PLATINUMASHES'S PROFILE

(…)

That is what you imagined your end will be like...because that was fate of good old Jeroen Sol. All that was left of him was a pile of grey, bone powder. The killers had put him on display in a porcelain bowl, with a spoon and a bottle of milk to the side of it. We all liked to speculate it was an act of god, or some other faceless horror. However the torn, bloody bedsheets in his room, the needles, chains and mechanical jaws left on his nightstand and the bits and pieces of cartilage and musle tissue spilled on the floor, they suggested otherwise. 'Someone out there is eating your friends, someone you trust.'

The gallows of Hanomura stood a couple hundred yards out of town, hidden in the corner of an abandened shed, which was once used to shelter cows. For who-knows how many decades they had been unused. They were seen more of a relic of past time: one best left in memories. The inhabitants of the rural village had been a peaceful lot: a collection farmers of soil and livestock and occasionally a hunter. Most of them, however, after having stepped inside Jeroen's cabin and having witnessed the unspeakable, had changed. Something had snapped inside of them. Hands clenched into fists and eyes twitched. Looks of passion, exitement and undirected hatred were exchanged when everyone was called out to the shed for comunion. Nobody knew what they were going to do, but they were there. The gallows were there, waiting, their scaffolds empty, their ropes forming gaping, craving roles.


Jeroen_Sol, who was a Villager, died on Night 0!

About Villager:


Day 1 starts now and ends Wednesday September 10th, 17:00 GMT.

author=Gourd_Clae
I'm joining in! This one is gonna be good~<3

Hahahaha, nice

author=TheoDutch
Are the different roles known yet? And if so, can we see them somewhere?

There are sites out there that lists are the roles that are typical to game like these. However you won't know in advance which ones will be in this game. You'll have to figure it out as you go.

The exodus of Hanomura

"Downpoors dissapear / from the earth's visage
certainly the world / could fall into itself, like jaws
But we will only sink / sometime after the applause..."

Nightfall

Somebody out there is eating your friends and you can't do anything about it. Perhaps tonight, it will be your bedroom door that's slammed open. Perhaps then, they will enter with smiles from ear to ear 'Suprise!' they'll swiftly chain you to your bed. They'll muffle your cries by forcing needles down your throat. They will break your bones preemitively to make it easier to tear off bite-sized lumps. They will jump on you and hit you with carpet beaters to soften up your flesh, make it easier to chew. And when they've had enough, when they can't hold themselves back any longer, the air will turn quiet. There will be only that soft and constant background noise; the steady, rhythmic rattling of teeth.

That is what you imagined your end will be like... because that was fate of Jeroen Sol. All that was left of him was a pile of grey, bone powder. The killers had put him on display in a porcelain bowl, with a spoon and a bottle of milk to the side of it. We all liked to speculate it was an act of god, or some other faceless horror. However the torn, bloody bedsheets in his room, the needles, chains and mechanical jaws left on his nightstand and the bits and pieces of cartilage and musle tissue spilled on the floor, they suggested otherwise. 'Someone out there is eating your friends, someone you trust.'

The gallows of Hanomura stood a couple hundred yards out of town, hidden in the corner of an abandened shed, which was once used to shelter cows. For who-knows how many decades they had been unused. They were seen more of a relic of past time: one best left in memories. The inhabitants of the rural village had been a peaceful lot: a collection farmers of soil and livestock and occasionally a hunter. Most of them, however, after having stepped inside Jeroen's cabin and having witnessed the unspeakable, had changed. Something had snapped inside of them. Hands clenched into fists and eyes twitched. Looks of passion, exitement and undirected hatred were exchanged when everyone was called out to the shed for comunion. Nobody knew what they were going to do, but they were there. The gallows were there, waiting, their scaffolds empty, their ropes forming gaping, craving roles.

Sunrize

Wes leaned backwards with his hands stuffed in his coat's pockets, gazing up with great recognition. So there he was, good old Majoracan. When Wes looked at him like that, he couldn't help but remember how Majoracan always spend the long afternouns leaning back in his iconic rocking chair. He'd be killing the time with a great book (he adored history!) or solving a crossword puzzle, and you'd hear the creaking of his chair for hours. Those were the days!- it was funny, because now he was making just the same, iconing noise as he swung slowly back and forward on his string. Of course, everyone living in the peaceful viliage of Hanomura deeply regretting this outcome. He was everyone's favorite neighbour, and his loss would be mourned for many years to come. But still, one couldn't help but speculate about how happy he'd be to hear that sound. Dear old Majoracan... The villagers exchanged looks careful optimism. Surely, they had done the right thing; They had acted with purety and good intent. And moreover they were so relieved that Majoracan, who looked quite content in his current position, wasn't taking it personally. A few nods were exchanged, and the sighs of relief were heard: That day's decision, although difficult, had solved their problems forever.

Nightfall

Oh the horror, oh the horror.

Clae was in trouble. He was lying on the middle of the central road of Hunomura, arms and legs spread out wide. His jaw was broken, and hung slightly tilted to the left, where his lips were prolonged by a long, rippling tear in his cheek. This only added to perplexed look on his face, his eyes were crossed and his entire composure gave this overwhelming message of 'What's going on?!', that was sort of ironic. And I forgot to mention, there wasn't any flesh left on his arms or legs, just the bones; you could see a thousand little teethmarks on them. The hands and feet had been left intact, which made him look like a bit of a cartoon pupet to be honest. A slight chuckle broke out from the crowd, which it was quickly muffled, and answered with glares, of course.

Wes was the first to crouch down, and hold Clae's head in a mournful fashion. Why, oh why, Wes just couldn't comprehend it. 'How is this possible?' he called out in dismay But we solved the problem, right? – Yesterday? What could have we done wrong?' He pondered on this problem and looked once more at the canibalised corpse of Clae. The rest looked at him with equal pity and admiration, as Wes was such a caring guy, always looked out for his fellow townies.

They decided to leave him alone with the body for a bit, and minutes later he returned with a determined loook on his face. 'I have reflected deeply on the nature of things.' all faces turned to him, it quiet. 'As you may recall- there are, in fact, two gallows in the abandoned shed... Two gallows...' he paused, a few others started nodding 'need two people.' His genius deduction soon gained irreputable popularity among the crowd. There was still hope for their town, you just had to believe in it.

???

Liberty was alone...

The air in the the shed was damp and cold. Just an hour before it had been bustling with angry villagers, but now it was quiet. Their endless arguing had made them pithless and peckish, so they had gone and slaughtered some pigs for dinner, as a sort of consolation. Liberty, however, was not hungry, and so there was clearly something wrong with her. She had stayed behind to reflect on this flaw, and had been staring Clae's body displayed sitting against the wall, next to Majoracan, on his string. Her conclusion: she had better blend in, and act like anyone normally would, if she wanted to live. She started to walk towards the exit, to join the others. Things had turned out to be more comlicated than she had predicted. 'What would my parents do, in a situation like this' she thought. But that was silly, because she didn't have any parents- nobody in Hanomura did, as far as she knew. 'That's strange' she stopped. A sense of surrealness was starting to take hold of her. The sound of bell's ringing was always in the background, even though Hanomura had no chruch. To keep oneself sane, it's vital to practice ignoring them -yet she was rebelling. She was starting to listen to them. She also could hear the constant swinging of the pendulum, although there was none in the shed. She noticed Clae was snapping his jaw, although he wasn't, really. When she looked down, and saw the abyss below her feet. 'I have to escape' she thought while while up to the wall. If everyone in Hanomura wanted to die, then they had to. But she was different, she realized now, because she was afraid. There had to be an escape for her.


Bam.. She smacked her forehead against the wall. Where had everyone's parents?
Bam! She kept at it. Where there any real people living here? Had she eaten them? Blood was dripping into her eyes, it stung.
BAM! Does Hanomura exist? Does it!? Why do all the important questions not have answers. 'I don't want live like this, but I don't want to die.'

BAAAMM!

A loud, shredding, cracking noise was heard that originated fromeither the fortified wooden wall breaking, her skull cracking, or both. Her body bounced onto the ground, like a ragdoll. She herself had pictured it falling to the hole. An undifinable period of time crept by (it could have been hours, the villagers liked to take their time for dinner), and then her body got up, and started dragging it's feet around.

'wha. whathas. whatis. whatisthiswheream. why. whywould. why. whyme. why.'

Her eyes fell on Clae and Majoracan. She let out a final:

'who...'

and then she stumbled out of the shed, and finally joined the others.

Sunrize

To be completely honest, Theo had a bit of a loud personality, everybody was aware of that. He would often dramatise things, he always wanted to be in the center of attention... Of course the villagers took it with a grain of salt when he start acting up, screaming incomprehinsbly. He kept jerking his legs around, trying to free himself from the rope rope like a madman. This was mere childish behavior. It had to happen, he knew that just as well as anyone else. There was no need to make such a fuss over it...

Although the two (Theo and Majoracan) looked neat and well rounded up hanging side by side, the townies decided the time had come to take safety measures. And so they cut Theo's left arm off ass well, just to be extra safe.

Nightfall

Asleep, he felt the world falling into itself. Clouds covered the globe, like hands grasping an eyeball. There are always voices in the distance. He wondered if they were more awake than him. He always had trouble sleeping:

“This ones no good, he's not it.”
“Will he do?”
“No. I can't appreciate the smell.”
“The needles are already in place. What's to be next?”
“Oh, I'll manage something... here, give me a hand.”

A soft, squezing noise was heard in Bart's bedroom, and just like that, the lights went out for him. There is no point screaming at a lost cause, but it's hard not to scream when you realize you're trapped in your own head. And so the man without eyes screamed, howled and cried from the top of his lungs. He lunged himself out of his bed, and sloppily stumbled out of the front door, leaking all over the place, forgetting about his killers entirely. He threw himself around, filled his sockets with dirt. “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!” he screamed. Villagers gathered like crows to a soldier or doctors performing a lobotomy. They saw him still rolling on the floor. His popped eyesacks hung from little threads in his sockets. His mouth was spead permanently, with the lips curled at the sides, like a surgical instument had pried it open. His voice became shrill and coarse as he screeched 'Nnnnnoo! Nnnnnnnnoo!!' and he furiously punched at the air above him. The others tried to ask him to identify the killer- but what good is reason to someone standing in front of the gates of hell? Eventualy his screaming would turn into sobbing. His sobbing would turn into wailing. Even I can't tell you whether this was some long-felt trauma of his, or if he had forseen this day all of his life: the day they would come to lock him inside. If you spend your life scrambling inbetween nightmares, then what could scare you more than eternal night? Thus he had tricked himself to think that he could outrun death, and now reality was setting in. The belltower in the distance. “NO! Don't leave me alone with them!” he curved his back inwards and with cracking voice uttered “They are ALWAYS watching me sleep. I DON'T want to go with them!

They are always”

???

And the world was no smaller without him. A couple of streets down was an empty bedroom. Isrieri normally slept there. Right there, right that night he said goodbye to his limbs, but there wasn't much evidence left to testify. A scruffy bulldog was lying on it's side, his belly bulking out unnaturally, a still look in its eyes, a tiny stream of blood running from its mouth. Someone had locked Isrieri in with the beast, and let the rest unvold. Overwhelmed with the rampand forces consumption that governed the village, that govern the world to this day, the animal had given it. It ate until there was no more, and it itself fell over and died. The old beast had not survived Hanomura but the world wasn't any smaller without it.

...

Sunrize

As its inhabitants were ripping themselves appart, so too did the illusion of Hanomura start to crumble. Their eyes would occasionally fall on leftover pencil stripes, traces of photoshop in the clouds and spelling errors in the words that they uttered. Even more frightening, nobody was as alone as they had always imagined. There was the sound of the metro rushing by in Yellow's woodlodge cabin, and he would occasionaly make terrifying eyecontact with strangers crawling by. The rural landscapes, meadows, forests and skies that seemed to reach out forever, were being drowned in towering skyscrapers and floating machinations. A city had sprung up from the soil around them and left them standing in their little playground called Han's Moor. This realization may seem like a relieving one, but in fact it was mortifying to the group. All of them, they now realized, could at any time have left the group to find somewhere save. By staying, they were throwing their lives away. And yet stil not a single 'villager' decided to leave. Why, you ask? Once you find that one thing you feel you must protect, you cannot protect yourself. Once you find that one injustice that need to be corrected, you can't just go on and serve justice elsewhere. Once you find that one way of measuring your worth as a human being, it's unthinkable to just forget about it and move on. Once you see the evil around you, you can only run when it has been purged, and there is nothing to run from anymore. In short, they could not leave so long as their ego was bound to that elaborate fantasy. The only thing they could do is claw away at eachother with desperation, hoping tirelessly that one day, they could kill whatever unspeakable evil had really caused their panick. That was their only hope of ever getinng back to the world again. The more they became aware of this truth, the more willing they were to annihalate and consumate.

Their solution came in the form of four crazed animals. A white, a grey, a brown and a black stallion, each of which was equipped with a rope that would later be attached to a limb ofthe evil, or the unlucky. They were cheering, roaring, and grinning from ear to ear with their teeth sticking out from inbetween their lips as they set it up. It was their unspoken but fully understood arrangement that everyone was to participate enthuesiastically with the preparations. The first person to flinch, or look away, would be today's lynching.

The first person to do so was John-Jack Jamison. Ironinally, the quartering was his idea, and he was the fiercest of them all. But during one of his enraged speeches in which he denounced some other villager as a cannibal, one of his eyebrow made a slight curve downwards. For a fraction of a second, he was lost in thought, and gazed comtemplitavely at the horrizon. Soon after, his face started showing signs of melancholy and remorse. He had just started recovering and trying to regain his fury when his chest lounged forward as he made an unexpected vomitting gesture. After a moment of scornful silence, the other animals knew what to do: The green-looking John was floored, kicked and dragged to the horses. The lied he waited in his ropes for a while, a the others used their sharp little knives to set the horses into a frienzy. He did scream, as his musles were ripped appart and his chestbones emerged poked out from under his skin, but not as much as the others would have. His mind was still somewhere else. This time, nobody took the trouble to convince themselves the John's gruesome destruction had been the right thing to do. It was hopeless. Another rose wilts in Hanomura.

NIghtfall

“The illusion is more stable at night. Somehow it feels like, when my eyes are closed, someone is patching up the sky and rebooting the machinations under my bed. I'm not as afraid as I used to be. Yes, I have heard the jaws. Yes, they are always shredding, and yes, they are closing on me. However, the knowledge that my death is inavoidable and that retaliation is out of the question, is somehow relieving. I never worry about defending myself anymore. More importantly, I feel somehow privileged to be in my position, noticing reality crack around me and having even just this very moment to record it. Every second that I maintain awareness of my own existance I am defying death. I am rebelling against some greater force out there by recording my thoughts like this. To a true astronomer, there are more important things in life than life's perpetuum.”

The scientist leaned bawards and plucked his white hair while reading back what he had just written. He was proud of his conclusions, but still not sure entirely of their validity. It was half true, because half of him accepted death and the other half would rather die tomorrow. Should he write that down too? He picked up his pen but was interupted. The door to his right, which lead directly upstairs had opnened and a bearded man had emerged from behind the stairway.

“Sirius, it's now or never!” He whispered.

Sirius didn't answer.

“Oh come on. Don't do this to yourself! You've seen their needles and you've seen what they do. You can still come with us.”

“That's enough, old man.” Sirius uttered in a monotonous voice “Just wait for me upstairs.”
“Why would-”
“I said, shut up!”
The bearded man paused for a while, and then continued:
“Why would anyone want to be in Hanomura forever?”

The only way Sirius could respond to that was with a look of intense desperation. Once the bearded man had closed the door behind him, Sirius picked up a seperate notebook he recorded his throughts in. It read 'poetry' on the front. He started browsing the book occasionally stopping to read some of his older works. He picked up his pen once again and wrote down the phrase that occured to him earlier. It seemed to capture exactly how he felt at that very moment.

“There is metal in the air. I can hear it whisper. I can never stop running.”

And then, as though fulfilling some scientific duty of examintation, he picked up the envelope cutter on the corner of his desk, grasped it firmly and stared at it for a while. At first he had felt so confident, but now he wasn't sure. Time passed in which he was neither sleeping nor fully present in the moment. It felt like chewing stones. After hours upon hours he was still holding the knive, but long aware that he was not going to use it. The choice had been made. He was alone.

A calm and polite knock sounded on the door at about 3 AM, and he shook off his melancholy. He swooped around on his desk chair and fixed his eyes on the door in front of him. It took a while for the visitor to come in. It was a tall man in his early twenties, wearing an old fashioned suit and resting his hands behind his back. For a moment, they exchanged looks. Sirius look of mixed fear, confusion and hatred. The cannibal's of fake politeness and attitude.

“I'm terribly sorry. I lost my patience.” the cannibal said “You philosophers do tend to be terribly indecisive.”

Sirius payed no attention to what the cannibal was saying, but instead critically observed him, calculating his chances of making it to the door to the staircase.

“Go ahead then.” The cannibal said, leaning in the doorway, as if answering some unasked question.

In a fraction of a second Sirius had jumped up from his chair and was sprinting towards the exit. When he made his first step, he felt an excruciating pain in his right ankle. He tried to lift it off the ground by leaning on his left foot, but quickly felt the same pain in his left ankle. Mechanical jaws were crunching his footing. He was standing in bear traps. As he begun to lose his footing he found that the floor of his entire study had been covered with the traps, and he somehow hadn't noticed. Cruel world.
(to be continued...)

author=sven
The Need for Seed

kappa