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Hey, Forumers. You had better find something to eat before night comes...



67 members have voted

  1. 1. What do you think about this new story type thing.

    • Really cool, have my reputation!
    • It's neat.
    • Eh, meh...
    • Nah.
    • I wish it would die in a muddy ditch, alone, without friends, family, or HOPE!

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Hello, everyone.  This is, well, something a little different.  Let's face it - we've all probably wondered what we'd do if we were trapped in a certain uncompromising survival game.  So I decided to start this.  Basically, I'm going to be taking you/your OCs and throwing them into the world of Don't Starve.  'Nuff said.




I will only be adding you into the story if you have an OC/personality I can work with.  For example, an rabbit-eating artist would be more likely to get in rather than a generic Average Poster sort of guy.  If you don't want to be put in for whatever reason, let me know and I won't.


I'll try my best not to offend people, but please don't take it personally if I say the wrong thing.




I'm not exactly a wizard with words, so the tale will probably be comprised of numerous short stories that tie into some kind of plot.  That said, expect something interesting, not the generic "Find Maxwell" thing.  I'm working on it.




Some of you are going to die.  Sorry.  I'll have a nice first-class room waiting for you.


PART ONE: The Arrival


Segment One

     Lord Battal was exhausted, simply put.  The day had been flooded with escapees, dark magic, and David Gamer in a Soul Jar.  Naturally, even the Debul would lose energy over these events, but this day, things were different, for whatever reason.  No amount of human souls or still-beating hearts could rejuvenate him, even though these articles normally replenished his stamina in the blink of an eye.  The darkest Eldrich rituals from the pages of Battal's Eternity Inc. Pocket Necronomicon (Carry around evil wherever you go!) didn't work either.  Even when he resorted to dying and resurrecting himself, the feeling of exhaustion was still there.

 And so, reluctantly, Battal resorted to his last choice.  Sleeping.  This was something that rarely happened, and something he was not proud of either.  He viewed sleep as a very mortal weakness, and so avoided it as much as possible.  But unless I want to be a senile old man for the rest of my life, the Debul decided, migheswell get it over with, quickly and with as little publicity as possible.  The Debul's palace was put on lockdown, and armed guards placed at each entrance.  All defense systems were placed online.  His palace now a fortress, the Debul went to sleep.  And suffered the consequences.

 Battal was awoken mainly by somebody singing and dancing around him.  Which was naturally quite creepy, and for that reason he prepared to turn the dancing man into Brûlé homme de danse.  However, the man did not suddenly burn to death, because nothing had happened.  The next thing Battal registered was that he was lying on the ground, in the grass.  As there was no grass in Battal's chamber - really, no grass in his entire palace - that was naturally quite odd as well. The Debul was about to accept he was in the middle of some kind of lucid dream, when the man's words reached his ears.

 "Hahaha, I caught you at last!  Ha!  You can talk about us all ya want, pal, but we'll see how you do as one of us!"

 The man laughed maniacally.

 "The rest of your friends ought to be around here soon. Tell em' I said, 'You better find something to eat before night comes!'  Haha!  Hhahahahahahahahhah!" 

With that, the man poofed away with a burst of dust.  Leaving the Debul In the middle of nowhere.  In the middle of the wilderness.


Segment 2


Lord Battal stood up, wiping grass out of his hair.  He was pleasantly surprised when the plants burned to ashes in his hands; at least his powers had not been completely removed.  Knowing full well where he was and what he was in for, Battal began with the basics.  He collected twigs and flint, fashioning them into crude tools.  An axe, for wood gathering and, if needed, limb chopping..  A pickaxe, for breaking down rocks and skulls.  With these weak tools, he slowly gathered more materials, and soon he had a sizable log pile and more than a few handfuls of rock.  By the time his work was done, the sun was low in the sky.  Soon, it would be night, and night meant Charlie. 

 Not wanting to become a three-course meal for some nightmarish shadow demon, Battal scraped a few chunks of wood together and willed it ablaze.  It took a few tries - more than he was comfortable with - but soon, he had a good-sized blaze going.  And not a moment too soon, for the sun was now barely more than a sliver peering out at him from the horizon.  In a few minutes, it was gone, and the only light available was that of the campfire and of the starlit sky above.

 After a long, chilly night, the sun finally rose from the shelter of the horizon, casting light across the world once more.  Lord Battal sat up, his stomach growling.  How long had it been since he had last ate?  2 days?  Three?  Either way, the work had taken its toll, and he was starving.  He foraged for food, and after a few minutes, his search was successful; he returned to the smoldering remains of his campfire with plenty of berries and a pocketful of carrots.  He roasted them and ate some of it; the rest he stored for later.  It wasn't exactly food of the gods, but it would do for the time being. 

 Battal then gathered what materials he had so far, and set off - his current location wasn't prime for a base camp, and Maxwell had mentioned others.  If he could find some of the other forumers, his chances of survival would probably rise.  But did he even stand a chance anyways?  As he walked, Battal tried to keep one sanity-draining thought out of his mind, but it kept coming back.  The Debul had played through the whole game, and he knew on thing...

 ...that there was no escape.


Segment 3


Lord Battal definitely wasn't a massive fan of nature hikes, and, considering his current predicament, wasn't too interested in seeing the sights.  However, he had to admit, the sprawling wilderness was a nice change to the dim, musty air of Hell.  Not that he didn't enjoy Hell; it was his home, where he belonged.  But even the Debul needed a change in scenery from time to time. Reaching a large rock outcropping, Battal dropped his load of wood and stone and sat down for a few moments.  He slowly chewed on some roasted carrots, taking his time.  After all, there was no rush; as long as he kept safe and didn't do anything stupid, like tangling with a massive fire-gem filled tallbird, he would be fine until he found his friends.


Coincidentally, at that very moment, a massive fire gem-filled tallbird was barreling towards him from behind the boulder.


Being the Debul, and having to fight escaped souls all the time, Battal was very, very skilled in combat.  The moment he heard the furiously deep hooting sound, he dived to one side, and not a moment too soon; a clawed, three-toed foot smashed down onto the boulder, shattering the rock like a twig.  Battal had seen tallbirds before in-game, but none like this, as far as he knew.  The creature was at least the size of a small house, with dark red fur and stubby wings.  His adversary turned towards him, and Battal, not having any weapons, ran for his life.


Unfortunately for him, the tallbird was A) Faster and B) Could cover more ground.  So merely seconds after the chase began, it ended.  The tallbird lifted Battal into the air by the back of his jacket, its beak clasped firmly around the cloth.  It then began walking back to its nest, either to feed Battal to its young or to finish him off.  But Battal wasn't done yet.  Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed on to a chunk of flint and, using all his strength, drove the sharp stone into the Tallbird's eye.  The creature shrieked in pain, dropping Battal to the ground and stomping about in agony.  Battal avoided the creature's flailing legs as much as he could, and fled, not even bothering to get his materials before doing so.


He would end up regretting that.

Segment Four


Lord Battal stumbled away from the rocky area as fast as he could, one hand clutched on his side.  After some running, he stopped, looked around, and decided the coast was clear.  He removed his skeletal hand from his injury and examined it.  The bleached-white bone was stained crimson with blood.  The tallbird had sliced him sometime during their confrontation, and now he was bleeding profusely.  He had to get some kind of medical implements, or else he wasn't going to last long.  Battal looked at his bloody hand for a few moments, then thought, If I die from a giant chicken...


He collapsed to the ground before he could finish that sentence.



Some time later, Battal woke with a groan of pain.  Then, seconds later, panic, as he saw the sun was almost hidden behind the horizon.  "No, no, no, no," He said while rushing around, desperately searching for fire materials.  Seeing some grass, he rushed towards it and started picking it as fast as he could.  Right when he finished collecting it, the sun was gone, and there was only a little bit of light left.  Battal desperately tried to light the grass.  It was too wet.  It wasn't working.  Almost completely dark.  A hissing sound rang out through the night, growing closer and closer to Battal.  He was dead.  It was over -


FWOOSH!  The grass ignited in a burst of light, providing barely enough illumination to keep Battal safe.  The hissing had stopped, but a dark presence still remained lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike.  After some time in this stalemate, a voice began whispering in Battal's ear, so warped and ruined it was impossible to decide upon a gender.  It wanted him to put the light out, to find the wonders that the dark had to offer.  it spoke of the cool, night breeze, the feeling of floating, the beauty of the stars.  But Battal was no fool, and while the offers of beauty and wonder could have moved a weaker man, Battal was near-unfeeling for such things.  The grass burned on.


And the night went on, the moon creeping its way across the starry sky.  The voices became inpatient, more forceful in their demands to put the light out.  It had become a true mental assault, and Battal could feel his sanity dripping away like wax from a candle.  He knew he had to stay strong, or else, hallucinations would come.  Shadows incarnate, who would extinguish his fire, or even his life.  The shadows closed in as his grass tuft slowly burned away.  You will soon be in the dark.  The voices said.  Then you will experience the beauty...


Then, when the grass was almost burned away, Battal heard a massive explosion far away, and then a crackling sound.  He turned around, and his eyes were welcomed with - fireworks?  Was this some kind of sick trick from Maxwell, a celebration for Battal's incoming demise?  But no - the shadows around him were just as intrigued as he was.  Another explosion, another flash of color across the sky.  With one final hiss, the Grue withdrew from Battal's location, and within seconds the dark presence was gone.

Segment 4 1/2


There was a cave spider called Xjurwi, a boulder fell from the ceiling and crushed him into tiny gory pieces. The End.

Segment Five

"Yes, these have names now"


           Battal spent the entire night watching the fireworks display cast its colors across the sky.  It cooled his nerves a bit, something he needed after his maddening encounter with the Grue.  As dawn approached, the fireworks became less and less discernible, until finally they faded out of sight.  Their echoing booms stopped as well, suggesting they were no longer being fired at all.  Battal cast away the ashes that had been the grass tuft, and stood up.  Taking a few minutes to eat some food and regain his strength, he began his trek to the place the fireworks had been launched from.  Hopefully, he could find shelter there, and not a trap or empty camp.


          After much walking, Battal sat down to rest, at a place he hoped was safe.  He then examined the wound at his side.  It was far worse than he had thought.  The cut was caked with mud and dried blood, and snippets of grass were inside the wound.  It didn't seem very deep, but it was quite lengthy.  Battal was no doctor, but he knew he had to attend to the wound, lest it become infected and kill him.  First off, he dragged himself to a nearby pond.  A largish frog sat near the edge, but luckily, decided to ignore him.  He splashed water on the wound, attempting to clean off as much mud and blood as possible.  That done, he tore off some cloth from his jacket, and wrapped the cut in it.  It would do, for now.


       More walking, and Battal knew he had to be near the camp of the firework-launcher.  Pushing his way through a thicket of trees, he found himself in the middle of a sizable camp.  The ground had been cleared of grass, leaving only dirt.  There was a tent, fire pit, science machine, the works.  But it was deserted; there was not a person in sight.  Battal sat down next to the fireplace in despair.  Perhaps the firework-launcher had left in the morning.  Maybe this had simply been a temporary location for him.  Either way, nobody was here.


A rustling in the bushes brought Battal out of his thoughts.  Something was moving through the thicket.  What was it?  Had the tallbird hunted him here?  His question was answered by a pale, suit-clad character entering the camp.  Upon seeing Battal, he raised what looked like some kind of strange rocket launcher.


"Who the hell are you?"


Segment Six

"Campfire Stories"


Jakob sat down next to the blazing campfire at the center of Blewcheese's camp.  Taking a stick he had sharpened earlier, he impaled a chunk of meat and held it over the flame.  A few minutes later, Blew joined him.  They sat in silence for a bit. 


"So...." Jakob began.  "How did you build all this stuff?"


He gestured to the camp around them.


Blew shrugged.  "I didn't.  I found it whilst exploring."  He popped a roasted berry into his mouth.  "No clue who made it, though."


"Whoever they are, they're probably long dead."  Battal sighed.  "Eh, well.  They're probably enjoying a pina colada in an Eternity Inc suite right now.  As should I," he added, "had I not gone to goddamn sleep!"


The fire flared upwards in response to Battal's anger.


"But, I suppose, that helps us.  We have a nice camp now, instead of being in the middle of nowhere."  Blew reasoned.  "And maybe if we keep shooting off fireworks, more people will find us."


"As well will plenty of other things."  Battal responded.  "I was about to be eviscerated by the Grue before it ran over here.  We'll have to be careful."


Battal checked his morsel, and, finding it cooked through and through, began to eat.  Again; not at all food of the gods.  Battal looked towards the broken crock pot nearby, his stomach rumbling.


"You tried that thing out, yet?"  He said, gesturing towards it.


"Nope.  Haven't gotten the resources to fix it."  Blew said, turning to the device.  "Although I suppose it could be a good investment in the future."


"We'll have to go out and gather resources, in the morning.  A lot of stuff needs repairing in this place."  Battal decided.  He suddenly winced, due to a sharp pain in his side. 


"What is it?"  Blewcheese asked.


"Uhh..." Battal said, agony streaking through his body, "You, um, see any strange creatures lately?  Like...house-sized red tallbirds?"


Blew shakes his head.  "No, nothing like that.  Why?"


Jakob groans.  "No time to explain.  You...you got any aid stuff?  Parchment, spider glands, stuff..."


Battal then passes out.  Again.


Segment 7

"Nobody Likes Times New Roman Anyways"


The small rabbit gnawed at the grass cautiously, taking looks around him at regular intervals.  It knew the dangers of feeding this close to THE FACTORY, but everywhere else the grass has been chewed to the ground.  The rabbit, like all small animals in the area, knew about the dangers that THE FACTORY held.  He had seen the horrors that came out of that place, seen his friends horribly mutilated by the terror that lurked within.  Once you were within the clutches of the one who dwelled within THE FACTORY...there was no escape.


The dining rabbit was oblivious to a small, pale figure creeping up behind it.  It had a vaguely humanoid shape, with round, glinting shapes in place of its eyes.  A long, thin needle was clasped in one hand, a drop of crimson still hanging on it.  In the other, it held a spool of black thread.  The creature stepped out of the shadows cast by THE FACTORY, and then, the rabbit saw him.  It made a frightened sound, but the humanoid shape moved with lightning speed, wrapping a bit of thread around the rabbits neck.  With surprising strength, it dragged the unfortunate animal into a drainage pipe, and into the depths of THE FACTORY.


The next day, the rabbit hopped out of the drainage pipe, relatively unharmed.  It went back to chewing grass, right where it had been already.  There was, however, one difference about the animal, one that sent chills down the spine of whoever saw it there on out.  In place of its eyes, there were two round, glinting shapes.


They were buttons.


@Pecival the Sentient Voodoo had been living in the Smielderfell Button Factory for as long as he could remember.  The abandoned workplace had plenty of buttons and needles with which to pursue his craft, which was mainly sewing buttons into things and mutilating already dead hamsters.  (The place was infested with them, for reasons nobody to this day knows.)  Pecival made his home high in the rafters, and had a somewhat substantial living quarters in a gap between the wall and an ancient vent.  Being (technically) a doll, he required little comforts and so the space was sparsely decorated, with only a makeshift bed, a small desk and a few pieces of colored yarn lying around. 


One day, Pecival began to feel extremely tired.  Not having the same qualms with sleeping as Battal had, he had a rest.  And...well, use your imagination.


Segment 8

"Flintface the Tallbird"


           Upon awakening, Battal's first thought was I really hope this story isn't me passing out constantly.  Sitting up, he instinctively put a hand to his wounded side.  Instead of a festering wound, he felt a strip of papyrus wrapped around the cut.  It felt monumentally better than it had before.  Battal exited the tent he had been lying in and looked around camp.  Blewcheese was nowhere to be found; Battal guessed he had gone off resource gathering.  Opening the supply chest, he removed a pouch of berries and roasted them over the remnants of the previous night's campfire.  Again, he looked hungrily at the crock pot.  He hoped they could get it working soon.


The day carried on, and still, Blewcheese was absent from the camp.  Battal decided to work close by the camp, in case his injury began to act up again.  He chopped down some trees near the edge of camp to make a more suitable opening.  He collected some flint and rock in the surrounding woods.  Using the Science machine, he prototyped two crude spears for him and Blewcheese to use as weapons.  He cleared out most of the junk in the clearing.  Satisfied, Battal took up his spear and sat next to the embers of the fire pit, and waited for his comrade's arrival.


Blewcheese had gotten lucky.  Not too far from camp, he had found a large plain full of boulders to be mined.  He hammered away at the stones with his pickaxe, storing the broken chunks of rock in his backpack.  He even found a couple chunks of gold, which was strangely tough and difficult to break.  Eventually satisfied with his load, Blew began to make his way back to camp, until he heard a furious hooting coming from behind him.  He turned just in time to avoid a massive red tallbird, which strangely had a chunk of flint stabbed into its eye.  The creature hooting in anger, and chased after him.  Blewcheese did the logical thing.  He ran.


Pecival woke up to the sound of stomping footsteps, yelling, and hooting.  He stood up, still a bit tired, just to be plowed over by someone who seemed strangely familiar.  Pecival dizzily got back up, only to see a monstrous red bird barreling towards him.  He grabbed his trusty needle and drove it into the creature's leg, were it stuck.  Not wanting to let the weapon go, the Sentient Voodoo was taken on a very bumpy ride.


Battal looked up to see Blewcheese barging into camp, panting.  "Look out, he's right behind me!"  He shouted.  Battal looked around in confusion until the tallbird burst into camp, a strange scrap of cloth hanging off its leg and a chunk of flint stuck in its eye.  The creature began to glow red as its sight fell on Battal.  "Oh, you again."  The Debul grumbled.  The tallbird charged for Battal, who jumped out of the way and sliced with his spear.  He caught it on the leg, and the bird shrieked in pain.  Battal backed away, holding the spear in a defensive position.


"I'm feeling particularly uncreative today,"  Battal shouted at the animal, "so your new name is Flintface.  Hope ya enjoy it!"


Flintface obviously did not enjoy it, as he hooted and stabbed at Battal with his beak.  Meanwhile, Blewcheese had gotten a hold of the second spear, and was sneaking up from behind.  Before he could strike, however, their adversary whipped around and kicked him into the tent.  The flimsy structure collapsed like tissue paper.  Pecival was finally dislodged in this action as well, and he soared across camp and struck a tree.  While the creature was turned around, Battal ran in and grabbed Flintface's leg.  Holding on tight, he climbed up the creature until he was on top of his head.  Not stopping to admire the view, he grabbed the bird's eye lid and tore it off.  Purple blood splattered the ground, and the Tallbird wailed in agony.  It threw him off, and, with one final look at the group, fled from the clearing.


Segment Nine



Forget the crock pot.  Battal thought to himself.  The entire camp is what needs fixing now.  He walked around the ruins of the clearing, searching for anything he could salvage.  He pulled a large chunk of rock out of an ash pile, and sighed as her remember how it had happened.  In the tumult with Flintface, the fire pit and the embers within had been scattered.  Due to the wooden floor, the camp had no chance; it burned to the ground before anyone could act.  All they could do was watch.  At least the blaze had provided enough light to protect them from the Grue.


Now, the trio stood outside the camp's ruins.  Taking a couple minutes to explain the situation to Pecival, they gathered their remaining supplies and set off.  Blewcheese led the way, with Pecival in the middle and Battal taking the back.  The Sentient Voodoo was thrilled; there were so many small animals around, and none of them seemed to be afraid of him.  Every few minutes, he would run off to a nearby rabbit, stab it through the eye, and drag it back to the group.  Pretty soon, both Battal and Blewcheese were weighed down by what seemed like tons of rabbit carcases. 


When night came, the group set up a campfire and cooked some food they had collected along the way.  Battal tried rabbit for the first time in his life.  It was, he decided, food of minor gods, perhaps.  When morning came, they kicked out the remains of the fire and continued.  Over rivers, through forests, their journey continued.  Finally, Blewcheese collapsed onto a log.  "Do we even have any idea where we're going?"  He asked, panting.  Battal thought for a few seconds, then shook his head.  "No idea."  Pecival then pointed a cloth hand towards something in the distance.  "Perhaps we should travel to that."


Segment Ten

"Sentience, Art, and Mutated Potatoes"


     Battal, Blewcheese and Pecival were close, now.  The plume of smoke was so close, they could see the individual clouds that made up the dark mass.  Yelling rang out from the source.  The trio was cautious; even if they were other people, their predicament might get them all killed.  They entered a clearing, not unlike the one Blewcheese was camping in, and they found what can only be described as a strange sight.  In the middle of the camp, a person in a yellow dress waved a piece of soggy grass over a flaming chunk of meat.  Nearby, a mass of writhing tendrils rushes around, collecting more grass and dunking it a nearby pond.  Jakob runs forward and extinguishes the meat, which to his half-surprise blurts a "Thank you" before passing out.


Segment Eleven

"Click on this link for a free taco"


      After the commotion in the camp had been sorted out, and the two groups had acquainted, Battal restarted the fire.  Pulling in a log as a seat, he stared into the blaze for a while.  Eventually, he looked up at his newfound allies.  Willette, who was busy scribbling away nearby.  Dwer, doing tentato things that we humans have yet to understand.  Wallace, recounting the madness at camp to Blew while Pecival sneaked up behind him with a lengthy needle.  While Battal felt relatively safer with their company, something still felt...off about them.  It had been too easy finding them.  There was some kind of diabolical plot here, and Battal planned to be out of the way when the trap's jaws snapped shut.


Morning cast light across the clearing, and the party converged to discuss recent events.  Battal considered unveiling his suspicions, but decided against it.  If there truly was a plan here, uncovering it would probably just set it in motion.  He could wait.  In the meantime, he thought in silence, oblivious to his compatriots.  Unless, of course, if they yelled something completely and utterly random. 


"Click this link for a free taco!"


Dwer yelled completely and utterly randomly, startling Battal out of his stupor.  He pulled out his crude spear and swung it wildly before realizing it had come from the tentato. 


"What was that abo-" 


"I am italian, so my english might not be 100% correct."  Dwer interrupted.  Battal looked in confusion at the others before Willette spoke.


"That's all he says, besides from 'I have an art thread!'  We don't know why."


Battal sighed.  "Great.  So I'll have to deal with-"


"Click this link for a free taco!"




Battal put down his weapon and stood up.  "Well, I have some stuff to do, so...seeya."


Walking to the edge of the clearing, he pulled out his tallbird eyelid and a chunk of flint. First, he cut the lashes off.  Then, he scraped the flesh out of the inside.  Finally, he cut a small hole in one end.  He wrapped the makeshift belt around his waist, threading one end through the hole.  "This should let me carry more stuff."  He said, gazing at his handiwork.  While he was examining this, a hand burst out of the brush almost silently and covered Battal's mouth.  The cold blade of a knife pressed into his throat.


"Walk out of the clearing, if you don't want to die."


Segment Twelve

"The Needlessly In-Depth Combat Scene"


     "Drop your weapon.  Or I'll cut it out of your hand."  The attacker hissed.  Another ice-cold blade touched the hand holding the flint, and Battal reluctantly dropped the stone, knowing he wasn't in the position to argue.  He briefly considered calling for the group, but almost immediately dismissed the idea.  It would surely get him a sword in the throat, and he doubted he could get much through the gag anyways.  He also idealized swinging around and fighting, but that would probably get him a sword in the throat as well.  Leaving Battal only one choice.  He slowly walked backwards into the woods, and was greeted by a friendly bash in the head.  Everything went black.


When the Debul awoke, he was tied to a tree with a simple strand of rope.  Simple, yet effective; he couldn't move his entire upper body.  However, he did get his first good look at his captors.  There were 13 in total; probably not very lucky.  They were dressed in black coats, with clawed shoulders much like Maxwell's.  The men's faces were wrapped in similarly black cloth, with only cruel eyes glaring out from slits in the fabric.  They all carried shadowy, curved blades, along with the occasional dagger or bow.   As Battal examined them, they broke out into an argument.


"Why does Lord H want him so badly, anyways?"  A smaller one asked.  " He already has more test subjects than he needs..."


This statement was received by a punch in the face by a larger warrior.  "Do not question our master's intentions!  We do as he orders.  No questions asked.  That was the deal."


The smaller warrior's wrappings sloshed around a bit like fruit in a blender, almost prompting Battal to vomit.  In seconds it had solidified once more.  "I know the deal, fool."  He spat.  " What I want to know is why our...skillset...is being used for meager tasks like this.  Lord H could simply send a pack of hounds, or even one of those damned Queens to do it.  Why us?"


The warrior did not stop to think.  "He already overpowered Ignis-Avuz, twice.  We are the..."


The argument continued as Battal slowly burned though his bonds.  Once freed, he sneaked around the clearing to a rock overcrop, where his confiscated items lay.  He picked up his spear, and quietly closed in on the nearest man.Pulling back his arm, he thrust the spear into the man's back and...


Nothing.  No pained cry, no burst of blood, nothing.  It was like stabbing mist.  The creature (For it definitely wasn't human) swung around, his outstretched hand smashing into Jakob and sending him flying.  And then they were upon him, blades slashing in a frenzied blur.  Battal parried, ducked, and weaved through the wall of blades.  Grabbing onto the sword arm of an attacker, he pulled the weapon out of its hand and drove it through the creature's chest.  It let out a nightmarish moan, thick black gunk gushing out of its clothing like a river. 


The Debul laughed, swinging around to deflect a strike heading for his neck.  He sliced the arm off his opponent and threw its corpse into two other warriors.  He didn't bother to watch them stumble; he ducked under an incoming attack instead.  His singing blade lopped the head off the creature like a knife through flaming butter.  An arrow drove itself into the ground next to him, and Battal drove it into the stomach of someone else.  Anything, everything that attacked him was dead.  Another arrow struck him in the leg, and was that a knife stuck in his ribs?  Battal didn't care.  He didn't care at all.


Twelve.  Twelve warriors were dead.  Each kill was fresh in his mind.  One left.  Only one.  The bloodlust faded, and Battal became painfully aware of his injuries.  He pulled the knife out of his side, dropping the crimson-stained blade to the ground as he faced his final threat.  It was the massive warrior who had partaken in the argument.  At this point, useless information.  Battal grinned weakly, spinning his sword like a baton.  No emotion could be seen from the creature's eyes, but a bellowing laugh echoed from beneath the mask.  It pulled out two equally massive blades, and assumed a defensive stance.  The Debul didn't stand on ceremony.  He charged forwards.


The fight was swift.  Battal suffered a few minor cuts, but gave better than he got.  One more cut, one more parry, and it was over.  The warrior fell to its knees, then sideways, its two swords and one smaller blade lodged in its chest. however, it was not yet dead.  Battal approached it, and knelt down in front of its head.


"Who sent you?  Who is this 'Lord H' of yours?  What do you want with me?"  The Debul growled, his bloody hand grasping the warrior's mask.


"That...that is not for you to know.  And it..it would ruin the surprise."  The creature replied in a raspy voice.  It coughed once, and then was still.  Battal roared in anger, and ripped off the mask.  He caught a glimpse of a featureless face, smooth as the surface of water, before it exploded into a mass of serpentine tendrils.  Battal stumbled backwards, his foot encased in the shadowy tentacles.  The body of the warrior deflated like a balloon as the featureless monster crawled out of it.  The tendrils continued to wrap their way around Battal, encasing him, suffocating him.  He grasped desperately for the nearest sword, but it was too far.  It was over.  He was dead. 


The tendrils reached his neck before a catlike shape burst out of the forest, leaping onto the creature.  It swung around, trying to shake the newcomer off, but it had a good grip.  It began tearing the tendrils from the shadow's main body.  The creature shrieked, its body going into uncontrollable spasms before turning into liquid and splattering the clearing in shadowy goop.  Battal shakily got to his feet, as Willette stood up, back in human form.  "Nice save."  He managed, before he drowned in his own blood from internal injuries and died on the spot.


Segment 12 1/2

There was a man. He also was a frog. He croaked. Very loudly. Then a spider found him. He died.



Segment Thirteen

"The Unlucky Number"


       Tela-Manus dragged himself away from the bloodstained clearing, his hand clutched to a gaping would in his side.  Viscous liquid poured from the cut onto the forest floor, hissing and steaming upon contact with the dry leaves.  He knew he was dying, but all the same knew he must inform Lord H of the battle.  Reaching a large rock wall covered in faded markings, Tela reached up with all his strength and put his hand into a crevice in the stone.  "Apertum, et sanguis meus vere est corpus umbris nox."  He whispered.  The marks glowed with dark energy, and the door split into thirteen pieces.  Beyond, nothing could be seen but a faint red glow.  Tela-Manus pulled himself into this glow, and vanished with a puff of smoke.  The door reformed and the marks faded once more, as if nothing had happened at all.


     The warrior bowed his head before the pale white eyes burning out of the darkness, then rose.  "Lord H...we have failed you.  The Deus Mortem escaped."


The eyes narrowed.  "Where are the rest of your little band, Tela Manus?"


The warrior lowered his eyes.  "They...they are dead.  Only I escaped."


Laughter rang out from the dark.  "You will wish you hadn't, Tela."


Shadowy hands slithered out of the darkness towards the warrior, prompting him to fall to his knees in terror.


"No, wait!  Please!  There...there were others!"


The hands stopped in their tracks.  "Others?  Impossible.  I only brought one in.  Him."


"No.  There were others in the clearing.  Five others, in fact.  You must believe me!"


The eyes widened in surprise.  They considered for a moment, and then, the hands fully withdrew.  "Thank you for your aid, Tela-Manus.  This information is invaluable."


The hands rushed in again, grabbing the warrior by his legs and head.  They lifted him into the air, and began to pull.  The warrior screamed in pain as his torso began to separate from his lower body.


"But I cannot allow failure."


Black liquid splattered the clearing, and the screaming abruptly stopped.  The hands flung the limp pieces aside, and vanished into the shadows.  Lord H began to laugh as the eyes closed, leaving nothing but the small circle of light and the bloody corpse within.


Segment 14

"Who's on the Throne?"


     Lord Battal awoke in an extremely cramped, dark space.  He considered how this was possible for about half a second before panicking.  Had the formless shadow come back?  Had it finished what it had started?  Battal began to beat at the walls of his prison, and to his surprise, found they broke quite easily.  Sunlight streamed in through the holes as he continued smashing out.  Finally, with the sound of cracking wood, the shell collapsed, and he fell out into the clearing that held camp.


    Upon stepping out of the Effigy, the Debul fell facefirst to the ground.  His legs were incapable of supporting his weight.  He had a massive headache, and the world throbbed around him like a kaleidoscope.  Pain coursed through every inch of Battal's body; death had not healed his injuries by much, apparently.  Eventually, though, these things fell into the background of Battal's senses, and he shakily stood up and walked over to the group.  He noticed that camp had changed substantially since he had been captured.  There were 6 tents for each of them, all ringing a large fire pit.  There was a cooking pot, chests at each tent, and even a half built wooden wall.


     The other group members seemed to be absent, so Battal took some logs and restarted the fire.  It calmed his nerves and made the world stop spinning so much.  He then took some food out of a nearby chest and cooked it over the fire.  While he ate, he pondered over what he had seen at the warrior's encampment.  They had talked about how "Lord H" could have sent other creatures to capture him, but Battal was quite sure that Maxwell was the only one able to do such things.  Could someone else be on the throne?


Segment 15

"Say, Pal..."


    The group slowly returned to camp, each member carrying certain tools and resources.  They all looked mildly surprised to see him, save for Pecival, who was too busy dragging a large pile of scared-looking rabbits to notice him.  He tossed these unceremoniously into a small hole, then began slowly lowering himself down with a bit of black thread.  The rest of the group settled back down around the firepit, which had become a sort of meetingplace.  They were silent for a few moments as they ate their food.  Battal was the first to speak.


"How long have I been gone."  He asked.  It was more a demand than a question.


"Click this li-" Dwerbomb began, before being interrupted by Willette.


"Five days."  She said.  "Where have you been?"


"Oh, you know."  Battal says sarcastically.  "Seeing the world, going on a grand magical adventure full of flowers and balloon unicorns..."


He lets out a somewhat unsettling laugh.


"Why?  Where do you think I've been?"  He asks, unreasonably giddy.


"Your being was condemned to the endless Void, but I caught it in a net of agony and replaced it within your physical form."  Pecival says from within the pit.  "A hundred vials, a jar of bile, the bile of the gods..."  He continues to mumble to himself as the sound of flesh being cut comes from the hole, mirrored by the death-cries of the rabbits. 


"Uhhh...okay then."  Blewcheese says, glancing nervously towards the hole.  "So, Battal.  Where were you really?"


Battal thinks for a couple of seconds, apparently back to normal.  "I remember...fighting.  A bit of pain here and there.  Something about a 'Lord H'.  I don't really remember the details."


He pauses, then gestures towards Willette.  "You were there, too."


She shakes her head.  "No, I wasn't.  I've been here working on camp with everyone else."


"Yes, you were!"  Battal insists, receding back into his more unstable state.  "You killed some massive shadow thing, and then I made a witty one-liner, and the-"


The firepit explodes in a burst of dark gray dust, which swirls in strange shapes before dissipating.  The group coughs, blinded by the dust momentarily.  When the smoke clears, a tall, thin man stands where it once was, a compass in one hand and what looks like a script in the other.  Maxwell.  He puts on a pair of spectacles and reads off the script.


"Say.  Pals."  There is a small pause in-between each word.  "You.  Better.  Head.  South.  Before.  Winter.  Comes."


He drops the compass onto the ground, then continues to read. 


"You.  Want.  The.  Truth."


He looks at the group, throwing away the script.


"Come.  Get.  It."


Just as suddenly as he came, he vanishes, leaving behind only the compass and a banged-up pair of glasses.


Segment 16

"The Game Begins"


In a realm drowning in shadows, a thin, gaunt figure sat in a circle of light, restrained to a twisted, uncomfortable throne.  The man seemed to have no qualms against his position; indeed, his expression was that of joy.  The group had taken the bait.  They would head south, straight to where the compass pointed them.  Of course, the man thinks, giggling with glee, such long trips could always contain some...complications.


He waved his hand, and the sphere became a three-dimensional map of the Prison.  Choosing a spot the group would have to pass through, he pointed his index finger at the map, and a large, ruined group of buildings pushed up from the ground, as if they had stood there for a thousand years.  The man leaned back and thought to himself.  What should be the guardian of this ruin, this ancient, crumbling group of structures?


Lord H grinned as he made his decision.


Back in the camp...                                                                    


Battal took action as soon as the man left.  He thew away a bone from the food he had recently eaten, then grabbed the compass.  Whistling "Follow the Yellow-Brick Road", he began to leave camp.  Upon reaching the edge of the clearing, he whipped out the device only to find that it had been stolen by a conniving Tentato.  Dwer quickly brought the compass to Blewcheese, who nodded thanks before slipping it into his pocket.


"What the hell is wrong with you?"  He asked Battal, a frown upon his face.  "You're not at all yourself."


"None can make the harrowing journey to the Void and back without partially loosing their sanity."  Pecival said, climbing out of the pit.  His once-white cloth is now red and soaked to the stuffing with blood.  "I have found it surprising he is sane as he is.  What a shame."


While Blewcheese attempts to hold in his dinner, Battal swings around towards Pecival.  "Who says I'm insane?"  He says, cackling madly.  "I'm not insane!  I've never been saner!"


He falls to the ground, and the crazed look in his eyes fades.  Grunting as he stands up, he looks at the group.


"I think...I think I may have a problem."


Battal hauls himself back to his seat near the fire.


"So...should we follow this compass, or what?"  He says.


Blewcheese pulls out the device, looking at it.  "Who knows.  It could be a trap."  He puts it back in his pocket.


"Well, either way, we can't know for sure, can we?"  Willette jumps into the conversation.  "Maybe da compass is a trap, maybe it's not."


Battal sighs, running through a series of plans in his head.  Splitting up would be dangerous, but if it there was a diabolical plan behind this, fewer would be hurt.  If they went together, they would loose the camp, but have a better chance of making it alive.


As the Debul was about to make his decision, a gunshot exploded out of the woods.  A whoosh of air flew past Battal so close he could hear the bullet whirring, and a second later, it buried itself in Willette's arm.


Segment 17

"On the Road Again"


     Willette was blown clear off the log from the gunblast, her body landing with a muffled thump some three feet away.  A person busrt from the woods, dressed in a black jacket and a belt full of various equipment.  A dark grey backpack was slung over his shoulder, and he held a stange-looking gun in one hand.  The other grasped a mysterious device, which beeped as he pointed it at each member of the group.  "Are there any more?"  He asked, gesturing towards Willette, but was interrupted by a firework rocketing over his head.  Blewcheese unloaded his launcher at the man, who managed to dodge each blast with finesse unexpected of someone with a backpack full of stuff.  The rest of the group ducked undercover; Battal still too injured to fight again, and a sentient honey ham and a tentacled potato wouldn't be much good in this kind of fight. 


"Jesus!  Calm down!  I'm trying to help!"  The man shouted at Blew, who was still being trigger-happy with his rocket launcher.  The woods beyond the camp exploded with color, lighting far back into the darkness.  "Then explain why you shot our friend!"  Blew said, just as he got off a lucky shot.  The man's chest exploded with red as the rocket struck him full on in the torso.  The vibrant crimson color sparkled with a crackling sound as he flew backwards into a tree.  "Who are you?"  Blewcheese asked, shouldering his launcher.  The man coughed, still recovering from the blast.  "My name is @Will - "  He managed, before Willette plowed him down like a lawnmower over grass.


       It took a few minutes for everyone to calm down, to keep Willette from killing Will, to figure out the bullet had only caused a flesh wound, that his sensor had marked Willette as a shade, and therefore a hostile.  After she had been given medical attention, the wound wrapped in a honey poultice from Will's pack, the group left to their tents for a well-deserved rest.  Will stayed outside, to tend to the fire and chat with his "other friends". 


      Dawn rose over the forest, its bright light awakening the group for another day.  Today, however, would be different.  The mundane resource-collecting jobs had been cast off as a thing of the past; for they had a journey to make.  Battal stepped out of his tent, and immediately set to gathering everything he could carry.  Will was kind enough to provide him with a real sword, though quite a short one.  A shame.  Battal thought.  I can't cut out people's hearts through their skull with this.  But, it would have to do.  One by one, the other members of the party awoke.  They too grabbed their meager belongings, storing them in makeshift packs and other containers.  Within the hour, the sun still low in the sky, they set off, Battal leading the way with the map.


     The party traversed the forest they had made their home in, shoving through the tough brush as best they could.  Crossing a small stream, then entered a stony field.  The winds were strong here, blowing chunks of rock dust into their eyes and faces.  They took what shelter they could behind the boulders dotting the landscape, being sure to watch for Tallbirds and the like.  The miserable plain was soon behind them, passing into a calm, pretty grassland.  A looming mountain range rose before them, massive and foreboding, snow-smothered peaks expressing their height.  Coming across ad old cobblestone road, the group pressed forth, the way becoming easier and faster. 


Despite this, they despaired, for it slowly became clear that these mountains were directly in the way of their travels.  Like a wall, risen straight out of the ground for the sole purpose of inconveniencing them.  An inconvenience which, in this case, could be deadly.  The road continued onwards, the dreaded peaks growing closer and closer until they encompassed their vision.  After almost twelve hours of walking, Battal suddenly stopped.  "We rest here for the night."  He said, pointing to a clear, flat spot near the road.  "The sun is getting low.  We'll need a fire."


The group set up a small camp, building a campfire and a couple bedrolls.  They ate a few of their provisions, cooking a couple bits of food they had picked up on their journey.  Soon after, dusk fell, and they fell asleep, unaware of the trap they were walking right into.


Segment 18



    Jakob Battal was awoken by s harsh, red light streaming through his eyelids.  Blinking a few times while his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he stood up and went to get some food.  Looking into their supplies, he found himself a large piece of cooked meat.  The moment his hands touched it, however, the meat deteriorated in seconds, becoming a fly-swarmed pile of rot.  He dropped the meat in disgust as the rest of their food supplies decayed as well, insects of all sorts diving to the rotted flesh like it was a five-star buffet.  Battal looked around him for the first time that morning, to see the world had gone terribly wrong.  The sun was crimson, and the entire land was tinted the same color as well.  Every tree rapidly grew, died, and grew again, as did the grass.  The buzzing of the insects feeding on the food was increasing in volume and pitch, causing Battal to cover his ears in pain.


     The sun began to melt, blood running out of it to stain the sky red.  His sleeping companions aged rapidly just like the food, the skin peeling off their bones and leaving nothing but skeletons.  And even those began to crack and fall apart.  The insects finished ripping apart the bag and its contents, then descended on the dry chunks of flesh that once were part of his compatriot's bodies.  The trees and landscape crumbled into dust, the ground becoming hard as stone.  Once the insects were done with Battal's friends, they descended upon the Debul himself, burrowing into his skin and ripping off hunks of meat.  The bites burned, ironically, like fire, and Battal fell to the ground, the devouring swarm covering him like a blanket.


    They tore apart his vocal cords, chewed through his spine, ate off his fingers, but he would not die.  Where everything else died, he lived.  In agony, in pain eternal, but alive.  Through the red haze, Battal saw a tall, thin man standing above him, wearing a familiar head of hair.  His face was shaded, but he certainly had a mouth, for he spoke.


"Say, pal.  You don't look so good..."  He said, but then the insects started with Battal's eyes and everything went black.


Segment Nineteen

"The Ruined Pass"


      Battal shouted as he shot out of bed, the feeling of the chewing insects still tingling on his skin.  He groaned, looking around.  The sun was peeking out from the horizon, and the world seemed about as normal as it could be.  It had been a dream, albeit a vivid and unsettling one, but already the finer details were slipping out of his mind.  He could not, however, wipe the image of the faceless man standing over him, no matter how hard he tried to forget. 


      Jakob prepared some breakfast for himself, the sizzling of the cooking food awakening the other group members one by one.  Though he considered it, Battal decided against telling the group about his dream, pegging it down as the simple imaginings of a mind that was taking a mental beating.  Once his compatriots had eaten their food, they gathered their supplies and set off again, rejuvenated and ready for the next bit of walking.  The road led them onwards, and finally, they reached the mountains.  Sheer rock walls rose up all before them, stretching on for what seemed like miles.  The cobblestones went through a thin pass in the mountains, a way dark and foreboding.  There was no way around or over the snowy peaks, so they took the only option left.  They went through them.


     The pass slowly widened out, and more signs of humanity appeared.  Stone walls, ruined and cracked by time.  Musty torches, long burned out.  Small, decrepit buildings.  They entered through a large gate that spanned the pass, and entered into a massive ravine.  The city within was enough to make the group's jaws drop in amazement.  Massive stone towers.  Once-beautiful houses.  Platforms and bridges everywhere.  It was an incredible work of art and architecture.  However, the place gave Battal bad vibes.  There were too many places to stage an ambush.


    The group continued on the cobblestone path, Battal looking about nervously with everyone else looked in wonder.  Without warning, a howl rang out from somewhere in the ruined halls, followed by a lot of quieter barking.  The Debul immediately whipped out his shortsword, and everyone was shaken out of their stupor.  "It's a trap!"  Blewcheese yelled, pulling out his launcher.   "Get up to high ground-"


A massive wolf, covered in dark brown fur, stalked out from the shadows, razor-sharp teeth barred in anger.  The hair on its back bristled as it walked towards the group, who slowly backed away in worry.  Without warning, the creature pounced.


Segment 20

"Among the Fallen"


     The bloodthirsty hound flew over Wallace's head, missing him by inches and crashing into a stone wall.  "I am too speshul to die!"  The ham yelled, bouncing away from the wolf like an out-of-control tennis ball.  He was followed close behind by the rest of the group, who ran up a set of stairs to a higher platform.  Their pursuer shook itself off, then howled at the sky.  The sound bounced across the walls of the crumbling city, and was echoed by countless smaller howls. 


   The group fled for one of the towers; in this situation, a higher position would give them a huge advantage against the large hound.  However, their way was blocked by a pack of small hounds, who ambushed they as they went around a corner.  Caught by surprise, the group was overrun by the ravenous dogs.  One tore off a chunk of Battal's arm, but paid the price as his sword found its heart.  Battal stood, and began hacking away.  Dwerbomb had also managed to stand, and was throwing globs off goo from his eyes at the enemy. 


    The real show, however, came from Pecival.  His needle was a small weapon, but he knew where to stab.  Each slice of the needle brought death.  "And lo, I am become death.  Hahahahaha."  Pecival said insanely.  "Bleed for me some more, bleed some - "    The doll fell as a hound snapped its jaws around his legs.  The fall knocked his weapon out of his hand, and it skittered away towards Willette.  Pecival continued to struggle, but the far larger hound dragged him with ease, and in seconds he was lost.  A large amount of the hounds converged on Wallace (Supposedly because he's a piece of delicious ham) , who fled from the group's sight screaming.  "No!"  Battal yelled, before being dragged under by the hounds again.  Then, explosions, light, and fire.  And pain. 


    The hounds ran away yelping from the combination of Debul power and Blewcheese's fireworks, which had created quite a terrifying show.  Charred hound corpses dotted the platform.  But it wasn't over yet.  "Come on!"  Battal yelled to Willette, who was staring at Pecival's needle in shock.  "We have to leave!"  another bellowing howl from the Varg shook her out of her stupor.  The four remaining group members rain up the steep spiral stair of the nearest tower.


      Dwer used his eye goop to destroy the stairs, ensuring that no hounds would follow them up.  Battal sighed, collapsing against the tower's parapets in exhaustion.  The hounds were still below them, but unless they found another way up, the group was safe.  Except for one small detail - they were now trapped.


     Night fell, and the hounds still stood vigilant at the tower's base.  Things were looking very, very bad.  The group's food supplies were already running low, and the pain from their wounds wasn't getting any better.  Tired of sitting around, Battal stood up and looked for any other escape options.  The only thing remotely as high as them was a tower at the other edge of the ravine - way too far to jump, and way too far to telepoof.  Battal sighed.  Turning to his companions, he spoke.  "There's no way off this thing but down.  We'll just have to try and run for it."


"Run for it?!?!"  Willette said incredulously.  "Dat's suicide, man."


"Unless you want to starve to death up here, we have no other options."  Battal said, looking nervously down the stairwell.  "I'd rather go out in a blaze of glory than end up as a skeleton on a roof."


With that, the Debul walked down the stairs to face the Varg.


   The instant they got to ground level, the group, quite simply, ran like hell.  The hounds charged after them as they raced through the maze of crumbling buildings and towers, the Varg in lead.  One by one, the hounds fell behind, lost forever in the labyrinth, until only a couple dogs and their master were present.  Some ways ahead, the group could see a massive wall and a pair of gates; the exit of the pass.  Alas, for so close to victory, the Varg finally caught up.  It knocked Willette to the ground and prepared to give her facial deconstruction surgery, but not before Blew managed to get a lucky shot on the side of its head.


      In seconds, the hound was upon him.  The launcher was pointless at close range - especially when the Varg tore his arm off and swallowed it, along with all the launcher's ammo.  Battal tried to get to his feet and help, but his legs felt like iron, the culmination of his injuries too much for him.  The Varg buried its claws in his friend's chest, spattering the gray stone around them crimson red.  Blewcheese's attempts to fend off the beats grew weaker and weaker as more internal organs were severely damaged.  After his chest had been reduced to pulp, the Varg took a few steps back, panting.  Blewcheese managed a few stuttering coughs, before his body went limp and his eyes went blank.


    "Blew!  NO!"  Battal yelled, a film of red haze falling over his eyes like a curtain.  The Varg turned to him, snarling threateningly.  Battal looked at his land, trying to summon fire.  A few sparks came, but nothing more.  The massive hound closed in, delighted at another effortless meal.  Before it could do what it did to Blewcheese, both Willette and Dwer attacked at once, with tentacles and shadowy claws combined.  The Debul concentrated as hard as he could, and with a small *pop*, a ball of fire appeared, floating over his hand like a miniature planet.  Turning to the Varg, he roared a battle cry, and threw the fire down the beast's throat.


    The hound only had time to yelp in pain before the fireworks inside it ignited.  It exploded seemingly in slow motion, in a fabulous burst of every color, sending chunks of fur, flesh, and bone soaring into the air.  The fireworks sparkled and popped for a few moments afterwards, then faded away. 


But Battal had no time to admire the light show.  Taking one last look at Blew's corpse, he turned to the gate and walked weakly towards it.  As he grew closer to it, he could swear he saw it opening a bit.  He must have been seeing things.  As he collapsed in the shadow of the gate, he could see a short, stubby man walking towards him, dressed in a familiar suit.  When he reached Battal, he stopped.


"Say, pal.  Name's William Carter.  You don't look so good..."


And then Battal fell into subconscious.



@Spinorex - Official Reviewer



Edited by Lord_Battal
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Shoulda made it a bit more clear. When I say OCs, I mean you. For example, I would be Lord Battal, the Debul. Willette would be Willette. That sort of thing.

Oh, well, in that case, you can just forget about me. Unless I have an actual personality that I don't know about. In that case, count me in.
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I'm just Max


Nothing really interesting about me, I have a blue streak in my hair-So close to six foot it hurts


You average unsure teenager under too much stress and expectations


Just posting on these forums in an attempt to overcome social anxiety


Man do I like birds

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Can I be in please?


I'll tell you guys about myself, since I'm kind of a hermit.

I'm not one to fight. IF I was in trouble with something, I would probably run. But if I really need to fight, then ******* best be runnin'. I have my own computer, which I found in a grave. I'm a nomad, because sometimes I grow tired of my current base. I'm obviously made of food, but I actually don't need to eat stuff. I'm immortal (YAY). I don't spoil, and I grab things with.... well.... I dunno how I do it. It's basically like an invisible hand. My size is about up to Wilson's thighs. I have some magical properties, as that's how I was born. I'm kind of a derp, and I move by bouncing around. Edit: Something I forgot to add, I have OCD. And also, today I'm going over to a friends house, so I can't join you until about 4:30 PM. :( Normal days I can start with you guys at 3:00 PM.


Edited by TooMuchHoneyHam
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I'd love to join in if you'd have the character I made ^^ 



Name: Wailt
Covered completely in feathers, the Black, Blue and Red colours. Has long thin legs and arms that go from heavily feathered to black, bald and clawy He has two eyes that glow from within the feather-heap, he has no beak or wings. He is about a head taller than Wilson's in game model ( not counting the hair) 

Pro's: Increased damage to fleshy-enemies and a little bit of extra insulation in winter.
Cons: Refuses to eat anything but raw meat, does not eat monster meat, and gets hungry fast. 

Personality: Dubious
Gets along terrible with beings made of flesh, as they are all potential food. Is not bent on being mean, but generally puts himself before any other fleshy creature. As long as fed, he is pleasant company, and willing to help out on more than one occasion. He dislikes talking about himself or others, and is mostly interested in food and feathers. He has an obsession with bird feathers.

Pet: He has a walking cane that he uses for company, and which he cannot use as it is too short for him. It has a face carved into the tusk to resemble a bird. He does not talk to it while in company of others, and he hides it in his feathers.

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Segment One



Lord Battal was exhausted, simply put.  The day had been flooded with escapees, dark magic, and David Gamer in a Soul Jar.  Naturally, even the Debul would lose energy over these events, but this day, things were different, for whatever reason.  No amount of human souls or still-beating hearts could rejuvenate him, even though these articles normally replenished his stamina in the blink of an eye.  The darkest Eldrich rituals from the pages of Battal's Eternity Inc. Pocket Necronomicon (Carry around evil wherever you go!) didn't work either.  Even when he resorted to dying and resurrecting himself, the feeling of exhaustion was still there.


And so, reluctantly, Battal resorted to his last choice.  Sleeping.  This was something that rarely happened, and something he was not proud of either.  He viewed sleep as a very mortal weakness, and so avoided it as much as possible.  But unless I want to be a senile old man for the rest of my life, the Debul decided, migheswell get it over with, quickly and with as little publicity as possible.  The Debul's palace was put on lockdown, and armed guards placed at each entrance.  All defense systems were placed online.  His palace now a fortress, the Debul went to sleep.  And suffered the consequences.


Battal was awoken mainly by somebody singing and dancing around him.  Which was naturally quite creepy, and for that reason he prepared to turn the dancing man into Brûlé homme de danse.  However, the man did not suddenly burn to death, because nothing had happened.  The next thing Battal registered was that he was lying on the ground, in the grass.  As there was no grass in Battal's chamber - really, no grass in his entire palace - that was naturally quite odd as well. The Debul was about to accept he was in the middle of some kind of lucid dream, when the man's words reached his ears.


"Hahaha, I caught you at last!  Ha!  You can talk about us all ya want, pal, but we'll see how you do as one of us!"


The man laughed maniacally.


"The rest of your friends ought to be around here soon. Tell em' I said, 'You better find something to eat before night comes!'  Haha!  Hhahahahahahahahhah!"


With that, the man poofed away with a burst of dust.  Leaving the Debul In the middle of nowhere.  In the middle of the wilderness.

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Uh, I just read through all the comments, is it more like an RP? Are we supposed to roleplay ourselves? Or OC ourselves into Don't starve? 


No, this is not a roleplay.  I take you, as forumers, and put you in Don't Starve.  Simple as that.



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Good.  My plan is coming to fruition...MUAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHAHHA!


Well I'm probably going to back out if things dont become more clear, are we supposed to tell you our life story or something? Or are you just taking our "personality" from the posts we make here


What even qualifies a "personality you can work with" ?


And also on the death thing, how do we know this isn't just a way for you to make some people you don't like feel bad?

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