
He tries to ignore it at first and keep scrambling, because he's still completely flameproof. This turns out to be a mistake - after all, being unable to catch on fire doesn't make him magically immune to wind or projectiles. He's about to make the jump from bookcase to staircase when the wind kicks up and and he's barraged with enough projectiles to knock him down to the floor.
But Stan is nothing if not stubborn - he doesn't stay down, but he keeps low to the ground in the hopes that it will keep him from literally blowing over again. None of this is vary graceful or cool-looking, but if it gets him into the attic, it gets him into the attic.]
roll: 19
[Remove the disturbance. Protect the attic.]
[Remove the disturbance. Protect-]
[Then, something changes. The record skips and there's a feeling in his core that is disorienting. Like he's being split in two. A shrill voice suddenly booms in his ears. YOU'RE MY PUPPET NOW, PINETREE. AHAHAHAHA-]
[Dipper suddenly snaps awake with nothing but stone cold horror and dread flooding through him, as if having his head shoved under an ice bath. There's pure chaos and destruction, his own arm outstretched and ...god he can almost see the strings, can't he. No. No, no, no, no not again.]
[In a sound that barely sounds human, Dipper screams out something furious and wounded.]
I'M NOT YOUR PUPPET!
[Dipper redirects his firenado directly at the Demon instead.]
no subject
What fun. But don't be so haughty, child. All mortals are, are marionettes for the divine. Even your precious goddesses.
The tornado hits the demon and... nothing really happens. It gently pats out some of the flames on it's cloak, but doesn't seem to be harmed- it didn't even recoil.
Your question, old man. Before the boy decides to throw more of a tantrum.
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So, nothing important, but maybe the most obvious question--]
...Alright. I've got one for you. Why the hell are you doing all of this anyway?
[Why did he have to stomp around some old house looking for his great-nephew's soul when he was supposed to just come back in that garden? Why is Dipper getting tugged around on puppet strings? Why even bother with any of this?!]
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And then it speaks again.
There are many things we can be. 'Human' is not one of them. Not without a cost... and even then, not permanently. The little ones will not understand this as easily. They crave it, so they try.
As a grandfather, it is my duty to guide them even through their mistakes, and let them have their fun. If that means keeping you here so they can get their time in the sun, so be it.
You were never truly a factor. It isn't anything... personal.
Hoohoo. Because we are not people.
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[His little firenado does barely anything to the bastard, but really it was a matter of principle by now. That he got any kind of reaction out of him is enough for now. He settles down so Stan can get his answer, but the wreckage all around them shakes threateningly in the meantime.]
[because if this goes even more sour he will show the demon the meaning of tantrum.]
[There's a pause though, as the shaking subsides while he takes in the answer. The Doppelgangers ...are spirits? Or perhaps demons like this guy, younger ones, who wanted to run around as humans? It's not the answer he expected, and really it could be a lie. Demons lie. He knows this from Bill, but what a fascinatingly candid answer.]
[He remains still for now.]
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Said in the tone of a sardonic midwestern mom...
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