#anervousleader

[galllowshumor-blog]

Not Worth It | anervousleader

@anervousleader

The latest trial had turned into a complete disaster. Only two survivors made it out in one piece, more or less. The first one had been killed all too quickly, even for Dismas' incredibly low standards. Then, towards the end, Dismas had gotten too cocky. He should've just listened to the kid with the glasses, should've just stayed put but --

Well, Dismas was always a fan of shaking things up every now and again. The road he once prowled had no laws. Only those who thought quick and recklessly lived long enough to actually get a decent amount of stolen gold. The change of pace was still quite jarring. Being so helpless, like rats in a cage, didn't sit well with the bandit.

He showed his discontent by acting out.

Getting killed for the sake of giving the others a few precious extra moments to escape. It felt nice, he had to admit. It was as if he deserved it, after all the blood he'd spilled, after all the pain he'd caused... all those sins had to be paid, eventually. Even if death wasn't permanent anymore. Every time he awoke by the fire was crushing. When would he finally get some rest? Surely, there had to be an end to the torture?

His mind still reeled with the latest struggle, with how he'd been thrown about so easily, torn into while he still kicked and clawed at the monstrous killer. Somebody had been shouting at him -- cursing, too.

Dismas didn't care, it was a means to end. His life was expendable, he was just a dirty dog, begging for scraps in a place where he didn't belong. Snapping his jaws at hands that fed him, angrily prowling his chained cage. Waking up once again near the fire had been incredibly frustrating, and the highwayman skulked towards the treeline, ignoring the other survivors in favor of cleaning his dirk.

The methodical movement calmed him, kept the proverbial dog from howling at the unreachable moon. He even whistled softly as he worked, the sound only falling flat into silence as he heard somebody approaching him. Shrinking down into his muffler, Dismas growled, "I'm a little busy here..." He turned his head slightly, motioning towards the fire with his blade, "Don't waste your breath worrying about me."

[fierceathlete-a]

“ i know there is someone in the room, i just heard breathing. . ”

Stalker-Ish [X]

“Okay… Keep calm, Dwight. Let’s get out of here then,” Meg whispered, voice soft as she gently grabbed his wrist. Slowly starting to guide him out of the room, she added, “Why don’t you wait outside? I’ll grab you some clothes and you can stay at my house for a while.”

For a moment, he considered doing just as she said. Staying outside the house would be the safest place to be if someone really had broken in. Leaving Meg alone though… Dwight didn’t like that one bit. Who was to say that the intruder wouldn’t try to harm the athlete the moment he left. Shaking his head, he replied, “I’ll wait here for you. Staying alone… It doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

Smiling at his care for her, the ginger nodded before releasing his wrist. She rushed around the room quickly, grabbing a duffle bag off the floor and throwing open the drawers of his dresser. Meg tossed everything she could fit into the bag before heading back to Dwight’s side. Nudging his out the house, she hummed, “Let’s go. We should be fine at my house.”

The two never saw the face watching them leave from the window.

[moldyelctrode-blog]

❝ you’re sick! stop laughing! stop laughing, you sick son of a bitch! ❞

There was a pause, Herman’s giggles falling abruptly short as he heeds the smaller man’s demands. He’s eerily silent for a long moment while he regards Dwight’s frazzled form, crowded into a locker and held in place by the doctor’s electrified baton.

“ INTERESTING, “ he considers, shoulders jerking with the sudden intensity of his internalized electricity. “ AND WHAT WOULD THE PATIENT KNOW ABOUT HIS DOCTOR BEING SICK, MM? “

[magicalramifications]

@anervousleader started following you

Sheep approaches the forest - and he can tell even before he steps foot that the forest itself is cursed. While he doesn’t see a lot like it, the forest itself had been a place that served as an entrance to another creature’s dimension if the spider-like legs that surrounded it were anything to go by.

However even when entering into a spider’s nest, Sheep has always been the one to take precautions. He would not get himself trapped once he walked inside, if his Witch’s pride had anything to do with it. All is a link to his own dimension, to his home, through his blood - and a protective barrier to make sure he wouldn’t get stuck here.

He enters the forest, his form and his barrier enveloped in the mist. He sees the aetheric trail back, and thus he continues to continue onward in confidence. When the mist finally clears, it’s to a flickering campfire - somewhat barren at the current moment. He watches the aether flow through the openings of his mask, the spider’s legs are here too. They are barely grasping at the edges of the mist.

[shxdowborn-blog]

❣

  [ Random Kiss ] >> status: accepting || 9. a bleeding/bloody kiss (it’s longer than I thought rip)

     Another Trial, running through the thickened fog, chasing after Survivors trying to live, their hope of being able to evade him or even get a free card because of the Killer they are against strong. Some of them take advantage of the usually reluctant Killer, abusing his kindness and putting their lives before his own. Each escaped Survivor brings him closer to another talk with the deity that he has to obey.      Fools, taking advantage of his occasional disregard for the rules, for what he will get for letting them free–and he doesn’t even get a thank you–just jeers and mocking. There’s only so much a kind soul can take before they break.

     Wraith despises in the aftermath of breaking, knowing of the blood he has spilled, but during it, the thoughts of regret and remorse never cross his mind. Perhaps it’s part of being Entity-touched, bloodlust rising into a fever pitch, wanting to see more of the crimson liquid flow and hear the screams of those corrupted fools. Cleanse the field of their filth and sin.      The bloodhound hunts this Trial, given the gift of the Ebony Memento Mori, the Entity beckoning out the violent thoughts, the HUNTER the Wraith was brought here to be. No mercy, no hesitation for slaughtering the victims.      Time is ticking down for the one that has evaded the brutal hunter, pure white eye glancing down at the second to last kill–blood pooling below, the back is exposed and the spine pulled out, discarded to the side of the corpse. The last one has avoided the sight of the bloodhound the whole match, but not enough to grant the escape of the hatch. A perfect kill if he can find the last one breathing.    Tracks, brightly lit up in scratches of red scatter across the side of the broken wall, leading right into the Killer’s Shack. A poor choice since the pallet had been spent by the Saboteur trying to flee him. So close to the basement Wraith can hear those whispers below, egging him on to spill more blood.    Soft footsteps patter against the wooden floor, a slow pace to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. The tracks are gone, the Survivor getting wise to stop running and hide. Yet… the breathing gives them away. Each scared breath exhaled rings out into the silence, picked up by the predator’s ears. Not hiding in a closet, huddled in a corner.     Too late to flee as those ghostly eyes focus in. The little Lion, most likely hoping he would not be noticed. Slim fingers wrap tighter around the hilt of his gruesome weapon, blood slipping down the blades embedded into the skull of his former employer. Crimson red stains the bandages around his body, ready to add more to the collection.    Wraith steps closer to the last Survivor, blocking any hope of escape between his body, the two walls, and a large crate Dwight has situated himself behind. The Killer kneels on one knee, staring at the poor human. Perhaps, there is a small flicker of remorse, barely seen within the desire of the hunt, the thrill of spilling the blood of sinners and filth.     The free hand reaches forward, pressing against the Little Lion’s cheek. Silence, not even the growls of Wraith escaping his throat. The silence settles for a few minutes before Wraith leans forward, pressing a soft, bloody kiss onto the last Survivor’s forehead. One last action of kindness. Pulling back, leaving a streak of blood across his cheek, the blood of his fallen teammates, Wraith stands up to his full height. A last look before Azarov’s Skull breaks through skin down to the bone, bringing the poor man onto his stomach.      He pulls the downed one out of the corner, turning him onto his back. Cries of pain are ignored, just the blades digging deep into the back to tear away the flesh to expose the spine. It’s a painful mori, different than the last: fingers curling around the spine, giving the same end that his boss once had. Spine removed, pulling until it rips nerves, tissue and blood vessels, removed from the body leaving the brain to die.

[spiritofflames]

👼

Spirit doesn’t have much experience when it comes to children but her happy and playful nature, should make it easier to get along with children. From teaching them about nature and animals, to reading them bedtime stories. Spirit would make sure that the kids have a great time.

[evilinpurestform-a]

     All eight eyes watch the Leader, a sudden--interest as it could be called--towards the survivor this time around. A pathetic little leader that thinks he can do something to unite the morsels. Such a sad, fruitless pursuit--as expected from mortal fleshlings. Struggling to survive no matter where they are. Amusing.     Tendrils reach out, ghosting a touch against the Survivor’s arm, a few more popping out of the ground around him. For now, it remains hidden, the crackling and groaning associated with its presence growing louder. It grows deafening loud before settling into a soft ambiance.     “Little Fairfield~” The deep voice purrs, no clear source of it, “Poor Little Fairfield. Why Do You Keep Trying To Save Those Fools? It Would Be So Much Easier To Let Them DIE, Or. . .” The tendrils move, one hovering close to Dwight.     “Why Not Kill Them Yourself~ Not Like They Care About You.” 

    ~< @anervousleader  >~ Starter

[fierceathlete-a]

well, goo'ness gracious, mister, that there's ayy mighty awh girl ay just like some av those there funky tunes y'all know? some awful happy music ta relax with ever'one at the campfire, ay'm sure kate can sing something faw us.

Meg is curled up in a ball near the campfire and crying. She can’t handle this. It’s too much for her Northern heart. Covering her face with her hands, she whines, “Entity please, I beg of you, just Google translate whatever the fuck Dwight just tried to say to me.”