The Witching Hour is a 17+ mutual killing game roleplay that blends elements of Victorian horror and modern ghost stories, taking inspiration from The Haunte...
Chapter Five Event, Jia Li Stroelat’s Death
"Th-the butterfly this summons...pretend it's me, watching over you, kay? I love you."
Video by: Talentlesshuman: https://twitter.com/talentlesshuman or https://talentlessartblog.tumblr.com.
“Stay safe..” Words almost croaked out as she forced herself to speak at least once more in the face of highly probable demise, she gripped the knife once more.
A sorrowful smile making its way onto her face as she watches jaws of sharp teeth open, unable to force her legs to move away. But it was alright, really, in the end.
CHAPTER 5 EVENT DEATH - Kaishu Yarinaosu & Celine Lemieux
10/20 students remaining
6/9 staff members remaining
Amora says nothing in return, merely bringing a shaking hand up as she points down below. As you follow the registrar’s gaze down the side of the cliff, the sight that awaits you is indeed one that could be summed up as ‘bad news.’ A trail of blood streaks the side of the cliff, ending in an unfortunate, muddied heap as choppy, rough waters break over the side of the section of rocks.
As you attempt to scale your way down the cliffside in a feeble attempt to rescue the two, you soon realize just how hopeless the endeavor seems. The rocks are slick from the constant spray of water, the sharp edges threatening to catch you by the ankle and take you down with them. To cross the expanse between yourself and the rock where Kaishu and Celine lay is... impossible. Even if that weren’t enough to stop you from trying, something else occurs which prevents you from reaching one of your own.
A large wave slams into the side of the rocks, knocking Kaishu from the edge of the rock her limp form had previously been draped across. Her body sinks into the water, quickly getting caught in one of the currents that surround the island.
… And before you can get to her, she’s gone.
-
sketch + lines: moa
color: vina
The Witching Hour is a 17+ mutual killing game roleplay that blends elements of Victorian horror and modern ghost stories, taking inspiration from The Haunte...
Chapter One, Motive and the Death of Q.M.
"H-Heh... Sorry everyone. It... Doesn't look I'll be staying with you all for much longer. It was brief but... Thank you. For making me feel truly alive... For the first and last time."
Video by: Talentlesshuman: https://twitter.com/talentlesshuman or https://talentlessartblog.tumblr.com.
CH 4 EVENT DEATH (?)
sketch by apple
lineart by moa
colours by anya
Jormungandr, unmoving, stares as Kin moves forward to the tank, expression unchanging and never uttering a word to interrupt them. The leviathan merely lifts her head, matching the gaze of the one in front of her.
"Then die with the knowledge you'll rest a failure. And, for all of you, don't worry."
"Eating this would make me sick."
And, before any reaction is even capable happening, Jormungandr's lower body snaps with shocking speed to a creature that large, the a sound of impact that shakes the entire facility, sending Kin's body flying with a horrendous, dry impact sound. Then, the sound of a human body forcefully hitting something, as Kin settles in the stairs, blood pooling behind their head.
Castella falls for what seems like forever, like they've clipped through the floor in a place they shouldn't have, tumbling into a bottomless expanse of nothing. Then, after what seems like forever, the screen goes dark.
There is an eerie silence that stretches just a little too long, like the pause between one’s final breath and the end, between thunder and lighting before with a snap, the lights return, illuminating a far different scene.
[♫♫♫]
A stage is set, illuminated by harsh black, blue and pink lighting with a scattering of white pin lights, evoking a starry night in garish hues. The stage itself is childish in construction, the backing curtains are bed sheets stretched between stacks of chairs to either side.
Standing in the center of the stage all alone is Castella. The stage is completely empty save for them but they are not alone for long, as two towering mannequins appear from behind the curtains faceless and featureless but dressed in a boring suit and a plain dress respectively. A stereotypical pair of parental types, each one reaching a hand over the stage towards the camera, briefly obscuring it.
When the hands pull away, the scene has changed. The childish stage is still there, lit in the same garish hues, but piles of props have been put to either side of it. To one side is a mess of children’s stationery and to the other is a heap of fabric and a box spilling over with sewing supplies. Standing in center stage is once again Castella, though dressed in much simpler clothes, an overlarge sweater and shorts evoking a much younger state of being, though they themself have not changed.
For a moment, nothing happens as Castella glances at the two piles, heart thudding in their chest. If they don’t move, nothing will happen, but… That’s simply delaying an inevitable. They can't stay on this stage forever, this fragment of memory made abstract, broadcast for all to see. With no small amount of hesitation, Castella takes a step towards the fabric pile, assuming they need to work with it-
And are stopped in their tracks by a needle-thin blade piercing their side, the splatter of blood that sprays out dyed an obnoxious pink by the lights. Recoiling from the fabric, Castella stumbles towards the stationary, clutching their side to try and stem the bleeding. There is no pain, no piercing wound this time, but instead a dull, slow applause by the mannequins behind the stage. A rhythmic thudding sound that echoes the one in Castella’s chest as the lights go out, and the scene shifts.
The stage has changed too, when the bright lights crackle back to life, no longer made of bed sheets and chairs, it is now reminiscent of a school’s auditorium stage, banners to the sides instead of curtains, a podium dead center where a shadowy figure stands watch over the proceedings. Again the stage itself is split into halves, one with a half-made dress pinned up on a dressmaker’s dummy and the other again covered in books and papers, pens and ink. The background is an endless, repeating row of desks in front of darkened, cracked windows, each one decorated with a wilting flower in a vase.
Again, Castella stands center stage, though they too have changed, now dressed in an ill fitting blazer and uniform pants, both stained in blood, blood that continues to drip down their side onto the floor. As the scene settles, Castella lingers on the stage, eying the two options while still clutching their wound, and as they take a step forward, trying to toe the line between both halves, a pair of threads materialize around their wrists, stretching onward and upwards into the endless shadows above the stage. Unseen hands tug at the strings, pulling Castella away from the center and towards the books, before they could even think of heading the other direction. The mannequins do not applaud this time, despite the lack of mistakes made, and the curtain and lights fall once more to emptiness.
The lights flicker this time, crackling to life less easily each time they’re brought back, revealing the stage has again changed, no longer an auditorium but now a true stage, with proper curtains, though the stage dressing itself is rather odd. Part office building, part courthouse, with a judge’s table in the back, but surrounded by office decor, coffeemakers and messy desks. This time there are not two sets of props, there is simply a desk with a chair, a stack of paperwork off to one side.
Castella stands in the middle of the stage once more in a dress shirt, vest and tie, the matching jacket balled up in their hands to try and stop the bleeding. They pause, as there appears to be no second option on this stage. Not even the illusion of choice.
That’s when it sinks in. There was never any choice, and there never would be. A sickly looking grin spreads across their face as the realization hits, and they take a wobbling step towards the desk. Another set of threads winds its way around them, pulling tight as the unseen hands above drag Castella to their desk. Again there is no applause, only silent stares from the mannequins. Again, the lights go out.
Again they flicker back to life, dimmer and duller with each repetition.
Again, the stage is set with a singular desk in the center, piled higher and higher with paperwork.
Again, Castella takes a wobbling step towards the desk, shoulders shaking with sobs or laughter as more threads appear, tying tight and dragging them onwards.
Again and again and again.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again.
Eventually, the strings stop pulling, Castella walking of their own volition to the desk without even noticing. A puppet on heartstrings, waiting for approval that would never come. Watched over eternally by a dying light and empty stares.
Again and again and again.
Again. The desk is now buried in paperwork.
Again. The lights so dim the room is cast in shades of mind-numbing gray
Again. The mannequins do not react.
The lights go down and come back up, a lifeless fraction of their former glory. Castella is positioned in the middle of the stage again, the strings tight around their limbs, a lifeless marionette bound by others whims.
But the room is not the same as it always has been. The desk to one side is unchanged, buried in paperwork but the other half of the stage is completely black save for a glowing light in the center. A five pointed star, aglow in the vibrant pinks and blues from earlier, floating just overhead,
A familiar light.
A light that changed their life.
So close and yet Castella wasn’t sure they had the strength to grasp it. Not anymore. But what other choice did they have? Sit at the desk, for the millionth time? Go mad from the paperwork piled up around them, the court documents they couldn’t stand to read? Waiting for those mannequins to finally acknowledge their efforts?
No. Not anymore. Never, ever again.
A step to the right, towards the glowing light. They had to, they had to reach it-
Again their deviation of the path is punished, a razor sharp pain as another needle-like blade pierces them, and again the threads pull taught, trying to drag them towards the desk.
But this time, Castella stands strong, taking another step and then another towards the half of the room with the light, each step resulting in another injury, another stab wound as more needles jut from the darkness and into them. Each step resulted in the strings pulling tighter, trying to drag them back into line, but still Castella fought them, arms outstretched for the light.
Just a little more. Each step is progress. Each step, threads are cut by the same blades that wound Castella, weakening the hold on them.
They reach for the light, teetering ever closer even as they’re pierced again and again, a look of frantic determination as they nearly claw for the light, taking one final step, on the edge of the stage and
-SHHK-
One final blade finds its mark in their chest, right through their heart, severing the last thread that bound them.
Clutching that precious light to their chest, they crumple and then fall, tumbling out of sight into the abyss surrounding the stage, a tear stained smile frozen forever on their face and in your mind.
Strings cut and a puppet no longer, a star falls out of sight, lost forever.
Aya elbows Zenkichi for interrupting her. He's still got broken ribs. Owch.
"Weeell, I didn't! Maybe it's just an intricate plan to make you stick aro-"
In the middle of her sentence, you're interrupted again... This time, by a very familiar ticking noise, somewhere in the room. Somebody's explosive chip, but it's impossible to tell where.
"Fuck fuck fuck, sunnuva bitch!" Bobby vehemently curses, hyperventilating. He continues to back away from everyone as the beeping continues to blare. After a few more labored breaths, Bobby straightens his posture and steels his mind, pursing his lips.
"Don't trust this damn motive! Someone with us is workin' for them!"
He casts an intense gaze towards Jayden.
"Tell my lil' brother Sam that I love 'em more than he could ever know."
