EXERCISE Plot Picture Challenge 6

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by Kitti, Oct 9, 2016.

  1. Pictures can inspire ideas within us, from characters to creatures and even whole storylines.
    The purpose of this exercise is to craft an idea for a roleplay, story, or whatever else based on the image.
    There is no right or wrong - just create a plot from the picture!

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  2. "Shall I show you the way to a mysterious land, somewhere not even your books can take you?"

    Jeremy's head shot up as he stared at the... whatever it was from beneath his hood. He never quite figured that bit out. She had always reminded him of a fusion between a centipede, a ram, that spirit who ate everything from that Ghibli movie, and a masquerade mask. But, it wasn't like he would really pay attention to her. She had always just... been there. A statue holding a lantern, lighting up the old abandoned mansion he would visit when life became too much and he needed a quiet place to read.

    His hand tightened on his book. "Why- why are you speaking to me now?" he demanded. His tone of voice was rather weak, however, and the demand came out more quavering than he wanted. "I-I've been coming here for months!"

    "One does not ask 'why' when an opportunity makes itself known." The voice from the former statue sounded emotionless. "I shall take this as a declination."

    Even as Jeremy watched, the being was reverting to its former stone self. "Wait!" he shouted. "Don't- I'm sorry! I was just shocked! Show me the way! Please!"

    But it was too late. She was stone once more, and the only sign that showed she had once moved was in the way her hand was held out, as if wishing to lead him somewhere.

    Jeremy sighed, shoulders slumping. He messed up.
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  3. Sir Archibald Tramount (also known to his fellow practitioners as “Grand Wizard Archibald” -- initiate of the mysteries of the dark goddess) came out of his study, book still in hand, to confer with his otherworldly housekeeper whose name was unpronounceable in the English language. They had settled on calling her Martha. Ah, but she was a beauty, Archibald gloated. And industrious as well!

    “Are there any guests left, Martha?” he inquired mildly. “Or have they all departed?”

    “Martha” winced internally at the sound of her hastily-bestowed name, which always had the habit of making the voracious jaws in her belly gape slightly. She tried not to glance at the tattered curtains, at the crookedly-hung portraits, and at the battered old furniture artistically arrayed in various stages of decay and abandon. (Sir Archibald insisted it gave his home “atmosphere.”) Her master’s robe (bestowed upon those few who had reached the 3rd inner circle) was of fine material but filthy with dust.

    Martha had learned a new word in this world. And that word was “slob.”

    A high-ranking châtelaine of the sixth dimension in her true form, Martha worshiped organization and neatness. This was one of the worst bindings she had ever been subject to. She looked forward to the day when this loathsome mortal would slip up on one of his arcane summonings. Her abdominal jaws clacked lightly at the thought.

    “No, my lord,” she hissed submissively. “Three guests remain. The count, his wife, and the count’s valet.”

    Sir Archibald smiled joyfully, like a child in anticipation of extra dessert. “Excellent. Bring the count and countess down to supper for me, and keep the valet for yourself. You deserve it!”

    Perhaps that would put Martha in a good mood, Archibald thought to himself, and perhaps later … just maybe … she might let him run his hands ever so fleetingly over her delectable bulk. A slight tremor ran down his spine at the thought.
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