This is the submission box for statements to Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. As an avatar of the powerful entity known as the Ceaseless Watcher, Jon’s wellbeing requires him to take in information about the terrifying supernatural experiences of others in the form of statements. If he does not do so on a regular basis, he may begin to feel sickly or exhausted. But you can help!
Using the comments below, write a short narrative (IC) describing a frightening paranormal experience. Jon’s abilities as the Archivist allow you (and to some extent compel you) to describe your experience with great clarity and in the form of prose, so spare no detail.
Statements must be at least 3 paragraphs long and must specifically be about paranormal experiences that left a deep impact of fear on the individual. There is no maximum length. Jon’s target is 5 statements per month, and he gets a small bonus if he meets this quota.
Statement taken directly from subject via written statement on July 22nd, 16:52, Pumpkin Hollow. Statement begins.
From a very young age, I was aware of my destiny. From the moment I was born, everyone knew that I was made for the purpose of greatness. That I was privy to a holy power, passed down to me from a human incarnation of the goddess herself, through all the women in my bloodline, along with the name "Zelda."
As a child, my training was rigorous. Countless hours of study, learning my lineage and their history. Entire days of prayer, asking the goddess to bestow her blessing, wisdom, and voice to me. Practice at the techniques of controlling energy and breath that would help me manipulate my holy magic when at last it arrived. But all my prayers fell on deaf ears. For seventeen years, I prayed, focused I begged, I screamed, I cried, I fought. I knelt at the foot of every statue of Hylia I could find and I pleaded with the goddess to please, please, let me hear her voice, let me fulfil my birthright, let me protect my people.
Silence.
I hated them. I hated all of them that came before me. Who played their parts in their legends, who sealed Demise away and had exactly what they needed. I hated Link, another chosen one who never seemed to question or doubt his destiny, never faltered. I hated my parents for thrusting this name on me when I wasn't worthy. Sometimes, I even hated the goddess.
On the day of my 18th birthday, I tried one more time. I went to the goddess statue at Lake Lanayru, said to be the birthplace of wisdom and forbidden to children. I stood in that freezing lake and I prayed and prayed. And when my prayers still went unanswered as dawn broke, I wept.
It was that very next morning that the apocalypse came. A huge cloud of swirling black and red bloomed in the sky like a sickly flower, lightning cracking down from it in flashes of nauseous magenta. Its body erupted from the ground, serpentine and noxious, but it roared with the face of a monstrous boar. It was larger than the palace, wrapping its hideous form around the stone titan of a building I had once called home. Once called safe. Creeping tendrils sprawled across the castle, the ground, the sky, covering everything in poison. Horror and despair sucked the breath from my lungs. Apocalypse.
In a matter of hours, all the preparations we had done were reduced to naught. The Divine Beasts and Guardians, machines of the ancients we had spent years learning to use to protect ourselves, stolen. The Champions, who spent their lives honing their own holy powers, murdered. Thousands of innocent Hyruleans lay slain. And it was all my fault.
As Link and I fled for our lives, a bitter rain making the night grow dark earlier than it might have and drenching us in cold water and mud. All at once, I felt myself grow unable to go on, falling to my knees. What was the point? Why did I even deserve to live when those who had done so much more than me lie dead? Why did Link have to turn from his own glory to protect one useless princess?
He should have scolded me. Should have dragged me along. Should have left me behind. But instead, he knelt before me, and he held me. And in the rain I wept in his arms.
That was when the corrupted Guardian came for us. And it was only in saving him that I finally, finally claimed my power. Far too late. But it wasn't over yet.
I would need Link to stand by my side in order to have the power to seal the darkness, but he was hurt. I had no choice but to enshrine him until his power and life was restored. I sent him with my trusted attendants, and finally I stood to meet my own fate.
I stood before the castle. I called to it, trying to look brave. But I was more terrified than I ever had been in my life. I channeled every trace of the goddess' light that I could pull from the heavens into my heart. I glowed with ferocity. And the monster rushed me. At the moment of contact, we were transported, ascending beyond the physical, I a being of pure light, and Calamity Ganon, of pure darkness. I felt the gloom and sickness coil around my soul, trying to rip it from me, trying to creep into the cracks of my divine light and rip me apart.
And so we would remain for one hundred years. A century of stalemate, tearing each other apart and building ourselves back, pressing against each other, formless and divine, numb to all but my divine agony.
(CW: brief mention of cult behavior and ritualistic death)
Via written statement:
I'm guessing you don't want some dry IOPSA-style report so I'll give you the skinny as it comes to me. If you're interested in something less...whatever the hell this is going to be then swing by the office sometime or drop me a note.
The Town Hall’s Board of Safety posted about Lake Sal-Co-Penn recently and how we should avoid it at all costs. Which is exactly the kind of thing that I think needs looking into and boy did it ever.
I went out a few times. First of all, the water is unnaturally still. It didn't seem to matter if it was windy or not, no matter what that water wasn't moving. It made it look like glass and the water is dark, but I could still make out some shapes in the water. At first I thought they might be logs or stones under the water, but in every case they turned out to be bodies. Not just any bodies, but people I knew. People that Milo and Connor and Andy knew, too. But the ones I knew where from when I was a kid, it's one of the few things I remember from living in Germany. The last memory I have of my biological parents. That they got wrapped up in some cult bullshit and drank the kool-aid and lights out! They were floating out there in that lake with those stupid cups.
I've seen a lot of death in my line of work and it's always hard. Every single time it's just knowing that another life is gone, that whatever future they had is lost. It's never routine, if it ever gets that way I need to get the hell out of this line of work, but what I'm trying to say is that this...hits different. It's a memory I'd like to forget and sometimes I do. But it always comes back, just not like this.
I'm not sure how to describe it other than I wanted to claw out of my skin and run for the hills, dude. Being afraid like that just breaks something in you, I guess? I'm not sure. No one should ever have to experience that once but like lucky me! Twice! I should go buy a lotto ticket or something. I mean, if Pumpkin Hollow has a lotto. It's weird because I feel like I could write all of this stuff down right now and get it out of my head, but I don't want to at the same time. I'm too scared to face that again I guess.
I'm rambling. I don't even know if this makes any sense but I'm too much of a weenie to back and reread it. Hopefully that helps you? If not, maybe we can chat.
Statement taken directly from subject on July 30th, 10:00 AM sharp, Pumpkin Hollow. Statement begins.
"Hahahahaha, hahaha...ha...I've been trying to figure out where to even start since we arranged this meeting! No one here seems to understand things that seem obvious to me, but - well, Madam Princess Zelda said - she - I think I've got something for you! It's just gonna be a bit of a hike!" Jean had asked for tea for this interview, and now stirs their cup - black, there's nothing to stir into it, and yet - with a distant expression in their wide eyes. That resting slasher smile hasn't been on their face this whole time.
They're grappling with something big enough that its mere motion is knocking over the shelves in their mind. Maybe this will help. They hope this will help.
"...The thing you have to understand about the City is we talk about it like it's carved into Districts that are ruled by the Wings of the World, the corporations that govern us, but that's not quite right! Every District is surrounded by the Backstreets, those parts of the City no Wing claims, and it gets...it gets...it's bad there, Agent Jon. There's not enough food and resources to go around. You get blackouts! Usually you grow up under the governance of one of the Syndicates but they're, hahaha, they're...they're fun..." The spoon clinks as Jean stirs slowly, one finger on the end of it to make a smooth and regular motion. "For three hours a day in the dead of the night there's the Night on the Backstreets, when all crimes are legal by writ of the Head. No matter who supposedly owns the place, or sets the taboos, Syndicate or Wing or what have you, it's all legal, and if you try to report whatever happens? The Head takes you. You just die, screaming. It's always screaming, for hours and hours..."
Their free hand is tapping the table. That motion is far less regular, far less controlled. Every now and again Jean twitches, and every time they do they try out a sunny smile, the effect somewhat spoiled by all those strangely sharp teeth.
"All that's just context! People will do anything to get off the Backstreets! I know I sure did! To work for a Wing, and live in their Nest, never go hungry again, not just get your organs harvested so someone else can make rent - that's the dream, right? And I did it! I signed up with Lobotomy Corporation - L-Corp - and moved into Nest L, and there was just, so much, so much going on all the time. The food, everywhere, people going to and from their jobs without getting attacked in the streets, the bars - the karaoke! Oh I miss that! I haven't done karaoke in...doesn't matter, I suppose."
Jean clears their throat. Their normally manic voice is slowly dipping down, becoming pained, if still very energetic. Those wide eyes slide past Jon's shoulder, and stare into the wall. "I was...hahahaha, ha, I was so feral when I signed up! Surviving the Backstreets makes you tough as hell, don't get me wrong, but L-Corp's Agents were a whole different level, guys were tougher than some Fixers - uh." An interruption in the pained recollection as Jean realizes they've dropped another Proper Noun. "Fixers are...they're...warriors for hire? Mercenaries is sorta the right word except not every Fixer Office owns an army, is the thing! And not all of them act like it! But if you take money in the City to fight things and people, you get really good at it or you fucking die! Anyway, they trained me up. It was nuts! They even had guns, and those cost a fortune! I could sell my whole house in the Nest and buy one bullet and still need to get the gun! And here L-Corp was spending bullets like water to teach us how to parry them!"
The stirring pauses, and Jean looks down at the tea.
The stirring resumes, and their eyes slide back to the exact same spot on the wall. "L-Corp was a power company, providing energy to the entire City, and I was an Agent in the Disciplinary Team. Every department had a set of Abnormalities, these...they're not people, not even the ones that really, really seem like people, but 'things' doesn't sound right either. All kinds of shapes and sizes. Trees and spiders, self-styled 'magical girls', headless suits of armor, plants...the birds...the birds were awful. They all need things, want things, do things that they shouldn't be able to do, and if you put them in the right kind of cell, and develop the right kind of relationship with them, they produce Enkephalin, and L-Corp turned that into cheap, clean electricity. Sometimes that just means taking care of them like a pet - feed them, water them, clean their cell, some of 'em really love that. Sometimes it means getting a personal relationship with them, you, you listen to their stories, or share your own, you hug someone that seems like a sad girl, or, or give 'em advice, whatever. Some of 'em just want to be studied! Isn't that weird? Super happy just for you to walk in with lab instruments and go to town. And. Sometimes they need to be repressed. Talked down to, beaten, restrained, denied...I was good at that job. Repression work. Must be the Backstreets, huh? Ha...ha..."
The spoon wobbles. Jean closes their eyes and exhales slowly and gently, then breathes in deep. Their eyes open again. "...Electricity isn't the only thing L-Corp derived from Abnormalities though. Hike's over, Agent Jon, we've arrived where I was going with this. The Enkephalin could be used, somehow, I never knew how, to manufacture E.G.O. equipment - weapons, and armor in the City style. That stuff handles like a dream! Every Agent eventually had their own set that they wore, and boy, we needed it! It helped us survive! It always fit perfectly, always comfortable, and some of it just, it did things, above and beyond the other things it did. Some of those weapons could carve up the body like it was gelatin, some of them attacked the mind directly, some would decay both...and then there's PALE damage..." A full-body shudder. "...Mine was Crimson Scar, derived from the Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary. Little Red. How to even..."
"...Abnormalities aren't people. Not even the ones that seem like people. Little Red really seemed like people. This young lady with a rough voice, always wearing her red hood and her armor and this mask decorated with wolf teeth that only showed one yellow eye. I was assigned to handle her in day to day operations. Easy to get along with, really, she's...a professional? Little Red had no grudge about being in our cell, even got authorized to help us with containment breaches! What a sight! Red could carve her way through other horrors, cash out her Enkephalin paycheck, and walk right back to her cell! Just um. You gotta not stand in front of her. Little Red doesn't understand friendly fire. Or. Maybe. She does. I never...never did ask..."
The stirring stops. Jean goes to pick up their tea, and they just...can't. Eventually they give up and resume stirring it, breathing shakily. "She had this relationship, with another Abnormality, the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. Said it had maimed her as a child, and she hated it. If it ever broke loose, she'd breach containment too and hunt it down. Get anywhere near that fight and you'll just die. If they'd been outside...the collateral was bad enough in the facility. I learned to hate it too, at first. She talked about...she'd always be saying, 'I've been grinding this axe instead of picking flowers since I was sixteen'. I made a mistake, hahaha, I thought...I thought she was a person. But they're not people."
"Wanna know how I know?"
"I was given the first set of E.G.O. derived from Little Red, Crimson Scar. Two parts, a copy of her weapons, and a suit a lot like her armor. Moved like a dream, and if you pair them together you get faster, faster and faster, you can run to a fight like you're flying! The gun and sickle meant I could join a fight from far away and then get in close and protect people! I loved that. I miss it. The weapons here are...the equipment is so bad. I'd do just about anything to get a real City weapon! But I hadn't been paying attention to the company literature."
"She talked to me, when I wore her E.G.O., is the thing. All the time. Her angry voice in my head, talking, always talking. 'Look how they're hurting your friends'. 'Take your revenge, kill them, kill them again and again, make it hurt a new way every time'. She hated. That's all Little Red really was, is the thing, hate. Whatever made her, whatever happened to her, she's just hate and anger and sorrow and she wanted me to, to be like her, she'd talk about my life on the Backstreets, every wrong an Abnormality ever did to me or my co-workers, every time, her voice, in my - in my fucking head -"
Jean spills the tea when their hand twitches. They don't seem to even notice. "...I wore Crimson Scar until the end of my employment, Agent Jon. Clock in. Fight Little Red about who I am. Fight Abnormalities. Meet my quotas. Clock out. Clock in. Fight Little Red..."
Erik has heard some talk of Jon but has yet to formally introduce himself. That recent post to the bulletin, however, gives him an idea. Maybe not a good idea, but he's grown bored and restless in this small setting. So, he seeks out this Archivist to see what he is about.
"Good afternoon. My name is Lord Erik Osborne and I've come in regards to your advert on the bulletin, Mr. Sims. Is now a reasonable time to request that beverage of choice?"
Had a moon almost passed since that awful day? Mo'rtajha hasn't quite adapted to an unfamiliar calendar system just yet, but it sure felt like it. She'd heard whispers since then that someone was seeking information on terrifying experiences and...seven hells, had the Pine Devil's attack been one of those. The only problem is she lacked the knowledge to put those memories into words on paper, so she's arrived on Mr. Sim's doorstep.
With faked confidence she knocks loudly a few times, and curtsy's once the door is opened. Despite this her voice starts trembling immediately, "S-s-ser Sims? I wished to s-speak to you about...well. Someone said you are collecting harrowing tales! And I have one! It was awful!"
[ Well, this was a new face - seen in passing on fleeting occasions, sure, but here he was, at Jon's little sea-side shack. He gladly waves Erik in after having gotten a look at the new face, offering him a polite smile. ]
Yes, of course, come in, Mr. Osborne. And, ah--- of course, I'd be happy to get you whatever you'd like before we begin. Any preferences? I have water, of course, as well as a few varieties of teas, and I recently bought a bit of powdered cocoa if you'd rather something sweet...?
[ Quick to the door at the loud few knocks, Jon opens it with clear interest - though as she starts to speak, his brows quickly furrow with concern. Whatever it was that she had seen, it must have been horrific. (Though, it was quickly becoming clear that that wasn't all too uncommon, here of all places. ]
Of course, come in, come in. Take a seat anywhere you like, I'll get you something to drink. Was what happened to you... recent? I know old frightening encounters can leave horrible scars, but you seem particularly rattled. Are you alright?
[He politely tips his head in thanks and steps inside. He supposes it would be pedantic of him to insist on Lord instead of Mr. when he is not a Lord here. Still, it does cause a slight twitch of annoyance. nevertheless, he lets it go.
Besides, it's time to see how good this man's sense of humor is.]
Actually, the only thing I can consume is fresh blood.
[ Even with Erik being somewhat of a stranger, still, there were no alarm-bells rung in Jon's mind - despite, perhaps, this being one of the occasions that a gut-instinct seriousness may have come in handy. It was something he'd surely hassle himself about later. For now, though, he snickered at the request. ]
Well, I haven't quite gotten out to the shops just yet, so I haven't got any to offer. My apologies. Would tea, coffee, or water be suitable?
“You have my thanks,” Mo’rtjaha says quietly and enters the space with timid steps. Glancing around she decides to take the closest seat available and plunk herself down in it. “Tea? That would be lovely if you have any, I’m not terribly picky I assure you.”
She sniffs, feeling tears well up again already but she takes a few breaths to calm herself.
“I had an encounter with the Pine Devil, you see…” Her hands wring together. “It…it…oh, it was awful, ser Sims!”
I've heard that the Pine Devil has made itself particularly known... I'm sorry to hear you were among those who had the misfortune.
[ Offering her a sympathetic frown, he makes quick work of preparing the tea, and, once made, he joins her at the table. A glass neatly perched upon a saucer is passed over, and a few sheets of paper are gathered, and, for a moment, he glances up. It was time to use some of that Archivist influence - clearly, the poor thing needed it, considering how rattled she was. ]
If you could, please, start from the beginning. Introduction included, just for ease of keeping things consistent.
Yes. Though... considering I've watched your mouth move while speaking to me, and I don't believe you have me in any sort of hypnotic trance, I assume that it means something else to you.
"Interesting. You are the second person I've heard of who is familiar with the idea of vampires but in a drastically different form. Do you happen to know Gerard?"
...I'm considering your offer, sir, but I'm going to need to know you aren't taking advantage of the wording of my trade without anything to offer in return. If you'd be so kind as to share even a brief snippet of what you intend to give, I'll... think on what kind of agreement we can reach.
"Oh, good. I assisted him not long ago in getting away from a monster in the dark." It was cute how unimpressed Gerard was at the time. He's sensing a pattern.
"You want stories of the supernatural. Isn't that right? By nature of what I am, I have plenty to give. Or, is there something more specific you are seeking?"
...If you're willing to share what exactly you are, as a different version of a vampire than I'm familiar with, how you came to be, and what comes along with that, perhaps a few incidents pertaining to it, I'm willing to strike a deal. I haven't got any--- spare blood, or any of those fruits that provide it, but... I can offer my own in its stead.
"I find that to be a very appetizing deal. Please, do not be concerned for your safety. I do not take much when I bite, and I will heal the mark immediately after. My fangs contain no venom and there's absolutely no danger that you will become like me. I'll explain how a vampire is made to you over the course of this, but it is a very intentional choice."
It will take a moment for him to be situated. He doesn't seem particularly good at existing around other people, but, well. He's been offered coffee. He's grateful. If there's milk available, he's even more grateful, as he arranges himself with his daughter in her sling across his chest with a bottle. Here and there in the recording, there will be the sound of infant burbling.
"Uh...ok, to start off, it didn't begin with me. We're not totally sure when it officially began. Some time mid-twenty-first century, the line between world of the living and the dead started getting blurry. Anyone died, they started stayin' put. Not their bodies. Bodies started decaying faster. Too fast. We called it 'going necro'. Decomp process on overdrive and it made it real important to get 'em out to where they could be disposed of completely. Usually cremation'd do it but you have to be careful of the smoke. It was the chiral matter doing it-
"Lemme explain. When something's a chiral reflection, it kinda works like your hands. It's perfect reflections but only when situated a specific way. Palm to palm, perfect mirror, but if you lay one hand over the other-" A shuffling as he lays the palm of one hand over the back of the other, "-it's not perfect anymore. Thumb on each side, fingers don't like up, you get it. Anyway, chiral matter's a lot like antimatter. You know what happens when antimatter comes into contact with regular matter? Yeah. Big fuckin' explosion.
"So, you get antimatter seeping into the world, through the umbilical tether that keeps people tied to where they passed. Ghosts doubling as big fuckin' bombs. But they only get tripped when they come into contact with human beings, so basically it's not a problem if nobody dies around other people.
"But that's just not how people work. They need each other to survive. Sometimes you can't help when shit happens.
"Thing is, some of us, we can't die. Between the chiral contamination, the Seam letting some of us find a way back, and a persistent tether between the Ha and Ka, the body and soul, we became repatriates. Means even if we get grabbed by a BT- uh, a Beached Thing, something stuck in limbo, and the hand of god comes down and-" A clap, one hand coming down to slap onto the other, "-craters the last of a fuckin' city, sometimes there's just one guy sitting in the middle of it all, wondering what just hit 'em. Don't get me wrong, it still hurts like hell to die. Never gets any easier. But I know like this I won't become a BT. Small favors, huh?"
That's... reassuring to hear, thank you. Where is best to draw the blood from, in that case? Wrist, elbow, neck...? [ He's talking a bit quickly - perhaps to hurry up and get to it before he can think better of it, or chicken out entirely. Information like this was too valuable to let his nerves get the best of him. ]
"The wrist should do well enough. I find that to be a good place for nervous first-timers. Less intimate than the neck and far less awkward. It will hurt about as much as a needle during a blood draw, otherwise, it will just feel like a wet kiss."
[ Best not to dawdle. It was a short process, done with a slight, stiff, almost clinical-nature to it. Just like drawing blood. Best not to consider it too much further than that. Once his forearm was exposed, he offers it over. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Archives of Pumpkin Hollow
Date: 2023-07-22 04:36 pm (UTC)This is the submission box for statements to Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. As an avatar of the powerful entity known as the Ceaseless Watcher, Jon’s wellbeing requires him to take in information about the terrifying supernatural experiences of others in the form of statements. If he does not do so on a regular basis, he may begin to feel sickly or exhausted. But you can help!
Using the comments below, write a short narrative (IC) describing a frightening paranormal experience. Jon’s abilities as the Archivist allow you (and to some extent compel you) to describe your experience with great clarity and in the form of prose, so spare no detail.
Statements must be at least 3 paragraphs long and must specifically be about paranormal experiences that left a deep impact of fear on the individual. There is no maximum length. Jon’s target is 5 statements per month, and he gets a small bonus if he meets this quota.
Thank you for your contribution!
Statement begins.
Statement of Princess Zelda of Hyrule, regarding her confrontation with Calamity Ganon
Date: 2023-07-22 07:36 pm (UTC)From a very young age, I was aware of my destiny. From the moment I was born, everyone knew that I was made for the purpose of greatness. That I was privy to a holy power, passed down to me from a human incarnation of the goddess herself, through all the women in my bloodline, along with the name "Zelda."
As a child, my training was rigorous. Countless hours of study, learning my lineage and their history. Entire days of prayer, asking the goddess to bestow her blessing, wisdom, and voice to me. Practice at the techniques of controlling energy and breath that would help me manipulate my holy magic when at last it arrived. But all my prayers fell on deaf ears. For seventeen years, I prayed, focused I begged, I screamed, I cried, I fought. I knelt at the foot of every statue of Hylia I could find and I pleaded with the goddess to please, please, let me hear her voice, let me fulfil my birthright, let me protect my people.
Silence.
I hated them. I hated all of them that came before me. Who played their parts in their legends, who sealed Demise away and had exactly what they needed. I hated Link, another chosen one who never seemed to question or doubt his destiny, never faltered. I hated my parents for thrusting this name on me when I wasn't worthy. Sometimes, I even hated the goddess.
On the day of my 18th birthday, I tried one more time. I went to the goddess statue at Lake Lanayru, said to be the birthplace of wisdom and forbidden to children. I stood in that freezing lake and I prayed and prayed. And when my prayers still went unanswered as dawn broke, I wept.
It was that very next morning that the apocalypse came. A huge cloud of swirling black and red bloomed in the sky like a sickly flower, lightning cracking down from it in flashes of nauseous magenta. Its body erupted from the ground, serpentine and noxious, but it roared with the face of a monstrous boar. It was larger than the palace, wrapping its hideous form around the stone titan of a building I had once called home. Once called safe. Creeping tendrils sprawled across the castle, the ground, the sky, covering everything in poison. Horror and despair sucked the breath from my lungs. Apocalypse.
In a matter of hours, all the preparations we had done were reduced to naught. The Divine Beasts and Guardians, machines of the ancients we had spent years learning to use to protect ourselves, stolen. The Champions, who spent their lives honing their own holy powers, murdered. Thousands of innocent Hyruleans lay slain. And it was all my fault.
As Link and I fled for our lives, a bitter rain making the night grow dark earlier than it might have and drenching us in cold water and mud. All at once, I felt myself grow unable to go on, falling to my knees. What was the point? Why did I even deserve to live when those who had done so much more than me lie dead? Why did Link have to turn from his own glory to protect one useless princess?
He should have scolded me. Should have dragged me along. Should have left me behind. But instead, he knelt before me, and he held me. And in the rain I wept in his arms.
That was when the corrupted Guardian came for us. And it was only in saving him that I finally, finally claimed my power. Far too late. But it wasn't over yet.
I would need Link to stand by my side in order to have the power to seal the darkness, but he was hurt. I had no choice but to enshrine him until his power and life was restored. I sent him with my trusted attendants, and finally I stood to meet my own fate.
I stood before the castle. I called to it, trying to look brave. But I was more terrified than I ever had been in my life. I channeled every trace of the goddess' light that I could pull from the heavens into my heart. I glowed with ferocity. And the monster rushed me. At the moment of contact, we were transported, ascending beyond the physical, I a being of pure light, and Calamity Ganon, of pure darkness. I felt the gloom and sickness coil around my soul, trying to rip it from me, trying to creep into the cracks of my divine light and rip me apart.
And so we would remain for one hundred years. A century of stalemate, tearing each other apart and building ourselves back, pressing against each other, formless and divine, numb to all but my divine agony.
Statement of Lucas Kovach, IOPSA Medium, in regards to Lake Sal-Co-Penn
Date: 2023-07-23 04:55 am (UTC)Via written statement:
I'm guessing you don't want some dry IOPSA-style report so I'll give you the skinny as it comes to me. If you're interested in something less...whatever the hell this is going to be then swing by the office sometime or drop me a note.
The Town Hall’s Board of Safety posted about Lake Sal-Co-Penn recently and how we should avoid it at all costs. Which is exactly the kind of thing that I think needs looking into and boy did it ever.
I went out a few times. First of all, the water is unnaturally still. It didn't seem to matter if it was windy or not, no matter what that water wasn't moving. It made it look like glass and the water is dark, but I could still make out some shapes in the water. At first I thought they might be logs or stones under the water, but in every case they turned out to be bodies. Not just any bodies, but people I knew. People that Milo and Connor and Andy knew, too. But the ones I knew where from when I was a kid, it's one of the few things I remember from living in Germany. The last memory I have of my biological parents. That they got wrapped up in some cult bullshit and drank the kool-aid and lights out! They were floating out there in that lake with those stupid cups.
I've seen a lot of death in my line of work and it's always hard. Every single time it's just knowing that another life is gone, that whatever future they had is lost. It's never routine, if it ever gets that way I need to get the hell out of this line of work, but what I'm trying to say is that this...hits different. It's a memory I'd like to forget and sometimes I do. But it always comes back, just not like this.
I'm not sure how to describe it other than I wanted to claw out of my skin and run for the hills, dude. Being afraid like that just breaks something in you, I guess? I'm not sure. No one should ever have to experience that once but like lucky me! Twice! I should go buy a lotto ticket or something. I mean, if Pumpkin Hollow has a lotto. It's weird because I feel like I could write all of this stuff down right now and get it out of my head, but I don't want to at the same time. I'm too scared to face that again I guess.
I'm rambling. I don't even know if this makes any sense but I'm too much of a weenie to back and reread it. Hopefully that helps you? If not, maybe we can chat.
Statement of Agent Jean, Pumpkin Hollow Recovery Task Force, regarding workplace dress code policy
Date: 2023-07-29 04:44 pm (UTC)"Hahahahaha, hahaha...ha...I've been trying to figure out where to even start since we arranged this meeting! No one here seems to understand things that seem obvious to me, but - well, Madam Princess Zelda said - she - I think I've got something for you! It's just gonna be a bit of a hike!" Jean had asked for tea for this interview, and now stirs their cup - black, there's nothing to stir into it, and yet - with a distant expression in their wide eyes. That resting slasher smile hasn't been on their face this whole time.
They're grappling with something big enough that its mere motion is knocking over the shelves in their mind. Maybe this will help. They hope this will help.
"...The thing you have to understand about the City is we talk about it like it's carved into Districts that are ruled by the Wings of the World, the corporations that govern us, but that's not quite right! Every District is surrounded by the Backstreets, those parts of the City no Wing claims, and it gets...it gets...it's bad there, Agent Jon. There's not enough food and resources to go around. You get blackouts! Usually you grow up under the governance of one of the Syndicates but they're, hahaha, they're...they're fun..." The spoon clinks as Jean stirs slowly, one finger on the end of it to make a smooth and regular motion. "For three hours a day in the dead of the night there's the Night on the Backstreets, when all crimes are legal by writ of the Head. No matter who supposedly owns the place, or sets the taboos, Syndicate or Wing or what have you, it's all legal, and if you try to report whatever happens? The Head takes you. You just die, screaming. It's always screaming, for hours and hours..."
Their free hand is tapping the table. That motion is far less regular, far less controlled. Every now and again Jean twitches, and every time they do they try out a sunny smile, the effect somewhat spoiled by all those strangely sharp teeth.
"All that's just context! People will do anything to get off the Backstreets! I know I sure did! To work for a Wing, and live in their Nest, never go hungry again, not just get your organs harvested so someone else can make rent - that's the dream, right? And I did it! I signed up with Lobotomy Corporation - L-Corp - and moved into Nest L, and there was just, so much, so much going on all the time. The food, everywhere, people going to and from their jobs without getting attacked in the streets, the bars - the karaoke! Oh I miss that! I haven't done karaoke in...doesn't matter, I suppose."
Jean clears their throat. Their normally manic voice is slowly dipping down, becoming pained, if still very energetic. Those wide eyes slide past Jon's shoulder, and stare into the wall. "I was...hahahaha, ha, I was so feral when I signed up! Surviving the Backstreets makes you tough as hell, don't get me wrong, but L-Corp's Agents were a whole different level, guys were tougher than some Fixers - uh." An interruption in the pained recollection as Jean realizes they've dropped another Proper Noun. "Fixers are...they're...warriors for hire? Mercenaries is sorta the right word except not every Fixer Office owns an army, is the thing! And not all of them act like it! But if you take money in the City to fight things and people, you get really good at it or you fucking die! Anyway, they trained me up. It was nuts! They even had guns, and those cost a fortune! I could sell my whole house in the Nest and buy one bullet and still need to get the gun! And here L-Corp was spending bullets like water to teach us how to parry them!"
The stirring pauses, and Jean looks down at the tea.
The stirring resumes, and their eyes slide back to the exact same spot on the wall. "L-Corp was a power company, providing energy to the entire City, and I was an Agent in the Disciplinary Team. Every department had a set of Abnormalities, these...they're not people, not even the ones that really, really seem like people, but 'things' doesn't sound right either. All kinds of shapes and sizes. Trees and spiders, self-styled 'magical girls', headless suits of armor, plants...the birds...the birds were awful. They all need things, want things, do things that they shouldn't be able to do, and if you put them in the right kind of cell, and develop the right kind of relationship with them, they produce Enkephalin, and L-Corp turned that into cheap, clean electricity. Sometimes that just means taking care of them like a pet - feed them, water them, clean their cell, some of 'em really love that. Sometimes it means getting a personal relationship with them, you, you listen to their stories, or share your own, you hug someone that seems like a sad girl, or, or give 'em advice, whatever. Some of 'em just want to be studied! Isn't that weird? Super happy just for you to walk in with lab instruments and go to town. And. Sometimes they need to be repressed. Talked down to, beaten, restrained, denied...I was good at that job. Repression work. Must be the Backstreets, huh? Ha...ha..."
The spoon wobbles. Jean closes their eyes and exhales slowly and gently, then breathes in deep. Their eyes open again. "...Electricity isn't the only thing L-Corp derived from Abnormalities though. Hike's over, Agent Jon, we've arrived where I was going with this. The Enkephalin could be used, somehow, I never knew how, to manufacture E.G.O. equipment - weapons, and armor in the City style. That stuff handles like a dream! Every Agent eventually had their own set that they wore, and boy, we needed it! It helped us survive! It always fit perfectly, always comfortable, and some of it just, it did things, above and beyond the other things it did. Some of those weapons could carve up the body like it was gelatin, some of them attacked the mind directly, some would decay both...and then there's PALE damage..." A full-body shudder. "...Mine was Crimson Scar, derived from the Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary. Little Red. How to even..."
"...Abnormalities aren't people. Not even the ones that seem like people. Little Red really seemed like people. This young lady with a rough voice, always wearing her red hood and her armor and this mask decorated with wolf teeth that only showed one yellow eye. I was assigned to handle her in day to day operations. Easy to get along with, really, she's...a professional? Little Red had no grudge about being in our cell, even got authorized to help us with containment breaches! What a sight! Red could carve her way through other horrors, cash out her Enkephalin paycheck, and walk right back to her cell! Just um. You gotta not stand in front of her. Little Red doesn't understand friendly fire. Or. Maybe. She does. I never...never did ask..."
The stirring stops. Jean goes to pick up their tea, and they just...can't. Eventually they give up and resume stirring it, breathing shakily. "She had this relationship, with another Abnormality, the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. Said it had maimed her as a child, and she hated it. If it ever broke loose, she'd breach containment too and hunt it down. Get anywhere near that fight and you'll just die. If they'd been outside...the collateral was bad enough in the facility. I learned to hate it too, at first. She talked about...she'd always be saying, 'I've been grinding this axe instead of picking flowers since I was sixteen'. I made a mistake, hahaha, I thought...I thought she was a person. But they're not people."
"Wanna know how I know?"
"I was given the first set of E.G.O. derived from Little Red, Crimson Scar. Two parts, a copy of her weapons, and a suit a lot like her armor. Moved like a dream, and if you pair them together you get faster, faster and faster, you can run to a fight like you're flying! The gun and sickle meant I could join a fight from far away and then get in close and protect people! I loved that. I miss it. The weapons here are...the equipment is so bad. I'd do just about anything to get a real City weapon! But I hadn't been paying attention to the company literature."
"She talked to me, when I wore her E.G.O., is the thing. All the time. Her angry voice in my head, talking, always talking. 'Look how they're hurting your friends'. 'Take your revenge, kill them, kill them again and again, make it hurt a new way every time'. She hated. That's all Little Red really was, is the thing, hate. Whatever made her, whatever happened to her, she's just hate and anger and sorrow and she wanted me to, to be like her, she'd talk about my life on the Backstreets, every wrong an Abnormality ever did to me or my co-workers, every time, her voice, in my - in my fucking head -"
Jean spills the tea when their hand twitches. They don't seem to even notice. "...I wore Crimson Scar until the end of my employment, Agent Jon. Clock in. Fight Little Red about who I am. Fight Abnormalities. Meet my quotas. Clock out. Clock in. Fight Little Red..."
"...And I...still want Crimson Scar back. I'm weak now. I can't. Protect anyone."
Statement ends.
[Action First - He's a bit shy with personal details]
Date: 2023-08-28 09:45 pm (UTC)"Good afternoon. My name is Lord Erik Osborne and I've come in regards to your advert on the bulletin, Mr. Sims. Is now a reasonable time to request that beverage of choice?"
[Action]
Date: 2023-08-30 11:04 pm (UTC)With faked confidence she knocks loudly a few times, and curtsy's once the door is opened. Despite this her voice starts trembling immediately, "S-s-ser Sims? I wished to s-speak to you about...well. Someone said you are collecting harrowing tales! And I have one! It was awful!"
no subject
Date: 2023-09-01 10:38 pm (UTC)Yes, of course, come in, Mr. Osborne. And, ah--- of course, I'd be happy to get you whatever you'd like before we begin. Any preferences? I have water, of course, as well as a few varieties of teas, and I recently bought a bit of powdered cocoa if you'd rather something sweet...?
no subject
Date: 2023-09-01 11:09 pm (UTC)Of course, come in, come in. Take a seat anywhere you like, I'll get you something to drink. Was what happened to you... recent? I know old frightening encounters can leave horrible scars, but you seem particularly rattled. Are you alright?
no subject
Date: 2023-09-02 04:37 pm (UTC)Besides, it's time to see how good this man's sense of humor is.]
Actually, the only thing I can consume is fresh blood.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-06 08:34 pm (UTC)Well, I haven't quite gotten out to the shops just yet, so I haven't got any to offer. My apologies. Would tea, coffee, or water be suitable?
no subject
Date: 2023-09-07 12:14 am (UTC)She sniffs, feeling tears well up again already but she takes a few breaths to calm herself.
“I had an encounter with the Pine Devil, you see…” Her hands wring together. “It…it…oh, it was awful, ser Sims!”
no subject
Date: 2023-09-08 04:21 am (UTC)[He lets a tiny sliver of fang show in his smile.]
no subject
Date: 2023-09-09 03:41 pm (UTC)[ Offering her a sympathetic frown, he makes quick work of preparing the tea, and, once made, he joins her at the table. A glass neatly perched upon a saucer is passed over, and a few sheets of paper are gathered, and, for a moment, he glances up. It was time to use some of that Archivist influence - clearly, the poor thing needed it, considering how rattled she was. ]
If you could, please, start from the beginning. Introduction included, just for ease of keeping things consistent.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-09 04:04 pm (UTC)Ah. It was that sort of situation. ]
...Let us discuss the semantics of your drink, then. And, perhaps, the general topic of your statement.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-10 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-09-18 01:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-09-20 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-09-25 02:22 am (UTC)...I'm considering your offer, sir, but I'm going to need to know you aren't taking advantage of the wording of my trade without anything to offer in return. If you'd be so kind as to share even a brief snippet of what you intend to give, I'll... think on what kind of agreement we can reach.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-28 03:18 am (UTC)"You want stories of the supernatural. Isn't that right? By nature of what I am, I have plenty to give. Or, is there something more specific you are seeking?"
no subject
Date: 2023-10-04 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-10-05 03:12 am (UTC)Statement of one Sam Porter Bridges re: BTs, Void-Outs, and Repatriation
Date: 2023-10-08 07:53 am (UTC)"Uh...ok, to start off, it didn't begin with me. We're not totally sure when it officially began. Some time mid-twenty-first century, the line between world of the living and the dead started getting blurry. Anyone died, they started stayin' put. Not their bodies. Bodies started decaying faster. Too fast. We called it 'going necro'. Decomp process on overdrive and it made it real important to get 'em out to where they could be disposed of completely. Usually cremation'd do it but you have to be careful of the smoke. It was the chiral matter doing it-
"Lemme explain. When something's a chiral reflection, it kinda works like your hands. It's perfect reflections but only when situated a specific way. Palm to palm, perfect mirror, but if you lay one hand over the other-" A shuffling as he lays the palm of one hand over the back of the other, "-it's not perfect anymore. Thumb on each side, fingers don't like up, you get it. Anyway, chiral matter's a lot like antimatter. You know what happens when antimatter comes into contact with regular matter? Yeah. Big fuckin' explosion.
"So, you get antimatter seeping into the world, through the umbilical tether that keeps people tied to where they passed. Ghosts doubling as big fuckin' bombs. But they only get tripped when they come into contact with human beings, so basically it's not a problem if nobody dies around other people.
"But that's just not how people work. They need each other to survive. Sometimes you can't help when shit happens.
"Thing is, some of us, we can't die. Between the chiral contamination, the Seam letting some of us find a way back, and a persistent tether between the Ha and Ka, the body and soul, we became repatriates. Means even if we get grabbed by a BT- uh, a Beached Thing, something stuck in limbo, and the hand of god comes down and-" A clap, one hand coming down to slap onto the other, "-craters the last of a fuckin' city, sometimes there's just one guy sitting in the middle of it all, wondering what just hit 'em. Don't get me wrong, it still hurts like hell to die. Never gets any easier. But I know like this I won't become a BT. Small favors, huh?"
no subject
Date: 2023-10-09 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-10-10 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-10-12 01:06 am (UTC)[ Best not to dawdle. It was a short process, done with a slight, stiff, almost clinical-nature to it. Just like drawing blood. Best not to consider it too much further than that. Once his forearm was exposed, he offers it over. ]
Whenever you're ready.