bad wolf
do you love my insides? the parts you canโt see?
scroll
scroll
โ
It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.
Steinbeck
DIVINE HUNGER
intro cw
blood, gore
genre
apocalyptic, horror, survival
status
accepting
WASTE
KXLLSWXTCH
01.
RP REQUISTES
General
As always, follow RPN rules. General roleplaying etiquette is expected from all. No godmodding, powerplaying, all that good stuff. If the scene you are writing for has obvious triggers, please include a content warning for readers. An age requirement of 18+ is greatly encouraged. Discrimination will not be tolerated.
Activity & Quality
Periods of inactivity are to be expected, but I would appreciate it if members returned to write weekly. Everyone should be partaking in the development of our plot and characters. There will be a discord for this rp. As for ic posts, it's quality over quantity. Write what is needed for the scene.
Joining
Join with the expectation of creating more characters. Though you will be applying for one at the start, there are many other roles that need filling. The world this rp is set in is wide and open for exploration, we need people to fill that space. This rp is not first-come, first-serve. It is application-based. Know that I would like this to be a small group rp, 4-5 players tops.
02.
INTRODUCTION
A quiet village and modest marina, untouched for some twenty years. The boats fell to ruin, some capsized by ocean-brewed storms, others sunken and barely visible through the muck. Those that still floated beat against the docks, a hollow knock that bore ill news. No one answered it. The structures making up the village had long been boarded up. Plywood covered windows, nails secured doors to their frames, forever closed against whatever waited outside. Not a soul had lived there for two decades, the village abandoned after supplies and safety had run out.
They came from the water, walking the ocean floor for a day and a half before dragging themselves ashore, soaked through and battle-worn. Marred by deep gashes, picked at by shoals of tiny fish, their clothes full of seaweed and tears. They did not shake themselves like dogs and trudged up the embankment instead, steadying themselves on the village docks.
Though weary, some faired better than others, and they cast careful looks at the weakest in their flock. The weak emerged from the waters on all fours, the strength to stand washed out of them, the waves just enough to bring them in. Their eyes were wide and far off. โGone, gone, goneโฆโ They murmured.
Licking at the salt on his lips, one leaned heavy on a rotted, wooden beam. His teeth chattered and the wounds on his chest were fresh. His nails traced the tattered edge over his heart and tried to dig deeper, saturated rivulets of red water. There was an empty cavity buried somewhere under his pound of flesh. If he could find it, maybe he could fill it again.
Anotherโs hands covered his own and eased them down gently. The light behind the eyes that met his was dim but focused. โLo, brother. Come back to us,โ the voice greeted him, like slow rain or distant thunder. He whimpered, shutting his eyes and hanging his head. โWeโll find you a new light,โ it assured.
โGone,โ he repeated.
โWeโll get it back,โ they countered.
Retching his hands from theirs, he stumbled back a step, catching himself as he fell to the sand. He grabbed a fistful and watched it pour out between his fingers. โI want to go home,โ he begged, his voice shaking. โI donโt want thisโฆ I donโt want to feel this,โ he cried as he showed them the sand. He found those focused eyes again and stared at the light behind them.
The other crouched and fixed their hands on either side of his head, holding his cheeks firm as he pressed forward. They smoothed their thumb over his skin, trails of salt wiped clean. โI know,โ the voice rumbled, โI know.โ He pushed hard and they swept to the side, wrapping one arm around his neck. Cupping his chin lovingly in their palm, they held him fast as he reached for their face, his own contorted and desperate. Shutting their eyes, they turned his head around in their hands, unflinching as a sharp crack filled their ears. Dropping his limp form, they stepped over him and continued on into the village.
Behind them, the strong continued to greet the weak, beckoning them back with sweet promises. More often than not, they could not find their way.
They came from the water, walking the ocean floor for a day and a half before dragging themselves ashore, soaked through and battle-worn. Marred by deep gashes, picked at by shoals of tiny fish, their clothes full of seaweed and tears. They did not shake themselves like dogs and trudged up the embankment instead, steadying themselves on the village docks.
Though weary, some faired better than others, and they cast careful looks at the weakest in their flock. The weak emerged from the waters on all fours, the strength to stand washed out of them, the waves just enough to bring them in. Their eyes were wide and far off. โGone, gone, goneโฆโ They murmured.
Licking at the salt on his lips, one leaned heavy on a rotted, wooden beam. His teeth chattered and the wounds on his chest were fresh. His nails traced the tattered edge over his heart and tried to dig deeper, saturated rivulets of red water. There was an empty cavity buried somewhere under his pound of flesh. If he could find it, maybe he could fill it again.
Anotherโs hands covered his own and eased them down gently. The light behind the eyes that met his was dim but focused. โLo, brother. Come back to us,โ the voice greeted him, like slow rain or distant thunder. He whimpered, shutting his eyes and hanging his head. โWeโll find you a new light,โ it assured.
โGone,โ he repeated.
โWeโll get it back,โ they countered.
Retching his hands from theirs, he stumbled back a step, catching himself as he fell to the sand. He grabbed a fistful and watched it pour out between his fingers. โI want to go home,โ he begged, his voice shaking. โI donโt want thisโฆ I donโt want to feel this,โ he cried as he showed them the sand. He found those focused eyes again and stared at the light behind them.
The other crouched and fixed their hands on either side of his head, holding his cheeks firm as he pressed forward. They smoothed their thumb over his skin, trails of salt wiped clean. โI know,โ the voice rumbled, โI know.โ He pushed hard and they swept to the side, wrapping one arm around his neck. Cupping his chin lovingly in their palm, they held him fast as he reached for their face, his own contorted and desperate. Shutting their eyes, they turned his head around in their hands, unflinching as a sharp crack filled their ears. Dropping his limp form, they stepped over him and continued on into the village.
Behind them, the strong continued to greet the weak, beckoning them back with sweet promises. More often than not, they could not find their way.
03.
THE PLAYING FIELD
In the wake of a battle, four groups converge in the same seaside village. A small band of humans, surviving and barely putting down roots; those drained and hungry ghouls, still washing ashore; two warring companies of angels, one in retreat and the other closing in.
04.
gallery
05.
ROLES
ANGELS
The first company rises slowly from the sea. Their lights are dim, but they are still dangerous. They cast weary glances over their shoulders, knowing they haven't got long to recover. They are surrounded by ghouls, those they saw fall in battle. Another presence lingers, drawing their attention inland.
HUMANS
They've barely put down roots here. A smallish group, close-knit and strong. They've repaired a few homes, laid out a garden. They fish from the sea and forage for seaweed and shellfish. They've come to know the comforts of this village and its weaknesses. As an old threat remerges, they pose a better chance of defending themselves and their home.
06.
LORE
The Genesis
Twenty years ago, a spattering of stars dotted the night sky, beings cast from some place on high. The world was scared and in awe, their brilliance unmatched. They shone so brightly, we could barely lay eyes on them. Revered and worshipped, the world showered them with care. They were angels, godsent and blessed by the heavens they rained down from. Over time, their light dimmed, so much so that a shape took form. They appeared not quite human. The longer they staid, the dimmer that light grew, and when the first light burned out, the angels demanded sacrifices. They starved after our neighbors, our friends next, and when they had consumed all that they could of the human race, they turned and came after each other.
The Soul
Souleaters, demons from paradise. They crave that bit of light in all creatures, consume energy and use it to travel the stars. The more they eat, the stronger their abilities are. They possess inhuman strength and regenerative capabilities. And the more they eat, the less human they become. Lifeless and unfeeling, they take without remorse. Though they emit a strong energy, it feels cold, their eyes empty. It is some strange miracle when they lose that light. Ravenous and hollow, they start to feel the world turn under their feet and the wind blow at their backs. If they are injured, there is pain. It rushes in and overwhelms, makes then vulnerable. Those that are driven mad by it become ghouls, ready to pounce at whatever draws close, friend or foe.
A Fallen Empire
It has been twenty years since their arrival. In that time, cities fell as the human race dwindled, claimed again by the earth. The angels' war on each other tore through like a scourge, toppling cityscrapers and cratering the ground around them. What was left of the human race buried itself in shadow, lurking in corners like rats as they tried to take care and avoid the wrath surrounding them. As the angels grow weaker, humans find themselves venturing further out, touching the light. For the first time in two decades, they start to cast their own hungry gaze back at the angels.
โกcoded by uxieโก
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