Story RPG scribbles

[kevintheradioguy]

I have been writing small vignettes (as I call them) based off text-based and tabletop RPG I've been playing. I think I'd like to share some of them.

For images regarding games, plz visit this thread: I am mostly an artist.

Big warning here: many of the things I play are horror-themed, and might have disturbing content in them. I won't post anything explicit here, but be aware that hard themes might be mentioned here, such as ptsd, violence, depression, harassments, and such.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

There is an amazing horror tabletop out there called Kult: Divinity Lost. At the moment I'm playing as a Doll archetype named Ludvik (occasionally I misspell this name as Ludwik, sorry!). This is a small story about his ptsd, sexual neurosis, disassociation and phobia he got about one and a half years back, being violated by a chthonic creature, and losing family in the process.

---

Under the suit Einar hides a porcelain prosthetic, covered in dim blue heraldic flowers. It fits him like a mannequin on display, perfect to the last stitch. Does he use magic to make it merge into his skin, or just to make a perfect illusion of?

He dims the lights, plants careful and slow touches on an ink-bleeding skin. Warm one on the cheek, cold one – on the hip, warm again – along the neck. Ludvik’s body reacts to this banal checklist with the usual eagerness; he runs the fingers of his right hand through the blond locks, pushes down; locks the fingers of the left one with porcelain – white like birch branches scraping on the window. Einar’s hand is cold, and Ludvik expects goosebumps to run up from it, and towards his shoulder, but there are none.

When he finally shudders, and drops onto the bed in exhaustion, Einar lifts his head up with a lustful squint.

“Did I do it right?”

Did I do it right? – words from a book, some disgusting pornographic novel, an obscene male fantasy. How did it find its way into this story? Ludvik read such books long time ago, during his boyhood, and back in the day they invoked a known quiver below his belly. But now they don’t invoke anything.

Why? Words said and written are the same.

And then, suddenly, he is terrified. Desperate. Someone lived through these last few moments, someone felt it. Someone else – not him. He should’ve felt something right now, but felt nothing – just like when you wake up in the middle of the night and don’t feel your arm. You know it is there, you see it, there it is – fell right onto your face. Maybe it’s broken? Paralyzed? Forever? But then the tingling starts, warmth comes, and everything comes back to normal.

He waited for that tingling. Einar waited for it too. The tip of his nose, the curl of his lips outlined by the blue half-light. It reflected on his face, drawing sharp edge of his chin. An image fit for a photo card.

Would Ludvik keep such a card as close to his heart as he kept the photo of his late wife?

Still no tingling.