10-05-2018, 09:03 PM
+ mobile as frick
+ tl;dr - a poltergeist, a violent ghost that can toss around objects (and characters) emerged from wendell’s houseboat, destroying a hefty amount of his belongings before fleeing. though slightly wounded, wendell starts pursuing the force, essentially making this thread a big chase scene. feel free to powerplay the poltergeist in any way, may it be breaking objects, hurting your character, or anything in-between.
Before, Wendell had laughed at some recent stories concerning paranormal apparitions terrorizing a few of Sunhaven’s inhabitants. Surely, no such things existed, and one must have been under the influence of some pretty heavy narcotics to think so.
Now, the mustelid was wishing for a playful spirit or even a vengeful phantom.
It was about sunset when Wendell decided to settle down for the night. His stomach was full from a hearty meal of battered fish, which he had cooked, and he found his way outside to admire the sky’s dancing hues of fire, for it was perhaps one of the last times to do so preceding the cold winter ahead. A sepia bottle of Indian pale ale rested to his right, that which he’d occasionally sip from time time whilst his mahogany bulbs fixated on the vibrantly-painted atmosphere. This was how the hearthkeeper’s evenings went about nowadays; roistering in relaxation. It was how he wished to live, in peace, away from life’s problems, with a handful of good friends to count on and keep you out of trouble. So far, Wendell had luck finding all but the last ingredient, which was an inconvenience to him as a couple of buddies was all he really desired right now.
Peace was a bittersweet thing. Peace was a sense of tranquility which provided shelter from life’s problems. Yet, peace also prevented you from living life on the edge and experiencing a lasting impression of exhilaration that could not be tasted by those of Wendell’s fancy. Tonight, the repose of waves gently colliding against each other and the sea wind was greatly appreciated. The hypothetical soup that these ingredients of white noise cooked had produced a flavour which, to a degree, gave off a twang of nirvana. Here was perfection. Here was where one could claim sanctuary. Here was -
CRASH!
"Wha’s that?" the low-pressure wolverine exclaimed intensely.
CRACK! CLATTER! CLANG!
A slew of thunderous sounds that seemed a lot like furniture and mementos meeting their maker had arisen from the interior of his houseboat. Had someone broken in? Peering through the screen door provided the knowledge of his cellar door laying ajar, with the source of the booms and bangs reverberating from within. That room held all his ale and spirits, some of which were priceless rarities and oddities! ”Ge’outta there!” Wendell demanded in anguish, reluctant to look upon the destruction this unknown force had caused. Unbeknownst to him, his order only chafed the phantom even more, causing the spectre to reveal itself as a whirlwind of dust, broken bottles and the liquid contents inside, crumbs, and two glowing eyes levitating where the head on a humanoid being would be. Without warning, it charged at the defenceless mustelid, throwing him about two metres out the door (as the poor creature feebly fretted, screaming terms like ”Gerroff me!” and so forth), before the poltergeist decided to dash off in an unknown direction. A migraine soon enveloped his head, causing Wendell to wince - yet he persevered and began chase on the visitor, whom had already found another area to terrorize.
This thing was going down. If that was even physically possible. For all Wendell knew, the Ghostbusters were just make-believe.
+ 608 words
+ tl;dr - a poltergeist, a violent ghost that can toss around objects (and characters) emerged from wendell’s houseboat, destroying a hefty amount of his belongings before fleeing. though slightly wounded, wendell starts pursuing the force, essentially making this thread a big chase scene. feel free to powerplay the poltergeist in any way, may it be breaking objects, hurting your character, or anything in-between.
Before, Wendell had laughed at some recent stories concerning paranormal apparitions terrorizing a few of Sunhaven’s inhabitants. Surely, no such things existed, and one must have been under the influence of some pretty heavy narcotics to think so.
Now, the mustelid was wishing for a playful spirit or even a vengeful phantom.
It was about sunset when Wendell decided to settle down for the night. His stomach was full from a hearty meal of battered fish, which he had cooked, and he found his way outside to admire the sky’s dancing hues of fire, for it was perhaps one of the last times to do so preceding the cold winter ahead. A sepia bottle of Indian pale ale rested to his right, that which he’d occasionally sip from time time whilst his mahogany bulbs fixated on the vibrantly-painted atmosphere. This was how the hearthkeeper’s evenings went about nowadays; roistering in relaxation. It was how he wished to live, in peace, away from life’s problems, with a handful of good friends to count on and keep you out of trouble. So far, Wendell had luck finding all but the last ingredient, which was an inconvenience to him as a couple of buddies was all he really desired right now.
Peace was a bittersweet thing. Peace was a sense of tranquility which provided shelter from life’s problems. Yet, peace also prevented you from living life on the edge and experiencing a lasting impression of exhilaration that could not be tasted by those of Wendell’s fancy. Tonight, the repose of waves gently colliding against each other and the sea wind was greatly appreciated. The hypothetical soup that these ingredients of white noise cooked had produced a flavour which, to a degree, gave off a twang of nirvana. Here was perfection. Here was where one could claim sanctuary. Here was -
CRASH!
"Wha’s that?" the low-pressure wolverine exclaimed intensely.
CRACK! CLATTER! CLANG!
A slew of thunderous sounds that seemed a lot like furniture and mementos meeting their maker had arisen from the interior of his houseboat. Had someone broken in? Peering through the screen door provided the knowledge of his cellar door laying ajar, with the source of the booms and bangs reverberating from within. That room held all his ale and spirits, some of which were priceless rarities and oddities! ”Ge’outta there!” Wendell demanded in anguish, reluctant to look upon the destruction this unknown force had caused. Unbeknownst to him, his order only chafed the phantom even more, causing the spectre to reveal itself as a whirlwind of dust, broken bottles and the liquid contents inside, crumbs, and two glowing eyes levitating where the head on a humanoid being would be. Without warning, it charged at the defenceless mustelid, throwing him about two metres out the door (as the poor creature feebly fretted, screaming terms like ”Gerroff me!” and so forth), before the poltergeist decided to dash off in an unknown direction. A migraine soon enveloped his head, causing Wendell to wince - yet he persevered and began chase on the visitor, whom had already found another area to terrorize.
This thing was going down. If that was even physically possible. For all Wendell knew, the Ghostbusters were just make-believe.
+ 608 words
