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Damn writer's block.

Don't worry, it gets everyone. Either way it'll probably turn out alright.

That doesn't mean we won't stop pressuring you to do our will though.




Hurry up Percival. Seriously. I mean like come on, we've been waiting like fifty centuries. Yeah that seems pretty accurate. Approximately. More or less.

Hue hue hue...I'm gonna end up dead...hue hue hue...

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Chapter Four

Go Out In Silence




The first glimmers of light poke out of the gaps between the tall aparments, where the horizon was barely visible. The rats and other vermin that crawl in the shadows of night scurried away towards darker, albeit messy, alleyways and sewers. Those that were laden with work would be seen drifting out from their homes in the same monotonous cycle their life is built around. As the sun now slowly rose into view, workers trekked out of their apartments towards workplaces and wives traversed around town for groceries could be seen. A monotonous cycle, though there was one noticable aspect that many residents around the town square would notice; the tang and smell of chicken and pork blood was now a faded waft in the pavilion, which suggests that Percival's taste for cuisine meat has been abstained. Hardly anything worth notice or exciting, but it did intrigue those that have become quite accustomed to the habit Percival had. What could have made him change his mind? Was it a religious practice, a self imposed temperance test, or something more sinister?




Percival, being underground the house's foundation, had not known that daylight broke, oblivious to everything in the outside world. Focused only on his copying and modifying of the Liber Vaccae, he was ignorant of the events taking place outside. At least, he was ignorant until he had completely used up the ink in the ink bottle from his feverish writing, preventing him from drafting the copy. The exhaustion that he has experienced unnoticed throughout his writing and the impact of how much time he must have spent enclosed from everyone else reminded him of how unhealthy it was to seperate yourself from society. He at least needed to pretend hat he was out and about for the townsfolk to believe his charade.


Despite how exhausted he was, he drifted over towards the corner, where a vertical, unused sewage pipe was strapped to the wall by rings of metal. Climbing inside, he autonomously grabbed the caurved ledges bended inwards, leaning against the wall of the pipe with his back; he slowly slid himself up, each succesion faster then before. This would be a long way up..




As everyone on the streets and pavilion were out and about their buisness, a single floorboard in the meager, morbid building was lifted upwards, two sinister and tired eyes poking out from underneath. Looking around while slowly lifting the wooden plank, Percival climbed out of the shaft, reeking slightly or dried sewage and stale feces. Replacing the plank gently to conceal the entrance, he patted himself down as he stood up; walking out with a fan knife visible in your back pocket wouldn't do any favors for him. Pulling out a forgotten butcher's knife from inside his sleeve, he reviewed the plans he had to aqquire sustenance for the homunculus; markets that solely sold meat were far and few in between, and supermarkets or pavilions that did sell meat, among other products, overpriced even the most battered chicken legs. He couldn't acquire any nourishment from the defunct butchery for the most part. He would need a plentiful replacement for he meat that can be acquired cheaply and quickly.


He would need more human flesh. He rarely ever uses human tissue, except if the meat in question was taken from an infuriating individual. Now, however, he would need to butcher and mutilate possibly hundreds of innocents. Percival knew that he would have to resort to this eventually, but he hoped it would be postponed later..




The remaining stragglers and children frolicking in the streets would see Percival walking slowly around town, a lengthy book in front of his nose as he strolled. Every so often, civilians would see him look up at a nearby alley or discreet areas, then quickly peer down at the book, a mad look on his face. What was unusual was that, apart from him never reading anything in his life, he seemed to be glued to one individual section. They couldn't see what was so engrossing about a section about nightmare-inducing arthropods.




Percival strutted around the various areas of town, holding up a book that he has 'borrowed' from a nearby bookstore as a coverup for what he was really doing; he concealed a small journal in the folds of the book, writing details and descriptions of various inconspicuous areas. These areas would be vital to his plans; he did, after all, needed a hot spot where groups of people would travel without murderers lurking in the nightime shadows being noticed. This was extremely crucial to his plans, as he certainly knew the importance of stealth. Victims aren't supposed to go out with a bang - they're not even supposed to go out with a whimper. Murdered individuals must go out with the silence of a candle flame pinched by two fingers.





How's this?

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I'm still writing the next chapter, so have something for humor. And I use that word loosely.



Torture Nightmare Corporation

Dedicated To The Torture Of Damned Souls




Percival has never given up his murderous habits, even after his inevitable death; despite his mind shattered between two beings and his soul split into pieces, he would still have damned the lives of many, although admittedly he did go overkill sometimes. He even created his own little island in Hell with the bodies of all the people he killed. Twenty acres of fused together land, and it was all his; he did have to pay a royalty to Eternity Inc. for building on their property (he never payed the tax completely, promising to make it up with the souls of the damned) , but even so, it was all his. The problem was what to do with this vast "land". He had plenty of ideas, including a morbid Taj Mahal or a self-centered monument of sorts. But what good would that do? No, he wanted - no, needed - a project that will simultaneously allow him to murder and collect revenue; he did have to pay the CEO for the fine.


What better idea then a profitable, small time company?


Thus, the creation of a relatively small corporations, compared to Eternity Inc., was made; Torture Nightmares. Unfortunately for Percival, the main building couldn't be made from flesh combined with a cement mix, but the small, blood stained market still made a good impression; some standard torture equipment, such as the usual spikes and sawblades, were in Aisle One, and more unusual torture methods, like a hollow copper bull and a scarificator, were found in the back. Pet land lampreys, which were useful for draining blood, were scattered among the items, some of the poor creatures julienned into pieces from activating some of the unsightly tools.


A small company, yes, but it has a lot of potential.




@Spinorex got a coupon for a free product.

Edited by Pecival
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Damed sol


percial is damed to stabbin by needles for not payin royaltee.




That was an absolutely fantastic ending to a thrilling story. The way it suddenly became so very abstract in its description of Percival's demise by Battal's hands. The entire story had been leading up so very well to Battal taking his hard earned payment for his unspecified services of which Percival had partaken in with the full knowledge of the fact that he could no pay for it. The desperation so deeply symbolized in his eyes was somehow able to forge its way into the text to form a perfectly crisp and clear mental image of Percival's true struggles. The ending seemed so very tragic and prompt in the way that it went down and ended with Percival's unfortunate demise. The only thing I did not like was the fact that the ending was fairly predictable and I knew halfway through the story that Percival (and possibly Battal) would end up dead. Other than that, this was a brilliantly written literary work which even after reading and barely comprehending because of its absolute brilliance, continues to instil a great feeling of shock and awe at the many twists and turns this well-crafted story took me down.



Edit: It appears that in my completely star-struck gaze at my ceiling from having witnessed a story so incomprehensibly beautiful that I have forgotten to give it a proper score.

WarpCritic:15/10 "A true masterpiece. So good, I'm going to have to buy at least 12,085,057,009 more copies to read the story again. Yes, I know that I don't need a new book to read a story again but this story is completely worth it."

Edited by Spinorex
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Chapter Five

Not The End


Percival has a fleeting image of needles being rushed into his eyes, and instinctively holds up the arthropods book for protection against a nonexistant threat.




The butcher's knife that was never used for poultry was hidden within its owner's sheath. Many people don't know this, or at least those that aren't hanging by hooks on the ceiling, but Percival's tweed coat has several handmade pockets, sheaths, and strips of cloth to hold malicious items. This day, almost all of the pockets are filled with either a weapon, sedative, or drugs; scopolomine for suggestability, etorphine for knocking a victim out, his fan knife if it comes to force, and dezomorphine to remove the flesh easily, to name the assortment of items.. Shoving pearly white gloves onto his hands, Percival wondered why he didn't prepare earlier; a lengthy preparation, and he continued writing down his entries about the city.


No time to fret on that, though. It was almost time.




The rays of light that once brilliantly lit up the city are now glimmers of red on the horizon, a faint flash of green among the setting sun. Susanne Johanne was walking among the streets to her private property, a proper house among the towering apartments and complexes. A war veteran, now retired from duty, Susanne was walking along the same street that her now deceased parents and her older and younger brothers alike have walked along. This city was where she was born and lived in for the first eighteen years of her life, and she now lives in the same house full of childhood memories. It was simultaneously a comforting and a sad sanctuary from her past.


Her home was along the more exposed areas of the town, and as such, walking along the border, she could see the last lines of light refract in the distance, before snuffing out as the sun fell below the horizon. It wasn't particularly dark, but the sky and area around Susanne slowly turned from a light gray to the blackness of a raven. Susanne hurried her steps; despite being a grown woman, she has never got over the fear of the dark. Though her fear was drowned from other stimulus and adrenaline during the war, she felt exposed in the darkness, exposed to what creatures hide in the lack of light.


The lampposts, a little late in realizing the looming darkness, gave an unusual sizzle, then weak light flowed out of the bulbs. Despite the lamps flickering threateningly, the light gave Susanne comfort. The feeble light brought a street post into relief, the words East Berard Street written in white on the metal. Ironic, really, that her childish fear of darkness was occurring on the street she has lived on as a child.


She would do well, however, to fear the twilight. Fear the darkness..






I feel too lazy today to rewrite everything I lost.

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If you couldn't already tell, you dense fools, I'm postponing the lore segments for now. The reason for this postponal is, apart from getting my storyboard perfected, to prepare, set up, and ultimately get pumped for the purchase of a Wacom Intuos Pro Medium to relay my drawings of Don't Starve for all of you to see.


Luckily, I can still write stories about aspects or creatures in Don't Starve, when I have time. Feel free to make requests for anything not Don't Starve related, if you wish.


No gore in either the drawings or stories. Perhaps. Maybe.


[End Of Message]

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  • butterfly knife
  • butcher knife
  • murder
  • meat
  • madness

​what are you doing in my head, Pecy, get out of there! XD

kEvaWN4.jpgnow i want to think about you more as of a skinny mad human being, rather than a small doll

this reminds me of Dostoevsky's Crime and The Punishment, mostly because nobody notices your successful crimes and you create a great atmosphere of an old, busy, dirty city >:3 the best part is that you don't question morality! can i kill, or can i not?.... you say, yes i can and take action! awesome, Pecy, awesome.

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now i want to think about you more as of a skinny mad human being, rather than a small doll


The homunculus part will make sense soon.






Edit: And please, call me either Percy, Percival, or Wulfric.

Edited by Pecival
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Chapter Six

Fun With Guns




The small house, property of Susanne, flickered to life as the inside lights turned on throughout the building, illuminating the lone house. Inside, the owner wanders throughout the building, stopping for a moment in the kitchen to fetch an apple. Subconsciously, as she has made many habits after arriving home, she watered all the vases in the building and started the washing machine in the basement of the building. There's not much else to tend to in her house after that, though; the building was stripped bare from the previous owners, and she had a suspicion they stole some towels and bath soaps from the bathroom.


Taking a bite out of the apple she took from the fridge, she walked over to her bedroom at the top of the house, the darkness outside impressing its apathy and sleepiness onto Susanne. She was rather tired, and it would be another long, monotonous day tommorow. Opening the door to her king bedroom, she flicked the master light switch off, and the house was drowned in darkness. She leaped with grace into the queen size bed, and prepared for the glorious, comatose state humans call 'sleep'.




The grandfather clock that was never opened rang with a dull clang. It was midnight, and the town, as usual, was drowned in the sleep that twilight brings, save for rodents and canines straggling among the dirtied streets. Susanne was fast asleep, the red blanket keeping her heart warm. A moment of peace, a moment of harmony, a moment of serenity.


And that moment was broken with the ring of a bell.


The metallic clang of a iron cast bell resounded outside Susanne's front door, waking her up with an agitated groan. The first thought to enter her mind was solicitors, forgetting about the lateness of the hour. Her second thought was interlopers. She didn't have time for this, she just wanted to sleep, and she turned over, bundling herself up with the red bedsheets. With the lack of response, she thought the incessant ringing would stop, but the recipient outside was evidently not giving up, as the chime outside continued, biting into her ears. This person is not giving up, Susanne thought, and she relucantly got out of bed, grabbing a broomstick on the way to the door if the ringer needed persuasion.


She walked through the house, anger at being woken up rising, and slammed open the door, waving her broomstick menacingly. However, there was no one there; only the twilight and flickering lamposts greeted her, the porch light activating. She didn't even have time to react with confusion, however, before her nostrils were clogged with a dust-like powder.


Once the dust hit her senses, everything turned fuzzy, her mind blank, before her world turned round and round a drain of darkness..




Susanne didn't know how much time passed, nor where she was; all she knew is that, when she woke up, she was definitely not dreaming. She was in an almost neverending chamber, the darkness held back with a candle the size of a crabapple. Her head was hanging down, her vision was still blurry, and her legs and hands have gone numb. Looking at her limbs gave her an answer as to why; they were tied to a rocking chair with zip-ties, numbed from the lack of blood. Now that she has regained concsiousness, she lifted her head up, in hopes to look for an answer. That was a mistake.


A meal clamp closed around her neck, the coldness of the metal biting into her skin. It was tight preventing her to turn her head or look down again, but not enough that she choked if she stayed silent. She was now stuck looking forward, and that didn't help her much; all she saw was darkness, shadows, splotches of red - splotches of red?


If she could scream without suffocating, she would, as she realized that there were puddles of coalesced and congealed blood piled around her feet. One of the puddles had what horribly looked like the mutilated remains of a head, a pinky in the eye holes. Susanne closed her eyes, hoping beyond hope that this was all a nightmare, foolishly wishing that she will wake up lying in her queen size bed safe and sound.


She was so immersed in this revelation that, at first, she did not register the individual standing in front of her, the being that walked out of the shadows. Only until he talked did her train of panicked thoughts crash in a blaze of fury.


"Uh, madam? Are you still under the drug's effect? Hello?"


Susanne opened her eyes, and she saw a middle-aged man in front of her, the adult donning a tweed coat. For a split second, she thought she was free, but then the sight of his blood soaked cloack imploded her bubble of hope.


"Ah, good. You're responding. That means you're alright." the man said, a calculated calmness in his voice.


Susanne wanted to scream in rage, wanted to injure this man in anyway for keeping her captive, but she couldn't with the clamp around her throat. Contenting herself with a brutal thought of where to hit him, she slowly calmed down, and evaluated her environment. The zip-tie cuffs won't be a problem; she spent many hours trying to get her hands out of an accidental tie as a child.


"Well. Now that you're concsious, let me introduce you to someone."


The man trekked into the darkness; how he saw, Susanne didn't know. All she knew is that he came back with a medical table, the top of which is covered with a white sheet. For one horrible moment, she thought there was a dead body underneath, but then her captor pulled the sheet off, and the sight underneath was peculiar. Instead of a body, there were three revolvers, a comical number 1, 2, and 3 underneath each, respectively. The revolvers themselves were painted over with bright pastel colors. Susanne would've have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire.


"Revolvers, young army lady. Young army lady, revolvers. As you can probably guess, one of these guns are going into your head. Luckily for you, one of them isn't loaded. A one in three chance."


"Now, blink once for the first gun, twice for the second, and thrice for the last one. Choose wisely."


While the man was talking, Susanne folded her hands in, friction sawing the zip-tie handcuffs in. The foolish man didn't notice her hands slowly slipping out. If two of those guns are loaded, she had a good chance to pick up a loaded gun and shoot the man's smug look off of his face.


"Is that an involuntary blink or-"


He didn't even finish his sentence. With the speed a female soldier would have, she slipped her hands out of the ties, and picked up two of the guns, pointing them at the man's face, still sitting down in the chair. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, no remorse indicated on Susanne's face.


A resounding click echos throughout the chamber.


No ear splitting bang. No blood spurting from the man's forehead. No bullet. Both of the guns she held were empty. She instantly reached for the last one and looked in the reload chamber. No bullet. At this point, the man had a calm look in his eyes, but a small laugh escaped his lips, whether relief or hilarity, she didn't know.


"You really are foolish, aren't you. It was a trick question; none of the guns were loaded."


An ear splitting bang bursts in front of Susanne, and a sudden pain bloomed in her forehead


Susanne crumpled over, the area between her eyes spurting forward with gore and blood, her concsiousness fading quickly.


"Now, as for this one," a voice says, fading slowly, "It's loaded."




How's this?

Edited by Pecival
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I'm just waiting for the moment that the viciously angry spooky spirits of the people that are being murdered retaliate against Percival.

Unless the machine you're feeding them into also consumes souls...


Does it? Either way, this was a pretty suspenseful segment with a nice plot twist at the end.




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