The Nexus

[wxps350]

Kewl

[Rosten]

SCP-173: a limerick by BlazingIce26

There once was an SCP

His name was 173

If you forget to check

He'll break your neck

Then maybe next time you will flee

 

(I'm so sorry)

Edited February 13, 2015 by Blazingice26

[KidneyBeanBoy]

Here's a creature, I guess.

Species: String

Family: Hallucination

Appearance: Strings, are, fittingly, large tendrils that dangle out of the sky. They tend to have one to two fingerlike appendages at the end of it, but three or more can be found when mutations occur.

Behaviour: Visible only to the sane and hostile to the insane, strings glide around the world, attaching themselves to a suitable host by digging themselves into the host's arms or legs to gain control of them. They then drag the victim to other strings, who then join up to assume full control of the host. People at this stage generally lose the ability to speak and move exaggeratedly, with their mouth being the only true indicator of the host's emotion.

Edited February 13, 2015 by KidneyBeanBoy

[CloakofCrow]

Name: Keuro (Alan)

 

Gender: Male 
Age: Early 20’s

Race: Human

 

Appearance:  He wears a dark gray, long sleeved shirt; stretched due to his children tugging on it and hanging on him. He has medium length brown hair and blue eyes, with a light gray pair of jeans; ripped in some places due to what you will see below.

 

Backstory:

       “Hehehe, Daddy, look what I made!” two children, boy and girl, were jumping up and down trying to get their father’s attention. Alan was with his  wife, comforting her as she lie in bed. “Our children want you Alan; you better see what they want,” she insisted. Alan squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead, “Stay in bed,” he said, “Try to get some rest.”

 

        The older child, around six, had a paper airplane in his hands, aimed towards the window. The younger one was hopping excitedly, yet intently watching as her brother poised to throw. “Daddy, I made a paper airplane.   Watch me throw it!” Alan nodded and smiled as the boy closed an eye and positioned his hand on the paper. With a violent thrust, the airplane flew through the room and zipped out the window. They all ran to the window and leaned out to see it fly. The white of the plane reflecting sunlight as it whirled through the air like a dove. “Wow. That flew pretty far!” Alan complimented, “Do you want to play a game? How about we all make a paper airplane, throw it out the window, and see whose goes the farthest?” They both happily obliged.

 

        After lots of paper crinkling and giggling, they all had an airplane constructed.

“Are we throwing it out the window Daddy?” the eldest asked.

“Where else would we throw it silly! Our house isn’t that big!”

“But wouldn’t the wind blow them in different directions and alter the results?” the younger one questioned. Alan smirked at his daughter’s intelligence, “I guess you’ll just have to get lucky.”

 

        The three made final preparations for the flight. Bending parts, aiming, positioning their selves. “Ready? 3…2…1… THROW!” The airplanes launched out of the window and began their journey, flailing in all different directions; father, son, and daughter, sprinting down the stairs. The boy tripped and slide down the steps, Alan helped him up, checked to see if he was ok, and they both lumbered out the door.

 

        They ran outside to see a black car pulling into the dirt road, crushing an airplane under its tires. The daughter obviously distraught about it, grabbed her own airplane and ran towards her father. “The evil car killed your airplane,” she cried, burying her face into her father’s chest. “It’s alright; you guys go inside and entertain your mom now, ok?” The children looked up at their father as he nodded and slowly walked inside; glancing over their shoulders casting evil looks at the car. The vehicle turns to a stop as a plump, aged man exits with a suitcase with a somber look on his face.

 

“Good morning Alan.”

“Mornin’ Doc.”

“I see the kids are having fun.” He said blandly.

The men stood for a moment, admiring the beautiful weather.

 “Let’s go to the porch,” said the doctor.

 

        The two men sat in the white wicker chairs positioned outward, creaking as they sat back. “Your wife has Tuberculosis.” Alan leaned back in his chair, watching as a paper airplane flew through the air. The man let the information sink in for a while. “You’re daughter does as well and it wouldn’t be surprising if you and your son contract it.” Alan sat for a long while, thinking about his family. “Here are the test results.” The doctor put a couple sheets of paper on a nearby table and walked back to his car, glancing over at Alan as he sat perfectly still. He backed up, crushing another airplane, and drove off. (Listen while reading for ultimate depression)

(

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3aF9AJm0RFc)

 

        One by one, each person became sick. Coughing up blood onto the covers of their beds, wheezing as their lungs deteriorated. Alan remaining healthy, watching as his family became sick. “Daddy, *cough* is Sarah going to be ok?” his son asked one night. “I’m not sure Ty… Just get some rest.” That night, his daughter didn’t wake up.

Ty and his mother started sleeping in the same room together. Laughing, and making jokes the best they could. Just trying to keep their minds off of the sickness. At night, she would look at him sleep and stroke his hair, whispering, “It’s gonna be ok, Mommy won’t let anything happen to you…” Eventually, they both passed away in their sleep, together on the same night. Their bodies never being separated from each other, for Alan was long gone.

 

        Alan trudged up a tall hill, with a rope and the crumpled test results in hand. The afternoon sun setting in the distance, the ocean barely in view. An old scraggly tree hung precariously off a cliff, empty bottles littered around it. “Hello old friends.” Alan set the rope down and opened the old test results, sighing as he looked at his blank entry. He folded the diagnostics into a paper airplane and let it soar into the sky, free from all the struggles of life, gently letting the wind push it to where it belongs. He tied the rope around the tree, watching the white airplane drift into the darkening sky. When he could see it no more, Alan put the rope around his neck, “Goodbye, old friend.” He let go, the rope tightening around his neck, a sudden jerk, and a snap.

 

        This wasn’t the end. It wasn’t the snap of a neck he heard, but the snap of a tree branch. Alan broke into a roll, smashing his broken skeleton on every rock, slope, and root on the way down. He came to a grinding stop, broken, paralyzed, and gashed. Distraught in a period of shock, lying helpless on the ground as night approached. The paper airplane landed beside him, new words written upon it,

 

“Don’t worry my child, I can save you.”

Edited February 14, 2015 by CloakofCrow

[geni0529]

* clapping* I really really really liked that backstory 10/10 million likes

Ill most likely put something on here soon enough im just to lazy to right now.

[CloakofCrow]

Chapter II

 

Kalus’ hate spewed darkness, a dying light, further endangering the already-fleeting fire. And his rage corrupted humans by driving their minds wild with insanity; changing the course of darkness in the process. But, before Kalus was the harbinger of the Abyss, he was simply a man; a man who rested in peace.

 

Attracted to the powers of his enlightened soul, the Knights of Paluster uprooted Kalus; placing him even deeper beneath the tree; in the bowels of the tumulus. This would become a perilous place Kalus wishes he could efface from his memory.

[CloakofCrow]

Chapter III

 

The tortures he suffered here are unspeakable; torments of both a mental and physical nature. Kalus was assaulted, often to death, but the tree kept him from dying permanently; making it easy to continue torture after his body had deteriorated. And when his body could tolerate no more, the attack on his mind would begin. Paluster Knight’s magic is manipulative and illusionary in place of physical. With most malevolent trickery; the vile humans created false images; twisting Kalus’ perception of reality; pushing his mind to the brink.

 

Kalus was tethered to reality by the smallest of threads. He had kept a pendant, a symbol of a time when he could remember kindness. The pendant and the thoughts it conjured brought him the faintest of happiness. In the seldom moments of solitude, free of torture, Kalus would think of his forgotten joy; and fantasize of escape. But the memories wash away as hopelessness overwhelms him, causing him to strike the wall of his prison. Again. Then again. And what was once a moment of frustrating defeat turns into a delusion of hope; a futile attempt to escape. He prays his will alone is powerful enough to crumble the wall. Kalus swings until his arm can no longer move; he swings until the pain is all that is left.

Edited February 14, 2015 by CloakofCrow

[MenaAthena]

BEHOLD!!!

THIS TOOK TOO LONG, BUT IT'S SO WORTH IT. NOW I'M STUCK IN CAPS LOCK.

SO, YEAH, THIS IS THE CURRENT DESIGN FOR ERIS.

POTATOES.

[wxps350]

Might as well put up my first ever character.

 

Name: Wakana

 

Age: 4

 

Gender: Male

 

Race: Mandragora(An advanced version of the Mandrake)

 

Appearance: Stands at about 2"2' with a weight of 24 pounds. While normal mandrakes have a grey-ish green body, he has a lighter shade. He has two large black eyes, one of which has a pink ring in it. He has 6 leaves on his head, which are either orange or purple, yet for whatever reason do not appear in the constant pattern. His hands and legs are fingerless and toeless. He has two small holes for ears, and no nose. 

 

In his anatomy, he has a weak system of very thin roots connecting to his limbs, head, and eyes, all leading to his core, which is a form of heart. The main way it's powered is from nightmare fuel, which acts as his blood. To obtain more, he must devour a food substance which has nightmare fuel within it capable of extraction. Then, it will travel down his throat, and eventually reach his Core. His head leaves seem to lack any photosynthetic absorption, leaving full obtainment of energy from consumption of nightmare fuel

 

Abilities: He has a super screech which can cripple foes &  cause insanity, yet he can't control who it effects. 

 

Equipment/Weapons: Uses two tomahawks whittled down for his size

 

Backstory: He was born after an unnamed woman took his growing seed and mutated it, making him intelligent and capable of speech. The woman took care of him, up until one morning when he woke up, and she was gone. He now roams with his companion, a rather docile hound named Wulfric, in search of her.

[CloakofCrow]

Chapter IV

 

Each day Kalus tries and fails to escape, and each day the knights return. But similar to any other day, in the mists of blood and suffering, one knight notices the pendant buried within soot and dirt in a pathetic attempt of concealment. It is a locket of sorts, of mythical origin, able to manifest memories. But this is no place for nostalgia, only torment can be found in these walls. With the pendant gone, something changed within Kalus; he resents his kin. Little by little the foul people of Paluster were distorting as well, for Kalus was an ancient human and all parties were unaware of his great influence over humanity. Kalus' pain was so powerful it was beginning to mark those around him. It would seem evil breeds evil. Over time, the Knights of Paluster were beginning to go mad. Their magic was altering with their minds; turning dark and physical, characteristic of the torture they performed on Kalus.

 

"Seduced by the twisted flame or not, Paluster awoke that thing themselves and drove it mad. One’s demise is always one’s own making."

[CloakofCrow]

Chapter V

 

No complex emotions are needed now; his mind is primal; abstract – only shapes that once resembled emotion remain. Rage and survival are all that matter, and escape is the route to both. Kalus stands in front of the wall one last time and begins to smack the worn flesh of his fists against the grime-covered brick. The sound of cracking was apparent, whether the sounds origin is bones or the brick is indistinguishable. That was, until the wall crumbled in his mad furry; revealing an enormous cavern, with a darkness below; an Abyss. The black void was calling to him. Did Kalus’ hatred create the Abyss below, or was it there all along; feeding on his anguish; transforming him, preparing him for this moment? Kalus looks back at the prison that once held him, now torn asunder; recognizing then what the chamber truly was – a cocoon; a shell to contain his strife, his strength, his metamorphosis.

 

Blind to any other alternative, he moves toward the Abyss. Kalus did not choose this path; he was forced down into the darkness.

[CloakofCrow]

The End

[MenaAthena]

So the Knights of Paluster brought a guy back from the dead just to seal him deeper underground and torture him?

Do you even logic, Paluster?

[CloakofCrow]

Paluster didn't need Kalus until the darkness started coming back. Disparel needed more power to combat the darkness, so he convinced Paluster to open the grave of Kalus. The reason for doing this was because Kalus had a powerful soul, and they extracted the power by torturing him. Disparel used Kalus' pain and agony to his own advantage, thus his name [Dispair + Peril = Disparel].

 

When one of the Knights took the pendant, Kalus had nothing to keep him from going insane. Unbeknownst to Paluster, Kalus had a large effect on humanity, so as he went insane, so did everyone else. Then he managed to break free from his prison, and go to the abyss below him, where he became one with the darkness.

 

Now Kalus hates humanity and Disparel, thus creating the setting of the world from The Orchestra.

[CloakofCrow]

Solortus

 

This sword is a sentient artifact; strong of will and possessed of arrogance. The sword can also intrude on the wielder's thoughts, guiding them to dark and violence-inclined directions. Anyone who touches the blade or handle of this sword unprotected would need to compete with it in a battle of wills. Failure means the burning of the mind, eventually turning the bearer to ashes. This ability could be used by the wielder of the sword, but it would require prolonged contact with the victim. Without defeating the blade in a battle of wills, the only way a person can safely use the blade was if they possessed similar energies, or if they had a gauntlet made of the same material as the sword. 

[MenaAthena]

Solortus

This sword is a sentient artifact; strong of will and possessed of arrogance. The sword can also intrude on the wielder's thoughts, guiding them to dark and violence-inclined directions. Anyone who touches the blade or handle of this sword unprotected would need to compete with it in a battle of wills. Failure means the burning of the mind, eventually turning the bearer to ashes. This ability could be used by the wielder of the sword, but it would require prolonged contact with the victim. Without defeating the blade in a battle of wills, the only way a person can safely use the blade was if they possessed similar energies, or if they had a gauntlet made of the same material as the sword.

Good thing Shana didn't find it. She'd be toast ashes.

[CloakofCrow]

Name: Auriko Kalure

 

Gender: Male

Age: 20’s

Race: Human

 

Backstory:

I was a young boy, living in an old cottage with my parents and older sister who was promised to be married. It was the day of her wedding when Lord Grigand’s men came riding into the field. I’ll never forget the way their horses grunted and seethed, as if ready for war. Then the nobleman descended from his horse, and made his demands. Some call it the right of the first night, as if men in power needed to justify their raep with laws. No, they just took what they wanted.

 

My mother pleaded for mercy, my father reached for his axe when one of the guards gutted him, all anyone could do was weep.

 

Two of Grigand’s men were dragging my sister into the cottage when they passed me by. One of them turned to look at me and out eyes met. There wasn't a drop of emotion on that face. That’s what I remember most from that night, not the murder or the raep or the screams. It was the face of that guardsman, the face of apathy that I couldn't forget.

 

After they slaughtered my family they razed the town. Grigand really just wanted the land and the peasants cleared out. When his lot forced themselves on the women, it was just for fun. No, not forced, toyed with them, defiled them, and murdered their spirit. And when they killed them all they… they just left me there to watch.

 

I mourned them for days. But my mourning quickly turned to anger. I thirst for revenge. But I was just a boy; my anger alone wouldn't be enough to kill a noble. I attempted to summon assassins, but they never answered. I knew then that I had to do it myself. Grigand was beyond my reach. But that guard, the one whose face was burned into my memory. That was a man I could kill.

 

I pulled the sword from my own fathers belly and watched him spill all over the ground. I kept that sword as a reminder. The blood had dried and crusted over the blade, I never bothered to polish it. Killing the guardsman wasn't easy. Looking back, I was lucky I wasn't a grown man. My size and build forced me to cling to the shadows. A grown man would have used the sword that felled my father to seek some form of poetic justice. A boy was forced to abandon that for a dagger.

 

I started out as pretending I was a beggar, nagging the guards for coin and bread. Not that it required much acting, my hunger was real. I pestered Grigand’s men one by one until I found that face. He didn't recognize me, of course he didn't. I tracked him day and night, from the barracks to the brothels. It was outside the inn where he was most vulnerable, unloading his mead. That night I hid behind a stack of hay piles. The full moon was out, and there was no mistaking that face. I crept up behind him as he was pissing on the wall, the sound of the stream masking my footfalls. Then I slid the dagger into his heart. And when he fell into the ground, I turned his face over and cut his mouth into a smile.

 

It was cathartic. I stared into that face for what seemed like forever, my body tingling with sensation. It wasn't until I heard that slow condescending clap that I woke up from my trance. Then I looked up and saw pure darkness.

 

Appearance:

Wears leather armor with a hood that covers his dark hair and pale face. Wears unique gauntlets made of a strange metal. Lost the sword that killed his father sometime in the islands, he now uses the knife he used to kill the guard and his stealth.

         

 

Edited February 18, 2015 by CloakofCrow

[CloakofCrow]

I can only think of dark and twisted backstories for things...

[Rosten]

To be fair, writing an interesting character without tragedy is pretty difficult.

[MenaAthena]

I have ideas but I'm too lazy to sit down and actually write them out. 

Also there's that little voice inside me that says that if I share any ideas or creativity that I will be mocked or thought less of because my creation is stupid. And for some reason I listen to it... 

[Quiet]

To be fair, writing an interesting character without tragedy is pretty difficult.

 

Making them not brood over it 24/7 is even harder, apparently.

[Rosten]

Making them not brood over it 24/7 is even harder, apparently.

 

>Describing every character in 40% of anime

[wxps350]

Well you can have a hero who's moody, but make him annoyed by things out loud then just constantly being all 

"......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Whatever......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................."

[Quiet]

Since I'm part of the roleplay, and am thereby obligated to post something, here's the creature from Jakob's nightmare and possibly past.

 

Kavaedras

 

A vile, hated monstrosity, this creature of darkness was driven off the face of the planet thousands of years ago.  The Kavaedra live off blood, and though they can barely starve, they are filled with a constant lust for it.  Because of this, they will kill and feast upon any living thing they can find, be it a rat, child, or even one of their own race.  Because of their expulsion from the surface, they now live deep underground, waiting for their chance to rise from the depths and feast on the bounty of blood above...

 

Appearance -

 

Kavaerdra have pale, mottled skin, from their long time underground.  They have no eyes; their face is almost entirely smooth, except for massive holes in the sides and front of their heads,  These are the ears and nostrils.  Their mouth is surrounded with hundreds of hollow tongues, that inject into their prey and suck the blood out of them; much like proboscis found on insects like mosquitoes.  They have an abnormally long, snakelike neck, which they use to slip their heads into hard-to-reach places.  Their bodies are vaguely humanoid in form, though they walk on all fours and have disproportionately massive hands.  A third arm protrudes from the chest; they use this to tap against the ground, then use the echoes to find their way around the darkness.

 

(Why does the Tab key submit posts.)

Edited February 22, 2015 by Quiet

[MenaAthena]

(Starting something that I may or may not continue. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee)

Prologue

Isn't it strange how one little thing can change the course of a life forever? One seemingly unimportant decision or event can turn a whole world upside down, absolutely blind sighting anyone it affects. The damage could show itself almost immediately, or it could days, weeks, even years to become apparent, but it can always be traced back to that one slip up. Fate is a crule force; it does not pick and choose it's victims. Both the innocent and the sinful can be victims of it's hand. One such victim was a young, meak girl, innocent at heart.

Her name was Shana.