ROLEPLAY HQ - devil-wood

ROLEPLAY HQ

Archive 8 / devil-wood

@VampirateShip

@VaVaVicodin you're amazing thank you

((So just a bit of a warning this is a Lovecraftian style fantasy horror story. That means there's a lot of abstract horror and gross imagery involved. If body horror, cosmic horror, or abstract beings disturb you or you get scared easy please don't message me about this. It's not that I wouldn't enjoy but I don't want to feel responsible for making someone lose sleep. I think that's all the trigger warnings, so if you read all that and are okay with that hello.)) (edited)

They say the tree is solid red Not for the living just the dead The branches are bare, nothing to hide But it will open up and let you inside Beneath the Devil Wood They say the tree is solid red Its twisted roots will make a bed The blood given it's sure to keep An offering for that which sleeps Beneath the Devil Wood They say the tree is solid red From the branches hang the dead Once a year fulfill its hunger lest we wake it from its slumber Beneath the Devil Wood They say the tree is solid red Standing there so we're not dead The end is near if it should wake The world will be its to take No longer beneath the Devil Wood

Fletch Stockton paused in his work as the sound of children playing grew louder near him. It was still early in the morning, a lavender tint just starting to spread in the sky as dawn came. It was early in the morning for children to be out and about but he doubted they were left unattended. He had already fed the livestock, slopped the pigs, and seeded the chickens but there were still cows to be milked. The childrens voices grew louder as he went to fetch a bucket and he could make out what they were singing, a Childs rhyme called The Devil Wood that every child in the village of Marigold learned nearly as soon as they could talk. In his opinion the song was a tad dark but he supposed most were when you took the time to think about what was actually being said. "Beneath the Devil Wood." he muttered to himself as he grabbed the bucket and stool. He squat beneath the first cow and started to hum to himself as he worked, a small smile stretching across his face. It had only been a few years since he would have been out with his friends singing the same tune but as a man of nearly twenty-three it would be looked down upon now.

14:19

It had only taken around half an hour to milk all the cows his family owned but when he was done his back was sore and he had to stretch as he stood. The children had long since ran off leaving him alone with just his own thoughts. Farming was hard, but honest work and even if it left him sore it always made him feel a sense of pride. His parents had been farmers, and their parents before them, and although he hadn't met them he assumed their parents had been as well. He carried the bucket of milk and stool to the door, setting the latter down out of the way before opening the doors. As soon as they were open he could tell something was off although he hoped it was just his imagination, his mind still somewhere in his bed. He knew that he was right though. The sky that should have been lavender was instead a bright orange in the distance. An acrid and sour smell clung to the damp air of the early morning and the bucket fell from his hands, the contents spreading across the ground. As he looked closer he could see the smoke rising in the distance, an onyx tower that told him with full clarity he was right. It took a moment to get his legs to cooperate but when they did he quickly darted to the stables, wanting to get to the town and help as quickly as he could. His father taught him every minute could mean the difference between a life and a death in a fire and he didn't want to let the man down.

14:19

His family wasn't the wealthiest in the town, even less so since the passing of his father, but they had two strong horses and he would only need the one. Working as quickly as he could he saddled the faster of the two horses, a four-year-old palomino mare named Brook, before hopping on. He stirred the horse forward, more chimneys of smoke climbing the closer he got. He only lived a few miles out of the town but it was beginning to feel like he was a county away as the horizon grew both brighter and darker. At this point he could hear the commotion of the town, a cacophany of screams and falling buildings. He stirred the horse on knowing it couldn't go any faster but feeling helpless. When he finally arrived he slapped Brooks hinds and she ran not needing a cue to flee the hot danger. Other townsfolk were already going to houses that weren't completely hopeless trying to help inhabitants get out while others formed bucket lines to the nearby wells and creeks to try to save what they could. The air was oppressive, feeling like a thousand harvest season bonfires each creeping closer and closer to his skin. The smoke was thick and the chaos made it hard for him to find where he should be to help. At the edge of his vision he could see Jeremiah Morgan, the town speakers house, an elderly man that acted as the leader of the town, solving disputes where he was needed and working with higher government officials when it was needed. His home was located on the edge of town, close enough to be found quickly when needed but far enough out to still have some privacy. It appeared to have avoided the blaze until this point but a small kindling of a flame had started to form. He ran towards it calling for help not sure if his voice could be heard over the other cries for help or from pain and fear. The closer he got the quicker the flames grew.

14:19

By the time he arrived the blaze had turned into an inferno and he could hear screams coming from inside. The windows on the top floor exploded outwards in a shower of glass shards from the heat and he had to stop and cover his face to keep it from getting sliced off. He tried the door but it wouldn't budge, being locked from the other side. He took a step back and slammed into the wood, putting the full weight of his 230lb 6'2" frame behind the push. The door moved backward an inch after multiple charge but went no further. Looking around quickly he saw the axe the man used for chopping wood. Sprinting for it he grasped its wooden handle and ran back for the door. Bringing the axe back over his shoulder he brought it down into the door, the wood splitting where the axe entered. With a strong pull he managed to pull it back and bring it down once again. It was easier the next couple times he pulled it back and struck until it left enough room for his arm to slip through. He threw the axe to the side and pushed his thick arm through the fissure, the sharp edge of the splintered wood leaving deep gashes in his arm. His hand flailed for a moment as he fumbled for the cross beam used to bar the door. When his fingers found it they grasped the beam and pulled it out of the lock and he swung the door open. Pulling his arm out he looked quickly around the room.

14:20

Everything in the room was overwhelming him. His eyes stung and he did his best to keep them open but the only thing that could be seen was shifting shapeless forms of black and orange. Bringing his arm up and burying his mouth in the crease of his elbow he tried to make anything out. Popping and cracking noises came from every direction mixing with the sounds of screaming and crashing wood. His mouth and nose were full of the smell and taste of soot and smoke and he tried not to choke as he moved around the lower floor. "Jeremiah where are you?" he called as loud as he could with his raspy hoarse voice. Every moment in here he found it harder and harder to breathe. "Upstairs" he heard a harsh voice yell barely audible over the sound of the burning building. "Diane is still up here as well" the voice called again a second later. Fletch had been in the speakers house a few times in his life, it wasn't uncommon for him to have families over for dinner occasionally both to chat and to make sure everything was going okay for them. Although not intimate with the house he did know where the staircase was and even through the wall of smoke and light he would be able to find his way there. He coughed as he made his way up careful not to grab hold of the railing in the case it fell while he gripped it. The heat was even more intense on the second floor of the home. The popping and cracking noise of the burning wood had grown even louder and he could barely here the sound of a voice from the master bedroom. Half stumbling and half running he made his way to the door reaching for the handle quickly. He felt the flesh of his hand begin to sizzle and fuse to the doorknob as he struggled to pull it open. He screamed, the pain almost making him whiteout before it gave.

14:20

Inside the room he could just see a large wooden beam fallen on top of a human figure and another one crouching beside it. As he made his way closer he could see that Diane, the elderly wife of the speaker was the person under the beam while her husband tried his best to lift the beam. In his prime the speaker had been a mountain of a man, a woodcutter from the time he was large enough to hold an axe. Now at the ripe age of eighty he maintained a certain natural bulk but most of the muscle had faded from age. The roof shifted slightly causing the blackened beam to press further into the ground. Placing his back against the beam Fletch pushed with all his weight and might ignoring the searing pain that made its way across his back. After a moment he felt the beam started to give. He let out a forceful cry and the beam gave more until it fell over giving him room to pull Diane free. "Please get her out Fletch. I'm going to follow behind you but I need her to make it out more than myself" the man pleaded between coughs, the words coming out even more harsh and labored then just a moment before. Fletch looked at the man covered in soot and ash, tears streaking his ashen face. He wasn't sure if the man would make it out behind him but he would oblige his wishes and do his best to carry his wife to safety. Gently he grabbed the small lightweight woman out from the beam and lifted her over his shoulder, his body protesting each movement but no part more so than his hand. Having to duck to clear the falling ceiling he made his way to the door and the foot of the stairs. The flames had spread and the smoke was now so thick on the ground floor he couldn't see anything below him. Slowly but deliberately he made his way down the stairs, a few crunching and breaking under the strain of his weight but he was eventually able to make it out the door.

14:20

As soon as he made his egress he heard a crunching noise like a thousand tree branches snapping in the winter behind him. Quickly turning he saw the roof and second floor caving in and Jeremiah was still nowhere to be seen. Walking a dozen yards away He kneeled and as delicately as he could manage and lowered her to the ground. Her chest rose and fell in an uneven broken pattern but she was still breathing. Knowing that she was alive atleast for the moment he turned back towards the bonfire of a house hoping to see the speaker but finding nothing. Every part of his body wanted to stay outside, his lungs paining him as they struggled to take in the clean air and get rid of the dark soot that disturbed them. His body trembled and burnt and ached but still he made his way back to the door. He struggled to reenter, the entrance partially blocked by debris. With a shove he got enough debris to budge and let him reenter, fire and sparks spraying from the pile back at him. His skin was on fire, his sweat evaporating and burning his skin even more as he tried to push through it. His mind swam behind his eyes as he slowly crept forward blind and not able to hear anything except the cracking of fires and crashing of debris coming from all sides. Putting one pained foot infront of the other he made his way to the stairs from just his memory. Blindly groping around the foot of the stairs he searched for anything that felt like it had give and wasnt as solid as the wood of the building. Eventually he did find something there but he couldnt lift it. He strained himself as he tried but only succeeded to drag it along with him.

14:21

With great effort and will Fletch managed to get to the door. He howled as he forced his body to go through the half collapsed door with the burden in his grip. Slipping through he collapsed to the ground and pulled himself forward another foot. His eyes felt like iron brands had been pressed into them but he forced them to open so he could see if he managed to pull the speaker free. Moisture coated his eyes, a barrier that made everything blurred like cheap glass. He wiped them with the little bit of fabric still hanging on to his arm and tried again. It was indeed the speaker he had pulled from the fire but the man was a bright red and grey in other places as parts of his flesh bubbled. The mans chest still rose and fell but he knew the old man most likely had mere moments to live.

14:21

The old man was looking like he was trying to say something but Fletch couldn't hear anything over the burning building. Curling around he got close enough to hear the old mans wispy words. "The children are being taken to the Devil Wood." The old man sputtered out between pained raspy breaths. "Taken to the Devil Wood." he repeated before going quiet for a moment. Slowly the old nursery rhyme began to come from the mans throat. It started out as singing but after a moment he noticed the mans chest had stopped moving. The song kept coming getting higher in pitch and faster with every repeat. He remembered earlier that morning when he had heard the children near his home and how strange that he had thought it was for them to be out there that early. Come to think of it he hadn't seen a single child since he had came into the town.

14:21

The rhyme kept repeating beside him as images started flashing in his eyes. A pale face smiled back at him. Although there were features to the face they kept changing and his mind couldn't place them. The only consistent feature he could see was the ever growing toothy smile. With every repeat of the rhyme the smile widened until it eventually went beyond where the ears should be. The sounds of dozens of small voices joined in in an overwhelming torrent of voices that he wasn't even sure anyone else would be able to hear. Slowly the wide mouth opened and split as another copy of the same face sprouted from the first. Again the process repeated until he could no longer count how many times he had seen the face reform only to split and do it again. His head spun around and his stomach lurched like he was on the sea but he couldn't vomit, only watch. His consciousness was beginning to start to slip as he laid there sprawled on the packed dirt and then it was gone. Everything was still and silent in his mind, now a placid lake instead of a raging sea but in some ways this felt more terrifying, everything was too quiet and he felt like something would happen at any moment although nothing ever did. He would be woken shortly after by a bucket of water but he would sleep until that time and then he would go to recover the children.

((This is a medieval fantasy style roleplay with no magic. I'm looking for anyone who wants to play a character that's a villager from the town, someone who would believe him and go to help retrieve the children. This story will be dark, its not a power fantasy, and hopefully it will be terrifying. I have lots of things planned to happen including the ending but I would like someone to experience it with me. This is a stressful thing to write and hard on the psyche so it won't be a rapid reply story, my mental health can't handle that with matters this dark. If you can write a descriptive paragraph or more and this all sounds fun to you please message me to discuss.))

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