One moment, you were sound asleep. Probably dreaming of something that could not or would not happen in reality. Something esoteric and obscure. It could be anything and everything, as that is how dreams work. What was being broadcasted inside of your mind is of no importance at the current moment because at some time during your slumber you passed away. Died. Your heart had stopped beating and your chest had rose and had fallen for a final time. A fate that meets all living creatures, both young and old. At least your life ended painlessly and without any suffering, right? The same cannot be said for most other mortals whose flames have been snuffed out. The world of the living is behind you now. Whatever responsibilities, unfinished business, prospects, goals, or relationships you had are left behind. Now it is just you, standing in the middle of a small yet indescribably long pathway of dirt. You cannot see where it leads, as your eyes travel up ahead until the view forward becomes shrouded by clouds. All around you and the pathway leading up to nowhere is a sea of grass, beautiful white flowers sprinkled about in that green sea. A blue sign points forward, a language you cannot read being written on the side of it. The only symbol you can decipher aside from that arrow is a picture of a tree providing shade for a humble sitting bench. With nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, the only choice is to begin marching up the trail and see what awaits at the top, however far up that may be. But first, you must remember. Specifically, you must remember you who are. What life did you live leading up to your death? Who are you, traveler? >Write-in.
This is my first time running a quest so expect this to be a relatively short and simple one. I’ll try to post once a day.
>>5993366>Atticus>You lived the life of a traveler, doing odd jobs until there were none left then moving to the next location. A strange illness had claimed you, yet the details escape your memory.
>>5993366>Johnathan >You lived a simple life as an office worker for a massive company. You've never had much to complain about or any grand aspirations.
>>5993381I'll back this.
>>5993381Hmm. Sure. I'll bite.
>>5993381+1
>>5993381Support
>>5993381This seems legit
>>5993381>>5993455>>5993500>>5993504>>5993540>>5993694>>5993940Ah, that’s right. You remember now. It would seem your memories of the life you lived and the person that you are only return very slowly here in this pathway between life and death. Your name is Atticus, which comes from the Latin word “Attica” or “rugged coast,” which is fitting considering you were born in an area which had just that. You spent your life traveling from place to place, exploring the continent while doing a number of quick jobs for some quick money. It was not a lavish life by any means, but you were comfortable. You got by and you seldom went hungry or had to find your sleepings on the street.Remembering further, you seemed to have come under with an illness of sorts. The first doctor you had spoken with diagnosed you with…the common cold. green “Just rest for a couple days and bundle up. Next thing you know you’ll be back to normal in no time.” /green So that’s what you did. You did not work for a week, showing no signs of progress as you holed up in a cheap hotel. Funny enough, the illness did not seem to grow any worse. It felt stagnant, like it was satisfied with the current level of sick it was causing you. Perhaps it was eating you away without you realizing it, perhaps it accelerated all at once in a violent climax. Whatever the case, you were not conscious to witness your final few hours. Whatever it was that killed you remains a mystery. Perhaps the ones still alive will solve that puzzle during an autopsy. Not like you’d be able to know. You begin walking up the path, your boots pressing down into the dirt and leaving your footprints behind. The sounds of birds calling out to each other ring out directly above you, and you catch half a dozen of them fly past overhead. It leaves you thinking. If it is not just man that hikes this path, what other animals can I encounter on my journey? Are those even birds or are they simply mirages meant to bring more beauty to this landscape before me? The thought is left with you while you continue hiking up the trail. It’s not that steep, surprisingly enough. It is only about a couple of degrees perked upwards. Is this really the stairway to heaven you think it is?(1/2)
>>5994229How long has it been that you have been walking? It has felt like an hour of nothing but step after step. You lost count of how many you had taken at this point, but surprisingly enough you do not grow tired. Your muscles do not grow sore, your lips do not dry up, and no sweat drips out of your pores. Sometimes the road ahead is shrouded in clouds, other times you can see far ahead and take in the serene beauty of the sky around you. You have been walking in a foggy part for the past five or so minutes, or at least that’s what it felt like. Finally you pushed yourself out of that cloud and could see the road ahead…except this time there was something interesting. An oak tree sticking sprouting out of the side, overlooking the dirt walkway and a humble wooden bench leaning against it. Just like in the picture atop that blue sign you strutted by in the very beginning of your journey. There’s a person sitting on the bench, waving over to you very enthusiastically. You’re too far away to make out any features at the current moment.(2/2)>Make your way towards the waving person.>Stay where you are.>Walk past them.
>>5994232>Make your way towards the waving person.Can't ignore a plot hook.
>>5994232>Make your way towards the waving person.
>>5994232>Make your way towards the waving person.They may be in the same situation.
>>5994232>Walk past them.
>>5994252>>5994269>>5994308>>5994976Well, it was most certainly a different view than the one you’ve had for the past hour. Something different dotting the seemingly endless trail ahead naturally grabbed your attention. It wasn’t much. It was a scene you could probably have found at any of your local parks when you were still alive. A tree and a bench with a person you’ve never met sitting on top of it. Still, the sight of another person on this lonely road and the opportunity to take a break from all the monotonous walking was too good to pass up on. You make your way towards the scene, your steps with just a little more bounce to them than before in anticipation of meeting the first person you’ve seen on this journey. Now that you’re this close to the stranger, you can see clearly who it is. A friendly looking man with short, grey hair and a black mustache. His skin had a healthy tan to it and unlike you appears to have been dressed for a day out. Once you sit yourself down on the opposite end of the bench, giving your mind a rest from the Sisyphean task of unending hikes, he scoots himself closer with a broad smile adorning his face. Hey, stranger. Bet you had a nice view on the way up here, right? He extended his arm out, hoping for a handshake. You got a long ways to go. Should be about a day of walking until you reach the top, give or take. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Was that a full 24 hours of nothing but walking? It’s not like you are tired or anything, so sleep might not be involved in that calculation. You’ve only been walking for an hour, so you’re not even a quarter of the way there if this man is telling the truth. The name’s Roger. I’ve been waiting for my wife before I go ahead and climb any further. Atticus. Pleasure to meet you, Roger. Ah, a wife. Something most men would love to have. What about you? Did you have a wife before passing on, or did she hit the bucket before you? Maybe you had a husband instead. Maybe you had nobody and can keep trekking up the pathway without waiting on anyone important.>You had a wife.>You had a husband.>You had no spouse.(If you choose one of the first two options, you can elaborate on if they died first or are still alive.)
>>5995303>last post had no color>this post has too much colorIt’s like Goldilocks. The next one will be just right…hopefully. My bad.
>>5995303>You had no spouse.
>>5995303>You had no spouse.A rolling stone gathers no moss
>>5995303>You had no spouse.A wanderer's path is a lonely road.
test test
>>5995354>>5995379>>5995380>>5995714That’s right. Now that you can remember it just a little more clearly, you had no spouse to mourn your passing. At least you didn’t when you died. You’ve had plenty before. Women and men. They just, for whatever reason, never lasted long. You never could figure out why, but no matter how invested you were in a relationship it just always managed to go wrong the longer you two were together. That’s why one day you simply sat down and accepted the reality you were not made for long term relationships, but short, quickly burning flings. Say, you have a wife by any chance, son? The man peeks past you, halfway expectant of a woman to he trailing right behind you. Of course, there was nothing and nobody to be found. Just a subtle drop downward back the way you came for the next 3 or 4 miles. Not that either of you could see that far with all the clouds obstructing the view both forwards and backwards. No, sir. No wife. I’ve had plenty of girlfriends, though. You said you were waiting on your wife, right? The man nodded. Yep. My darling Annabel. Been together and going strong for 35 years. We met in high school, actually. She was a freshman and I was a sophomore. Everyone told us that the whole “high school sweetheart” thing never works out. But we did. Roger leans to one side, stretching his back and twisting his arm over his head before switching sides and doing the same thing yet again. He then releases a loud breath of relief before returning to his original pose of leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his legs and his eyes on you. That sounds like a long time… It was a long time. 35 years was a very long time for someone. You’ve always heard about old people and their marriages lasting decades without the two of them growing tired of each other, but you simply never believed it to be true. Certainly they had to have been cheating or having affairs on the side, right? Someone like you could never fathom maintaining a relationship with the same person for longer than a year, never mind 35 of them. Hah! You think that’s it? I’ve been waiting here for 17 years! The old man let out a hearty laugh before slapping you on the back, almost accidentally throwing you off of the bench entirely. Whether that’s because of his strength, you being unprepared for the sudden touch, or both. (1/2)
>>5996328 Damn…how’ve you been passing the time, then? It doesn’t appear that there was much else to do here besides twiddle your thumbs and kick your feet around. If he’s been waiting here for 17 years, perhaps he’s explored this pathway better than you could ever hope to have the patience for. He said it would only take about a day of walking to reach the top, right? Oh, just doing what I am now, mostly. Talking to people like you and whatnot. I love hearing people’s stories. Always have. I’ve never been too good at telling them, though. Hey, I got a deal for you, kid. You tell me a fun story and I’ll tell you one too, hm? It is not like you are in any rush to see what meets you higher up along the trail or even what is at the very end of it. Nobody is waiting on you and you are not waiting on anyone. You are free to make your own choice without the burden of responsibility weighing you down. It all just comes down to whether you wish to entertain this man’s desire for a story or keep making your way forward. Surely he would not be waiting much longer before another person came by to share their tales with.(2/2)>Get up and keep walking.>Accept his offer and share some stories.>Ask him something. (Elaborate on what you want asked if you choose this one).>Write-in.
>>5996329>Accept his offer and share some stories.
>>5996329>Ask him something. (Elaborate on what you want asked if you choose this one).If anyone has come back from moving forward.
>>5997327Supporting -- that can be his tale. We can tell him one of ours, to, though.>>5996329>Accept his offer and share some stories.>Ask him something. (Has anyone ever coe back the other way, down this path?)
>>5996379>>5996533>>5997327>>5997392It doesn’t take long for you to make up your mind. A couple of seconds at most, or at least you think it was. You were in no rush to reach the top and you were curious about some things. Is this path a one way trip? Surely there is nothing stopping you from just walking back the way you came, right? Or is whatever’s at the top convincing enough to stay up there? So many questions, but so few ways to get answers. This man has been waiting at the bottom here for seventeen years. He might know a thing or two and if anyone has came back down from moving forward, he would know. Okay, sure. Got all day, right? For all you know, it could always be day along this trail. But first I wanna know something. Then I’ll give you a story. Has anyone come back from moving forward? The man pauses for a second. His brown eyes gazing off into nothing with one of his hands raising up to scratch at his bristly chin, like he is lost in thought, recollecting the traffic that had passed him by in his time here. You know, I’ve been keeping count of all the people I’ve met here while waiting on my wife. 8128 people have passed me by in the seventeen years I’ve been here. Honestly, I’m struggling to keep track! The man then took another second to pause and think of what to say next. His eyes diverting to the way forward before returning back to meet you. I haven’t lost count of the people who’ve come back down, though. Only six. I watched them pass me by thinking nothing of it, until they would come back down a day or so later. I never saw them come back up, funny enough. One of them, a sweet little girl, couldn’t be older than nine. She was wearing a sun dress and a large straw hat. I dunno why she did it, but she was carrying her sandals in one hand and getting dirt all on her feet. I wasn’t gonna judge, though. I was more worried about why she was here. Usually the people I’ve seen up here were no younger then, say, fifteen. We got to talking for a little while. About how she ended up here. It took a little convincing but eventually I discovered why. Her father was some important politician, you see. Been in the profession in one way or another for most of his adult life. I assume that the longer you spend in politics the more enemies you make. She said they were having a picnic and she must’ve ate something bad because she ended up in the hospital. His hand balled up into a fist, but quickly relaxed once he realized you were still eyeing him. Some son of a bitch tried to poison the father, but ended up slipping ricin into HER tea instead! Can you believe that? I dunno if she managed to make a recovery or what, but I haven’t seen that girl again since she headed back down. A sigh escaped his lips. I’m not heading back down there. I’ve lived a full life, even if it wasn’t as long as I hoped for. (1/2)
>>5997426 I see… 8128 does not sound right. He has been sitting here for seventeen years, right? Many, many more than that have left the world of the living in seventeen years. And out of that many people, only six had the desire to return? It did not seem real. It did not sound like it made any sense. Alas, he seemingly has no reason to lie to you, especially after slipping a story of his into his answer. Alright, I’ll tell you something. The man nods.You ponder for a minute. What story should you tell? There were so many, as with life. You may not be going into the history books, that does not mean there have not been any exciting moments in your existence. Now it’s time to pick a story to tell. Something interesting to pay back the information this man’s given you. Alright, uhm… (2/2)>Losing your virginity.>Playing in the woods as a kid.>Hitchhiking across Europe.>Write-in.
>>5997427>Hitchhiking across Europe.
>>5997427>The one time I almost got married
>>5997427>Write-in.The first friend we ever made and how we lost them.
>>5997472This is a good one.
>>5997472I'll formally support this.
>>5997472Yeah, you know what? I'm >>5997447, but will change to this.>>5997427
>>5997472+1
Update will be later than usual tonight.
>>5998533Thanks for the heads up, QM!
>>5997472>>5997491>>5997514>>5997586You think long and hard. What story is there to tell that this man might find interesting? You could tell him all about the time you lost your virginity. The girl herself was most certainly an odd character, but she wasn’t the only factor that night which was unorthodox. No, he does not seem like the type to care about such juvenile tales. What about that time you hitchhiked across Europe? You were there for quite a while. You made it into every nation on the continent. From Portugal to Russia, and from Iceland to Turkey. You’ve seen a lot, heard a lot, and tasted a bunch of different things. You even almost got married to a fling in Liechtenstein. No, that would take too long. You would be here for days. Once you start from the beginning it never ends. That is why nobody asks you about your duration in Europe a second time. You spent a lot of time running around the woods behind your house when you were a child. You made your first friend there…oh, that’s right…yes, this story will do just fine. Alright. Let me tell you about the first friend I ever made and how I lost her. That got Roger’s attention. He leans in, all attention directed at you. A couple of seconds pass by with utter silence, save for the wind blowing against the tree behind you and the sound of a single bird calling out overhead. Well, don’t wait on me. I’m waiting on you, son. You take a deep sigh, bending to the side and placing your elbow on the armrest, gently dropping your face onto it while staring blankly into the distance. Where to start? At the end? No, it would be better to begin your story earlier. Much earlier. Her name was Estelle. She came from a rich family who rose to wealth decades ago. Basically they were old money. Are old money unless something happened to them in the past…well, however long i’ve been here. That family was pompous. You hated it any time she would invite you over. It did not matter how much money they had, you wouldn’t put up with the snarky attitude coming from a bunch of narcissists who never worked a day in their lives. That’s neither here or there, though. Their family is not part of this story. She is.(1/3)
>>5999084 She had hair the color of fire. Despite her prim and proper family line, she was anything but. I guess you could call her a tomboy? Anyways, she was really into fantasy and all that junk. Had a custom made sword and everything. Called herself a knight when she had the damn thing on, too. She was as much of a LARPer as she was an adventurer. We actually met in the woods behind my parent’s house. 81 square miles of forest, give or take. You could walk out to the middle of it and there would be no civilization for nine miles in any direction. It was the perfect place for someone like me to spend some alone time. I learned a lot of things out there. You are going off topic. You could easily talk about the forest all day, however. That place is what turned you from a boy to a man. Talk about Estelle. I actually met her in those woods, too. Turns out her family’s estate was fixed on the opposite side of the woods to my neighborhood. It was getting late out and I was setting up camp for the night, as I tended to do. Once you reached the age of ten, your parents were always willing to let you go out there and explore. Almost frighteningly so. While it did toughen you up and teach you some valuable life skills, there was no shortage of occasions where you might have died or be injured too terribly to be trusted out there alone again. Each scar on your body told a different tale. Ones you still remember clearly. Tent was propped up. Campfire was burning. It was a quiet evening. I was sitting under the night sky preparing a rabbit for dinner. The sun would soon set behind the trees and I’d be treated to a sight unlike anything you could get in the cities. With no artificial lights covering your view, the stars are endless. You could lay out there all night and never run out of constellations to create. Not that you ever did, of course. Maybe an hour or so. Sleep is important. Yeah, I’ve seen it. Took my daughter out on her fourteenth to see it. She loves astrology. It’s wonderful. Anyways, I was sitting there minding my own business when I heard rustling come from my side. There she was. A girl. About my age. I was ten at the time and she was twelve. We got along almost immediately. That is when you paused. There was not much else to say. You shared the rabbit, got to know each other, and then cuddled up in the tent before hiking back home with the promise of meeting back at that spot the very next day. You spent the next four years as best friends, even when more people came and went into your lives. Some of the forts you two built were probably still standing out there somewhere. Even after all those years. Hey, you said you lost her, right? How’d that happen? Roger brought his hands up, subtly waving them in front of you as if to show he meant nothing by it.(2/3)
I lost the third part of my post so need some time to rewrite it. Apologies.
>>5999088 If you changed your mind, I completely understand. I only wanna hear the stories YOU wanna tell me. No, it’s fine. I’ve gotten over it. It’s just…well…I guess it’s better if I just tell you, huh?] If you want. No pressure. You lift your cheek off of your elbow, instead opting to rest the back of your head against the wooden bench. Your eyes were still fixed upon something or nothing in the horizon ahead of you. Perhaps it was a cloud. There were plenty of those here. We spent years in those woods. Of course, many people would come and leave our lives in that time. No matter how close we were to them or how long we were friends with them, Estelle and I agreed that the woods were our domain and ours alone. The most any of the other kids could go was as far as they could turn back and still see civilization behind them. Not that most of them did wish to go any further than that. They all either did not see anything interesting worth hiking further out or were scared. The few that did wish to go beyond the vague line you and her set were quickly turned away by various means. “Let’s grab some grub.” “It’s bear season.” “It’s getting late.” Et cetera, et cetera. I was seventeen. She was nineteen. Her family sent her off to some prestigious university halfway across the globe the year before that, but she still came around for the summer. Her family didn’t like that, of course. Wanted her studying all year. She’d always say the same thing. “My grades are passing, are they not?” You say that phrase in your best imitation of her posh accent as you can. People were always thrown off guard when they saw a toned woman with scars all over her body with an attitude similar to her fiery hair speak in a sort of posh English accent. Surely any outdoorsy tomboy would have a dialect a little more…rough around the edges, right? Estelle’s uncharacteristic accent aside. She may have only said the same thing to her family, but when it was just the two of you she complained whenever she could. Of school, of home, of her egotistic family, of all of it. Those woods were an escape for her. Nevertheless, she was there that summer. It was noon and the two of us were tracking a deer down. We didn’t use guns. We used bows. Didn't wanna scare off any other animals or bring too much attention from any potential predators, though they tended to keep their distance either way. We finally found the deer. It was hunched over, drinking out of one of the rivers, completely oblivious to us. The wind was in our favor. We had a clear shot. That’s when you pause. Just thinking about the series of events that unfolded after that moment of gleaming opportunity was enough to make your head sink and your heart ache. You’ve already shed out all of the tears for her as you can. The only thing you can do is remember and retell. (3/4)
>>5999141 The first thing I heard was a gunshot. The next thing I heard was Estelle falling over onto the ground. Screaming in pain. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you there was someone else hunting that same deer, would you? Your shoulders were now slouched over. Roger’s hand came up and latched onto your shoulder, rubbing it gently while waiting for you. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to… No, it’s okay. You wanted a story, right? After a second to collect your thoughts, you continue. Well, he got the deer. But because of the way he was positioned and the fact we were out of view, he got her as well. The fucker was hunting deer with ammo they could take out a damn bear…I tried everything I could. Tried fishing the bullet out but it was too deep. Tore my shirt off and used it to hold down on the wound, but she just wouldn’t stop fucking bleeding…when the guy finally came down and saw us, I had him help me get her back to her estate since it was closer. Couldn’t even call for an ambulance until we got there since there was no cell. Another pause. You smack your lips, taking a breath. She bled out before the paramedics could arrive. Turns out the man who shot her was her cousin. Didn’t know Jack about hunting aside from how to track down the game. Everyone knew that it wasn’t me, but those pricks spent a year and a half taking me and my family to court over it! Nothing came of it, of course. Despite their lawyers and their best attempts to withhold evidence and stretch the trial out, you were ultimately found innocent when they found no proof you or anyone in your family owned a firearm. I’m…very sorry to hear that. Very sorry. If what’s at the top of this trail is what I think it is, then I hope you find her again. Roger pats you on the back. Like a father trying to comfort his son after his first breakup.(4/4)>Trade another round of stories.>Ask Roger a question. (Elaborate.)>Continue hiking up the trail.
Ugh. Gonna try to save my posts better and write less henceforth. Thank you for your patience.
>>5999092>>5999145Yikes the sucks. Been there.>>5999143>Ask Roger a questionNobody who returns from up ahead said anything about what they saw, then, huh?
>>5999143>Ask Roger if he's seen anything besides humans up here. Like an angel?
>>5999154>>5999185Through it all, you cannot help but release a faint chuckle. Only if there’s woods up there. Hah, well I’m sure there is. Now what? You’ve heard his story about the little girl who was poisoned, walked up this trail, and walked back down never to be seen again. You then told your own story about your first friend Estelle. How you met her in the vast stretch of woods and how your friendship was abruptly brought to an end in that very same patch of nature. You could always hear another one of his stories before handing one yours over in return. You have lots of them to give, as do most people. You could also continue up the trail. Maybe you will meet more interesting people along the way. If not, that is fine. You still hope to see what is at the top of this trail. Before you make that choice, it would be good to get some more information if you can. Nobody who returns from up ahead said anything about what they saw then, huh? Roger scratches his chin once again, the bristles on his flesh giving off clear sounds of being scraped against. Well…no, not really. I’ve asked all six of them but they always found a way to scoot around answering it. Either that or they just claim to have forgotten it. Sorry, pal. Wish I knew. That question was a dead end. Did they truly forget or were they just hesitant on telling him? Either way, why? If Roger is correct, it is only a day of walking either direction and if everyone is heading up there eventually, then what reason is there to keep it a secret? If Roger here does not know the answer to these questions, then perhaps the only way to know is to push forward. (1/2)
>>5999934 Thanks anyways. Say, have you seen anything other than humans up here? Angels, maybe? I mean, there’s the birds. Roger raises his hand, raising it into the air ahead of him with his pointer finger outstretched. His hand does not move, but his finger swirls around in circles. But other then that, not really. Actually… He pauses, sinking into his seat and rubbing his head before sapping his hands on his legs, turning his head to you. There was one woman who looked a little odd. A cloud was rolling in, which meant this whole place was foggy and damp. This was about seven or eight years ago, I think. I was sitting here under this tree when I heard the sound of feet in the dirt. When she was only a couple feet away from me I could finally get a good look at her. His eyes were now fixed on the trail leading up to the bench you two sat on, as if he was reliving the entire encounter. She was paper thin. So thin I could see each rib bulging out of her skin. Speaking of skin, she was as white as a woman could actually be. White white. So white it was like she was a lighthouse in the fog. She didn’t have any clothes on her, either. Not even a bracelet or anything. I tried calling out to her but she just kept on walking. Didn’t even notice me. Like there was nothing else but the trail ahead of her. I can’t explain it but the way she walked was also weird. Like she was on a treadmill. Other then that, I can’t really help ya. Sorry, kid. Perhaps that was just a weird human woman who was in the right place at the right time. Maybe there are angels here. Once again, the only way to find out the answers to what place you are in seems to consistently end up being “Keep moving forward and find out yourself.” Thanks for your help, Roger. You stand up, turning around to face the man with your arm outstretched. His arm shoots out to grab yours, your hands shaking together for a second. Of course. And thank you for the story. Again, I’m so sorry to hear about Estelle. I take it you’re leaving now? Yep. I can’t stay here forever. That’s fair. Before you run off on me, here. Take this. Roger follows suit, stand up and walking around the bench, walking over to the oak tree behind it and giving the base of the bark a good, hard kick. That’s when a single red apple falls down onto the ground, which he promptly picks up and dusts off with his hand. They’re pretty good. (2/2)>Accept the apple.>Refuse the apple.
>>5999935>Accept the apple, but don't eat it yet.
>>5999935>>5999941+1
>>6000000
>>5999941>>6000030You are not hungry, and you have not been hungry once in your time here. How long has it been since you had arrived? Your best guess is about two hours, though you have only been walking for one. Roger has seriously taken up a lot of your time, hasn’t he? Yeah, sure. You extend your hand out, and Roger responds by tossing the apple your way across the bench. You fumble around with it for a second, almost dropping it out of your grasp a couple of times before it is stored safely between your fingers. You hold it up and nod before tucking it into one of your front pockets. Take care, Atticus. I hope you make it safely. You too, Roger. Hope you reunite with your wife, er…eventually. Saying you hope his wife would die sooner rather than later is just cruel. Good thing you caught yourself before offending the man. He seems like a nice guy. At least to you, anyways. With a final wave as you head off back upwards along the pathway, you see the man sit back down onto the bench, just as he was when you arrived about an hour ago. Seventeen years is a long time to sit around waiting for someone with only the company of strangers to pass the time. You certainly had no such patience. With the apple in your pocket and tales having been shared as well as some tidbits of information regarding this place fresh in your mind, you turn you head ahead of you and march on.It has been a long journey. There has been nothing else out of the ordinary ever since you had left Roger and that bench by the tree. Just this dirt pathway with a deep green grass along the sides, sprinkled and peppered with flowers of varying colors and shapes. A gentle wind blowing through your hair and brushing against your face. The occasional flock of birds flying by, soaring much faster than you could ever hope to, even at a full sprint when the wind is in your favor. Matter of fact, why not run? You do not seem to tire of the endless walking. Your muscles and your joints are still as comfortable on your body as they were when you were at the very bottom of this trail. Perhaps the serene environment is enough to calm you. Enough to coax you into taking your time and basking in the warmth of a sun that is nowhere to be found. You should know. You have been eyeing the sky from every angle and you have yet to find where the source of the sky’s brightness was coming from. But that was no matter. Nothing about this place seemed correct according to your years of experience on Earth. (1/2)
>>6000898It must have been ten or so hours of walking with absolutely nothing different, but when you finally walked through yet another cloud and come out of the other side, you found a peculiar sight. A van was parked on the road. Not on the side, but directly on the dirt road, blocking it entirely unless you wish to walk around it and step onto the grass. There seems to be smoke floating out of one of the open windows near the front, where one would drive the vehicle. Other than that, no noise or sights could be seen from where you stand, looking at the inconspicuous van. It was a change in scenery, at least. (2/2)>Inspect the van.>Walk around the van.>Try to drive the van.
>>6000899>Inspect the van.The heck...? A car-crash in paradise?
>>6000899>>Inspect the van.
>>6000899>Walk around the van.
>>6000907>>6001051After what must have been ten or so hours of walking without any change in scenery, you figure it would be good for you to take a quick break from the monotony of walking forward, step after step. You walk over to the van, standing directly in front of the open window that was leaking smoke. It did not smell like any regular smoke, nor was there enough of it to confidently say the van was in any sort of danger of catching on fire or exploding. Perhaps that is just your subconscious telling you “I’m already dead. What’s the worst that can happen to me now? Perhaps it was because the smoke reminded you of something. Or someone. That’s right. You remember your great grandfather Elias for some reason. He smoked four cigarettes a day. One after each meal and one right before bed. Most would think a man like that would not last very long, but he ended up dying at the ripe old age of 102 from natural causes. You would always joke that if he had not been a chain smoker he would have lived to be 500. Sometimes you even believed it. Ah. That explains why you suddenly thought of him. The smoke you were smelling was tobacco.You slip your hand up and over the window to unlock the door, silently cracking it open so you can climb on in and see what that odor of burning tobacco was coming from. Hopping up into the van sent a shake throughout the vehicle, momentarily pausing your inspection as you waited and listened for any noise. Certainly if anyone was inside, they would have felt or heard you climb into the parked van. Nothing could be heard or felt course throughout the floor, though. After a couple of seconds of wait, you continue, climbing past the driver’s seat and into the back, where your view forward was obstructed by a thin veil. Wherever that tobacco smoke was coming from was behind this curtain. With a deep breath, you shove the thin barrier aside, stepping through to be met with a man sitting at the very end of the van, smoking a cigarette and looking up at you. Took you long enough. You knew I was in here? The man nodded. At least he looks like a man. If you did not know any better, you would say he looks more like a lion. A thick golden beard and an equally strong mullet running down the back of his head and spilling onto his shoulders. Big and brolic with muscles poking out of his shirt everywhere you looked and scars covering his face. Surely he must have some interesting stories to tell about each one of them, just like with you and your own scars. (1/2)
>>6001653 Name’s Atticus. Leon. After a couple seconds of awkward silence, the man motions to a chair on the other side of the room, right next to the entrance you came in from. The room was very cramped. Miscellaneous filling the space as if he’s been living, for lack of a better word, in this domicile. I ain’t gonna hurt ya, boy. Not unless I got myself a reason to. You sit down, halfway concerned of what he would do if you didn’t. That an apple in your pocket or you just happy to see me? Now his eyes were resting on your lap, focused on the bulge in your pants that obviously resembled a round object in one of your front pockets. If you ain’t gonna eat it, gimme. His other hand which is not holding a cigarette stretched out towards you.(2/2)>Give him the apple.>Keep the apple.>Ask him a question to break the ice. (Elaborate.)
>>6001655>Give him the apple.>Ask him a question to break the ice. (Elaborate.)Is food rare around here or something?
>>6001668+1 Good start. Also, do we need to eat? Has he ever felt hunger here?>>6001655
>>6001655>Give him the apple.>>6001673He doesn't tire, i'd guess it's not needed.
>>6001668>>6001673>>6001698Usually after half a day of walking, one would grow hungry or thirsty. In need of rest at the very least. You are none of these things. Your stomach does not grumble. Your lips are not dry. Your muscles are loose and you feel quite comfortable. If you are not to eat the apple, then it might as well be given to someone else. Your parents raised you not to waste any food, after all. So much so you still go out of your way to ensure there is no food left to be wasted, whether that’s by cutting open the peanut butter jar to get those last couple of spoonfuls or sucking on the bones on your chicken wings until all the meat and sauce has been removed. Your family was living off of food stamps, so you had to metaphorically pull yourself up by your bootstraps in order to live a life you deemed comfortable. With that said, if the man was hungry, why not feed him? He does not seem too dangerous. Yeah, yeah. Alright. Here. You toss the shiny red apple across the van towards Leon, his fingers wrapping around the fruit mid-air without any fumbling about. Without a thank you, he takes a bite out of the apple before bringing the cigarette to his lips with the other hand in between bites. Much better than that vape flavor shit. Through a deep sigh, he leans back in the bed, which is actually a bunk bed for two despite him being the only person living here. He is sitting on the bottom bunk, of course. After another minute of silence with no words spoken between the two of you, you finally decide to change that. So, uhm…mind if I ask you a couple questions? Sure, kid. Leon does not lift himself up off of the bed or even turn his head to you. He simply lies there waiting on your questioning. Is food rare around here or something? Nah, not really. Not a whole lot of options, though. Damn, I miss steak. The burly man takes a deep blow of his cigarette. A bit too deep as he coughs out the excess smoke between breaths. Even if it was, it ain’t like we need it no more. It just taste good, haven’t seen nothing here go bad before. So we don’t need to eat? You don’t get hungry at all? He lets out a small laugh, almost spitting out his chewed up chunk of the apple he was snacking on. No shit. We’re both dead, ain’t we? Only reason to eat something here is cause you like it. While a little disrespectful, he did answer your questions. Now you have another confirmation of your suspicions that food is unnecessary here. As if never growing tired or weak ever since you died in that hotel bed wasn’t enough of a clue. (1/2)
>>6002641 Say, kid… Now the man lifts himself up, leaning against his knees and staring you up and down as if he was appraising you. You ever been in a fight? Er…a couple times, yeah. You’ve had your fair share of skirmishes. Most of them were between friends or colleagues so it was never anything serious. The few times they were genuine fights were mainly due to one or both parties being drunk or high. You usually ended up winning your fights, serious or not. You’ve never taken any self defense classes or anything but you were physically adept enough to have a natural edge over the average person in a couple of ways. You win ‘em? Sometimes…why do you ask? Let’s fight. Hey, where’s this coming from? Answer the question. (2/2)>Accept the challenge and fight Leon.>Try to change the subject by swapping stories.>Try to leave.
>>6002642>Accept the challenge and fight Leon.Fights lead to good fraternizing.
>>6002642>Accept the challenge and fight Leon.
>>6002642>Accept the challenge and fight Leon.Sure, why not?
>>6002642>>Try to change the subject by swapping stories.
>>6002652>>6002907>>60029583 anons roll 1d20.
Rolled 68 (1d100)>>6003563Poi!
Rolled 6 (1d20)>>6003590Ah fuck, misread, correct dice now
Rolled 19 (1d20)>>6003563
Rolled 7 (1d20)>>6003563
>>6003594>>6003686>>6003689A tense minute or two pass by without a word spoken between the two of you. You ponder your choices. This man looks like he could pose a threat in a fight, so maybe you should try to back out somehow. But something inside of you tells you not to do that. Whether you win or lose, you might end up learning something new about this place and how it works. If you do not tire or grow hungry, does that mean you cannot be damaged? You already know you can feel pain after tripping and falling onto the dirt sometime ago on your hike up along this trail. Losing would mean a lot more pain than a simple smack against the floor, but you are confident enough in your abilities to hold your own in a brawl that even if you lose, it would not be without struggle. Yeah, alright…that wasn’t really a question, though. The moment you accept Leon’s challenge, he drops the cigarette onto the floor, stomping it underneath his boot and snuffing out the flame inside before taking a final bite out of the apple and tossing it back into the springy bed. C’mon, boy. The smell of second hand tobacco smoke is quickly wafted out as a side of the van is opened up. The side leading further up the trail. The lionlike man steps out, taking a couple steps back from the van and watching as you do the same. Once you both are standing before each other on the dirt, he looks you up and down, as if waiting for you to make the first move. You do not do such a thing, though. Instead, you wait on him. In all your years you have never started a fight sober. Just because you are dead does not mean you will start now. Tch… Leon is the first to attack, launching himself at you and throwing you against the side of the van, your back colliding with the metal wall and temporarily knocking you into a daze. This daze only lasts a second until the moment you see his fist winding up, preparing to strike dead center onto your face. With your ears still ringing, you kick your foot up into the air and slam it deep into his toned stomach, pushing him off of you and onto the floor before he has the chance to unwind and bring his fist anywhere forward. Even with him sprawled out onto the floor, you waste no time running forward and climbing on top of him, pinning his arms down with your knees and standing over him. Tap out. (1/2)
>>6003766Even in this compromising position, the man does not do that. He only thrashes around, kicking your back with his heel and almost pushing you off of him. You only manage to deal a couple of punches to his face before he successfully kicks you off of him, but that does not stop you. You jump up immediately, spinning around to meet him and wrapping your arms around him in a bear hug before tossing him to the ground the moment he stands up. A lot of tossing and turning, grunting and heaving, and overall undignified wrestling in the dirt occurs before you finally have him pinned with nowhere to move and no way to fight back or escape your embrace. You done now? A disgruntled sigh escapes his lips after thrashing and squirming around underneath you, but the man finally taps your arm and gives up the fight. With that, you let him go and allow him to climb up back onto his own two feet alongside you. Don’t get full of yourself now… Just as quickly as it started, the man walked off back to his van, wiping off the dirt that found its way onto his clothes, leaving you to decide whether you follow him back into the van or continue on your way.(2/2) >Continue hiking up the path.>Follow him to ask more questions.>Follow him to swap some stories. >Write-in.
>>6003768>Tell him it was a good fight.
>>6003768>Tell him it was a good fight.>Follow him to swap some stories.
No update today. Should be back to daily posts tomorrow.
>>6005250Thanks for the update, QM. See you tomorrow!
>>6003772>>6003907 Yeah… It feels good to win a fight. Especially to win one you had not even instigated. Winning in general always feels good. That is part of being human, is it not? That is what you tell yourself while you choose between returning to Leon’s live-in van or continuing your trek up the trail. Hey, wait up! After a moment of pondering, you figure it would not hurt to hear a tale or two out of the man. He seems interesting enough. You jog back into the van just in time for him to close it behind you, and you toss yourself onto the chair across from him as the lionlike brute sits himself down back onto the bunk bed, this time with no apple or cigarette in his hand. Just the silence of the surrounding environment and the occasional creaking of metal with every sizeable readjustment from either of you in your seats. You did good. Almost had me a couple times. You practice something? Nah. Just…whatever comes natural. You? More or less. Your fighting style came about naturally. The forms you learned were taught to you with experience in brawls instead of any master or instructor. Why’d you challenge me anyways? You like fighting or something? Silence. Silence for a while. You ever felt anger before? Not upset. Not annoyed. Not even mad. Pure rage. You like to think you have a couple of times in your life. Back when Estelle’s family tried to find you guilty of killing her when they all knew it was their own who did it. 25 to life was at stake all because they didn’t wanna take blame for their negligence. You were pretty pissed off and hated them for a while then. You still to this day feel disdain towards that family, although you have mellowed out somewhat over the years since then. I have. It was sometime in my early twenties. Can’t remember when. I ain’t good with dates. I had a dog. His name was Stetson. Had him for a long time. Maybe ten years, so about as long as I could remember. He was basically my best friend. I had a girlfriend, too. We were together for a couple years. Went strong, but eventually it just fizzled out. I wasn’t in a very good place money wise at that time so she ended up taking Stetson to live with her and her new boyfriend until I could afford to feed him. That was after we stopped living together and all. His face was grim, staring directly at the wall ahead of him like there was something pinned to it. I went over one day to check on him, like I usually did. First thing I saw was that he wasn’t there, jumping up and scratching at my leg the moment I walked in. That’s what he usually did. I asked her where my boy was. I honestly would have been less shocked if all the windows in the house suddenly exploded at once. The bitch put him down…without even telling me… (1/2)
>>6006070Now his fists were balled up, hanging towards the floor and turning red from all the blood he was pumping to his digits. His teeth gritted and his eyes squinting, still locked on that one arbitrary spot on the wall ahead of him. He was my best friend. Better than any human I’ve ever met. And she put him down without even telling me. She told me she dropped him off at the vet and let them handle the rest…my boy died all alone. That’s not even the most fucked up part, though. He wasn’t sick or getting old or nothing. He was still healthy as a horse. The cunt…the cunt just…didn’t wanna take care of him no more…FUCK! With a pounding of his fist against his thigh, it’s like the anger coursing through him turned into defeat. His shoulders fell and his body slumped forward. A tired sigh escaping his lungs, like he was too exhausted to even get mad now. Didn’t let me take him. Didn’t give him to a shelter. Fuck, she didn’t even just let him run off somewhere. She had to put him down…her boyfriend’s idea, of course. Was jealous of how much affection she was showing him. Affection that coulda been given to him. Now his eyes turned, locking onto you, not wavering as his eyes were on yours. You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat a little, half expecting him to leap at you and try gouging your eyes out or something. I’ve never been more filled with anger and hate then I was at that moment. So much so that it felt like any other time before or after was just me lying to myself, trying to convince myself that I was angry when I wasn’t. Like someone cut my head open and poured boiling water until it was bubbling in every part of my body. Like my guts were being cooked and my skin was being fried. Every single one of my senses were and it blurred or numbed. I guess that’s what people mean by a blind rage. I can’t remember much of what happened next but when I came back, both my ex and her boyfriend were dead. I killed them, of course. I know it was wrong. If I was thinking correctly I wouldn’t’ve done it. Not tryna justify or explain myself. I’m a bad man and I rightly got locked up. Anyways, to answer yer question…I fight so I can get the rest of that boiling water outta my system. Good thing it’s easy to pick fights in prison. I’d say I got about this much left in me. His hand straightened out, tapping himself on the stomach, right where his belly button would be. Never killed nobody else besides those two. Never even tried. You’ve met people who preferred pets over other people, but you never thought you’d imagine someone taking it this far. This guy is nothing like Roger, that is for sure. Knowing you now can’t sustain any damage or injuries up here soothes you in his presence just a little bit. Enough to not instantly bolt out of here.(2/2)>Ask him a question. (Elaborate.)>Tell him a story.>Politely leave. >Write-in.
>>6006072>>Politely leave.
>>6006072>Tell him a story.Heavy. I feel like we could tell him about how angry we were with the family.
>>6006072>Tell him a story.
>>6006072>Tell him a story.About our anger, and about how we mellowed out and started to find peace, what did it for us.
>>6006072>Tell him a story.Nothing too preachy.
>>6006276>>6006319>>6006527>>6006597>>6006941You never were big on dogs. Being allergic to them is one of the main reasons, obviously, but you also just find them…dirty. At least cats can and do lick themselves clean. Dogs just tread dirt everywhere and have no concept of cleanliness. At least that is your experience with them. If a man is covered in dirt, he would take his shoes off at the front door and head straight for the shower. Dogs will roll around in all the furniture they can find and then shit on your pillow. That actually happened once when your parents owned a dog. Needless to say it was given to a nearby shelter soon after and you’ve never owned one since. Even then, you still understand that needlessly putting one of them down and ending its life for such a trivial reason was at least a little cruel. At least that was how you felt on the matter. I’m sorry to hear that. I had a pet fish once. You don’t have much to come off as relating to him on. That fish lasted about a week or two back when you were around five. That’s about as far as having pets went for you. There were a couple of wild animals you became accustomed to meeting out in the woods in your childhood, most of which you gave names. That is beside the point, though. You may not be able to easily relate to the man on having pets, but you can relate to him on that feeling of overflowing anger and hate. …but yeah, I’ve felt that way before to some extent. Not over the fish or anything…you see, I had a friend. A good friend. Her name was Estelle. I won’t get into many of the details, but we were out hunting in the woods one day. Just her and I. Next thing’s next, she had a bear sized bullet wound in her side and was bleeding out fast. We couldn’t get her back in time… You shot her? Leon says it so matter of factly. Like he’s hearing about a story of someone drunkenly texting their ex for the thousandth time. No! No, it wasn’t me. Nobody meant to shoot her. A cousin of hers was hunting, too. Didn't see her until it was too late. And that’s what got you feelin’ like that? No, not really. I was actually just…sad. Grieving and all that. At least….until the family tried pinning the blame on me. You never thought you would be bringing up the past so much now, especially parts of it you had been trying to move past for some time now. Yet here you are. It started with Roger, now Leon. You promise to try keeping this specific story in your life withheld for a little while longer after this. It’s too late to stop now, though. Might as well finish it, since the man seems to be listening anyways. I guess they figured they could get something out of it if they tried finding me guilty. They were filthy rich so the case lasted a while. Ended up not being charged, but neither were they. I felt like you. Boiling anger and hate. (1/2)
>>6008382You chuckled a little, albeit it came off as a little forced, as if it was your way of trying to ease the tension. Hell, I still hate their guts for not even taking responsibility. Tell you what, though…I found a way to deal with my feelings that didn’t involve knocking someone’s teeth out. Well, more like it found me. You were never trying to find a way of handling your rage, instead opting to let it fester inside of you until it inevitably exploded. That was until life began to take you in a new, almost refreshing redirection. It wasn’t much, but I once took a trip to Europe for a couple years once I became an adult. This was about a year after the incident, mind you… That’s when you realized this wouldn’t be very useful for him, seeing as there isn’t much of a chance to be traveling around Europe now that the both of you are dead. Whoops. W-What I mean to say, is…I met people. A lot of different people and a lot of different perspectives. I dunno if it’s directly related or if the two had nothing in common at all, but the more people I met in each province I traveled through, the less hate I found myself feeling when thinking back to those bastards on the other side of the woods behind my parent’s house. Maybe that was just a me thing, but meeting a bunch of people actually helped… You are just throwing a bunch of shit at the wall and hoping some of it sticks, really. You actually don’t know what came over you and what caused you to have a change of heart in your feelings towards Estelle’s family, but one day you just did. No, rather it was more than just one day. It was a slow, barely noticeable change until you couldn’t even notice anything was different until you looked back. But if it had any chance of leaving an impact on him and saving any other passerby's from getting challenged to a fight by this brute, good. I see…well, thanks for nothing. I swear if you start lecturing me ‘bout finding God… No, no! I’m just…ah, well… You slowly fade into silence. There’s not much else to be said. You tried, but nothing came of it. Maybe next time you’ll have found a way to approach this subject less…clumsily. You got anything else? Hm? (2/2) >Ask him another question or two. (Elaborate.)>Bid your adieus and continue hiking.
>>6008384Why is a van up here?
>>6008384>>6008406+1 and then>Bid your adieus and continue hiking.
