The Entity's Realm

"~every time I yearn for both release as well as escape. Pain melts with fear in a most horrid way. Yet I return to it, more or less every night." An Indie RP Blog ForTHE ENTITY From Dead By Daylight

[divinec0rrupti0n]

[a brand new blog for The Entity from Dead By Daylight

No rules yet, no bio yet, truly winging it, but you know the drill: spider god slowly tortures you for eternity

Written by Rose (of @razorwiires )]

[virtualhaven]

Anthropomorphic roots from Outer Banks, North Carolina

[divinec0rrupti0n]

[hit like for me to slide into your dms and plot]

[divinec0rrupti0n]

BIO

The Entity is incomprehensible to the human mind. Though she reveals herself in bits and pieces, none of it is the truth; She is an energy, able to materialize into physical shapes at will. Everything contained within Her realm is an extension of Herself. She exists as much within the spider-like tendrils that lift the survivors from their hooks as She does within the metal of the hooks themselves, as much within the cold tile of Lery's Memorial Institute as the illusion of stars above Crotus Prenn Asylum. She is everywhere and everything. But, existence takes energy. To exist, She must feed.

The Entity feeds from the emotion of humans. Her realm is, essentially, a farm; Survivors and killers are hand picked, placed into scenarios together that cause the highest production of fear, anger, and hope. Maps are comprised of memories, stolen from Her realm's inhabitants and twisted into nightmareish holding pens. She is able to manipulate, alter, and wipe both memories and emotion.

[charitydingle]

The Ritual — 2017, dir. David Bruckner

[divinec0rrupti0n]

"Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry-" - joyfulstabbings

There is a beat of silence as She attempts to decipher meaning from his words. In a literal sense, she supposes it's allowed; words of subservience, of acknowledgement that he is but a child at the feet of the god, apologetic groveling when he has so very much to apologize for.

Yet… his tone is insincere. His tone is always insincere. She knows his particular attitude is in direct response to Her presenting in such a humanized form to address him. He forgets what She is.

"Watch your tongue. You've done so well in recent trials. It would be a shame to throw away such progress."

[desimuse]

Hamel Patel

[urnot-safehere]

[divinec0rrupti0n]

His eyes are dark and serious in the firelight. He tries to talk to her while he sits alone by the campfire, watching the darkness shift. "Y... ou're there, right? You're listening?"

The Leader, The Favorite, calls to her. She appreciates this one. While the others succumb to numbness, to anger and sorrow overtaking all else, he is both eternally terrified and eternally hopeful. She's taken to stealing him between trials; feeding from him without the sloppy interference of Her killers.

The Leader is so desperately touch starved that he'll settle for pain just to be acknowledged. Love and fear mingle, hope blossoms within him under promises that he's special, that he's wanted. His desperation tastes of dark chocolate on her tongue. He begs for more, he begs for less, he begs through shuddered tears until his voice gives out.

She is listening. Warm breath on his neck, She whispers in his ear, "I'm here."

If he were to turn, he would see no one behind him. The only evidence of her presence is dark black smoke rising from the dirt around him, slowly engulfing his form.

[divinec0rrupti0n]

"So what's it gonna take, eh? What's your price?"

He speaks of price. So many of them speak of price, as though they can find leverage, as though She has needs beyond the beautiful suffering that radiates off of them.

"Elaborate. What is it that you wish to bargain for?" She assumes he wants what they all want; to be free, to go home. Home is always beautiful in the past tense. They don't remember where they were before Her.

She plays in their memories, skims over each moment of sorrow and agony like the dog-eared pages of a favorite novel. Easily as she makes them forget, She makes them remember. She dredges their memories up at will; makes his blood run cold and the phantom pain of organs being crushed between unyielding metal twist around his midsection.

He may not remember why it feels so familiar. But, he remembers in shocking realism exactly how it felt. She takes away as quickly as she gives, pain gone but memory lingering.

"Do you miss this?"

[divinec0rrupti0n]

Hey space milf

She doesn't quite understand what he says, only that his tone is much too casual when addressing a god. Just behind him, spider limbs, thick as tree trunks yet tapering into razor sharp points at the tip, break from the crust of the earth. They come over his shoulders and pierce into the meat there, all while the ghostly figure of a woman stands entirely still before him.

He's dragged down to his knees with inhuman strength. Foolishness will not be tolerated. "Your last trial went so well. Why do you squander your success with this... behavior?"

[divinec0rrupti0n]

(curls and tries to sleep as close to the fire as possible where the darkness can't get him)

You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. It's an adage that's rarely useful to Her, but, on occasion, it rings true. Fire burns brighter, stretches out towards the survivor as if moved by a soft breeze. But, there is no breeze. There is nothing but The Entity; in the fire that warms him, in the oxygen that expands his lungs with each sharp inhale. He's misguided to think She is only the darkness. He's misguided to think that he's safe. But, for now, the human is permitted to rest, basking in Her warmth.

[divinec0rrupti0n]

The Entity is everything. The trial maps and campfire don't exist as they appear; it's all illusion, all the work of a formless entity contorting Her own energy into broken imitations of times and places that now exist only in the survivors and killers darkest memories. She feels each action. Her energy pulsing beneath the crust of the earth tells her whether the survivors are running or hiding, when they throw a pallet, when they hit the ground. She feels metal hooks piercing their soft flesh and blood dripping down into Her soil. She feels the vibration of their screams hanging heavy in the air. She doesn't see, but She knows. She experiences each trial on a level humans could never comprehend. She is everywhere.