Work Text
Instrument Players
Long dead creatures
“Reapers”
Skeletal detailing
Contacts
Similar outfits to not distract from lead
Lead Singer
More Human
No Skeletal detailing
Most eye-grabbing person
No contacts
Mothman vibes
“Reapers”
Basics
Age
Deterioration is determined by age
Eye color
Eye color changes over time with deterioration
Clothes
Dark, very plain, all basically dressed the same besides accessories
Lore
We are undead things from hell, basically
Deterioration
Deterioration is one of the most important visual factors in a Reaper.
The most prominent area of deterioration is always the nose, The nose is always the most deteriorated seeing as it is where the deterioration starts.
The deterioration process goes:
Nose → Mouth → Cheeks → Eyes → Neck → Hands → Everywhere Else
The deterioration usually moves between the mouth, cheeks, and eyes within a similar timeframe, they usually each start at the same time but the eyes take longer then the cheeks, and the cheeks take longer than the mouth, that is why they are ordered the way they are.
Age = Deterioration + Eye Color
Age is directly connected to deterioration and eye color.
Young
= More human
(Less skeletal)
, Human eyes
(no contacts)
, Less deterioration
(Early stages, started on nose and mouth)
Mid-Age
= Less human
(more skeletal)
, Vibrant eyes
(contacts)
, More deterioration (Mid stages, Cheeks and Eyes, maybe neck)
Old
= The least human
(mostly skeletal)
, White-eyes
(contacts)
, The most deteriorated, Most deteriorated
(Late stages, onto neck, hands, and rest or body)
Eye Colors
Eye colors vary among Reapers. We have not found any reasoning as to why eyes are colored in different ways, but we do know the rarer kinds,
Commonly, Reapers of Mid-Age will have Red, Yellow, Blue, Purple or Grey eyes
Rarely, Reapers of Mid-Age will have Orange, Green, Black, or Multicolored eyes
All Reapers at Old age have white eyes, so there is a difference over time, there are no Reapers that are unaffected by this.
Ages + Eyecolors
Crow— Mid-Age—Red & Yellow
Raven—Young—None
Corvo—Old—White
Jay—Young—None
Dove—Mid-Age—Blue
Why the reapers?
Indeed, it is true that I am unsure of the specific reasons for the reapers' presence.
However, I am aware that our esteemed lead singer is responsible for their arrival. Our lead singer thought it would be intriguing to summon creatures from their graves, believing that nothing could go awry.
Fortunately, the result has yet to be the opposite.
How did our Lead learn about Reapers?
Our Beautiful Bug learned about Reapers through the one she encountered first, Corvo.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
In the bustling tavern of a small English town, the air was thick with the scent of ale and tobacco smoke. The wooden tables were crowded with rowdy patrons, their laughter echoing against the walls as tankards clinked together in toast. Among the throng stood Corvo, a man of formidable stature with a presence that commanded attention. He wasn’t too tall or too short at 5’6.” His long, flowing locks of blond and white hair cascaded down his broad shoulders like a waterfall of silk, framing his rugged features with an air of rugged charm. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold like sun-dappled leaves, sparkled with a mischievous twinkle, hinting at the adventurous spirit that lay dormant within.
Corvo wasn't one to actively seek trouble, but trouble often found him, especially when the amber liquid of ale was involved. Leaning casually against the worn wooden bar, he nursed his tankard of frothy ale, observing the scene unfolding before him with a mixture of amusement and resignation. It was a typical night in the tavern, filled with the familiar sights and sounds that had become like old friends to Corvo. The air was filled with the sound of boisterous laughter and the rhythmic clinking of tankards, a comforting symphony that served as the back noise to many an evening.
But then, as if summoned by some unseen force, she walked in. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, her short golden locks framing her delicate features like a halo of sunlight. With each graceful step, she moved with an effortless elegance, captivating the attention of every patron in the room, including Corvo. His heart, usually as steady as the oak beams that supported the tavern's ceiling, skipped a beat as he watched her approach the bar. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of cerulean, swept across the room until they settled on him. A warm, inviting smile tugged at the corners of her lips, igniting a spark of anticipation within Corvo's chest. In that moment, amidst the clamor of the tavern and the haze of smoke and ale, time seemed to stand still as their gazes locked.
He offered her a charming grin in return, his confidence bolstered by the ale coursing through his veins, mingling with the thrill of the unexpected encounter. But before he could make his move, another figure emerged from the shadows of the tavern, his presence announced by the subtle shift in atmosphere. This newcomer, a stark contrast to Corvo's easy going demeanor, exuded an air of brash confidence, his swagger oozing arrogance as he boldly approached the girl, as if claiming her as his own.
With a casual familiarity that grated on Corvo's nerves, the man draped an arm around the girl's shoulders, his touch possessive and unwelcome. "Looks like we've got ourselves a new contender," he slurred, his words dripping with disdain as he addressed both Corvo and the girl. His breath, tainted by the stench of cheap ale, added an unpleasant edge to his already abrasive demeanor. "What do you say, lass? Care to dance with a real man?"
Corvo felt a surge of indignation rising within him, his temper flaring at the man's brazen display of entitlement. Though not one to easily succumb to jealousy, something about the way the stranger leered at the girl set his teeth on edge, igniting a protective instinct that he couldn't quite suppress.
"I think the lady can speak for herself," Corvo interjected, his voice measured but tinged with an unmistakable warning edge, a silent declaration that he would not stand idly by while this stranger imposed upon her.
The stranger's eyes narrowed as he turned to face Corvo, his gaze cold and calculating, assessing him with a predatory gleam. "And who might you be, then? Another sorry excuse for a man trying to win the favor of a woman who's clearly out of your league?"
Corvo's fists clenched at his sides, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain the rising tide of anger threatening to consume him. He knew better than to allow himself to be goaded by the likes of this man, but his pride, wounded by the implication of inferiority, demanded satisfaction.
"Leave her be," Corvo growled, his voice low and dangerous, a warning to the stranger that further provocation would not be tolerated. "Or else."
The stranger's laughter echoed through the tavern, a grating sound that sent shivers down Corvo's spine, like the discordant notes of a forgotten melody. It was a laugh laced with arrogance and malice, a stark contrast to the joviality that had filled the air moments before. Yet, despite the rising tension, Corvo remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding in the face of the stranger's taunts.
"Or else what? You'll challenge me to a duel?" the stranger sneered, his words dripping with contempt. "I'd like to see you try, little man."
With a flick of his wrist, the stranger reached for a nearby bottle, its smooth glass surface catching the dim light of the tavern, refracting it into a kaleidoscope of fractured brilliance. In one swift motion, he shattered it against the edge of the bar, the sharp sound of splintering glass slicing through the air like a dagger. What remained in his hand was no longer a mere bottle but a jagged weapon, its edges glinting ominously in the flickering candlelight.
Corvo's heart pounded in his chest, a primal rhythm driving him forward as he braced himself for the inevitable clash. Adrenaline surged through his veins, sharpening his senses and flooding his mind with a singular focus. He knew he was at a disadvantage, facing an opponent who surpassed him in both size and strength. But the fire of justice burned within him, fueling his determination to stand his ground, no matter the cost.
As the stranger lunged forward with a primal roar, fueled by a potent mixture of anger and alcohol, Corvo met him head-on, his movements guided by instinct and honed by years of survival. His fists became blurs of motion, each strike delivered with precision and purpose as he sought to defend himself against the onslaught.
The air crackled with tension as the two men grappled with each other, their bodies entwined in a violent dance of desperation. The sound of breaking glass filled the tavern, a cacophony of destruction that drowned out all other noise. Yet, amidst the chaos, Corvo remained resolute, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his adversary.
But fate, cruel and capricious, had other plans. In a moment of miscalculation, a fraction of a second too slow, Corvo found himself vulnerable, exposed to the mercy of his opponent. And in that fleeting instant, the stranger's broken bottle found its mark, its deadly edge slicing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as agony blossomed within Corvo's chest, a searing pain that consumed him from within. In that final, fleeting moment, as darkness closed in around him, he realized with a bitter clarity that justice, like so much else in this unforgiving world, was a fragile illusion, shattered by the merciless hand of fate.
Corvo's vision blurred, the edges of his world fading into darkness as waves of excruciating pain enveloped him, threatening to pull him under. With a heavy groan, he collapsed to the ground in a heap of shattered resolve, the impact sending shockwaves of agony through his already battered body.
Amidst the chaos, the panicked shouts of the other patrons reached his ears, their voices a cacophony of fear and confusion against the backdrop of his own labored breathing. Yet, despite their frantic attempts to stem the tide of his impending demise, Corvo knew that it was too late, his fate sealed by the cruel twist of destiny.
As he lay there, his life slipping away with each shallow breath, darkness closed in around him like a suffocating embrace. The world became a blur of fleeting images and distant sounds, the line between reality and oblivion growing ever more tenuous with each passing moment.
In the aftermath of the chaotic brawl, the tavern descended into a stunned silence, broken only by the occasional whimper of anguish that echoed through the air like a mournful dirge. The girl, her eyes wide with horror, knelt beside Corvo's lifeless form, her trembling hands reaching out to touch his cold cheek in a futile gesture of comfort.
Above them, the stranger loomed, his adrenaline-fueled triumph tempered by a haunting sense of remorse that lingered in the depths of his soul. Despite emerging victorious from the brutal confrontation, there was a weight upon his conscience that no amount of bravado could alleviate, a solemn acknowledgment of the life he had extinguished in the heat of battle.
And as he lay there, his blood staining the floor of the tavern crimson red, Corvo knew that his time had come. He had gone out swinging, and that was good enough for him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jay revved the engine of his vintage Camaro, the throaty growl echoing through the crisp night air, a symphony of power and freedom. It was a scene straight out of a classic American film, with the small town of Clearwater serving as the perfect backdrop for the night's adventure. Here, beneath the star-strewn sky, time seemed to slow, allowing the teenagers to revel in the promise of excitement that hung heavy in the air.
As the senior year drew to a close, Jay found himself embracing every moment with an insatiable hunger, determined to leave his mark on the memories of Clearwater High School. With his trademark confidence and athleticism, he embodied the quintessential American dreamer, his dark brown hair dancing in the wind as if in tune with the pulsating rhythm of the engine.
Tonight was more than just another Friday night escapade; it was a testament to youth's boundless spirit and the thrill of living in the moment. As Jay gripped the steering wheel with a mixture of anticipation and exhilaration, he felt the weight of expectations and aspirations pressing against his chest, urging him to push the boundaries of speed and possibility.
"Ready to eat my dust, boys?" Jay's voice cut through the night air, charged with the excitement of impending competition. His friends, a motley crew of adrenaline junkies and thrill-seekers, responded with eager shouts and revs of their own engines, each one a declaration of defiance against the constraints of ordinary life.
With a nod from the makeshift race official, the tension reached its peak, the air crackling with anticipation like static electricity before a storm. In that fleeting moment, as the world held its breath, Jay knew that tonight would be more than just a race; it would be a testament to friendship, rivalry, and the unyielding spirit of youth.
As the signal was given, Jay unleashed the full power of his Camaro, the roar of the engine drowning out the chaos of the world around him. With each twist and turn of the road, he felt the exhilarating rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, propelling him forward into the unknown. In that moment, as the world blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors and lights, Jay knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be—chasing dreams under the starlit sky of Clearwater.
For a moment, Jay basked in the intoxicating rush of the race, his senses heightened by the sheer adrenaline pumping through his veins. In that fleeting instant, he felt as if he could conquer the world. But then, as fate would have it, reality came crashing back with a brutal force, shattering his illusion of invincibility.
As he navigated the treacherous twists and turns of the winding road, Jay's focus was momentarily diverted by a looming obstacle—a solitary tree standing defiantly in his path. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he processed the imminent danger, his heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. In that split second, every instinct screamed for him to react, to avert disaster, but the laws of physics cared little for human frailty.
With a sickening lurch, the Camaro skidded off course, the screeching tires and twisted metal echoing through the night air. Jay's hands fought desperately for control, his mind racing to devise a solution, but the inevitability of the collision hung heavy in the air like a grim omen. The impact, when it came, was nothing short of cataclysmic—a deafening cacophony of metal rending against wood, glass shattering into a thousand glittering shards, and the world spinning into a disorienting blur of chaos.
In that harrowing moment, as the world erupted in a maelstrom of destruction, Jay's universe narrowed to a singular point of agonizing clarity. Pain blossomed like a crimson flower, engulfing him in its suffocating embrace as consciousness ebbed away into oblivion. Everything went dark.
As Jay's consciousness slowlyreturned, he was greeted by a scene of utter chaos and desolation. The once proud and gleaming Camaro now lay twisted and shattered, a grim testament to the merciless forces of fate. His heart sank as he surveyed the wreckage, a lump forming in his throat at the sight of his beloved car reduced to nothing more than a mangled heap of metal and memories.
The pain that coursed through his body served as a harsh reminder of the ordeal he had endured, each movement sending waves of agony rippling through his battered frame. With every labored breath, he could feel the weight of his injuries bearing down on him like a relentless tide, threatening to drag him further into the abyss of despair.
As Jay struggled to make sense of his surroundings, his frantic gaze searched for any sign of his friends amidst the wreckage. But they were nowhere to be found, their fate shrouded in uncertainty in the aftermath of the violent collision. A sense of dread settled over him like a heavy fog, his heart heavy with the burden of unanswered questions and unspoken fears.
In the distance, the piercing wail of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, signaling the arrival of help in his darkest hour. With a mixture of relief and resignation, Jay watched as the flashing lights of emergency vehicles drew nearer, their arrival marked the end of his ill-fated race and the beginning of a new chapter in his life—one fraught with pain, uncertainty, and regret.
As paramedics swarmed around him, their urgent voices a jumbled cacophony in his ears, Jay couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for the life he was leaving behind. His dreams and aspirations now lay shattered alongside his beloved Camaro, mere fragments of a future that would never come to pass.
But amidst the wreckage and the pain, there was a deeper sense of loss—a profound regret for the choices left unmade and the roads left untraveled. In that moment of clarity, Jay realized with a heavy heart that the greatest race of all was the one he never had the chance to finish—the race to embrace life, cherish every moment, and seize the opportunities that lay before him. And as the darkness threatened to engulf him once more, he made a silent vow to himself—to live each day with purpose and passion, knowing that the true measure of a life well-lived lies not in the speed at which we race, but in the depth of our journey and the richness of our experiences.Though it was far too late for him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
In the midst of the Revolutionary War, amidst the chaos of battle, Crow fought fiercely for the cause of American independence. His heart swelled with patriotism as he faced the British forces, his bayonet gleaming in the sunlight, ready to defend his country and the freedom it represented.
Crow's brown eyes narrowed in determination as he charged forward, his comrades at his side. The sounds of gunfire and shouting filled the air, mingling with the cries of the wounded and dying. The battlefield was a tumultuous sea of chaos and carnage, but Crow remained steadfast in his resolve.
As he clashed with the enemy, his thoughts turned to his beloved wife, Dove. She was his beacon of hope in the darkness of war, her love sustaining him through the toughest of times. Crow longed for the day when he could return to her embrace, when they could build a future together free from the tyranny of oppression.
But fate had other plans. Little did Crow know, as he fought valiantly on the battlefield, that his journey was about to take a dramatic turn. In the distance, cannons roared, sending shockwaves through the ground. Amidst the chaos, a sudden gust of wind carried the distant sound of marching boots, signaling reinforcements approaching from the enemy's flank.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Crow realized the gravity of the situation. The odds were stacked against them, yet he refused to yield. Rallying his comrades, he devised a daring plan to outmaneuver the encroaching enemy, knowing that failure meant the loss of everything they held dear.
Through the smoke and haze of battle, Crow's determination burned brighter than ever. Every step he took, every clash of steel, was a testament to his unwavering commitment to the cause. Even as exhaustion threatened to overcome him, he fought on, driven by the vision of a better future for his country and his beloved Dove.
Amidst the tumultuous symphony of war, Crow found himself locked in a grim ballet with a British soldier, his bayonet gleaming malevolently in the low light. Without a moment's pause, the adversary thrust his weapon forward with lethal intent, aiming unerringly for Crow's valiant heart. In that fleeting eternity, time stretched thin as Crow's chestnut eyes widened.
The bayonet, a cruel emissary of death, tore a jagged path through Crow's chest, rending flesh and shattering bone with a sickening symphony of agony. Pain, visceral and all-consuming, exploded throughout Crow's being, a crimson tide of torment crashing over his senses. He staggered backward, his hands instinctively reaching to staunch the crimson torrent that poured forth from the gaping wound, staining his once pristine uniform in a morose tapestry of scarlet.
As he collapsed to the unforgiving earth beneath him, Crow's mind became a tempest of memories and regrets, swirling amidst the maelstrom of battle. His thoughts, like spectral whispers in the tumultuous wind, turned inexorably to Dove, his heart heavy with the burden of unspoken farewells and shattered dreams. In his final moments, he offered fervent prayers to the heavens above, beseeching the divine for her safety, for the solace and sanctuary that would elude him in the embrace of his untimely demise.
Meanwhile, miles away, Dove paced the worn wooden floorboards of their modest abode, her every step echoing the rhythm of her restless mind. Her brown eyes, once vibrant with hope, were now clouded with worry and fear, mirroring the turbulent skies outside. The distant echoes of battle reverberated through the walls, a haunting reminder of the perilous world that lay just beyond their doorstep.
In her trembling hands, Dove clutched a weathered letter from Crow, its pages creased with the weight of their separation. The inked words of love and longing seemed to dance before her eyes, offering fleeting solace amidst the chaos that surrounded her. Yet, with each passing moment, the ink faded into insignificance against the backdrop of uncertainty that engulfed her.
As days turned into weeks, Dove found herself ensnared in the suffocating grip of anxiety, her once buoyant spirit weighed down by the burden of anticipation. Each sunrise brought with it a renewed sense of dread, as she grappled with the agonizing uncertainty of whether Crow would ever return to her embrace. Though she yearned for the war's end, for the safe return of her beloved, a gnawing apprehension clawed at her heart, whispering of the diminishing likelihood of their reunion.
Then, one fateful evening, a knock sounded at the door, echoing through the silent house like a death knell. Dove's heart leaped into her throat as she hurried to answer it, her hands trembling with dread. Each step she took felt like a journey through a dark, foreboding tunnel, the weight of impending tragedy pressing down on her with each beat of her racing heart.
Standing on the doorstep was a solemn-faced messenger, his eyes downcast as he delivered the news Dove had feared most. Crow, her beloved, her confidant, her anchor in a turbulent world, was dead—taken by the merciless blade of a British bayonet on a distant battlefield.
Dove's world shattered in an instant. It was as if the very ground beneath her feet had crumbled away, leaving her suspended in a void of grief and despair. Her brown eyes, once filled with warmth and laughter, now overflowed with tears as she crumpled to the ground, the weight of her anguish crushing her spirit like a vice. It was a pain so raw, so profound, that it felt as though a part of her soul had been torn away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of the woman she once was.
In the days that followed, Dove withdrew from the world, her grief consuming her every waking moment like a relentless tide. The once vibrant colors of life now seemed dull and faded, drained of all meaning in the wake of Crow's passing. She could not bear to face the reality of a world without him by her side, his absence a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow her whole. Each day was a battle, a struggle to find some semblance of solace in a world that had become cold and indifferent to her pain. And yet, despite her best efforts to move forward, the memory of Crow lingered like a ghost, a constant presence haunting her every thought and action, a reminder of all that she had lost and could never hope to regain.
Under the shimmering glow of the moon, casting its ethereal light upon the earth below, Dove found herself at the precipice of a life-altering choice. With the weight of her decision bearing down upon her soul, she ventured into the depths of her memories, retracing the path that led her to this haunting moment.
Each step she took towards Crow's old musket felt like a journey through time, each footfall echoing the echoes of their shared past. The weapon, once a symbol of protection and security, now lay dormant in its resting place, a silent witness to the turmoil that enveloped Dove's fragile heart.
With a trembling hand and a heavy heart, Dove reached out to grasp the cold metal of the musket, its weight a stark reminder of the gravity of her intentions. Tears mingled with the darkness of the night as she cradled the weapon in her hands, her fingers tracing the contours of its familiar form.
In the silence that enveloped her, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant call of a nocturnal creature, Dove loaded a single bullet into the chamber, her thoughts consumed by the promise of reunion in the afterlife. Each movement was a testament to the agony that gripped her soul, each click of the mechanism a solemn symphony of despair.
And then, with one final, heart-wrenching sob that seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of her being, Dove raised the musket to her temple, the cold steel pressing against her skin like a lover's caress. In that fleeting moment, as the moon bore witness to her anguish, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the stillness of the night, its mournful cry echoing across the landscape like a chorus of lost souls. And as Dove's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, her brown eyes closed forever, she found solace in the embrace of death, her spirit soaring free to join Crow in the eternal embrace of death.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Raven sat alone in her dimly lit apartment, a sanctuary turned prison by the weight of her shattered dreams. The once vibrant walls, adorned with posters of her latest films, now served as mocking reminders of promises unfulfilled, their faded glory casting a pall over the room. Each poster whispered tales of her past success, now lost in the shadows of her present despair.
The air hung heavy with the scent of desperation, a suffocating blend of shattered hopes and the bitter residue of the drugs that had become her only solace. It clung to her skin like a second shroud, weaving its tendrils into every corner of her being.
With a weary sigh, she ran a trembling hand through her tangled black curls, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a leaden cloak. Dark circles, like bruises of despair, marred the pale expanse beneath her haunted eyes, windows to a soul drowning in sorrow. Each glance in the mirror reflected back a hollow shell of the woman she once was, a ghost trapped in the wreckage of her own making.
The allure of the pills beckoned to her from the nightstand, their seductive promises whispering of fleeting relief from the relentless ache that gnawed at her insides. They offered a temporary respite from the unyielding torment of her existence, a momentary escape from the harsh realities of life.
Raven found herself teetering on the precipice of a void, the darkness within her echoing the tumultuous storms raging outside. The allure of her former glory, once a beacon guiding her path, now seemed like a distant memory fading into the ether. Each step away from the bottle felt like a betrayal to her inner demons, a relinquishing of the only solace she knew amidst the chaos of her existence.
Her journey into the depths of addiction had been a slow descent, each pill a stepping stone leading her further away from the harsh realities waiting beyond her cocoon. The glamour of stardom had faded like a dying ember, leaving her stranded in a barren landscape where only the numb embrace of narcotics offered respite. She was adrift in a sea of broken dreams, the waves of regret crashing over her with each passing moment, threatening to pull her under.
As her hand tentatively reached for the bottle once more, its cool glass surface seemed to whisper secrets of her unraveling, each contour a testament to the labyrinthine depths of her descent. With a tremble that betrayed the weight of her choices, her fingers traced the familiar path, a silent dance with destiny, acknowledging the tangled web she had woven around herself.
The pills, nestled within their sterile confines, offered a siren's call, their deceptive allure promising respite from the tumult of her existence. Like whispers from a phantom lover, they beckoned, their sweet facade masking the bitter truth that lay beneath. And yet, in the throes of desperation, their temptation proved irresistible, drawing her ever closer to the edge of the abyss.
With each swallow, she felt the burdens of her reality momentarily relinquish their hold, replaced by a fleeting euphoria that danced upon the precipice of her consciousness. Yet, beneath the surface calm, the tempest of her turmoil raged unabated, tearing at the fragile facade she had erected to shield herself from the harsh glare of truth.
In the hazy embrace of intoxication, Raven found solace in the oblivion that beckoned, a temporary sanctuary from the demons that prowled the corridors of her mind. And yet, even as she surrendered to the numbing embrace, she could feel the tendrils of despair tightening their grip, pulling her further into the abyss with each passing moment, until the line between salvation and damnation blurred into oblivion.
Time seemed to stretch into eternity as Raven drifted in and out of consciousness, ensnared in the labyrinthine corridors of her own mind, where reality intertwined with illusion in a ceaseless and disorienting dance. Shadows, like spectral dancers, pirouetted across the walls, casting eerie shapes that whispered secrets of long-forgotten worlds, their voices haunting her every thought. She struggled to muster a scream, to break through the oppressive silence that ensnared her, but her voice remained imprisoned within the suffocating cocoon of despair that seemed to tighten its grip with each passing moment.
In the oppressive darkness, memories surged forth like relentless waves, each one a jagged shard of her fractured past, cutting deep into her soul. She witnessed herself as she once was, a beacon of hope with eyes that sparkled with untamed ambition, but now she was adrift in the relentless pursuit of fame's elusive embrace, a pursuit that had cost her the very essence of her being. She had bartered her soul for a fleeting taste of adulation, only to find herself lost in a void of emptiness and regret.
As the interminable night dragged on, Raven's heartbeat faltered, its rhythm growing fainter with each passing moment, until it was but a feeble echo in the vast expanse of nothingness that surrounded her. Despite the impending specter of death looming over her, there lingered within her a perverse longing for the tranquility that oblivion promised. It beckoned to her like a siren's song, offering respite from the ceaseless torment of her existence, a temptation she struggled to resist.
And so, as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Raven's life flickered and died, a tragic casualty of the darkness that had consumed her. In the end, she was just another casualty of fame's cruel embrace, a forgotten star swallowed by the relentless tide of time, her story lost in the annals of history.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Magpie had always been a lively soul, the kind of person who could light up a room with his mere presence. His brown curly hair and deep brown eyes gave him a warm and approachable appearance, and his infectious laughter could be heard from miles away, often drawing people to him like moths to a flame. Whether at a local gathering or a quiet evening at home, his exuberance was a constant, filling spaces with an energy that was both comforting and invigorating.In 1953, life in his small town was simple yet challenging. The post-war era was marked by recovery and rebuilding, but also by lingering tensions and hidden dangers. Streets were lined with modest houses, and the air carried the scents of freshly baked bread and newly tilled earth. The town's people were resilient, each bearing silent scars from the past, yet they found solace in the routine and in each other. It was a time of transition, where hope began to sprout from the ruins of uncertainty.Magpie lived in a modest house on the outskirts of town, a place surrounded by fields and dense woods. His home was a small, weather-beaten cottage with a garden where wildflowers grew in a riot of colors, and a rickety fence that he always meant to fix but never quite got around to. The sounds of nature were a constant backdrop—birds chirping at dawn, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and the occasional howl of a distant coyote. His life was unremarkable in many ways—he worked as a handyman, fixing roofs, mending fences, and doing odd jobs for his neighbors. One chilly autumn evening, Magpie was returning home after spending the day helping a local man repair his old, dilapidated barn. The sky overhead was a deep shade of indigo, with stars just beginning to peek through the gathering darkness. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. Magpie hummed a cheerful tune, his footsteps crunching rhythmically on the gravel path as he made his way back. The comforting glow of his house appeared on the horizon, a welcome sight after a long day’s work.As he drew closer, however, a sense of unease began to stir within him. There, near his front door, stood a group of unfamiliar men, their figures shadowy and imposing in the dim light. They were loitering with an unsettling stillness, their presence jarring against the familiar backdrop of Magpie's home.Magpie's heart rate quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he called out, his voice attempting to convey steadiness despite the apprehension creeping into his chest. The gravel crunched louder under his boots, a stark contrast to the silence of the men.Slowly, the men turned to face him, their expressions cold and unyielding. They were dressed in dark, worn-out clothes, their faces partially obscured by the shadows. One of them, a tall man with a rough, angular face, stepped forward. A sinister smile played on his lips, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes."You're Magpie, aren't you?" the man asked. Though his tone was conversational, the question felt more like an accusation."That's me," Magpie replied, forcing a note of confidence into his voice. "What do you want?""We need to have a little chat," the man said, his smile widening into something more menacing. "Why don't you come with us?"Magpie's mind raced. The barn repair had gone smoothly; there had been no arguments, no disputes. He had no idea who these men were or what they wanted. He glanced around, considering his options. The forest was nearby, offering a potential escape route, but his home was closer. If he could get inside and lock the door, he might have a chance to call for help.Magpie hesitated, his instincts screaming that something was terribly amiss. Everything about this situation felt wrong, an oppressive wrongness that settled like a heavy shroud over his senses. Before he could react or even fully process the danger, the men were upon him. They grabbed him roughly, their hands like iron clamps on his arms, unyielding and merciless. He struggled, every muscle in his body straining against their hold, but their grip was too strong, their determination too fierce. Panic surged through him, a cold, paralyzing wave that crashed over his mind and body. They were dragging him away from his home, his sanctuary, pulling him into the dark, foreboding woods that loomed just beyond his backyard. The familiar surroundings of his neighborhood were quickly replaced by the eerie, oppressive silence of the forest."Let me go!" Magpie shouted, his voice a desperate plea that was swallowed whole by the night. The men did not respond, their silence more terrifying than any words could have been. It was as if they were phantoms, shadows given form, their only purpose to instill fear and uncertainty.They took him deeper into the forest, far from the safety and warmth of his home, far from the familiarity of the town he had known all his life. The trees seemed to close in around them, their branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. The moonlight barely penetrated the dense canopy, casting the forest floor into a patchwork of shadow and faint, ghostly light.Magpie's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a frantic rhythm of fear and desperation. His mind raced with questions and possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Why was this happening? What did these men want from him? What fate awaited him in the depths of this dark, unwelcoming forest?Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a small clearing. The sudden openness of the space was disorienting, the sky above a void punctuated by distant, uncaring stars. The men stopped and threw Magpie to the ground with brutal force. He landed hard, the impact knocking the breath out of him and sending sharp jolts of pain through his body.He lay there for a moment, gasping for air, his vision blurred by tears of pain and fear. Slowly, he forced himself to look up. The men stood over him, their faces obscured by shadow, their features unreadable. They were like dark sentinels, figures of dread and menace.Magpie's mind raced, trying to think of a way out, a way to escape this nightmare. But the forest around them was impenetrable, a living labyrinth that seemed to conspire against him. He was alone, at the mercy of these silent, menacing figures, with no idea what they intended to do next."Please," he gasped, his voice trembling with fear and confusion, "I don't understand. What do you want from me?" The words barely escaped his lips before a chilling realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. One of the men stepped forward, his silhouette looming ominously against the dim light, a shovel clenched tightly in his grasp. With each thrust into the earth, the metallic scrape of the shovel against soil echoed through the desolate surroundings, a haunting soundtrack to Magpie's terror.As the pit deepened, a suffocating dread enveloped Magpie's senses. He felt the weight of impending doom pressing down on him, crushing his spirit with relentless force. Memories of tales about unfortunate souls buried alive flooded his mind, each anecdote now a chilling prophecy unfolding before his very eyes. Panic seized him, urging him to fight against the inevitable, but his feeble attempts to rise were swiftly quashed by a firm hand, forcing him back into the suffocating embrace of the earth."Stay still," a voice commanded, sharp and authoritative, slicing through the thick veil of fear that clouded Magpie's thoughts. "This will be over soon." The words offered no solace, only serving to amplify the agony of his helplessness. With each passing moment, the pit grew deeper, swallowing him whole with its gaping maw, a relentless reminder of his mortality.Magpie's heart thudded painfully in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of terror reverberating through his veins. He watched in silent horror as the men worked with ruthless efficiency, their impassive expressions betraying no hint of remorse or mercy. Desperation clawed at his mind, urging him to devise an escape plan, but his thoughts were mired in a fog of fear, each idea drowned out by the deafening roar of his own impending demise.Finally, mercifully, the hole reached its intended depth. The men ceased their labor, their eyes cold and unfeeling as they peered down at Magpie with chilling detachment. In that moment, as he stared up at the grim faces of his captors, Magpie realized with chilling clarity that his fate was sealed."Time to say goodbye," one of them said, his voice devoid of sympathy, cutting through the night like a sharp blade slicing through silk.They seized Magpie, their hands like iron vise gripping him, and inexorably pushed him into the yawning maw of the grave. The earth, cold and damp, enveloped him, its clammy embrace chilling him to the bone. The walls of the pit closed in on him from all sides, a claustrophobic prison of darkness and despair.Desperation clawed at Magpie's throat as he tried to scream, but his voice emerged as nothing more than a hoarse whisper, his throat parched from fear. He frantically clawed at the suffocating soil, his fingers raw and bleeding, but the relentless men above continued to shovel earth back into the pit with grim determination.With each passing moment, the weight of the soil grew heavier, pressing down on Magpie like the weight of the world itself. Breathing became a laborious task, the air thick with the acrid scent of earth and decay. He thrashed and fought against the encroaching darkness, memories of his life flashing before his eyes like fragmented shards of glass.In the depths of his despair, Magpie's thoughts turned to his mother, her gentle smile and loving embrace a distant memory. He recalled the pride he felt on the day he secured his first job, the sense of accomplishment when he repaired his first roof. Memories of laughter shared with friends and the warmth of camaraderie flooded his mind, but now they seemed like echoes from another lifetime, lost in the void that enveloped him.As the dirt continued to cascade into the grave, Magpie's movements grew feeble, his strength waning with each passing moment. His breaths became shallow gasps, his body growing numb from the relentless onslaught of soil. With a final, desperate plea for mercy, he closed his eyes, a solitary tear tracing a path down his dirt-streaked cheek.But mercy remained elusive, a distant dream beyond his reach. The last of the dirt was shoveled in, sealing Magpie's fate beneath a shroud of earth and despair. The men stood over the freshly filled grave, their faces impassive, betraying no hint of remorse. They patted the earth down with calloused hands, erasing all trace of the life that once thrived beneath the surface.And so, Magpie lay entombed in the cold embrace of the earth, his spirit silenced, his light extinguished. Above, the world carried on, oblivious to the tragedy that had unfolded in the shadowy recesses of the night. The wind whispered through the trees, and the stars shimmered in the vast expanse of the sky, indifferent to the sorrow buried beneath them.In the days that followed, the town would mourn the loss of Magpie, but the true horror of his final moments would remain shrouded in mystery. His story would become a haunting legend, a cautionary tale of the darkness that lurks beneath the facade of everyday life.Magpie's life came to an end not with a bang, but with the silent suffocation of earth and despair.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Corvo’s journey from the land of the dead to the living world was a bewildering one, filled with the surreal and the inexplicable. Revived by accident by a group of self-proclaimed witches dabbling in forbidden rituals, he found himself thrust into an unfamiliar time, a world that had moved on without him. The witches, an odd bunch with their eccentric manners and cryptic incantations, took it upon themselves to teach Corvo the nuances of modern speech and traditions, their guidance a strange blend of old wisdom and new customs.
Corvo, with his long blond and white hair flowing like a spectral banner and his face partially deteriorated to reveal bone and teeth, was a sight to behold—a living testament to the thin line between life and death. His skeletal visage was both haunting and mesmerizing, a reminder of the realms he had traversed.
Despite his grim appearance and the upheaval of his resurrection, Corvo’s heart remained steadfastly set on one thing: the girl with short golden hair. The girl he had died protecting. The girl who haunted his memories and dreams. She was the beacon that guided him, the anchor that held him to his purpose. He needed to visit her grave, to see the place where she rested, to feel close to her once more.
It was a cloudy afternoon when Corvo made his way to the graveyard, the sky a blanket of gray that mirrored his somber mood. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, a blend of decay and renewal that seemed fitting for his visit. He walked slowly, his steps deliberate, almost hesitant, each one a reminder of the journey he had undertaken to reach this moment. The old gravestones stood as silent witnesses to the many lives that had come and gone, their weathered inscriptions telling stories of love, loss, and time's relentless march.
Corvo finally found her grave, marked by a simple stone with her name etched into it. He knelt down, his heart heavy yet strangely at peace. The sight of her name brought a flood of memories and emotions, a bittersweet cocktail of joy and sorrow. He traced the letters with his fingers, as if touching them could bridge the chasm between past and present.
His reverie was interrupted by a soft humming, a gentle melody that seemed to float on the air. He looked up and saw someone half-sitting in a tree nearby, their legs swinging lazily as they doodled in a notebook. The person had short golden hair, just like the girl. The resemblance struck Corvo like a lightning bolt, a sharp pang that resonated deep within him.
The person looked up, noticing Corvo’s stare. With a curious smile, they hopped down from the tree, their movements fluid and unhurried. They approached him, their eyes alight with interest and a touch of mischief.
"Hey there," they said, their voice cheerful and warm, cutting through the tranquil silence of the old graveyard like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. "What brings you to this ancient resting place of memories and whispers?"
Corvo hesitated, feeling the weight of his recent revival press upon him like a heavy cloak. He hadn't engaged in much conversation since that fateful moment.
"I... I came to visit someone," he finally managed to utter, his words emerging tentatively from the depths of his resurrected existence.
The person, who introduced themselves as Bug, nodded empathetically, their eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that resonated with Corvo's own turbulent emotions.
"I'm Bug," they said with a gentle smile. “I’m Bug. I like to come here to think and draw. It’s peaceful, you know?”
Corvo nodded in agreement, finding solace in the quietude that enveloped the cemetery. "I'm Corvo," he replied, his voice tinged with a roughness that hinted at the trials he had endured. "I'm... not from around here."
Bug's eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity, their interest piqued by Corvo's enigmatic presence.
"I can tell," they remarked with candid honesty. “I can tell. Your face… it’s kinda… messed up. No offense.”
Corvo offered a melancholic smile, acknowledging Bug's observation with a silent nod. "None taken," he murmured, his thoughts drifting back to the labyrinthine path that had led him to this moment. "It's a tale fraught with twists and turns."
Seizing the opportunity to connect with a fellow soul in this sea of silent memories, Bug settled onto the grass, inviting Corvo to join them in shared companionship.
"I've got time," Bug declared, their eyes radiating warmth and acceptance. "Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Though plagued by uncertainty, Corvo found himself drawn to Bug's open-hearted demeanor, compelled to unburden his soul to this newfound confidant.
"I was... I died a long time ago," he began, the weight of his past bearing down upon him like an ancient yoke. "In the service of protecting someone dear to me. And then, through a twist of fate, I was granted a second chance at life."
Bug's eyes widened in astonishment, their curiosity unabated by the revelation.
“Wow..” they murmured, hanging onto Corvo's every word. “That’s… intense. So, you’re, like, a zombie or something?”
Corvo nodded pensively, grappling with the complexities of his newfound existence.
"Something akin to that," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and yearning. "I'm still navigating the intricacies of this uncharted terrain."
As Corvo settled onto the grass beside Bug, he found himself enveloped by a sense of unexpected tranquility, as if the burdens of his past had momentarily faded into the ether. Bug's genuine curiosity and unyielding compassion served as a balm to his wounded spirit, easing the ache of his solitary journey.
"You died protecting someone?" Bug inquired, their gaze filled with empathy and reverence. Corvo nodded solemnly, his gaze drifting toward the weathered gravestone that bore silent witness to his sacrificial act.
"It was the greatest trial of my existence," he confessed, his voice heavy with the weight of remembrance. "But I would do it all over again, without hesitation. For she was... everything to me."
Bug's eyes flickered with understanding, their gaze lingering on the solemn monument that marked Corvo's profound loss. "She must have been really special," they murmured softly, their words infused with a profound sense of reverence. "I'm sorry for your loss, Corvo."
"Thank you," Corvo replied, his voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying weight in the tranquil atmosphere of the graveyard. In that serene exchange, amidst the sacred stillness of the resting place, two souls discovered solace, finding comfort in the shared embrace of empathy and understanding, a bond woven in the delicate threads of mutual recognition.
A pause lingered between them, the silence punctuated only by the distant melody of chirping birds and the gentle rustle of leaves stirred by a soft breeze. Then, a spark of excitement illuminated Bug's expression.
"Hey, you know, I have this dream of starting a band. I believe music holds the power to unite people, to make them feel truly alive."
Corvo's curiosity was piqued as he regarded Bug.
"A band? What genre of music do you envision?"
"Primarily rock, but infused with other genres for some songs and stuff like that," Bug elaborated, their eyes alight with fervor. "I've been writing songs and making lists of songs I’d want to do covers of… But it’s hard to find people interested in the type of music I want to produce…”
Corvo paused, his brow furrowing subconsciously as he mulled over Bug's request. After a brief moment of rolling through possibilities and ideas he offered a tentative nod, his voice carrying a hint of solemnity.
"I may be of assistance in that endeavor. You see, the so-called witches who revived me... they used black magic. Through my time with them, I've gained insights and knowledge on the basics of resurrection…"
Bug's eyes widened.
As their conversation deepened, Corvo's eyes widened in contemplation.
"Wait, are you suggesting that we could harness magic to kickstart our band?" Bug inquired with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he over exaggerated the idea.
"Not precisely." Corvo replied, his lips curling into a faint smile and he let out a weary chuckle. "Though, we could employ it to… perhaps… even summon a few additional creatures like me? They could lend us their aid, and who needs humans anyways."
Bug's jaw dropped in astonishment.
"Are you implying... like, a band of the undead?" Bug stammered out, trying to wrap their head around the idea.
"More a band of ethereal entities taking corporeal form," Corvo clarified gently. "They do possess their own unique traits and talents.” He paused again.
“We wouldn't exert control over them; rather, we'd offer them a chance to experience life anew for the small price of helping you with your band."
Bug was silent for a moment, processing this. Then they broke into a wide grin.
"That sounds incredible! We could be the first supernatural rock band. Think of the possibilities!"
Corvo couldn't suppress his own grin at Bug's infectious enthusiasm. "It won't be without its challenges, and there are inherent risks. Yet, if you're willing to embark on this venture, I shall impart upon you the knowledge that I possess."
Bug nodded fervently.
"Absolutely! Let's do it man!"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Hi everyone! I would like to apologize for not writing for a while. Our band has had a small dilemma, essentially, Our lead guitarist, Raven, has left the band. Soon I will be posting a chapter with some smoothing out of the lore since it now has to be worked around. We are currently looking for a new lead guitarist so when we get one I will upload the way their character died + more information on their character!Thank you guys so much for reading so far and please continue to read and share this work! Sincerely, your dearest Corvo.