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      UPDATED - Studio Note & Rhymes with Play Streams Temporarily Canceled.   03/06/2020

      UPDATE (3/19/20): Just a quick note regarding the team at Klei Entertainment. As noted previously, everybody at Klei Entertainment is working from home due to the Covid-19 outbreak. Many of us have been working especially hard to help maintain operations as we all move out of the office and into our homes and with everything being done online, extra time must be spent in organizing conversations and trying to maintain communication. As some of you may know, we have a very open office and we are almost always in contact with each other as we go about our days. Some of us work across multiple teams and that work has become a bit more challenging for everybody.   That being said, at this time the transition has not caused any major disruption in our operations, but it would be overly optimistic to expect that we won't have any delays at all. We're going to have to be especially mindful about this in the coming weeks and make sure we don't take on too much work so we can keep things running smoothly.  We will let you know as we see how these changes affect our timelines.  Thanks UPDATE (3/10/20):
      The test yesterday went well. We got the whole office (mostly) to work from home without significant issue. As a result, Klei Staff that can work from home have been asked to do so until further notice.  This means that we will have to cancel the Rhymes with Play stream until we are all back in the office. This shouldn't affect anything else at least in the short term, but if things change I will update you all here.  Original Post: Hey everybody,  This Tuesday March 10th, 2020 the entire staff at Klei will be working remotely for 1 day in an effort to prepare the studio to work remotely for a little while if the need arises.  Klei is already set up pretty well to allow for working remotely, however we are going to have a one day "dry run" with the whole studio so that we can identify and avoid any issues or downtime that may arise should choose to implement a work from home policy due to COVID-19 outbreak concerns. Unfortunately this does mean that we will be canceling the “Rhymes with Play” Art stream this coming Tuesday, however unless the situation changes we expect everything at the studio to be back to normal Wednesday and we’ll continue our regular stream schedule Thursday March 12th. If the situation changes at all, we'll let you know. Thanks for your understanding.
       

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Found 155 results

  1. I did a Wilson cosplay at Animazement this year. A bunch of people took my photo at the convention, but I can't find any of them online! I took some (really dorky) selfies at home when I finished the wig and vest (but before I made black sleeves), so I at least have something... but if anyone saw me or found my picture, I would really like to have a decent photo of my costume. Thank you for any help, nice forum friends!
  2. Welcome to The Don't Starve Best of The Month Page! Basic Page Information What Exactly Is this page about? Each month I'll pick out the best of the Don't Starve Fan lore, Videos, Cosplay, and Art and post it here! (Of course with the permission of the original post creators) How Could you contribute? Link up your favorite Don't Starve Lore page or art work(Cosplay and Videos are very much appreciated) in the section below I read all the comments so I can't miss it. When is the Page Updated? Friday or Thursday nights upon the end of each month. (Central Pacific Time) Want your Art(and or Cosplay) or post sponsored here? Just ask and link me up to the the art or page and I'll check it out. This Months Best Artwork! Willow and Chester All Credit Goes to Muffycake She did all the work I am just displaying it on a page. Here is the original Post http://forums.kleientertainment.com/topic/21890-muffycake-some-of-my-dont-starve-fan-art/ Here is her profile http://forums.kleientertainment.com/user/249276-muffycake/ This Months BEST Cosplay! Wendy All Credit Goes to Cyanea for this Excellent cosplay of Wendy Original post http://forums.kleientertainment.com/topic/29419-cosplay-wendy/ Cyanea's profile http://forums.kleientertainment.com/user/302741-cyanea/ This Months Best Video! The History of Maxwell lore Seriously a awesome Video Credit goes to TeoSS69 for the Post Courtesy of @Craig_Perry and @d2r Original Forum post http://forums.kleientertainment.com/topic/29232-maxwells-final-act/ TeoSS69 Profile http://forums.kleientertainment.com/user/243891-teoss69/ CREATING THE VIDEO Credit Goes to Klei Enterntainment Klei youtube channel https://www.youtube.com/user/kleient This Months Best Lore/Post! "What if Webber's father was....Wilson? Wilson is canonically is like 30 y/o, so he could have son. And he teached Webber to shave. And, maaybe, Wilson hates spiders SO much because it ate his son?? "~Kenny1889 This is some of the weirdest lore I've read But it gets pretty funny if you read the comment section http://forums.kleientertainment.com/topic/34137-about-webber/?hl=lore Creators Profile http://forums.kleientertainment.com/user/256059-kenny1889/
  3. CHAPTER ONE "It all started that night.....the night of the storm. I will never forget that night. It was a Friday night. I had just gotten home from school. The car went over the side of the bridge. Mom was dead. The medics came took me to the hospital. Then the man came he asked "you don't look so good do you want to go somewhere where this never happed ?" I nodded then I saw black hands shoot up and grab me . Next thing I know I'm here!" I told them." dramatic!" Wilson said " come on ill get food you get wood we need to stock up" " fine " I mumble welcome to my life food, grass, sticks, and wood. this is how its been sense I've got here even before I found the noodle called Wilson. I mean I've got more muscle than him and I'm a girl! Anyway I chop wood once I've chopped our little stick I go and pick berries. Then I bump into something its furry and bumpy. then a wolf jumps out of the bushes that I was picking. " thanks wolf now I have to go find new bushes!" I swing the ax and it breaks. Great just great now what am I suppose to use! Then it grabs my cat doll. the doll enlarges and morphs into a giant tiger! Sunny as I called the doll ripped the wolfs to shreds. I collected the shiny ice blue stones and walked back to camp with Sunny. "Hi Wilson "I say and he says " h h h h ho ho how?!?!!?!?"
  4. Welcome to My Don't Starve Art Page Here I will Post all the art I've done This is a picture of me in Don't Starve the sketch was done by DwerBomb http://forums.kleientertainment.com/user/214555-dwerbomb/ NOTE This is the rough draft not fully done
  5. Yo everone, I made my first ever Don't Starve art, except one pic what I drawn for my friend, Malan-Tai . I hope you like it! Thanks for reading, rating and leaving a comment is always appreciated!
  6. So here I have a don't starve game cover it needs a little bit of work but its my first run on making this kind of thing any ideas? Btw I have a youtube channel and it is https://www.youtube.com/user/BailMen I play don't starve and other games. But back on topic here is the jpeg form fell free to edit it and repost it below I really want to see what you guys can do thanks! Tell me what you think its my first time doing this XD
  7. A house left abandoned in the middle of a forest, its only inhabitant missing for fourteen years, and mutters of a curse... Of course someone would come looking eventually... ((Once again, Truthseeker saved my post and helped me fix the font size! Thank you!)) This story was beta'd by Truthseeker from the Don't Starve forum. Shanter's myth – a Don't Starve fanfiction The first time he saw the small open field, he had to admit the local name for it was fitting. In the middle of a vast pine-forest without any other vegetation, a sudden open field, sporting irregular patches of flowers and the ghost of a house standing right in the middle. The cursed plains. The young man stood in awe at the very edge of the open field, staring at the huge house that seemed to occupy the entire field. It had all the attributes of a haunted house, and though the local villagers had talked excessively about its unsettling look, it still baffled him how eerie the entire place looked. It felt almost as if the entire scene was working together to make the place as uneasy as possible. He jotted down a quick note, adding little sketches of the more eerie details to his work. The more he could work into his article the better! He hoisted his bag up higher and trudged through the overgrown grass towards the house. The front door groaned like an old man when he pushed it open, and his footsteps left marks in the dust as he stepped inside. The air was still and heaps of untouched furniture stood looming at the corners of the house. The intruder shuddered and a shaky grin spread on his face at the very same time. The atmosphere was so thick he could almost feel it running down his back, and the superstitious stories of the locals only added to the eeriness of the house. Almost giddy in excitement, the youngster snuck further into the house. Everything was dark and dusty, and the house smelled faintly of sweetness and rot. It's a ***** smell, and Stanley shivered as he remembered the newspaper clipping in his bag. A man disappeared in this very house, his body was never found... The scent became sickly at that thought, and he took a deep breath through his mouth. A part of him whispered it could be a broken jar of jam, but the more morbid thought stuck with him. He walked through the hall, and studied the old doors hiding their secrets from him. Which one should he start with? As he touched the doorknob, he could swear he heard a soft thump far under the floorboards. He paused and waited, but the only sound he heard was his own breath. He smiled shakily at his own over-excited fantasy, and opened the door to the living room. A wall of black was what greeted him. Faint, murky light fought to penetrate the papers hung over the windows, and dozens of chairs seemed to stare at him from the darkness. A cold hearth sat huddled to the wall, and an old grandfather clock stood in the left corner. The hostility of the scene wiped the smile off Stanley's face, and he stood hesitantly in the doorway. In the back of his head, he knew he should be jotting down notes for his article, but he didn't move. He couldn't shake the feeling that he walked in on something. He shivered, and walked carefully into the room, the floorboards refusing to make any noise beneath his feet. The papers covering the windows were old and featured abstract drawings and sketches. Stanley pulled a few from their place; a rain of dust and grime came down from the windows. The glass was a murky brown, and Stanley could barely see through it. He couldn't distinguish anything outside, not even the pine trees of the forest. A strange sound made him stop dead in his tracks: A rumble, a gurgle almost.... trembling throughout the entire house. He quickly stepped away from the window, a rain of fine dust slowly drifting down from the ceiling. The house fell silent, and Stanley waited…listening for the sound. It didn't come again, and Stanley hesitantly continued his search. The brown light pouring in from the window drove the darkness in the room away, and showed a faint track in the grime—an irregular path of something being dragged over the floor. The idea of a corpse being stowed away in the house suddenly became a lot more realistic. Sure, he'd fantasized about that, but now he wasn't so sure he wanted to find anything anymore. Still, he followed the path with his eyes, until they landed on the old grandfather clock. Could it be? … The local stories of the cursed plains ran through his head, and the newspaper clipping in his bag seemed to weigh him down. A strange man by the name of Wilson Higgsbury, disappeared off the face of the earth after a strange storm passed over the woods. There were also other stories of a great evil hidden under this very plain, and dozens of disappearances in the last few decades.... Stanley swallowed, and walked to the clock. It would have been a great scoop to discover a corpse there. It could get him two—maybe even three consecutive articles—in a well-respected newspaper. He would have been a fool to stop there. The old clock had long since stopped, and an iron lock held the door to the inner parts closed. Stanley rummaged through his backpack, and fished out his lock pick. He'd expected to find a closed door of some sort—a faulty pantry door, or a forgotten little chest. He had expected to find some old stuff he could use to tie a story together, but now he didn't know what to expect anymore: a corpse ? Multiple corpses? A curse? With a soft little click, the clock's door opened, and Stanley swung it open. A wave of sickly sweetness hit him in the face, and a steep black hallway tunneled into the earth before him. Spiderwebs lined the walls, giving the illusion of macabre wallpaper. Stanley stood flabbergasted, and he swallowed back a big lump of anxiety. It could be anything, he told himself, it wouldn't have to be a grave or something equally horrible... He fumbled with his bag, pulling out his lantern and notebook. His pencil slipped from between his fingers, and rolled down into the depths. He muttered a curse, and quickly lit his lantern. The pencil was long gone and the yawning depth was still waiting for him with all the patience of the world. Could it have been more than just one murder? Could it have been something completely different altogether? He moved down the black cave, the sickly light from above disappeared behind him. The flooring shifted and crumbled under his feet, and his lantern could barely penetrate the darkness of the cave. It was deeper than he expected, and his shoes were covered with spiderwebs when the narrow cave ended in an open space. The spiderweb-covered walls abruptly cut off, and his sight was limited to the small circle of light his lantern could provide. He was at the end of the stairs, and the hallway had ended in complete darkness. He held his lantern up higher, and stepped forth. A light flashed on with a hiss, and Stanley nearly tripped over his own legs in surprise. A huge pillar of black marble stood in the middle of a large room, with a coiling, translucent black flame resting on top of it. Its light made shadows tremble behind the items in the room. Large pots stood lined up against the wall, thick stone lids keeping their contents hidden. A single, enormous table stood all the way at the back of the room, carrying a large stack of rotten yet bug-free food. There were no windows, but the walls were plastered full with notes. The scent of sweet rot and flesh was unmistakable, and Stanley breathed heavily through his mouth. He bit his lip, but the scene refused to change. It was real. He held onto his lantern like a shield, and slowly approached the marble pillar. The surface was lukewarm, and every-so-slightly wet. He stepped back, and stared at the black flame burning on without fuel. “What the hell is this place....” His voice sounded wrong in the cave-like room–like something was eating his words right as they left his mouth. He minimized the light of his lantern, and walked further into the room, not knowing where to keep his gaze. Long-rotten food squelched beneath his feet, and he was almost relieved to see rotten food, instead of a corpse. He passed underneath a bunch of drying meat, and a few bits of jerky stuck in his hair. A dark doorway was hidden in the corner near the table. He could feel cold air collecting around his feet, and a faint smell of meat stew drifted by. Stanley looked back, the staircase now invisible just outside the reach of the pillar. He turned the light on his lantern up and stepped through the doorway. The black pillar behind him extinguished with a whispering hiss, and in front of him, a second pillar awoke, bathing yet another room in a foul light. Stanley stood in the middle of a garden. The ground was covered with leaves, roots and vines, and large fruits lied fat and juicy in the middle of the green cushioning. Small sprouts showed their flowers shyly in the dark, petals spread to catch absent sunlight. There were no bugs to be seen, but Stanley could hear a distant buzzing, hidden behind the wall of leaves and plants. He stepped over the plants, and fought his way through the small underground garden. A golden rod shimmered from in between the plants. A big gap in between the plants showed the next doorway, and Stanley hesitated at the edge of the absurd garden. He felt as if he found a big clump of blood-covered gold, a treasure with a terrible curse. An article about this house, this place, the folklore and the pillars.... it could uncover something big! But he didn't want to stay in the underground house. Something was wrong, whether it was his own mind or the rumored curse... With a trembling hand, he turned his lantern to the brightest setting. All he needed was a bit of reliable proof, and then he could get out of here. He would write the article and come back with an entire crew to investigate. Or better yet, he would be at home, replying to his job-offers. He stepped through the doorway, and with a long string of clicks, an entire hallway was lit up before him. He couldn't see a ceiling, but in the darkness above, little metallic glints shone back at him. Six doors decorated the hall, the floor a neat array of wooden planks. Stanley slowly walked into the hall, his footsteps making hollow sounds on the wood. He tried the door closest to him—if only to have a shorter route to the way out—but it was locked from the inside. After a short hesitation he pressed an ear against the door, half expecting to hear something moving..... The other side stayed silent. The awful sweet scent wafted from behind the door, and Stanley gagged. He could so easily imagine Wilson Higgsbury's corpse lying there, rotting away... locked in for his own protection. He stepped away from the door, and took a few deep breaths through his mouth. All the other doors were closed, but in the far back he could see an open doorway. He took a few more deep breaths, and promised himself that he would go back out as soon as he had found some evidence. The door to the room was made of thick black wood, the wood grain eerily resembling screaming faces. The room behind the door was pitch-black, and for once, there was no black fire lighting up. Stanley held up his lantern, and looked around. The room was the closest thing to an actual living room, and in all its normality, it felt terribly misplaced. It smelled of burnt pine and leather, and his steps were muffled by a dark purple rug. A thick leather chair stood facing an empty fireplace and a stack of wood was neatly tucked away in a simple gold container. High up on the walls he could see the faint outlines of hunting trophies, and the walls were invisible behind thick bookshelves. A small book, lying lonely on the small side-table caught his eye, and he set down his lantern right next to it. A name, written in a messy scrawl, stood on the cover. Wilson P. Higgsbury. The man who disappeared! Stanley stared at the name for a moment, and quickly looked back at the hallway. The torches had all gone out, and nothing stirred in the dark. He opened the book. The first page looked like the first draft of an academy book. Random facts, equations and results were splattered all across the paper; all dated about 16 years back. He flipped through the book, eyes passing over many more of the same notes. More scribbles, crossed out ideas, illustrations and.... A sudden change in the tone of the notebook caught his attention. All the notes from before were made in rapid succession, but this one was written after a gap of nearly four years! Unlike the other notes, it was not a documentation of tests, nor a random idea. The handwriting was sharper, neater, and the choice of words differed so greatly that Stanley could barely believe it was written by the same man. Something has changed, and I can't find out what it was. Maybe it started when I died; maybe it started when I came back.... I will attempt to re-create the environment that allowed the effigy to work. Stanley rummaged through his backpack and fished out the old newspaper cutting–the one that brought him here. Wilson P. Higgsbury was the first of about eight people to disappear around the cursed plains... And the journal entry dated precisely four years after Higgsbury's disappearance. The next entry was dated two days after the last one, the handwriting again different from before. The strange dreams have been increasing in frequency, and my skin has also been feeling strange. My only guess is that it was caused by my long-term presence in that world...Or maybe coming back to this world is what set it all in motion? The effigy experiments have been ineffective thus far, and I cannot risk using myself as a test subject. I will make the necessary arrangements for the machine. This time however, I’ll make sure it goes two ways. Stanley frowned, and shot a nervous look back at the hallway. This didn't sound like any sane man... Whoever wrote these entries was insane, cursed, or possessed. Deep underground, sitting in the light of his lantern, all three options sounded equally valid. He flipped the page, and landed at the very last entry. Three years ago. The rest of the book was indecipherable, filled to the brim with scribbles. He flipped to the last readable entry, the neat handwriting sporting a near invisible tremble. There was never a throne. There never were rules, as Maxwell claimed. The fool didn't know what he was dealing with – nor did I when I met him. I was a fool then too. It is complete. All has come together in the end. The veil has been punctured, and now comes only the job of widening it, ripping until the two worlds merge as one..... I still have to follow rules, but when the worlds merge, I get to choose which ones – and when. The rest of the page continued in unreadable scrawl, and Stanley slowly closed the notebook. The glass eyes of the hunting trophies glinted in the light of his lantern, and he stuffed the book in his backpack. A madman was living–or had been living–in this place: A dangerous, intelligent, deranged madman! He grabbed his lantern and turned to the exit. His foot caught on a small orange foot-bench in his hurry to leave and the light of his lantern flashed over the walls. An enormous spider head with a glinting maw hung mounted above the door, and a wolf head as large as a man snarled from far above the fireplace. And on the highest wall of all hung a deer's head, its single eye nearly the size of Stanley's head and its antlers spreading through the whole room. The fur on its thick neck was the same color as leather on the big chair in the middle of the room. Hundreds of razor sharp teeth were bared at him in the scarce light of his lantern, all creatures forever frozen in time, jaws still spread open to catch prey. He was over with discovery and adventure! This was the very last straw! He rushed out of the room and dashed down the hallway as fast as he could. It only occurred to him that the torches were already on before he ran into the hall, when he saw the figure standing right in his path. He knew the man's face from the picture posted in the newspaper. Even after fourteen years of disappearance, the man didn't look a day older. Long black gloves, crisp attire, black hair, pale skin. He was an exact copy of the photograph taken more than fourteen years ago, and yet there was something completely wrong about his appearance. The man narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. At just that one step closer Stanley could see why the figure seemed so off. The black forms on the man's head were solid and faintly ribbed, and his unnaturally bleak skin looked almost scaled. Deep auburn eyes almost seemed red in the light of the torches, and Stanley's legs started to tremble. The diary felt heavy in his backpack, and the last few entries in it replayed endlessly in his head. He turned to the only door close to him, and yanked it open. He ran inside without looking, throwing the door closed behind him. Metallic parts skittered over the floor as he barged through the room like a bull towards the only other door. The light-pillars extinguished, and a clawed hand grabbed the back of his shirt. His lantern was ripped from his hands, and he was relentlessly pulled back through the dark. Air whipped past him, and a hand closed around his throat. He felt his backpack ripped off his back, and then was shoved into a metallic cabin. The hand around his throat let go, and Stanley struggled to catch his breath right as the machine came to life around him. The floor fell away beneath him, and he tumbled downward into nothingness. He woke with a start, hands flying to his throat in panic. A bleak sun shone down on him, and large pine trees waved slowly in the wind. The house was nowhere to be seen, nor was the tell-tale smoke of the village. Shakily, Stanley got to his feet, and he turned in a circle. It looked like the cursed plains, it felt like the cursed plains...but it was not. A rabbit hopped around just at the edge of the forest. The small horns protruding from the back of its head were unmistakable, and Stanley stared disbelievingly at the unreal creature. A single sentence from the journal bubbled up in his head as he watched the rabbit hop to its shelter. “The veil has been punctured, and now comes only the job of widening it, ripping until the two worlds merge as one.” Right next to him in the grass lay his lantern, with a small folded paper inside. It read, in sharp and neat handwriting; Don't Starve
  8. Hello I fanarts

    Hello I'm pretty new to the don't starve forums and just thought I'd share some of my don't starve fanarts it'll be mostly traditional for now because I had my tablet taken away (oops) anyways how you enjoy c: Wilson W.I.P with watercolours yay c: I am really liking skin with watercolours, his skin is a little lighter on paper, the camera does funny things to colours.
  9. Hey guys, so i've been wanting to write another story for a while, but my unoriginal mind could never think of anything good to write of, and i really love playing don't starve, so i decided to write my own fanfiction about it, the plan for how it will be presented is, will be like this Chapter # - Name spoilers and chapters so it doesn't clutter up the OP with a huge wall of text and so you wont have to sit there and scroll through hundreds of words to find the next chapter, well here goes first chapter Chapter 1 - Forbidden Knowledge So, thoughts on the first chapter? should i continue this?
  10. Uh, i used to have an old gallery which i sort of stopped updating and it quickly died down and it is so deep down in the forums i will not bother myself with bumping it. You're free to browse through it, though. (Keep in mind i improved a lot since i uploaded those old drawings in that old gallery.) http://forums.kleientertainment.com/index.php?/topic/13648-irontacos-box-of-suffering-and-random-doodles/ Right now i mostly do art for mods and ocassional, quick sketches. Feel free to ask me to draw something. Uh, here, have something i'm doing for a big mod. He's a merchant or something. He's still a WIP. I'm still tweaking some stuff so he looks more in-style with the game, suggestions and feedback would be appreciated. (In-game he's not fully coloured yet since i have to fix stuff and it was mostly to see how it blended with the rest of the game.) Expect me to upload random sketches and projects in general, right now i don't have much stored since i reformatted my HDD and didn't keep any drawings around.
  11. (i didnt have a red suit vest and i didnt have the money for one either so its not perfect) (dont mind the shitty decorations either, family HAD to put them up)
  12. I've just gotten into this game and I LOVE the art style and overall feel of it! so of course, Here is some fanart
  13. Are there any Night Vale / Don't Starve crossover fics or art ? If not , some crossover fics and/ or art should be created. If yes , even more crossover fics and/or art should be created .
  14. Seeing such wonderful Artwork for such a glorious game I decided to use my horrendous wonderful talent to create some Art work, Enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome!
  15. Hi. These pictures are some I whipped up in Paint.NET and I would like to share them with you! (these are all done with a mouse!) Chester. 'Nuff said. A character my friend made up. i cannot give away his name currently because he is not part of the forum yet. someone may use is name! A significantly old picture I drew with my tablet that now is broken. A comic that took me a long time to draw including Sips being scared by seeing Chester for the first time. These are all for now, I'm an open gate for requests ^-^
  16. Hey everyone, this is a thread for the small fanfics I write for Don't Starve. This game is my dream and it inspired me more than anything else ever did before. A note: Not everything in this fanfic is game accurate, but know that I made those choices to make for a better story. Here we go: MacTusk's Trophey MacTusk groaned as he put the last few pieces of the igloo in place. His son had proved to be largely useless, putting down a whole two ice-blocks before running after a jackrabbit with the hounds. Maybe it was time for him to pick up the darts, at least he'd come back from his little play trips with something to show for it. MacTusk started to unpack his bag, and immediately strapped his darts to his belt. He'd been out hunting here before, and it was never safe, no matter how tranquil it all seemed. Good thing that wee MacTusk took the hounds, you never know. A chirping roar alerts MacTusk of his sons arrival, and the two blue hounds yip and bark in excitement. Maybe MacTusk had wanted to be a little cross with his son for not helping him set up the igloo, but when the young walrus shows him his catch (a seriously chewed up jackrabbit) he can't stay mad. Tomorrow they would go hunting for real, and junior would get his first lessons in hunting on the evil grounds. The next day they were up early, and MacTusk had made additional darts, just in case they come across something more needy of death than your average jackrabbits ice birds. He sure hoped so, he came here more for enjoyment than food-collecting. They set out, blue hounds excitedly sniffing about, and wee Mactusk pointing out non-existant marks of prey, even going so far as to spot Koelephant footsteps in a pinecone. He still needed more practice than just this one hunting trip, but his excitement more than made up for it. MacTusk shot a dart at a rabbit, and it keeled clean over. The missus at home had hinted on a coat of soft jackrabbit fur, and it wouldn't be too much work to peel the skin off. He'd set junior on that task right after they'd caught enough rabbits. He shoots darts until he only has a few more hanging from his belt, and then the hunters return to their igloo, arms full of rabbits and hounds whining for scraps at their feet. It is right when Junior is bringing the meat inside that MacTusk sees a new threat, far too close to their camp. He doesn't recognize it, and it dives behind a tree when he tries to get a better look. By the time he reaches the tree, the thing is gone, leaving only unrecognizable prints in the snow. He sends the hounds after it immediately, but they return a while later with clean snouts. MacTusk can't help but love the chill that runs through him. Who knew what they were up against! Even if it turned out to be a defenseless little thing, it would be one of a kind, and MacTusk would like that on his wall, as would his wife! Maybe even more than that coat she had been hinting at! He restocks his darts as quickly as he can, and urges junior to follow him and he strange prints in the snow. It would be a glorious first trophey for his son, a never before seen animal from the cursed island! The tracks are strange, and almost frighteningly straight. This thing knows where it is going, and doesn't waste time on twists and turns. Wee Mactusk helps him spot the next tracks, and then they arrive at a crude camp. Dried hunks of animal hang on dirty ropes, and several wooden boxes almost burst out of their seams, so filled are they with random junk and treasure. The tracks are all over the place, but still, the animal is nowhere to be seen. It's a smart creature, frighteningly so, and it would make for a better trophey than anything else! Anyone could off a Beefalo, a few pigs or a Tallbird. This predator already had, judging from the animals hunks drying on the racks. Wee Mactusk looked worried, and he clenched his own darts tightly in his flippers. This would be no ordinary hunt. It would be an ambush of a deadly creature. The waiting was long, and the tension grew between son and father, but finally, a rustling from the forest signalized the return of the animal. Both walruses held their breath and had their darts at the ready as their target appeared. The creature was indeed unlike they had ever seen. Three black curled horns adorned the head, making a ghostly white face stand out from beneath. It was dressed in the corpses of its prey, Koelephant snout stuffed with beefalo fur and spiderwebbings, crude earmuffs made from jackalope fur, and a backpack made from pig leather. It saw them, and made a startled jump backwards. For just a moment, MacTusk wanted to see the beast in its full glory, before ending its life and presenting its evil horned head to his family. He roared, and the hounds shot from their positions towards the menace. MacTusk himself immediately blew a dart at it as well. It screamed loudly as it hit, and took off into the forest, faster than he had expected. The hounds ran after it with loud howls. He prepared a second dart, and signalled for his son to follow in the persuit. The hounds whined in the distance, and he could hear one of them scream in its death throes. Both father and son arrived just in time to see the horned creature drive a pointed spear right through their last hound. Then it turned his sights onto them, and shudders of delight went through MacTusk's hide. Eye to eye with the predator! Trying to outsmart the other, a true fight of life and death! Hah. He would show this creature, who is the smartest! He blew another dart, and the creature cried out in rage and pain, raising its weapon threateningly. It howled a choked up battlecry, and charged forward. MacTusk knew better than to stand still, and he fled from the wild beast, heart pounding. He was outrunning it, but only barely! He turned his head just in time to see the predator catching up to his son. He roared out a warning, but it was too late. The pointed tip of the weapon dug into wee MacTusk's side, and he squealed in pain. Suddenly the thrill of the hunt had turned into the ice-cold fear that he might lose his son. The beast crooned in victory, and raised it's spear for the final blow. Any caution was blown in the wind by old MacTusk. Forgetting all the safety rules when dealing with wild animals, he charged at the monster attempting to kill his son, and managed to bash the harmful creature out of the way, catching the spear in his left flipper as he did so. Wee MacTusk was a ghostly pale, but he stumbled to his feet as his father took a blowdart from his belt. The expression of fear on the predator's strange snout would have been comical if not a bit piteous before to MacTusk, but now he only felt gratification. He blew his dart at the creature, and it hit it square in the chest. With an almost walrus-like moan, the predator sank to its knees, the weapon dropped from its talons and its throphey's slowly going red from blood. They were victorious. His son stood shaking behind him, and stared at the animal struggling for its life in the snow. Such a mighty predator, now weakly pawing at the snow in its death throes. It's struggling soon slowed, and it just laid breathing and bleeding on the ground. It's intelligent eyes were hazy with pain and panic, and even as it started losing consciousness, they could tell it was still trying to think a way out of its situation. MacTusk treated his sons wounds, as they waited for the beast to die, and in the end, wee MacTusk could even grin, boasting that a scar from such a dangerous creature would make him more attractive. MacTusk could only agree, and thank whatever gods there were for the life of his son. Together they watched the creature faint and die, before they bound it and dragged it through the snow to their igloo. The MacTusks left early that winter, and from that winter forth, in their home, resides the one and only taxidermied, black-horned beast.
  17. I always attempt to write something I haven't seen written before. Took me some time, here is some weird drabble thing. I may post other DS fanfictions in here as well. If there are inconsistencies, do tell so I can fix 'em up. I take all advice and critique i can get with a smile I did write more than what is posted here, but I found this a suitable ending as well so here you go, unless I decide to post the rest as well. Enjoy~! Tjally Hell's keeper The record played on, its cheery tune almost gloomy in the current setting. There was dust at his feet, dust and bones from the man that had sat this throne before him. The one gust of wind that had torn Maxwell apart had been the only stirring in the air since Wilson's arrival, and he had the faint idea it wasn't going to change anytime soon. His heart hammered like a panicked creature in his chest, while clawed hands held him still against his prison throne. “They will show you things. It will change you like it changed me...” Wilson tried to tell himself there had been no choice but to free Maxwell, but he knew that would be a lie. He could have let the old devil rot away, but then he too would have been doomed. He'd taken the bait, freed Maxwell, and only because there was still that traiterous part of him that whispered; 'all the buried mysteries mysteries in the world, and here you're handed a shovel.' If Maxwell had been speaking the truth, if he had created all of this world, then what could Wilson do with it? Why, maybe even find an escape like Maxwell never could. He can feel them now better than ever. He'd known they were there before, watching him in the night, sometimes following him. He'd blamed it on extended periods of solitude, his lack of sleep, lack of food, but he can feel how real they are now. Almost as if confirming his thoughts, the hands locking him to the throne tighten around his arms. He finds himself wondering, just like Maxwell; What do you want from me!? There is no answer, and still, the visions Maxwell had been foretelling refused to come. Perhaps he was doomed to an even worse fate than Maxwell, worse yet than an eternity long of the same painful throne and a short moment of freedom before death finally swooped by. Wilson could barely imagine a fate worse, but just half a year ago the thought of a different dimension led by a trapped, all powerful man would have made him bark out with laughter. He taps his fingers on the black throne, and stares upwards into the dark. He wants more light than just these marble torches. Any light. He almost wishes he'd lit the berry-bushes and grass tufts on fire. With a loud smash a bout of lightening drops from the sky, right on a grass tuft, together with the sudden image of electricity finding its origin in the thick black clouds. How had he not known that before? Wilson stared at the burning tuft in the distance. They had been talking to him. He never could have guessed lightening came from the polarities in clouds! How about the pigmen then? How did they find their origin? He waited, and soon after he just knew, like someone had been leisurely pouring knowlegde into his head from a kettle. The hounds, pets created from loneliness, the night monster Charlie, for when the hounds slept, berry bushes and bees in memory of sweet treats from home... He had even made the gobbler, so he didn't have to see the berries rot away. All Maxwells creations were clear as a raindrop in his minds eye. He knew all, the very core of the world, just like Maxwell had. It was when the last blade of grass had been explained, that throne and its watchers took him deeper. He recoiled in the throne. Maxwell was right. Wilson had only touched the surface of knowlegde these wretches beings posessed. A thousand colours he had never seen before swirled in his mind, creatures of impossible build and geometry flashed by him. His mind could not comprehend, could not make sense of it, yet at the same time he understood it all like he had abruptly understood the hounds and the pigmen. Monsters, creatures dimensions magics gemsemotionsaliensdeathlifeworldhumanminddestruction- Like an endless reel entire worlds and posibillities flashed through his mind, and all he could do was shrink back in the black throne and cling onto his last sense of reality. He couldn't tell how much time had passed when it finally stopped. The torches that had been burning when he freed Maxwell had gone dark. The dark didn't bother him, now that he knew the why and how of this world. Even charlie, the monster that had been one of his biggest fears, was now harmless as a housepet to Wilson. He felt like he had been split in two, like the watchers had taken half of him, and let it spoil. The fact that he considered the shadow monster Charlie as welcome company said as much. He knew things that his human mind could not understand, but he knew. He knew how he could create things similair as to what Maxwell created, like how one knows a tune on a piano without ever seeing the sheet music. It was in his fingertips, but not in his head. Maxwell's knights were rusting on the checkered flooring, and Wilson got rid of them. Next were Maxwells statues, the hounds, the tentacles... This world was only a shameful pile, compared to all the worlds the throne had shown him. So few animals, so few minerals or plants. Barely any biodiversity, or even floral diversity! Half-heartedly Wilson added a few things to the world. They were additions barely worth of mentioning, adding mice, adding catterpillars, adding weeds... He stopped adding almost before he had begun. There was no joy to be found. He'd never been an artist, he hadn't strived to create the new, but to discover it in the things that already existed! He turned to the watchers, and stared back at them with the intense patience of a well-taught Scientist. Observation is always the first step before attempting any experiments. The world stood idle, and the staring contest continued. At moments, Wilson is almost certain that he can see a flicker of human emotion in their gazes. Frustration, sometimes, or interest. He reaches closer to their domain, and even though they don't change outwardly, he feels like he is reaching into the back of a lion's throat. They still watch, and he does the same, now one step closer. It is not much later when Wilson wonders; What is their threat, when I come close? Death would not be a threat, and eternal imprisonment was already his fate. What was their punishment, if he came too close? It was that thought, and the thrill of the unknown, that made him reach out even closer to his watchers. He could almost feel the lion's teeth scraping his skin, and yet still there was no bite. He continued to watch, and the longer he stared back at them, the more he was convinced of the fleeting and vague human emotions that sometimes swirled by. Over time, he stepped closer and closer, waiting and watching until he felt like he could move without tempting the punishment that the watchers threatened with. It is funny really, how his never sated curiosity both got him into hell, and allowed him to slowly crawl out of it. With the throne holding his hands locked to the rail, he knew how far Maxwell had gone in his attempt to reach the watchers. He had surpassed that point the last time he stepped closer. At one point, he stood in the middle of them. It reminded him of the first time he had shared turf with a large herd of beefalo in heat, with only a shoddy hat to keep him safe. It certainly wasn't a hat that allowed him to stand in the middle of them, but he could not find the reason for their tolerance. He took one last step, until he was behind them. And then he found that their gaze did not follow him. They still stared, and when he turned his gaze to follow theirs, he saw himself, beard grown to his feet and shackled to the throne. He didn't know what it meant. He had not left his body, nor had he made a copy of himself in better times, like Maxwell had done. Had he split himself in two? Was he a soul, a spirit without a body? His hands were present, so was his enormous beard. He looked back at the watchers. There had been rules, as to what he could create, and they had been enforcing those rules with the same threat they had given him when he got too close. One of those rules, was; do not remove the throne. Do not attempt to harm the watchers. Wilson's curiosity reared its head, and he approached the watchers. He reached for one, and almost as if he'd touched a millenia old statue made of sticky meat, and stinking heaps of black flesh slumped to the ground. Almost as he had touched a domino in a long row of stones, the other watchers fell apart. The throne disappeared, and right before his eyes, he could see himself fall to the ground. He had expected it to remain motionless. He was here, no longer inside of that husk, but it moved, and softened its fall. It was aging rapidly, beard growing grey in seconds and eyes going clouded, but as he watched, he could see himself die. In a sudden panic, he tried to save his body, his mind racing ever so hard to understand how and why, but before he could think the body shrivelled up and remained like a mummy on the dark floor. How? How could he have been in there, while he'd also been here?! He stalked forward in long strides, to where his now mummified body lied in the shimmer of Maxwell's lit pillar, and arrived just in time to find that the world was slowly dissolving. The rock ground beneath his feet fell away, and even the air that should rush about him during his fall was absent. Maxwell's light was gone with a light crunching sound, and his body, after all, turned into dust. There was nothing left. Nothing but the void, and him.
  18. *cough* That's where all the trouble started; a ticklish cough that interfered with Wilson P. Higgsbury's fishing trip in the swamp. The gentleman scientist was sitting by a pond, hoping to get himself and Chester good bite after being so short on food lately. But his persistent hacking made the hunt more tiring than it should have, even with Chester holding his belongings alongside him. Finally, that minute, Wilson yanked up a fish onto the ground with his rod, but as he did so, he held his head up with one hand, and grabbed a nearby pine with the other, as if trying not to fall over. Chester whimpered and gently nudged his master's leg in comfort. Wilson returned it with a weak smile and gently mussing his hair before trudging back to their base camp in the flower field. As the evening turned to night, sleeping became a challenge, too. Whenever Wilson got in his straw roll, his body would get damp with sweat, but every time he got out, he felt a chill running through his sensitive skin. Of course, his persistent hacking didn't help any either. With some gold, stone, and his alchemy engine. Wilson jerry-rigged a thermometer, which read his temperature as 102 Fahrenheit. Not surprising, but not a pleasant sign either. The sickly scientist inched his way toward the fire, hoping his frail body was at least capable of sleeping. Throughout the rest of the week, Wilson did whatever he could to try and make himself well again. He kept a second fridge open to blow cold air on his overheated body. He rubbed the goop from the spider gland healing salves on his hot skin and forehead. He tried eating more blue mushrooms since they had boosted his health before. He even made a broth out of ferns from the caves. None of these methods worked; they only left him with more chills, spider goop, messes of blue vomit, and unfulfilled hunger. All while Chester tried to stay as close to his master as possible. He gathered up any ingredients he asked for, but most of the time, Chester didn't want to leave his friend's side for long. He even let Wilson use his fuzzy body as a chair or pillow, regardless whether or not his illness was contagious. Wilson hit rock bottom by day five. A monsoon was causing leaks inside his tent, despite his efforts to keep the opening shut. His scarlet face was as hot as the gems he used for fire staffs. His hacking cough was grainy and wet, as if someone had filled his lungs and throat with water and sand. Chester tried to keep him as comfy as possible, but sadly, there was only so much comfort a pillow could bring for someone this sick. Now it seemed like all Wilson could do was lie down and breathe, what little breath he could muster at this point. Chester gave him an affectionate snuggle and lick on the face, and Wilson returned it with a very weak smile and slow, gentle strokes on his fuzzy head. Finally, with another brutal coughing fit, Wilson passed out, still maintaining a raspy breath. Chester repeatedly nudged his head, whimpering in fear. All of a sudden, in another puff of grey, cloudy smoke, the Puppet Master appeared before them. Chester whined in fear and stood in front of Wilson, not letting Maxwell come any closer. "Come now, boy. There's no need for that." Maxwell felt Wilson's damp forehead for a moment, and then twisted his left glove to dry it off from the scientist's sweat. "...Hmm. None of my other captives have lasted half this long before getting sick or injured. Never saw one with this bad a case of pneumonia, though." Maxwell then heard Wilson's weak breathing, and his smile returned. "But really, where's the fun in letting you die like this?" With a wave of his hand, a stone bowl of dark-blue broth appeared in Maxwell's palms, a thin wave of black mist rising from the liquid. Wilson gained just enough consciousness to feel Maxwell cradling him in his lap, and looking down on him with a malicious smile. Wilson tried to widen his eyes and mouth in fear, but Maxwell put one finger over his lips. "Shhhh. Don't say a word, pal. You're in the perfect hands." As Wilson drifted back into semi-consciousness, Maxwell fed him spoonfuls of his dark broth, smiling and glaring with every last drop. When Wilson woke up again, his body had finally cooled down, and his chest and head no longer ached. His vision was clear, and he could take deep breaths again in peace. The rain had waned into bright sunshine. But probably the most welcoming sight of all was an ecstatic Chester bounding toward his master, jumping in his arms, and bathing his face with hearty licks. Wilson smiled back, and hugged his loyal pet, but his mind was still lost in thought. Did Maxwell really go out of his way to save him? If he brought Wilson here to die, why would he want to keep him alive? Then, a cynical but more plausible explanation made Wilson glare in the distance. Maxwell didn't want him to die of pneumonia; he wanted him to die of his own elements in this cruel, twisted world. Mauled by a hound, stung by killer bees, starvation, any of those methods would be much more "fun" than something like everyday viruses. Well, whatever the reason, Wilson wasn't going to give Maxwell the satisfaction of letting his reign destroy his life. With a smirk and a glare, Wilson held his axe over his shoulder, and motioned for Chester to come follow him. There was still a lot of work to do. The End
  19. (I am by no means a noob to creative writing, but this IS my first attempt at a DS fan fiction, so feel free to give me any feedback or suggestions! Enjoy! ) Don’t Starve Wilson’s Lament A mortified, disheveled Wilson P. Higgsbury burst through the berry bushes, in a clearing in the forest glen. His hair and clothes were sprinkled with twigs and leaves, and his fine suit was torn where his body had been scratched, but still, at least he was alive. As Wilson stood there, gasping for breath, he listened as the sound of the roaring Hounds faded out into a mixture of angry Tallbirds chirping by the rock fields, pecking away at the beasts’ furry hides. They probably found a defenseless egg more appetizing and easier to catch than human scientist armed with an axe. With a sigh of both relief and exhaustion, Wilson trudged to an open flower field, about two hundred feet away from the unwelcoming pig village, which shut him out of their wooden huts the minute the sun hit the horizon. The evening quickly waned on into night, a half moon rising over the exhausted scientist. He was cooking a couple of carrots over his campfire, and had wrapped his wounds with a poultice made of honey and fresh reeds from a nearby marsh, lest the deformed mosquitoes that lived there tried to get to his blood first. Wilson ate his meager meal with caution, listening warily to the sounds of insects chirping, Hounds howling, and snoring Beefalo. The noises were scattered near and far, but it was impossible to see anything in the thick blackness that surrounded the campfire. Wilson gazed sadly at the fire, his troubled mind lost in thought. Why did Maxwell send him to this harsh wilderness? Why does this god-like stranger delight in torturing him? Why did he believe every word of that “secret knowledge” if there wasn’t any indication as to where it came from? And, probably the answer Wilson begged for the most, how would he ever get back home? The island was completely unfamiliar, there were no other humans on it, and judging by all the mythical flora and fauna, it probably wasn’t even in this dimension! It seemed like ages since he had reached out to any friends or family, so who would ever think to look for him? Wilson supposed he had himself to blame for that one. He’d practically thrown away his social life when he chose to stay secluded in that laboratory in the middle of the forest. He had no company other than that of his test tubes, foot notes, lab rats, and shelves of books. If he were to make a successful breakthrough all on his own back home, who would he show it to? Who would be there to marvel at his accomplishments, or lend him a helping hand if it didn’t succeed? It was heartbreaking to think that the only voice of companionship he’d heard in that cabin turned out to be an elaborate puppet show. To shut yourself out of the world is one thing; to be shut out is another. Poor Wilson began to cry as he buried his head in his knees. As much as he hated being stuck on this island, the experience had opened his eyes to realize how lonely he truly was. He’d taken the chances for potential friendship for granted, dismissing it to toil away on an experiment without an observer, a performance without an audience. Crying wasn’t going to get him off the island, either, but after being so desperate to flood his mind with knowledge, Wilson needed some time to clear it out, to drain it of the distress and terror that made him too overwhelmed to think straight. Finally, by morning, Wilson had calmed down. He dried his eyes to see the sun rising in the teal-blue sky. With a small smile and a deep breath, Wilson got back on his feet, and held his axe over his shoulder; he had a lot of work to do over the next few days. The End
  20. Started a fundraising and art project inspired from the game that promotes conserving nature. The character "Wilson" is available on Etsy.com here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/155729980/mini-wilson-inspired-from-dont-starve?Fundraising Page: http://support.nature.org/goto/Wilson3d Printed Wilson Figurine, 2.75 inches tall, printed with color sandstone. Pondering doing other characters down the line. Let me know which you would want!
  21. Prologue: A Small Laboratory This story begins in a small home on a hill. It was more of a laboratory. The house on a hill was owned by a young scientist named Wilson Percival Higgsbury. His goal was to become the smartest human alive. He experimented all day and he usually failed. One day he sat down on his chair disappointed with his notebook in his pocket. Then he heard a raspy voice say “Say, pal looks like you’re having some trouble. I have secret knowledge I can share with you!” I took the radio from which the raspy voice was talking. “If you’re ready.” I nodded vigorously.”Okay then.” An odd flash of lightning struck.Yes I have all the knowledge I could dream of! He created the machine over a course of 3 days but when he finally finished it flashed in his mind that he had no idea what it would do. This is a terrible idea, thought Wilson. He held his notebook in his pocket and hesitated. “DO IT!” rasped the voice desperately. Wilson pulled the lever at his dismay. Two large shadowy hands pulled him through to some faraway place.”Say, pal you don’t look so good. Better find something to eat before night comes.” Just going to leave this thing here. I've got 3 complete chapters right now.I'm going to update this whenever I get around to writing the next "chapter".Bye,constructive criticism wanted definitely.
  22. First one. I've always fancied Wilson an industrious, but much beleaguered alley cat out there in the wilderness stranded by Maxwell.I'm thinking of doing Maxwell next...
  23. Been a big fan of don't starve so I decided to start a series to try and get other people into the game. so here is my first attempt!http://youtu.be/DMhlFJ8PlrA
  24. Hello everyone! I just joined this site, but I love it already! I will be attending SoDak Con (Western SD's only Convention), and for all of saturday my silly but will be milling around as Wilson! My brother shall be Maxwell, but I have yet to sew the fur onto the collar, so pictures of him will have to wait until after the con. However, have some of me!Sorry for the crappy quality had to take 'em with my webcam XDAnyway, I started this post with the hopes of possibly finding other Don't Starve cosplayers, especially if you're thinking of attending SoDak Con this weekend. Even if you don't have a cosplay, or are still working on one, etc, feel free to discuss relating things here!