Lost in the Palewoods

24 • he/him • Literally just yapping about Palewoods and Avalon in general! • Twitter (Comics and Videogames) • Like Marvel Comics/Superheroes? Check out my AMAZING! Marvel AU

[avalonpalewoods]

We keep fighting through the silence, climbing the walls in a Monsterhouse. It's terrifying, can't deny it, inside the walls of a Monsterhouse. Monsterhouse - Warbly Jets

If the SMP you're in with your friends has no fandom to make content, just make it yourself!

Anyway I went insane for 2 and a half days and made this. Puts it down gently at your feet. Also it's my 1st time trying swivels and tilts don't judge them too hard.

[saint-starling]

HI MCYTBLR. THE TV IS BACK.

please vote for me in the latest mcytblr sexyman tournament! i've got it all. drama. passion. a maid dress,

listen we all know i do not stand a goddamn chance against technoblade but if i can get at least 33% of the votes again it would be really funny. thank you. i love you.

@umcytblrsexyman

[kingtheghast]

and all i got was this lousy png @saint-starling

[saint-starling]

more writings from palewoods! these are some letters me and @kingtheghast wrote together before the server started, to help set up some background and establish the decades-long friendship between harvey whittaker and father yarrow.

ghast wrote the first letter, from yarrow’s POV, and i wrote the second one from whittaker’s POV. we have more plot-heavy letters to share as well, but i thought it might be nice to go chronologically and start with these!

April 27th, 1824

Good day, dearest friend.

I hope the travels and work hasn’t been too hard on you, especially with the weather still being unnaturally cold for the season. Thankfully, it behaved itself for the Spring gala!

It was most delightful, and I must admit that I really wouldn’t mind all the hard work in the kitchens to prepare the food if it means to see everyone have such a delightful time. You can rest assured that Edward had the music handled, with a fancy new guitar of this gorgeous red wood. I can imagine that it will make a lot of appearances at the inn. Miss Adriana, a delight as always, accompanied Edward with her singing–Alex was supposed to play as well, and he did very well, until he got bored and abandoned his post in favour of dancing. I can’t say I blame him, because I did the same! Suzanne, despite how brilliant she is, might not be the most talented dancer, but you did not hear that from me. Lovely miss Huron surprised me, however. I know the couple have told stories of their youth but I wasn’t aware one could still move so gracefully at that age. Let us hope that we’re also blessed like them when it’s more white hairs than anything else.

The decoration was remarkable! Thomas really is a man of many talents, not only with the brush or the pen but also with scissors and paper and ribbons, it seemed. White and green and bright yellows, blues and pink, decorating the venue. Can I confess something? Thomas asked me to help him hang up a few of the decorations, but I was determined to avoid the physical labour, and Briggins was nowhere in sight, so I enlisted poor Alexander. Lord forgive me.

I’m quite sad you had to miss it, I’m sure even you wouldn’t have been able to resist dancing in such a lively party and with such cheerful music. I believe you might owe me yet another dinner for these woes, Harvey! And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the last time you had to go unexpectedly and we had to miss breakfast. At this point, you should maybe miss something else again so I might have an entire day where I don’t need to cook.

Do tell me about how you’ve been lately. I know you mentioned that the short stay back in Palewood was enough rest, but I just can’t imagine having to go again so quickly! So do me a favour and write back to me, if you so wish. It’s always a warm feeling when I read my name in your handwriting.

Hoping to see you soon,

Yarrow

⸺⸻

May 2nd, 1824

Dear Yarrow,

You always do paint such a picture with your words, my friend—I feel as if I haven’t missed the gala at all. And yet, you—shirking your duties off onto poor Hawthorne? Why, for shame, Father. But I suppose confessing your sins to me here absolves you, in the eyes of your God, so all is forgiven, and you can avoid that musty old confessional in your church for the time being.

But that aside, I truly would’ve enjoyed attending with you, although I must protest your one claim. I cannot imagine myself dancing in front of the whole town, even on a lovely spring night such as that. My knees would like to protest your claims as well, but they are biased, as I have been walking and kneeling and squatting in a valley trail all day and they are quite upset with me for that. Perhaps after some rest we can all reconsider that dance, although I fear we would be hard-pressed to find any woman in Palewood eager to put my name on her dance card.

I do wish this man had not fallen off his horse and died at such an inopportune time to call me away from you. I shall have to take it up with the next man who sees fit to die in some strange enough manner than I am called to investigate, that he schedule it around our lunch time so that when I return we can have three straight meals together. Bring me that flour you mentioned when last we discussed baking, and I shall try my hand at making a confection of some sort that we can share. Then I, too, can ask forgiveness for my repeated shirking of duty to you, my friend. 

There is not much else to share on my part, I’m afraid—any news I have is of a dour and unpleasant nature, and I’m sure you don’t care to know how many of a man’s teeth I’ve found in the mud so far (however, I will tell you regardless: seven). The horse, or some other creature, who may or may not be a man, did a number on him. 

The weather is turning for the worse again, and I am wishing I was able to sit by the stove with you with a warm mug of tea sharing town gossip and some bread rather than this. I would’ve even danced at the gala for you, if it gave me that opportunity. But a letter from you is at least a moment of that same respite and it does bring me that same warmth to hear from you, as always. 

Yours,

Harvey

[saint-starling]

i've been wanting to share a bit more about palewoods smp publicly but also i don't want to edit my footage down into something workable. so how about all of whittaker's personal diary entries that i wrote pre-smp to set the scene for the beginning of the plot.

if anyone wants more, i can release bits of his diary written during the smp, the letters he wrote to father yarrow, and maybe some clips i've taken? we'll see.

Whittaker's Diary, January 1825

22 Jan. 1825

Bitterly cold day today, and more snow overnight which will make both travel and investigation more difficult. The roads in and our of town are completely blanketed. Woke up with aching joints and sore back. Poor mood today. 

23 Jan. 1825

Workmen from the town are clearing out the worst of the ice and snow. Downed trees being dragged through the main thoroughfare and the men are making an awful ruckus. Investigation has ground to a halt as everyone is too busy to interview so I have been studying the bodies I have access to. The food in the tavern here is suffering from the town being snowed in and the overall atmosphere is churlish and uneasy as it tends to be with a recent string of murders. 

24 Jan. 1825

Letter from Yarrow arrived at the inn for me, almost a month overdue from weather. Deaths in town. It's been eating at me all evening--I wish to drop everything and return at once, but the Haverton case is still wrapping up and my presence is needed for the court hearings next week. I've written back to him and will send it off in the morning as soon as the post office opens.

The shock of the news is only just setting in as I write this. Murders of this sort in Palewood are unheard of. To think that so many are dead already is...

Young Briggins, Magno, and Suzanne. All gone, among others. 

Suzanne in particular has shaken me, I think. For so long I've thought her a source of envy, for her mind and skills. It's near impossible to imagine her gone, and I find myself feeling lost. I didn't know her half as well as I should've, and now I never will.

I've stayed up far too late writing and thinking on the subject. It won't do me any good to be sleep-deprived when I return to the investigation tomorrow, but I do worry. So many deaths in so few months would take it's toll on any man, and he is a gentle soul. I hate to think of him doing the job in my stead. 

26 Jan. 1825

The drafts keep making my candle sputter so badly I fear it will go out. The wind is loud enough to be distracting and the shutters rattle all night. I sleep poorly. I don’t know that my letter to Yarrow has made it out of town yet with the awful weather we have had. I keep thinking of Palewood, and all the dead who I will not see again. It is strange to realize death can still shock me, after all these years. Have been so lost in my own head that I forget to note down the days. 

29 Jan. 1825

I cannot sleep. The shadows in this drafty room are bringing my mind back to dark places. I am afraid with how much I have been smoking lately that I will run out before this case is concluded. I worry for Yarrow. Every cigarette makes me think of him--his hands plucked and dried the herbs and rolled them into the papers for me. I wish I could take those hands in mine and tell him that I will handle all the burdens of the Palewood case, but I cannot leave this post yet. I suppose I am still shaken. He is a kind and gentle man and he should not do my morbid duties.

I miss him terribly.

Whittaker's Diary, February 1825

4 Feb. 1825

Reply letter from Yarrow finally arrived and it brought more tragedy. Several more deaths in Palewood. The entire Huron family. I found myself distracted today, thinking on it. I don’t know what to do. I have already tried to leave, and I simply am at a loss. More deaths, always. I cannot risk abandoning this case, but I desperately want to. I will write him in the morning.

6 Feb. 1825

I am exhausted. This case is proving frustratingly unusual and townsfolk uncooperative and untrusting. I have built myself a reputation from the ground up and it does me no good. Have half a mind to leave. I still have not written back to Yarrow. May his God forgive me my slothfulness. 

7 Feb. 1825

The Hurons are all dead. I remembered this today while having bread with lunch, and realizing I would not speak with Thomas or Eleanor ever again. I will write Yarrow first thing in the morning. 

12 Feb. 1825

Case has been ongoing. Complications arise left and right. The family of the one of the deceased has grown hostile to me, as they do not like my line of questioning. Ground has frosted over completely overnight. At least the bodies cannot be buried for some time yet, but the morgue is miserably cold. 

14 Feb. 1825

St. Valentines. As time distances the town from the murders, the general atmosphere has lightened enough that couples have been taking time in the tavern downstairs where I am staying. Normally I have little taste for this but I find myself aching from it this year. I can only think of the more recent tragedies in Palewood and the fact that I am alone here. The barmaid here did give me a free drink, which I accepted against my better judgement. 

19 Feb. 1825

New line of investigation has opened up after a week of frustration. Unfortunately I need to wait for the traveling merchant who is involved to come back to town. More waiting, more hostility. I grow tired of this. I will be out come Spring, and they can bury their damn bodies. 

Whittaker Diary, March 1825

7 March 1825

The wind in the mornings remains brisk, but there is a budding on the trees here. It is far more colorful up this way than down in Palewood, when spring comes. More birdsong. I forget how dreary the woods are until I witness the change of season out of town. 

10 March 1825

Another letter from Yarrow. Klein has passed as well. It seems as if every day I am away from Palewood, another death occurs. I feel mocked, taunted, as if it’s my fault for not being there. He is in danger, remaining, and I want to tell him to leave.

Stress is not enough to keep my eyes open. I cannot stay up all night like I did as a younger man. 

13 March 1825

Only today I have managed to mail my reply to Yarrow. The weather is warming slightly. I got mud on my shoes and I will need to visit the cleaners for that tomorrow in between meeting with the sheriff. Hearing in two days time. 

16 March 1825

Uncooperative family had a row with the tradesman involved which is going to make the hearing difficult. They've insisted on pushing it back. Obviously this is putting a dent in my plans to leave at soonest availability. I cannot say this aloud so I will say it here: I detest them. The sooner I can wrap this up, the better.

20 March 1825

Hearing was an absolute circus. Barely got to speak and showcase the evidence, and the sheriff in Haverton is clearly being paid off. The mayor is pushing for continued investigation and will be having a private meeting with myself and the families to reconvene for yet another hearing.

I've been rereading his letters often since I received them--his worry concerns me. 

24 March 1825

I have little to say. My mind is tired and I am irritable. I wish to leave this town at once and my patience grows thinner by the day. No word back from Yarrow yet.

27 March 1825

Sleep evades me and I find myself staying up late into the night more and more often. But I must put down the pen and try to rest, for sharpness and clarity in mind and body. These hearings cannot be done with soon enough.

Whittaker Diary, April 1825

3 April 1825

Hearings completed today and thank God for that. The weather is poorly as always this time of year but I will be making my way out of this town as soon as the roads are deemed fit to travel and returning to Palewood with haste. If all goes well I will be gone from Haverton in two days time at the latest. Good riddance. The mayor can sort the rest of the justice matters out with the deputy sheriff.

5 April 1825

Writing in the morning, a change from the usual habit of evening notes. I am pleased to report I am in a carriage and departing from Haverton at this very moment. 

Back for evening notes. Stopped a bit early as the muddy roads down the valley are making for poor travel. They say the ground should stiffen enough for proper travel soon. I hope if Yarrow writes back that the letters find me before we depart.

6 April 1825

Wrote to Yarrow today and sent it off. I hope the post reaches him before I do. I worry. Travel has been rough but we should be off again by tomorrow morning. The rain has slowed to a fine mist. It reminds me of home. 

9 April 1825

Stopped again in Brisfort for the day. Damage to the carriage I am renting. Will be seeking out another. Food at this inn is remarkably bad. I am anxious to be home. I find myself worrying about the lack of letter from Yarrow. Surely it is the travel that makes me hard to reach, and the pace we are keeping in the return trip. No news is good news. Every letter I have received brings news of a new death. 

10 April 1825

On the road again this morning. Thank God for that. I will be home in two days time, or earlier if I can manage it. Would be nice to surprise Yarrow in that way. I miss him awfully. I will not feel at peace until I can see his face again. God, I do fear for him. 

11 April 1825

The Darkwood bridge is out. We will be delayed finding our way down the valley and around the woods. Might have to come in from the Birch Lake side. Damn it all. 

12 April 1825

I was supposed to be there today. The guilt is eating at me. For once I have no appetite and have gone to bed without supper.

14 April 1825

Carriage in the morning. Writing as we travel. Muddy roads are bad for penmanship.

Mayor Bartley's letter has not left my mind since I read it. It must be wrong in some way. Yarrow found  .    

     ‘ . , 

I can't bring myself to write it. Makes it feel far too real. I feel sick I fear I may be ill in this carriage. Please, God, let this be a mistake.

Evening now. I fear for the nightmares that await me when I try to sleep and remember the terrible years where I could not find rest in my own bed. 

The town is a mess. The funeral is tomorrow. I will speak. I do not know what I will say.

[avalonpalewoods]

AAAAAA WHITTAKER FUCKING OLD MAN I WILL EAT YOU. god. if you put this old man through more pain I will kill you (please put him through more pain, I love a good tragedy. Both Avalon's and Whittaker's lives should get worse actually)

I've been very absent from this blog for a while, but I've been inspired by my friend's post to ALSO share some Avalon lore crumbs from within the depths of the Palewoods archives. All of these I wrote myself throughout the last several months to share with the rest of the Palewoods SMP crew, and now with you!

Same as Mr.-Old-Man-Whittaker over here (<3), I also have a LOT more lore bits to share that have stayed within our personal bubble, which I'm also happy to share if anyone is interested.

1. On the Knights Templar

(The following excerpts have been transcribed from the academic book "On the Historical Importance of The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon", originally penned by historians Andrew Taylor and Anna Maria Jackson in the year of Our Lord 1803)

(...) And so, the burning of Grand Master Jacques de Molay by the decrees of both King Philip IV and Pope Clement V marked the dying breath of the Knights Templar on March the 13th, 1314, after 196 years of service in the name of Our Lord. As recorded by witnesses present during his lynching, de Molay's last words were as follows:

"Dieu sait qui a tort et a péché. Il va bientôt arriver malheur à ceux qui nous ont condamnés à mort."/"God knows who is wrong and has sinned. Soon a calamity will occur to those who have condemned us to death."

Curiously enough, both Pope Clement and King Philip perished within the year under circumstances most people would consider unnatural. These events emboldened both perspectives held by the public eye: those sustaining the heretical accusations levied against the Templars as true saw these deaths as evidence of satanic intervention, accusing de Molay's last words of being a sinister curse laid on both men during the Grand Master's last moments among the living. Meanwhile, those maintaining the Templars as being framed unjustly saw the deaths as proof of innocence, declaring them divine punishment from Our Lord for the dismantling of His most Holy Order (...)

(...) Most remaining members of the Knights Templar were either arrested and tried under the papacy or absorbed into supplementary Catholic military orders. A non-insignificant number of Templar knights found themselves under the protection of the King of Portugal, Denis I, as he refuted the accusations levied against the Order and the persecution of His Holy servants. These knights reorganized themselves into what became the Order of Christ, direct successors to The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon.

Now, as made evident by the careful usage of the word "most", not every Templar knight, sergeant or chaplain underwent one of those fates. For centuries, rumors and purported first-hand accounts have abound of Knights Templar living out the rest of their days in hiding amongst the general public, or disappearing into the wilderness and never being seen again. Legends of knightly orders continuing the spiritual mission of the Templars and protecting outskirt settlements in secrecy up to this very day make themselves known every few years, whispered in fear of accusations of blasphemy upon the name of a Holy Order. However, while a very small handful of reputable accounts have been verified during the last five centuries, the vast majority of such claims have been found to be both unsubstantiated and extremely unlikely (...)

2. Blessing

Xavier felt pulsating pain as the uneven stone floor of the small town chapel pressed against his knees. Most other Brothers of the order endlessly complained about the long-winded rites. About being uncomfortable or bruised. Xavier instead welcomed the pain both in focus and veneration as he knelt in the center of the chapel, looking at the image of the Lord on the cross. He stared at Xavier, as Xavier stared back at Him and the nails hammered into His palms. An understanding.

From around the small stone wall behind the altar, the gentle figure of pastor Daniel approached, followed by the smell of burning incense he placed on the altar. A small man with a big presence, Daniel was a well respected member of the local clergy. Xavier always liked the man. He never failed to delight with a good story over a strong gin at the tavern. The pastor's soft smile put Xavier at ease as Daniel presented a newly sharpened sword, held with both palms up like an offering. "The Lord be with you."

Xavier raised his palms upward, letting the pastor return the blade to it's rightful owner. "And with your spirit." He lowered his head in respect and laid his sword flat on the ground at the pastor's feet, as he had done a million times before.

He felt a rugged hand gently placed over his head. "Lift up your heart."

At the pastor's command, Xavier raised his gaze to meet Daniel's, nodding. "We lift it up to the Lord."

"Let us give thanks to the Lord our God."

Xavier focused his view slightly past Daniel's head, toward the cross. "It is right and just."

"It is truly right and just, our duty and salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Father most holy, through your beloved Son, Jesus Christ," the pastor's voice echoed slightly within the empty chapel walls as he grabbed a bowl from the altar behind him, already filled with blessed water "your Word through whom you made all things, whom you sent as our Savior and Redeemer, incarnate by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin." Pastor Daniel curled his index finger into his palm, resting the flat of his thumb against it. Dipping said thumb into the holy water, he placed it on Xavier's forehead and traced the points of the cross. Up, down, left, right. "Fulfilling your will and gaining for you a holy people, he stretched out his hands as he endured his Passion, so as to break the bonds of death and manifest the resurrection."

The pastor dipped his thumb again in holy water, resting it a second time on Xavier's forehead as he traced the points of the cross anew.

Forehead to chin. "Look, we pray, upon the offering of your Church, and, recognizing the vessel by which Your Kingdom shall act in cleansing glory,"

Chin to left cheek, "grant that we, who are nourished by the Body and Blood of your Son and filled with his Holy Spirit,"

Left cheek to right cheek, "may become one body, one spirit, one blade in your own image."

The pastor dipped his thumb into the water a final time, resting it on Xavier's forehead and retracing the points of the cross for a third time. "Make holy, therefore, this gift, we pray, by sending down your Spirit upon it like the dewfall, so that it may become for us an instrument of cleansing, a flood of fire, a shining star in the darkness, delivered by our Lord, through ourselves." Forehead, chest, left shoulder, right shoulder.

"Amen."

Xavier stood up, grabbing his sword by the pommel. "Amen."

3. Tall Tales

(The following excerpt has been transcribed from the book "Tall Tales: A Collection of Larger-Than-Life True Stories", published under a pseudonym in the year of Our Lord 18XX)

[...] From there, accounts of the pair become incredibly spotty and hard to pin down. Combining both first-hand sources and records existing in old tavern and store ledgers allows us to construct a rough picture regarding some of Arthur Tyson and Xavier McCoy's activities throughout the 1810s and early 1820s. Described as "possessing the intensity and protectiveness of a pair of wolves", the duo seems to have spent most of their time moving from settlement to settlement within the vicinity of the Palewood Forest region in between long periods of dissapearance from any available record. These settlement visits seem to coincide with their procurement in bulk of travelling supplies, along with equipment of a more esoteric and ecclectic nature.

While mostly keeping to themselves within said locales, a few of the older (and more superstitious) interviewed townsfolk who met them personally claim to have known the intent behind Tyson and McCoy's seemingly incongruent travels. Mr. Anthony Brownstone, an older gentleman and clockmaker, had the following to say:

"Whenever they passed through town, every few years, they would always visit my humble shop to get Sir Tyson's pocket watch repaired. Always a breath of fresh air those two, compared to all the other stuffy lords and ladies around 'ere. Some could call them blunt and stubborn to a fault. I would agree. It's why I liked 'em. Never a time I failed to mention some local spook or another that had been sighted 'round the edge of the forest. And never a time those tales didn't vanish with the two of 'em."

It's during the mid-1820s that any record of Arthur Tyson seems to entirely banish from the face of the world. Whether he passed away in a remote location, or simply made himself disappear, his fate remains unknown. Regarding Xavier McCoy, his whereabouts seem both less and more inconclusive. While record of McCoy also entirely vanishes during this period, accounts of a man by the name of "Avalon" sporting a similar appearance and mannerisms also start popping up within the region, especially on records and journals obtained from the town of Palewood. Despite this correlation, there's a lack of conclusive evidence to prove Xavier McCoy and "Avalon" were the same individual.

[kingtheghast]

What secrets will come out when stuck below the ground?

What Lies Below | Palewoods SMP - Ep. 2

Health issues have made this episode very slow to work on, but it's finally here! I had a lot of fun drawing eyecatchers for this one, so I hope you enjoy!

Also thank you to my friends, the wonderful cast of Palewoods:

Beans (Dr. Whittaker) @martynsimp69, Daisy (Amelia) @daisycraft, Anpan (Morgan W. Armitage) @anpanbun, Ani (Isaiah McAllister) @ani-craft, Dove (Isaac Turner) @aistandardcherry, Adrián (Avalon) @avalonpalewoods, Toffee (Alexander Hawthorne) @toffee-rambles, Nata (Fionna Wilson) @opianat and Chizz (Dahlia Chizzle) Chizzdudlz_jpeg

They gave it their all making and developing their characters, and this story would be nothing without them :D

[saint-starling]

palewoods is a gothic horror smp

[kingtheghast]

Doctor can you help me cuz I don't feel right

Artfight attack for @martynsimp69 <3

[roventhewarlock]

It's a bad picture of my laptop screen but here's a 1st draft lineart of Cassandra Baudelaire, daughter of the soothsayer Katya Baudelaire, my OC for the Palewoods SMP 👀👀👀 I'm just like,,,a big fan of what's going on over there in that neck of the woods 🤭🤭💜💜💜

[saint-starling]

palewoods is a gothic horror smp

[kingtheghast]

Open invite into Palewood town (Palewoods SMP - Ep. 1)

Finally I get to post the project I'd been working on (aka ever put so much effort into a private thing with friends that you all think "Hey we should record it"?

Also thank you to my friends, the wonderful cast of Palewoods:

Beans (Dr. Whittaker) @martynsimp69, Daisy (Amelia) @daisycraft, Anpan (Morgan W. Armitage) @anpanbun, Ani (Isaiah McAllister) @ani-craft, Dove (Isaac Turner) @aistandardcherry, Adrián (Avalon) @avalonpalewoods, Toffee (Alexander Hawthorne) @toffee-rambles, Nata (Fionna Wilson) @opianat and Chizz (Dahlia Chizzle) Chizzdudlz_jpeg

They gave it their all making and developing their characters, and this story would be nothing without them :D

[avalonpalewoods]

Recorded and edited by @kingtheghast

IT'S HERE AND IT'S REAL AND IT'S LIVE RN GO WATCH IT GOGOGOGOGOGOGO

Also I just noticed Avalon is on the right yipii yipii

[avalonpalewoods]

Template by @toffee-rambles + additions by @ani-craft

The current relationship dynamics before Avalon left town. An interesting spread, to say the least.

[saint-starling]

First rain of the season.

There's been a lot of stress recently, with secrets coming to light and the townsfolk turning on each other. None of the facts seem to add up to anything that makes sense, and Dr. Whittaker doesn't know who to trust anymore.

But the rain is soothing, at least.

[avalonpalewoods]

4th of May - 1825

Haven't been writing for two weeks. I've been locked up in my room, only going down to eat and then coming back up again. Over and over again.

Ever since the mines I've been getting worse. My migraine has been pounding, and my chest feels like it's being turned into acid. The base of my skull won't stop tingling. I keep looking out the window at the forest canopy and tears fall down my face. The tears burn. It feels fulfilling. That scares me. I don't want it to stop.

I don't even know what I'm looking for out there. I don't even know why I'm here.

I bumped into Ezra down at the bar, drunk out of his barely-functioning mind. He tried to strike up a conversation. I wanted to be angry at him for so many reasons but I couldn't muster the energy. Instead I took out my frustration by using him as a mirror.

He's in so much denial of his pain he cannot even concieve a world where he faces it. So he drowns himself to a stupor over and over again. He didn't have to tell me. Avoidance and acceptance are halves of the same coin, we both just have different addictions.

He kept wanting to know more about me and what I was "hiding". Why does he care? I'm a stranger who everyone now sees as a lunatic. Besides, even if I answered him I wouldn't know much to say. He did make me realize one thing. I won't be able to figure out why I'm supposed to be here until I figure out myself, which ironically means leaving this place for a while. If I'm gonna find answers anywhere, it's at the grave.

I slipped up before I left Ezra. It escaped my mouth before I could stop myself.

"Whoever this body belonged to died before I was born. I'm just the corpse that kept walking."

God that was stupid. I'm glad he was barely conscious and will forget. I've held the thoughts so close to me I've barely even let it out in my private journal. I don't even know where the words came from. Avalon the Corpse. Avalon the Murderer. Has a nice ring to it. Titles I deserve, anyway.

I'm gonna leave tonight. Better to just leave a note. Don't wanna make a fuzz. Besides, they'll be glad a "killer" is out of their midst.

Left a note on the desk in my room in case anyone comes looking for me, and told Isaac I was not gonna be needing the room for some time.

Almost made a clean break towards the gates before Amelia saw me from the stables and called me over. I wasn't trying to be sneaky, but I figured with the curfew nonsense no one would be up at this hour of the night. I was wrong.

She was taking care of some of the horses and time slipped away from her. I know the feeling. We talked for a bit. She asked where I was going and I almost lied to her. But against my better judgement I couldn't. She's done nothing but be nice to me, truly nice, maybe the only one. I told her I was leaving for a while to sort my head on straight, and when she asked where I said home.

Not exactly the truth, I guess. But not exactly a lie either.

Told her to take care, that the town needs her more than they realize. She said she'll miss me. The worst part is, I believe she really meant it. Had to promise her I'd come back just to push down the guilt for worrying a woman I barely know.

I also called her "pony", as a nickname I guess. She's always in a ponytail, and she takes care of the horses most of the time. It slipped out, but at the same time it felt natural. It made my head hurt more.

I've secured a place up a tree to sleep. The process of tying myself to a branch came back after several weeks without practice. Not exactly comfortable, but as safe as you can be out here.

The treck to the clearing shouldn't take too long. From there to here last time took me a week, but I was also disoriented and didn't know who I was. The confusion didn't help, but the monsters helped to keep me focused. Hard to not adapt when you're forced to fight for your life.

I'll be there soon. I hope everything makes sense then.

[kingtheghast]

Day 3

There's nothing in the woods. Or at least one wants to tell themselves that.

Aftermath of the mines. Jules Kingsley finally crashes out in the worst way possible.

[ani-craft]

May 12th, 1825

Prone to gossip, are you, doctor?