Search results for query: *

You pull away and scream; but instead of pursuing you, your reanimated father sways glossy eyed on the seat with his neck craning to follow you. Your blood isn't flowing much like you'd expect and the pain is quite dull.

Teeth sink into your shoulder.

Not new to roleplaying but new to this site. As such I don't have too many contacts to offer 1 on 1s to at this minute. I may be interested in hosting a sci-fi styled Western but only if I can find a suitable par'dner ;) to host for. Also if there are any protocols/established ways of doing...

"Rapture, darlin'. Satans come but no prayin gonna save us now. We was at Mass when we first saw it. Friar got this crazy look in his eyes, like you did'n before. Passed the bread'n the wine 'cept this weren't no bread nor wine. Me'n yer ma were at the back of the line but she ate em too. Before...

You both enter the hovel, the cross is still firmly pointed your way though. Once inside, he doesn't go over to comfort you but you see his eyes well up a bit. "She's in the 'ands of the Lord now, may she rest in peace. Back at Mass... the friar looked a little like you do now, eyes bleedin...

He slowly walks towards you and you writhe in pain... and clarity. Until you feel the pressure lift only to see your mother stumbling behind him, skin a patchwork of grey and yellow, and biting deeply into his shoulder. You watch in horror as he clubs her across the head with the cross. The...

Your Father bursts out of the door with a makeshift wooden cross. 'LEAVE MY DAUGHTER ALONE FOUL DEMON' You shield your eyes and feel something battling for control.

You approach. It's a hovel, built much like your own. Your Dad is a lot handier than your husband so the door is better made. An eye flicks past the peep hole as you approach. 'Don't come any further! I'm warnin ye!' Your Father's voice barks at you through the door.

You bang into a table and trip over a chair... but you make it outside. It seems to be daylight and you stagger out, wailing. The church is in town about five minutes away and you set off. You pass by your Mother's house.

The baby descends into hysterical laughter as you bring the rock up and down twice in quick succession. 'Ira' You bring it up again... and down again.. and up. You see red and you're vaguely aware of your nose bleeding profuseley. All that's left is a bloody pulp of your infant's skull. You...

'Ah, gula' You chuckle to yourself while slurping stew off the ground. Another part of you breaks, and you stand up with no pain and in a jerky fashion. Anger clouds your vision as you advance on your baby who is staring up at you blankly behind the barricade. 'slaes erom xis' 'Ira, Ira, Ira'...

'Acedia' Some part of you feels smug, a new part - maybe? The stew is still steaming for some reason. You see a greyish blotted hand of your baby trying to get through the small gaps in the makeshift blockade you've made and you feel bile rising up - and anger. A whole lot of anger. You know...

'Gula' You make it to your feet and past the stew. 'Gula' and through the door, leaving your baby to its bloodmeal. You haven't eaten today and you're starving. You don't know why you'd think of your appetite at a time like this but you do. It's night time outside and you can't see very...

You try to will your legs to work but you just can't. You frantically crawl along the blood trail, a sob rising in your throat. When you reach the doorway you look inside. Feathers and gore is liberally strewn around your baby who seems to be gnawing at the bleeding throat of your chicken. None...

You lift your head slightly and see your abode in disarray. Furniture is broken and the stew contents lie all across the floor. Most disceningly though, a blood trail leads to the bedroom.

Pressure builds up within your ears and your vision fades out. The baby starts wailing in the background as you hear footsteps crunch past your head. You awaken in a daze. It's night time, judging from the full moon looming in the sky which you can see through the wide open door. You feel...

The skin hasn't broken but you can feel it. You go to pick some thyme from out of the garden but you're interrupted by the knock on the door. You figure that everyone is friendly around here and always has been, despite your neighbours not usually knocking. The door swings open before you and...

The chickens you brought in because of the storm last night are still clucking around. The baby paws at you as you pull it away and you see blood welts forming around your nipple; you figure the fever is really taking its toll. The smell of stew wafts around the cottage. You successfully wrap...

Swarx. My first RP on this site, one on one. Minimal backstory - medieval post apocalyptic with a light religious fantasy setting. Name: Hexley Weaver Age: 20 something Gender: Female Height: 5'9 Skin: Pale, white Hair: Dark brown Clothes: Jerkin, breeches, boots, hood Body: Thin to average...

I close my eyes and lay still, hoping someone else gets it first.