The Coffee Shoppe (13/12/08)

Hello again and welcome to the Coffee Shoppe.

Because of people's requests I have set up this sticky so that we can talk about stories, and have a chance to rewrite them, without seeming presumptuous.

Since there are alot of ideas going around about how we can use this sticky if you have any suggestions then please post them Here. If you want to talk about your suggestion in more depth then please PM me so we can talk about it.

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that - not a soul gave much attantion to him or anyone else, so his own existence was nothing more that a debatable certainty at best. Or maybe not; Oriel's senses had been relaying inconsistent information lately - or was that just his mind? He was almost certain there was indeed a dim lantern in the room, on a desk just past the bars of his cell. Now that he though about it, he was actually certain that he was in a cell. He half-heartedly raised a hand to rub his aching head, almost certain that a manacle - yes, he did have a pair of those, he was sure - would restrain him.

 

 

 

The dull sound of heavy iron striking old stone made him jump. He frantically scampered to one side of the cell, and another of the sounds sent his heart jumping up his throat. He reached for his dagger, then realised it wasn't there on his belt where he had left it. At this point, adrenaline pumping through his body, he realized that his manacles had slipped off, and by the lantern's dim illumination, Oriel noticed them swinging where they had been bolted to the stone, clinking and thumping as they struck the wall.

 

 

 

He stepped out of his cell, barely noting that the door was wide open, and tentatively picked up the lantern, almost certain that its rusty handle would break. Just as he turned away from the desk, his eyes caught sight of a book. He felt that he should ignore it, but at the same time, he felt a compulsion to read its contents. He gave in to the latter.

 

 

 

The book appeared ancient. Its brown leather jacket was smoothed with age, and bore no title. He opened it carefully, unsure of whether he should touch the pages lest he destroy them. It appeared to be a diary, but only had three entries in it. Something about the handwriting was oddly familiar to him, and he found it quite an easy task to read.

 

 

 

At the house.

 

Nothing here. The house is empty. Don't know why I even bothered to take on the contract. At least the pay is good for so little work. It's late. I should spend the night here. He said not to sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Normally I'd follow instructions, but the only alternatives are the dungeon, the study and the sitting room. I don't like any of them. Study and sitting room are too big for my tastes, and the walls feel like they're watching you. Don't want to sleep in the entrance hall either, can't stand the hellish shadows the glass paintings on the ceiling make. Don't like the dining room, the mural on the ceiling disturbs me. Definitely won't sleep on the balcony.

 

 

 

Second day in the house.

 

Barely slept. Felt like the walls were watching. Always feel like the walls are watching. Could have sworn the glass above the entrance hall was shifting last night. Might have just been the clouds passing over the moon. Won't sleep upstairs anymore. I'll try the dungeon next time. Have to search the house again to check if I missed anything, anyway. The whole place gives me the creeps. Feel like there's something in here. I'll try to remember the rest of those things he said. Don't sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Don't touch the black books in the study. Don't touch the glass after the sun sets. Don't stare at the walls. No idea why. Broken one of those already, and I didn't like it. Better leave tomorrow.

 

 

 

Last day in the house.

 

Barely remembered I was going to leave today. Dungeon's so cold I can't think. Definitely nothing in the house. Waste of time. Think I touched one of those black books anyway. Can't be that bad. Better get ready to leave. Hope my horse hasn't go - the flowing hand ended abruptly, and was replaced by a more jagged, rough script - YOU DO NOT LEAVE. YOU STAY. YOU FORGET. YOU REMEMBER. YOU LIVE. YOU DIE. I WILL WATCH YOU. I WILL MAKE YOU STAY. I WILL MAKE YOU LIVE. I WILL MAKE YOU FORGET. I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER. I WILL TORMENT YOU. ARISHNETHA K'THUN ARISHNETHA K'THAKNA O-SIL RGUSH TLI'AST. DGRUSKNA ISK-ISK HARGRUUMTS NAVENDIS ORASHK-

 

 

 

Oriel shut the book. He realized that he had been shouting as he read the foul text. Something in the letters chilled him to the bone, and he found that he could barely stand. He shook his head to clear it. Why was he feeling like this? He faintly remembered shouting a few moments ago, but not about what. Thinking nothing of it, he mounted the stairwell in the opposite corner of the room. He opened the door at the top, and found himself in what looked like an entrance hall. The vast chamber was made completely of marble, with several pillars supporting the elaborate stained glass ceiling above. The panes of glass were all uniformly dark blue around a single, clear, lens-like circle in the exact middle, and became lighter towards the edges. A shifting, perhaps caused by the flickering light of his lantern, or possibly the clouds moving over the moon above, caused a shape to form - something Oriel could not identify, but it made his skin crawl, and aroused a such a terror inside him that he almost collapsed. The terrible visage disappeared after a moment, and Oriel wondered why he felt so weak. He vaguely remembered something about a horrifying image, but thought nothing of it.

 

 

 

He turned back and descended the stairwell. It was too late to go around and explore, anyway. Besides, his lantern looked like it was almost burnt out. He set it on the desk again, and went back into his cell.

 

 

 

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that.

Cool story. Exactly how much are we allowed to change it in a rewrite?

O.K...so this is the experimental topic. Cool.

I can't rewrite it, my style is completely different from yours and I can't rewrite anything other than my own stuff in the first place.

It was a good story though...

THE COFFEE SHOPPE DIRECTORY:

The experimental coffee shoppe at the moment is under Archimages rule, and is different from what i so far envisioned, but here is a directory of coffee shoppe stories and guides.

The coffee shoppe main thread

Nom Anors Common Pitfalls And How to Avoid Them

If I get around to it, I'll take a look and try to rewrite it although it'll probably suck.

As much or as little as you want.

Ratchet try re-writing it. I would suggest you read it and make notes on the key plot features. Once you have that delete everything in the thread and start again, as though had just this very second come up with the idea. Please don't double post.

Here's my attempt to rewrite it... I added somethings, removed somethings, and yeah...

A lantern sat on a desk, in a dimly lit room with stone walls and stone floors. From its position, the lantern could see a diary lying open. Though the lantern couldnt read, it could tell that the sensible, flowing script on the diarys pages changed abruptly toward the end. Thats strange, thought the lantern. A lot of strange things have been happening lately, havent they, Desk?

 

 

 

Yes, I believe so, replied the desk. Just look at that prisoner lying unconscious in that cell. Hes been that way for a while now. Too long for his health, I should believe. But hell wake soon, he always does-with a splitting headache, I should imagine. But what do I know of human physiology. Im just a desk!

 

 

 

Hmm well he better get up soon and put more oil in my belly, thought the lantern. Or else Ill stop giving him the light he needs so desperately. Who knows what will happen when the lights go out?

 

 

 

but furniture couldnt talk Or could it? Oriel wasnt sure. He wasnt sure of a lot of things as of late. The desk was right-he did have a headache. A monstrous one that felt as if elephants were having a party on top of his skull. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to numb the pain, trying to remember the word for one who can hear furniture talk.

 

 

 

Schizophrenia, supplied the lantern. But Im not schizophrenic he thought, and the furniture agreed with him. Though it was true he couldnt remember how he had gotten here, he had a vague idea of the past. Something about his parents perhaps a girlfriend or too. He didnt know. They were all swimming in his head like fish in a fishbowl. He began to notice the sensation of two hard, cold circlets around his wrists. They slipped off easily enough when he moved his arms. Manacles, Oriel thought, I wonder if they can talk too. Laughter rippled though out his chest, and he fought the urge to release it. The manacles said nothing.

 

 

 

The door was wide open, strangely enough, and as he pushed the metal bars aside it and it screeched in protest. He walked slowly, drunkenly to the desk and picked up the lantern carelessly, certain that it would break. The lantern scolded him for his clumsiness, but he ignored it. His attention was too focused on the curious, ancient diary lying open before him. He read a few passages, expecting to find stuff about meeting people whose names he could no longer remember, grocery lists, and birthdays. There was none of the latter. Instead, there was a mere three entries on its aging pages.

 

 

 

Day 1.

 

Im finally arrived at the house. Oddly enough, it appears to be empty save a few rats. Whats scary about a few rats? The pay is good for such little work, good enough for me to ignore the heavy, dark force that sends shivers down my spine whenever I turn a corner. Whyd I even write that? No, no thats a lie. There is no such force, it is my imagination. Those rats must be getting to me. Yes, thats it. Its the rats. Theyre scary little buggers that are dirty and horrible and evil and malicious andand no. I will not lose my sanity over a few rats. I will sleep here tonight, in this room, though he told me not to sleep in any of the beds upstairs. I dont blame him. But there is no other choice. Theres the dining room, but thats where the rats are. Rats Hahaha. The dungeon has rats too, big black ones that follow you when your not looking. A sitting room might seem like an odd place to sleep, but its nothing compared to the entrance hall Dark shadows gather on the walls, forming the shape of Rats! It always comes back to the rats. Always does, always will. The study filled will em. The balcony no, not the balcony. Anything but the balcony. Thats what describes this room. At least there are no rats.

 

 

 

Day 2.

 

I was wrong, there are rats. Everywhere, in this godforsaken place, there are rats. I didnt sleep at all last night. I sat in bed, staring at the shadows, and every so often one would grow bright little eyes and move. When I woke up-no wait, scratch that, when the sun rose, there was one of them sitting on my chest. Just sitting and staring. I thought I might have died of fear, or a heart attack, or something. I screamed, and it ran off me. Oh well, at least it didnt bite. Theres gotta be a better place to sleep here. One free of rats. Maybe Ill try the study; I couldve be wrong about there being rats there.

 

 

 

Afternoon of Day 2.

 

Ive just arrived at the study. Its dark here, and damp, and cold, but I have no choice. When I walked through the entrance hall, I was attacked by a bird. It mustve been a swallow, but I couldnt really get a good look at it for it kept flapping its wings in my face. Did I ever mention I hate animals? No matter, for I killed it. Before I could stab it with my dagger, it bit me on the hand. The cut hasnt stopped bleeding, and now its starting to smell funny. Dunno if thats bad or anything; I flunked Biology class after all.

 

I think this place is haunted or something. I mean, Ive never heard of a swallow attacking people before. Maybe it was rabid. Can birds get rabies? I dont know, but rats can. This study Its filled with these black books. Dunno why, but I think I want to touch one of em. Not read it just touch one. Strange, huh. Well the guy said not to touch them. The guy said a lot of things actually; stay away from the animals, the upstairs bedrooms, and the fireplace in the study. Ive already broke all these, for just before writing, I lit a fire in the fireplace. The flames beckon to me. Theyre warm, but more like a forest fire than a furnace. I think they want me to touch the books too. Maybe I should

 

 

 

Day 3.

 

Thats it, Im leaving. I cant remember even writing the last entry. Something about a book, a black one. There was a rat too, and it spoke to me. But no, thats silly, rats cant talk. Its time I left though. The guy was wrong, there is nothing here. Im tired of it all, the rats, the cold, the paintings whose eyes follow you wherever you go. Goodbye, and good ridd-

 

 

 

From here on, there was no writing but a few scribbles.

 

 

 

Oriel put the book down. He was shaking all over. Whoever wrote the book is in a whole lot of trouble, he thought. It couldnt be me. As he turned to delve deeper into what could only be a dungeons halls, in the lantern light he noticed something on his right hand. Curious, he brought it closer into the light to see what it was. What he saw made him break out in shivers again. On his right hand, gleaming red in the dim light of the lantern, was a ghastly cut; a bright red slash framed by black, spider-web pattern crisscrossing over the skin. Upon closer examination, he found these same patterns over all his body, radiating outward from the cut.

 

 

 

What the hell is happening to me, he thought, caught up in panic. Then he saw the rat that was sitting on the desk, watching him. It was a big, fat, black one, with cruel black eyes as soulless as coal. His hand, the uninjured one, flew to his waist to grab the dagger, seeking to plunge its sharp tip into the rats ugly little body. There was no dagger, and his hand held nothing but air. Before he could scream in terror and frustration, the rat spoke, and he fell still and silent.

 

 

 

It talked without talking, just like the lantern and the desk, but in a voice with more substance. You are mine, human. You belong to me now. I will kill you I will revive you. I will torture and torment you until you beg for death. You will seek freedom, but you will never have it. The One never frees its slaves.

 

 

 

The words spilled from the rats brain like blood on snow, like sweet sugar icing on cakes laced with poison, like decay over a dieing babys body. Oriel could do nothing but listen. The rat king reared up on two legs, and snarled. At his call, rats appeared from every nook and cranny in the walls. They surrounded Oriel, waiting for the signal. The rat king jumped, and his minions followed him. They mobbed Oriel, pushing him to the ground. All at once, he was boxed in at all sides by a thousand grimy little bodies all trying to bite and scratch him. He wanted to scream, but he dared not open his mouth lest one of them should try to slip through his lips. Then, he knew no more.

 

 

 

Black out. A lantern sat on a desk, patiently awaiting the prisoner to wake up. Maybe this time he would remember to refill it.

 

[hide=Original]

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that - not a soul gave much attantion to him or anyone else, so his own existence was nothing more that a debatable certainty at best. Or maybe not; Oriel's senses had been relaying inconsistent information lately - or was that just his mind? He was almost certain there was indeed a dim lantern in the room, on a desk just past the bars of his cell. Now that he though about it, he was actually certain that he was in a cell. He half-heartedly raised a hand to rub his aching head, almost certain that a manacle - yes, he did have a pair of those, he was sure - would restrain him.

 

 

 

The dull sound of heavy iron striking old stone made him jump. He frantically scampered to one side of the cell, and another of the sounds sent his heart jumping up his throat. He reached for his dagger, then realised it wasn't there on his belt where he had left it. At this point, adrenaline pumping through his body, he realized that his manacles had slipped off, and by the lantern's dim illumination, Oriel noticed them swinging where they had been bolted to the stone, clinking and thumping as they struck the wall.

 

 

 

He stepped out of his cell, barely noting that the door was wide open, and tentatively picked up the lantern, almost certain that its rusty handle would break. Just as he turned away from the desk, his eyes caught sight of a book. He felt that he should ignore it, but at the same time, he felt a compulsion to read its contents. He gave in to the latter.

 

 

 

The book appeared ancient. Its brown leather jacket was smoothed with age, and bore no title. He opened it carefully, unsure of whether he should touch the pages lest he destroy them. It appeared to be a diary, but only had three entries in it. Something about the handwriting was oddly familiar to him, and he found it quite an easy task to read.

 

 

 

At the house.

 

Nothing here. The house is empty. Don't know why I even bothered to take on the contract. At least the pay is good for so little work. It's late. I should spend the night here. He said not to sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Normally I'd follow instructions, but the only alternatives are the dungeon, the study and the sitting room. I don't like any of them. Study and sitting room are too big for my tastes, and the walls feel like they're watching you. Don't want to sleep in the entrance hall either, can't stand the hellish shadows the glass paintings on the ceiling make. Don't like the dining room, the mural on the ceiling disturbs me. Definitely won't sleep on the balcony.

 

 

 

Second day in the house.

 

Barely slept. Felt like the walls were watching. Always feel like the walls are watching. Could have sworn the glass above the entrance hall was shifting last night. Might have just been the clouds passing over the moon. Won't sleep upstairs anymore. I'll try the dungeon next time. Have to search the house again to check if I missed anything, anyway. The whole place gives me the creeps. Feel like there's something in here. I'll try to remember the rest of those things he said. Don't sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Don't touch the black books in the study. Don't touch the glass after the sun sets. Don't stare at the walls. No idea why. Broken one of those already, and I didn't like it. Better leave tomorrow.

 

 

 

Last day in the house.

 

Barely remembered I was going to leave today. Dungeon's so cold I can't think. Definitely nothing in the house. Waste of time. Think I touched one of those black books anyway. Can't be that bad. Better get ready to leave. Hope my horse hasn't go - the flowing hand ended abruptly, and was replaced by a more jagged, rough script - YOU DO NOT LEAVE. YOU STAY. YOU FORGET. YOU REMEMBER. YOU LIVE. YOU DIE. I WILL WATCH YOU. I WILL MAKE YOU STAY. I WILL MAKE YOU LIVE. I WILL MAKE YOU FORGET. I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER. I WILL TORMENT YOU. ARISHNETHA K'THUN ARISHNETHA K'THAKNA O-SIL RGUSH TLI'AST. DGRUSKNA ISK-ISK HARGRUUMTS NAVENDIS ORASHK-

 

 

 

Oriel shut the book. He realized that he had been shouting as he read the foul text. Something in the letters chilled him to the bone, and he found that he could barely stand. He shook his head to clear it. Why was he feeling like this? He faintly remembered shouting a few moments ago, but not about what. Thinking nothing of it, he mounted the stairwell in the opposite corner of the room. He opened the door at the top, and found himself in what looked like an entrance hall. The vast chamber was made completely of marble, with several pillars supporting the elaborate stained glass ceiling above. The panes of glass were all uniformly dark blue around a single, clear, lens-like circle in the exact middle, and became lighter towards the edges. A shifting, perhaps caused by the flickering light of his lantern, or possibly the clouds moving over the moon above, caused a shape to form - something Oriel could not identify, but it made his skin crawl, and aroused a such a terror inside him that he almost collapsed. The terrible visage disappeared after a moment, and Oriel wondered why he felt so weak. He vaguely remembered something about a horrifying image, but thought nothing of it.

 

 

 

He turned back and descended the stairwell. It was too late to go around and explore, anyway. Besides, his lantern looked like it was almost burnt out. He set it on the desk again, and went back into his cell.

 

 

 

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that.

[hide=Dragoonson-Incomplete]Oriel groaned.He had regained consciousness only recently and almost immediately had his head willing itself to implode.The aching was terrible,it felt similar to being assaulted by six men with clubs,maybe worse.Something seemed to be missing,he couldn't place it,but there was that feeling.

He struggled to focus his mind,struggled to block out the incessant pounding in his head,struggled to remember where he was,or at least how long he had been here.All he drew was uncertainty,there had been no interaction between him or anybody else to his knowledge,and he could barely see far past his legs,save for a light somewhere beyond his reach.In fact,it seemed the only thing that existed was himself,and even that was hardly certain.

He blinked,and now he could see clearly the light came from behind some bars,and it rested on a table.Half-expecting he would be restrained in some way,he raised his hand to rub his throbbing temples.His hand's sudden refusal to reach all the way without moving the other,along with a clanking of chains,proved his expectations true.

A sudden thud,the product of iron striking stone resonated into the cell,startling him back into a more alert state.Still seated on the floor,he scampered in retreat of the light.Once more the sound of the striking entered his cell,louder this time.All aches and pains forgotten,he reached to the dagger on his belt.Missing.The realisation of figuring out at least one of the mysteries,however,was outweighed by the possibility of death.He struggled to move further back into his cell,arms flailing in the process.

He was hit in the face by something,it hadn't hit hard enough to have been from an assailant.Perplexed,he thought about for a second or two until he realised how far apart his hands were-he had slipped free of the manacles![/hide]

Mine.

"Gah... What happened?" he woke up groggily. His body ached all over and he could feel more than one bruise. Apparently, he'd been attacked to the head; his vision was not yet clear, and he couldn't concentrate enough to be bothered to care. He shook his head a bit, in an attempt to clear his sight.

Looking about, he realized he must be in some sort of cell. Yes, that was it. A thick wooden door with a barred window, cold stone walls and floor... What's this? In his attempt to stand, he realized that at some point, he had been given manacles which were attached to a bolt near the door.

He jumped, having heard a dull thump, as if his jailer was approaching. He half-crawled, half-ran to a corner of the cell to better defend himself and searched for his weapon... Which was not where he had left it. He realized the manacles had come off at some point, so he stood up. Having walked to the door, he gave it a gentle nudge which confirmed that, for whatever reason, it was open.

Outside the cell, there was a wooden desk with a rusty old lamp burning down. And there was a book. He felt compelled to open it, but it also seemed as if it should not be opened. Giving a slight shudder, he moved the book closer.

It was very old, and covered in a dark leather. It had no title. It gave him that feeling again, "I shouldn't be doing this..." But he did. He opened the book. The pages were crinkled old parchment, he moved them delicately for fear of destroying them.

It looked like a diary, although there were just three entries. The handwriting seemed familiar, and it drew him in, so he no longer felt worried about reading it.

At the house.

There's nothing here. It's empty. I don't know why I even got the contract. Well, I do... The pay's good. Well, it's late, I guess I'm sleeping here. He says not to sleep upstairs, but the rest of the house creeps me out... The walls are watching, they're always watching... The ceiling is about the freakiest thing I've seen, and those rooms are gigantic. Yeah, no way I'm sleeping down here.

Second day.

Did not sleep hardly at all. Walls were indeed watching. They are always watching. Glass was moving in the hall... Freakish. No more sleeping upstairs, must sleep in basement tomorrow. Have to search again anyway. Still very creepy. Also can't touch black books, don't sleep upstairs, don't touch the glass after dark, AND DON'T STARE AT WALLS. Broke one old man rule, was bad. Don't want to break more. Leaving tomorrow though. House is too creepy.

Last day.

Can't forget to leave. Dungeon too cold to think. Nothing in house, waste of time. Touched a black book by accident, can't be that horrible. Leaving now, hope horse is

The nice handwriting broke off there, leaving a rough script.

YOU DON'T LEAVE. YOU STAY, FORGET. REMEMBER. LIVE. DIE. I WATCH YOU. MAKE YOU STAY. MAKE YOU LIVE. FORGET. REMEMBER. I TORMENT YOU. Ariska n'arkukat mohtan takuns. Gtrameir tonegr argor neihg! Tomena nieht-

He shut the book with a gasp, realizing he had pronounced the strange words perfectly... And had been shouting. Something wasn't right. It had to do with the book... Why was he here? He should leave. In fact, he decided to go do that now. He climbed up the stairs, into an elaborate entrance hall. The hall was constructed of dark marble, with pillars supporting the stained-glass ceiling. The glass was a dark blue, and faded towards the edges.

The ceiling shifted, perhaps due to the the light, but it chilled him to the bone. The shape he could not recognize, but struck so much fear in him he nearly fainted. It disappeared after a moment, and he wondered why he feared it, but he forgot it had even happened a bit later.

It was late, he realized. The jailer would be returning soon... He could continue his jaunts, if he truly wanted to... This house scared him greatly, but he did not leave, for some strange fascination with it. He did glance at the lamp, and noticing it had almost burned down, he descended the stairs, placed it on the desk, and slipped into his cell.

"Gah... What happened?" he woke up groggily. His body ached all over and he could feel more than one bruise.

[hide=Original]

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that - not a soul gave much attantion to him or anyone else, so his own existence was nothing more that a debatable certainty at best. Or maybe not; Oriel's senses had been relaying inconsistent information lately - or was that just his mind? He was almost certain there was indeed a dim lantern in the room, on a desk just past the bars of his cell. Now that he though about it, he was actually certain that he was in a cell. He half-heartedly raised a hand to rub his aching head, almost certain that a manacle - yes, he did have a pair of those, he was sure - would restrain him.

 

 

 

The dull sound of heavy iron striking old stone made him jump. He frantically scampered to one side of the cell, and another of the sounds sent his heart jumping up his throat. He reached for his dagger, then realised it wasn't there on his belt where he had left it. At this point, adrenaline pumping through his body, he realized that his manacles had slipped off, and by the lantern's dim illumination, Oriel noticed them swinging where they had been bolted to the stone, clinking and thumping as they struck the wall.

 

 

 

He stepped out of his cell, barely noting that the door was wide open, and tentatively picked up the lantern, almost certain that its rusty handle would break. Just as he turned away from the desk, his eyes caught sight of a book. He felt that he should ignore it, but at the same time, he felt a compulsion to read its contents. He gave in to the latter.

 

 

 

The book appeared ancient. Its brown leather jacket was smoothed with age, and bore no title. He opened it carefully, unsure of whether he should touch the pages lest he destroy them. It appeared to be a diary, but only had three entries in it. Something about the handwriting was oddly familiar to him, and he found it quite an easy task to read.

 

 

 

At the house.

 

Nothing here. The house is empty. Don't know why I even bothered to take on the contract. At least the pay is good for so little work. It's late. I should spend the night here. He said not to sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Normally I'd follow instructions, but the only alternatives are the dungeon, the study and the sitting room. I don't like any of them. Study and sitting room are too big for my tastes, and the walls feel like they're watching you. Don't want to sleep in the entrance hall either, can't stand the hellish shadows the glass paintings on the ceiling make. Don't like the dining room, the mural on the ceiling disturbs me. Definitely won't sleep on the balcony.

 

 

 

Second day in the house.

 

Barely slept. Felt like the walls were watching. Always feel like the walls are watching. Could have sworn the glass above the entrance hall was shifting last night. Might have just been the clouds passing over the moon. Won't sleep upstairs anymore. I'll try the dungeon next time. Have to search the house again to check if I missed anything, anyway. The whole place gives me the creeps. Feel like there's something in here. I'll try to remember the rest of those things he said. Don't sleep in any of the upstairs bedrooms. Don't touch the black books in the study. Don't touch the glass after the sun sets. Don't stare at the walls. No idea why. Broken one of those already, and I didn't like it. Better leave tomorrow.

 

 

 

Last day in the house.

 

Barely remembered I was going to leave today. Dungeon's so cold I can't think. Definitely nothing in the house. Waste of time. Think I touched one of those black books anyway. Can't be that bad. Better get ready to leave. Hope my horse hasn't go - the flowing hand ended abruptly, and was replaced by a more jagged, rough script - YOU DO NOT LEAVE. YOU STAY. YOU FORGET. YOU REMEMBER. YOU LIVE. YOU DIE. I WILL WATCH YOU. I WILL MAKE YOU STAY. I WILL MAKE YOU LIVE. I WILL MAKE YOU FORGET. I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER. I WILL TORMENT YOU. ARISHNETHA K'THUN ARISHNETHA K'THAKNA O-SIL RGUSH TLI'AST. DGRUSKNA ISK-ISK HARGRUUMTS NAVENDIS ORASHK-

 

 

 

Oriel shut the book. He realized that he had been shouting as he read the foul text. Something in the letters chilled him to the bone, and he found that he could barely stand. He shook his head to clear it. Why was he feeling like this? He faintly remembered shouting a few moments ago, but not about what. Thinking nothing of it, he mounted the stairwell in the opposite corner of the room. He opened the door at the top, and found himself in what looked like an entrance hall. The vast chamber was made completely of marble, with several pillars supporting the elaborate stained glass ceiling above. The panes of glass were all uniformly dark blue around a single, clear, lens-like circle in the exact middle, and became lighter towards the edges. A shifting, perhaps caused by the flickering light of his lantern, or possibly the clouds moving over the moon above, caused a shape to form - something Oriel could not identify, but it made his skin crawl, and aroused a such a terror inside him that he almost collapsed. The terrible visage disappeared after a moment, and Oriel wondered why he felt so weak. He vaguely remembered something about a horrifying image, but thought nothing of it.

 

 

 

He turned back and descended the stairwell. It was too late to go around and explore, anyway. Besides, his lantern looked like it was almost burnt out. He set it on the desk again, and went back into his cell.

 

 

 

Oriel awoke with a splitting headache. It was as if he had just been assaulted with a club - no, six - then robbed of something. His consciousness, obviously, but there was the feeling of something else missing; it was just too difficult to focus his thoughts on anything. He had been here for days, or possibly weeks or months or years - he was not exactly sure. He was not exactly sure of where 'here' was, for that matter. Some days he was not sure of anything, and the only certainty in life was that he still existed, though he did sometimes doubt that.

[/hide]

 

 

 

[hide=Dragoonson]Oriel groaned.He had regained consciousness only recently and almost immediately had his head willing itself to implode.The aching was terrible,it felt similar to being assaulted by six men with clubs,maybe worse.Something seemed to be missing,he couldn't place it,but there was that feeling.

 

 

 

He struggled to focus his mind,struggled to block out the incessant pounding in his head,struggled to remember where he was,or at least how long he had been here.All he drew was uncertainty,there had been no interaction between him or anybody else to his knowledge,and he could barely see far past his legs,save for a light somewhere beyond his reach.In fact,it seemed the only thing that existed was himself,and even that was hardly certain.

 

 

 

He blinked,and now he could see clearly the light came from behind some bars,and it rested on a table.Half-expecting he would be restrained in some way,he raised his hand to rub his throbbing temples.His hand's sudden refusal to reach all the way without moving the other,along with a clanking of chains,proved his expectations true.

 

 

 

A sudden thud,the product of iron striking stone resonated into the cell,startling him back into a more alert state.Still seated on the floor,he scampered in retreat of the light.Once more the sound of the striking entered his cell,louder this time.All aches and pains forgotten,he reached to the dagger on his belt.Missing.The realisation of figuring out at least one of the mysteries,however,was outweighed by the possibility of death.He struggled to move further back into his cell,arms flailing in the process.

 

 

 

He was hit in the face by something,it hadn't hit hard enough to have been from an assailant.Perplexed,he thought about for a second or two until he realised how far apart his hands were-he had slipped free of the manacles!

 

 

 

He stepped through the doorway,which presumably opened while he was preoccupied with getting away.He hardly noticed it,however,and gingerly picked up the lantern,convinced the handle would give way to rust and break.Before turning away,he noted a book on the table.Curiousity took over and he moved closer to read it.The tome seemed to be antique,its binding frayed.It was untitled.Carefully lifting the cover,he studied the content.

 

 

 

It seemed to him that it was a diary,albeit one with very few posts.The handwriting gave him a sense of déja vu,and though slightly messy,Oriel found himself able to read it with relative ease.

 

 

 

Day 1,at the house.

 

Totally empty.I have thought over why why I took the contract,but besides good pay,I found no reason.Its late,I'm tired.Normally I'd have obeyed the instructions given not to sleep in the bedrooms upstairs,but the only alternatives are hardly comfortable to sleep.For reference,my alternatives are the dungeon,the study and the sitting area.Not ideal.This house,by the way,creeps me out.Every painting,every wall seems to watch you.

 

 

 

Day 2,still at the house.

 

Couldn't sleep much.Damn walls still watch me.I could've sworn something was moving around the house,but they made no sound,so it could've just been a shadow.Forget upstairs,we'll go with the dungeon.I have to check if I missed anything in the house,so I might as well.This place is freaky,it feels like something is creeping around.Those rules he listed,I better follow them.

 

 

 

Don't sleep in the bedrooms upstairs.

 

Don't touch any of the black books in the study.

 

Don't touch the glass after dark.

 

Don't stare at the walls.

 

 

 

These make no sense,but since the last time I broke a rule I didn't like it,I'll adhere to them.Will leave tomorrow.

 

 

 

Day 3,still at the house,dammit.

 

Dungeon is cold,can barely think.Almost forgot I'm supposed to leave today.This was a waste of time,nothing is left in the house.Might've touched a black book,too.Can't be horrible,right?Should leave,hopefully Gendello hasn|(The expected apostrophe has been replaced by a jagged line,as if the writer was in a struggle in the midst of writing.All the text after this has been written in a more rough font)You will not leave.You will stay.Forget,remember,live,die.I will watch you always.I will make you stay.I will torment you.ARISHNETHA K'THUN ARISHNETHA K'THAKNA O-SIL RGUSH TLI'AST. DGRUSKNA ISK-ISK HARGRUUMTS NAVENDIS ORASHK-

 

 

 

 

Oriel quickly shut the book,he hadn't realised he'd been reading aloud,and that he was shouting the foul language.The words were alien to him,they scared him to the point he could barely stand.He looked at the tome absently.He had read it,but all the contents seemed to have slipped his mind.Ignoring his instinct to re-read it,he climbed the winding staircase afore him.

 

 

 

He found himself a hallway,presumably the entrance hall.Looking up,he noticed the ceiling was entirely glass,albeit stained,translucent glass.There was one clear,transparent circle in the midst of all the stained dark blue,however,and it seemed to Oriel that it was some sort of focal lens.A shift in the light source-presumably Oriel had moved the lantern in his awe-caused the light pouring through the lens to flicker and,for a moment Oriel saw the most horrifying vision he had ever seen.It was like staring into hell,finding your dead self waving back at you as he ate his own brain,and reaching for yours when he finished-all in a second.

 

 

 

He blinked.He looked back at the lens,thinking to himself it could make some beautiful images when the light passed from the right angles,though he knew not why he thought that.Shrugging,he turned and headed back to his cell,placing the lantern-which was now flickering out-back on the desk.He lay his head on his arms,and fell into a deep slumber.

 

 

 

Oriel groaned.He awoke with a painful migraine and a strange sense of déja vu.The sort you get when mugged by the same group of people twice.[/hide]