World of Darkness: SILENT HILL

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Grumpy, Mar 16, 2010.

  1. [​IMG]


    A slow day at Dragon's Playground; a few of the regulars stop by, promising they'll be at the game on Wednesday, a mother picking up a present for her son, and a pair of lost Japanese tourists looking for the train station. Not exactly the most profitable day of trading you've ever had, but hey, the sponsorship deal you got with Wizards is helping to keep you afloat.

    Then things start to get weird.

    One of the display cabinets next to the window collapses, sending dice, paint and miniatures flying across the floor. Tim, one of the local students you employ to help mind the store, and you rush to start cleaning the mess, but then both of you stop as you suddenly realise how the mess has 'arranged' itself.
    "Dude, what the fuck?" Tim exclaims next to you.

    A bottle of super-glue has burst open, the substance splattering across the floor and hardening far too quickly for this to be normal. Next to it, one of the pots of paint from your Warhammer products has split open, and beside that, dice have scattered in patterns far too precise to be normal.

    Together, they have formed two words. Two words you've been hearing ever since it brought you back.



    You left for work late this morning, and you're paying dearly for this mistake.

    Congestion on the main route to work is even worse than usual this morning, due to a collision between two trucks in the early hours of the day. Motorists from all walks of life, yourself included, have found their day grinding to a sudden halt as they are forced to wait for the wreckage to be cleared.

    Angry shouts, curses and car horns sound all around you, drowning out your car stereo. You sigh and settle down for a very long wait.

    And then it happens.

    Suddenly the engines being revved and the car horns are forming words, metallic and resonating through your head. The angry shouting and swearing changes from insults and demands to the same words, repeating over and over again. It's here, you realise, manipulating the world around you, issuing it's demands once more.

    And all around you, the cars and the people scream "SILENT HILL".


    "Alright, it's lights out, folks!" you hear the guard scream over the cacophany of your fellow inmates.

    The lights in your cell dim, but the noise from your fellow inmates never seems to cease. Over the irritatingly cheery song playing over the intercom, you hear them; shouting, screaming, rambling, crying. The thick, padded walls seem to do nothing to drown out the noise, and you grit your teeth; it'll be another few hours before the guards finally decide to sedate the crazy ones.

    Then suddenly, the noises dim, and you know what is coming next.

    He starts with a scraping on the wall to your left, insane whispers reaching only your ears. Then the halls begin to echo with insane giggling, followed by furious yells from the cell across from yours.

    Punctuated through the mad ramblings, you hear one phrase repeated, followed by the promise to get you out of this place if you comply.

    Over and over, he yells, whispers and chuckles "SILENT HILL".


    Ricky Malone's boys have paid yet another visit to your office.

    This is the third case they're asking you to influence, all of them connected. The three were small-time members of Malone's outfit, drug runners and thugs occasionally doing a bit of racketeering. Malone discovered they had been holding out on him, making money on the side, and didn't take it very well. Planting a shipment of drugs on them, the mob boss informed the police and had them convicted for several decades.

    The trouble for Malone is that now the group is having their sentences cut, due to them making a deal with the District Attorney. Malone's convinced that they're going to sell him out, so he wants them to stay in jail so he can arrange a suitable 'accident' to befall them.

    It just so happens you're the lawyer of all three; Malone wants you to lose their cases.

    "C'mon, Vinny-Boy!" Pete O'Halley, one of Malone's favoured racketeers, exclaims, "It might not sit too well on your conscience, but think of the money!"
    "And if the money don't talk as much as it should," growls Thomas the Tank, a huge man built like something akin to a brick shithouse and Malone's top trigger-man, "Be sure to dwell on the fact that Mr Malone will be very, very upset if you refuse to take his rather generous offer."

    You look at the two mobsters staring back at you, just as you feel a hot, inhuman hand on your shoulder.

    When he speaks, his voice crackles like an inferno, and you can feel the heat resonating from him. "Do you win or lose in a situation such as this?" he ponders, the two men in front of you completely unaware of his presence, "Do the answers lie in Silent Hill?"
  2. "I agree and I won't personally help with all her problems. But I have no problem sending her to Arthur or ichiru one day."

    Double-shift again, because the managers asked you to and you didn't know how to say no.

    The one called Debbie, with the big tits, is ill. Steph, the blonde one who always smiles at you when you arrive in the morning, is ill too. As you sit in your cubicle, faces that are familiar to you mill about, though you cannot remember any names.

    Another day of number crunching and avoiding your co-workers. With breaks in between to furiously masturbate in the toilet.

    You don't want to look in the eye, or get forced into a conversation with someone, so you keep your head down and focus on your screen.

    And that's when she lays a hand on your shoulder, and begins to whisper in your ear.

    "You work far too much, Lyle," Uncle breathes into your ear. You can smell her rotting breath, the smell or irresistable perfume and the stench of dead bodies. "I've told you so many times, you silly boy," she laughs, the sound both beautiful and repugnant, "You're never going to be happy unless you follow my advice. I only want what's best for you, Lyle dear.

    "That's why I need you to go to Silent Hill. All your answers lie there."
  4. BZZT!BZZT!BZZT! Jack rolled over in bed and hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. The time glowed red on the digital chronometer. 10:00 AM. It had been a week since the display cabinet had collapsed. The carpet, paint, the glue, and several of the miniatures had been ruined. In all, it cost well into the thousands to replace everything. Luckily, insurance had covered for the carpet. Comes with having a place of business stuck out on a pier. Jack had been able to convince the company's insurance agent that a seagull had hit the window and caused the case to fall. Of course, it helped that their insurance agent was also a regular at the Warhammer 40k events they held every Thursday. However, the miniatures and supplies had to come out of his pocket, along with the display case. Jack had to personally shell out $500 to replace the Limited Edition figuringes, and another $300 for the case. His business partner covered the supplies, the cheap bastard. Today was Friday, which meant Friday Night Magic, an event he'd been pushing for ever since he and Bill had opened the first Dragon's Playground. Now they had five stores spread throughout the Chigaco Land area, and eight more scattered around Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan. They had plans and funds set up to open three more locations in the next year: One in LA, one in NYC, and one in Mall of America. "Heh," Jack thought to himself. "Whoever said you need a college degree to be successful don't know Jack." Jack chuckled at his unintended pun. BZZT!BZZT!BZZT! Jack quickly rolled over and hit the snooze alarm again. 10:09 AM. What was it with snooze alarms? They always seemed to go off again after nine minutes. Why nine? Why not ten, or better yet, fifteen? Jack figured he'd probably never know the answer. The next big question of the day, was whether or not to go into work. While he was still on med leave from his accident a little over a week ago, he still liked to go in and work, or at the very least, lay around. After all, someone somewhere once said 'It doesn't seem like work if you enjoy it.' Hadn't they? If they hadn't, they should have. Jack rolled his legs over the side of this bed, switched his the alarm on his clock to the OFF position, grabbed his crutches, and hobbled over to his dresser for yet another painful session of the 'changing of the guard'.


    Two weeks since he had woken up from his coma. Two weeks since that accursed Rattling Oracle bastard had shown up. There had been more 'mishaps' at the store, and this time, and insurance had stopped paying for the carpets. Today, a Monday, Bill was on shift. Jack was reading the latest issue of Dragon Magazine when a seagull flew in through the open door. In it flew, and as luck, or the Oracle, would have it, right into the Scrabble boxes. Jack motioned to Bill that he'd pick it up. He didn't want to bother Bill with explaining why te pieces spelled out 'Silent Hill', like they always did when something wierd happened. Tyler, the shop assistant they had hired when Jack got in his accident had turned out to be more of an occult fanatic than even Jack. Everytime something strange happened when Jack and Tyler were in the shop, Ty would start muttering something about a cursed town and aliens and crap like that. Probably metioned Bigfoot and Nessie too, but Jack never paid much attention. According to his connections, stuff like that was all a hoax...Except for Silent Hill itself. As Jack approached the downed board games, he could see the Oracle hunched over, rearranging the pieces. "He's getting desperate it seems. He's never let me see him doing his work before. I think it's about time I cashed in my vacation time." Not wanting to disturb the Oracle whilst doing his dark deeds, be it because he didn't want to make a poltergeist angry, or because he was just naturally polite, Jack shooed the gull out of the store and closed the door before he went to pick up pieces. By the time he returned to the scene of the latest Silent Hill beacon, the Rattling Oracle had already finished and disappeared. Jack looked down and in addition to the usual 'Silent Hill', there was an additional message. "Strange," Jack thought. "I didn't think he could write anything other than 'Silent Hill'." This newest message simply read, 'GO NOW OR ELSE'. A few inches away there was another message, or rather, a word. 'APOLOGIES' was all it said. "Curiosser and curioser..." Jack muttered to himself. "Since when did malevolent spirits express remorse?" Putting the letter blocks back in their bag, and putting the board and it's accessories back in their place, Jack headed to the door. Opening the door, Jack paused, and without looking up, said. "Hey Bill, don't wait up for me. Seein' as how we're gonna be CEOs this time next year, I think I take an advance on my vacation. I should be back in a week, two at the most. See ya."


    Jack awoke with a start as he fell sideways in his seat. It took a moment to realize where he was. He was on a train. The only one, in fact, asides from the conductor, who remained ever silent, and ever out of sight. Well, alone asides from the passenger who sat across from him. A passenger only he could see. Jack thought to himself how strange it was to see the Oracle reading a newspaper. Jack had never seen the Oracle interact with something solid for so long, or so intently. Maybe something about this train made him better able to manifest...Or maybe they were drawing nearer to Silent Hill. Jack stared at the newspaper to see what section the Oracle might be on, but it was hopeless. The letters swam around the page like bubbles in a glass of Pepsi. Though every once in a while a ew would come together to temporarily spell out a phrase or two. Phrases like 'Newspaper greatest invention since trebuchet', and 'Giant metal snake too noisy'. It was rare for the Oracle to communicate with such complete thoughts. Strange too was what was being said. Jack stared at where the Oracle's face should be. After a brief pause, he spoke to it. "How old are you, exactly?" Though, as Jack had guessed, the Oracle merely went on reading the paper. Jack shrugged and layed down on the train seat, using his duffle bag and backpack as pillows. When next he woke, he found himself on a bench on the outskirts of a town, the Oracle sitting next to him, newspaper nowhere to be seen. How he got off the train was a mystery, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was the town. It was more than just a veritable ghost town. It was the real deal. Jack could feel it. And more than that, he knew, down in his very soul, that THIS was where he should be. This is where the Oracle had been telling him to go. As he stood, he suddenly heard a soft, cold, harsh, dusty voice, as if the actual pages of centuries old books were speaking. It was a voice he'd only once ever before, and a voice he'd never hear again, much to his liking. The voice was the voice of the Oracle, and it spoke haltingly, as if to let each word sink in. It said:

  5. "Silent hill"

    "Silent hill"

    "Go to Silent hill"​

    It seamed that evety sound in the busy road was screaming at him.



    He took out a flask from inside his hospital coat and downed most of its contents.


    "ALRIGHT!!" he shouted slamming his hands into the steering wheel.

    The sounds went back to normal and traffic started moving.


    At the hospital he tried to forget about the voice, the command. He entered the staff room and slid a packet into the microwave and pressed the reheat button.


    [color=#696ff]The car alarm outside caused him to jump and almost fall over. "Just leave me alone. I already let you share......"

    "You alright Dr. Dilman are you alright?" A nurse asked.

    "Yes I.... I need a holiday."

    A week later he had the time off he needed and drove to where the map said there was a small town by the name of Silent Hill.


    Hour on the road and he needed a break, pulling over he stopped near an empty car on a lonely stretch of road.
  6. [nomedia=""]YouTube- Silent Hill 2 OST - Promise (Reprise)[/nomedia]

    So here he sat, the middle of seven cubicles, the sun in slants through gridded windows overhead, dirty yellow, a world in filter.

    The others didn't move. Seven figures hunched. Only Lyle, gripping the edge of the desk, an outline broken by the slightest tremble to tell of tears and heartache. Lost half in shadow, a half-man, dust around him dancing golden.

    "I don't want t..." the last word lost in a swallow, too much saliva in his mouth, the cheeks and teeth getting in the way, always in the way. He sunk deeper, his head against the screen, touching sweat and oil. He burned in the sun, the lotion crusted, kept in the heat, boiling from the outside in. He scratched, teasing sores beneath the hairline, only she touched, she... no other.

    Laura from reception, if she was here, perched on the desk, white shirt tight and straining, he would hitch her up and lift that little skirt. His thumb, he'd use his thumb, press it in. Just right, those hips, not too thin nor fat, a wobble as she moaned, a bounty of flesh, a swell to tell of life, plenty of room, inside her, to get lost. He'd strip her naked, him fully clothed, the contrast, the beautiful contrast, why else were they put upon the world, to pose in beauty, statues, all of them. He'd drag her under the table, hold her tight, lock her head, her shoulders, her limbs, everything rigid as he moved back and forth, inside her, deeper and deeper, till she shuddered.

    He couldn't stand up now. He had to wait. He sunk deeper. Her breath... his breath... Uncle, always, the shivers that seemed to break him. Would he fall like water and drain through his keyboard? No, too dry for that, too flaking, the skin fell from him and joined the dust, departing through oil and lotion. How would anyone touch him? How would anyone stroke their hands as he would stroke his hands?

    A piece of flesh, flawless, smooth. Oh, for a piece of flesh. They don't know it, how lucky they are. Bitches. Wastes. Squandering all that... Hang them like pictures in his halls, he would, naked, used again and again, every inch and moment savoured.

    Silent Hill... no... not like this...

    Silent Hill.

    To know there was something, a place, another chapter - a comfort and a terror, more than Mother ever was.

    Mother... Silent Hill... the mists.. he remembered the mists.

    So cold. Lyle curled up in his seat, pushing back behind the screen of the cubicle, reaching down, inside, taking hold. The only heat, the only comfort, the only joy. What else mattered, nothing, all pain and darkness.

    No one... no one would give it to him.

    "I can't..."
  7. Slava - The Bogatyr

    Mood: Neutral, cautious Tagged: @Petricus Euryale @Lillian Gray @Tyche
    One and a half weeks previous:

    "We're ready," the head at the Kolomyia site said with finality, the three other people in the room focused completely on her. It was the go they had been waiting for. Two days worth of preparations, gathering items for the ritual meant to dispel the ward protecting the old knight, without counting the days of travel and finding the damn tomb. They were ready now, however, lights filling the small cave and symbols drawn and incantations memorized. The two in in charge of reciting the counterspell begun their work while the woman in charge and the token security guard looked on.

    Consciousness washed over Vladislav like a bucket of ice water. One moment, his world was endless peace, quiet floating in the space between dreams and the waking world. The next, shock gripped his every muscle, cold sharp enough to hurt clawing over his skin while he struggled to open his eyes and expose the source of the onslaught. When he finally got a look of the world he'd woken up into, he found four pairs of eyes staring at him from various places around his coffin; one cold and careful, one apathetic, one curious, one cautious. None were familiar. All appeared to be waiting. For him, more likely than not, so he determined to make the first move. Reaching for language was difficult, though Slava was unable to tell if it was an effect of the spell he'd been under or the cold that had sunk into his bones. His mother tongue only turned the expressions of those he was attempting to communicate with towards confusion. Finding the words in French was far more difficult, given how long it had been since he'd spoken it, but it received far more positive results.

    It was hours before he left the cave, escorted by the four Templars who had awoken him. Hours of listening to impossible truths and learning of the fates of his people. Of his mother. Of Renaud. Of his prince. Slava had been dead for some eight hundred years and everything had changed, the four had told him, but even an old fighter such as he was still needed. The four took him West, returned him to places he'd visited years - no, centuries - previous. There was a mission he was needed for. There was something to be done, something the Templars were gathering forces for.

    And Slava? Slava was content to have a purpose. He'd adapt to this new world he found himself in or these beasts he was meant to fight would finally extinguish his life. Nothing more, nothing less.

    Current time:

    To an observer who bothered to pay attention to him for a length of time, Slava was an oddly statuesque figure. He'd arrived early in well polished armor, of course, the act a testament to his punctual nature as much as his desire to evaluate those he'd soon be fighting alongside. He'd settled himself near one of the walls, maximizing his view of the room the gathering was to be held and the people that would be packed into it. Then he'd stayed there. His eyes moved, obviously, and his chest rose and fell with each of his slow breaths. His head moved, now and again, when he watched someone enter or tracked a particularly interesting individual across the room. Other than that, however, he was still. His hands remained neatly folded, his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, he didn't shift positions or adjust his posture. Quite the stoic, this one was.

    Slava's thoughts weren't nearly so aloof, however, sharp brown eyes appraising the individuals who walked through the heavy door while he tried to discern how well he'd be able to rely on them on the battlefield. A difficult task, given how little he knew about the peoples, places, and time periods many of them came from. Still, there were only two seemed out of place enough to raise his curiosity as well as his caution. Both were women, but that was mere coincidence, not the cause of his interest. One was in silver chains, settled in a corner, and Slava recalled his teachings on magic plenty well enough to wonder what the chains indicated about the woman who bore them. The other was...familiar. He hadn't met her in his previous life or anything of that sort, but there was something in her style of dress and something in her choice of weapons and perhaps something in her face that reminded him of the hordes he'd fought to defend his prince and his people. He'd watch them both. Little point in anything beyond that, however, as they'd likely be fighting together soon enough regardless of his suspicions. Slava wasn't one for wasting energy on suspicion or distrust, anyhow.

    The door opened a couple of minutes after the gathering had begun, the intrusion caused by a knight whose face he didn't recognize. Pendragon, Landgrave called him. Slava took note of the name. Anyone with the gut to irritate the dour Count was someone he could have a positive opinion of. Lifting a gauntleted hand to cover his mouth and the soft smile the knight's comment had inspired, Slava turned his attention back to the Count and waited patiently for the man to continue.