Uncover the mysteries of the Place Between.
The Place Between
- Thread starter occipitallobe
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- Original Sci-Fi Fantasy
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The Beginning
- Location
- Straya
You realized the moment you fell into the fissure, that your life would not end as you had thought. Instead, you fell into a starry expanse, falling further and further through clouds of stars each of which you could only grasp a fleeting glimpse. You continued falling into that starry expanse, seeing a piece of earth rise up beneath you, growing slightly closer with every passing minute. You tried to speculate where you might land, but such conjecture what futile. Better to ask whether or not you would survive? You had seemed like to die, but instead seemed to fall an impossible distance, a matter most unsettling to you. Your apprehension was allayed as you landed, falling with immense force yet surviving without injury, your motion suddenly arrested. It seemed the ending to your story had not yet been written.
Who are you?
[ ] The Shamed Centurion
Your gambling debts took you, and the shadows of Margidunum held no place for you. Despite your position you were robbed and humiliated, and then cast out of the Legions. Your glory taken, your children dead, and even your wife left you. With nothing left, you came here. Here, you saw it, and in despair you reached out.
[ ] The Saxon Fyrdsman
You were a fool to anger the Norman noble. With Harold's fall, you had no protection, and the woman you were to take to wife was given to another. Your father and mother were safe, but you yourself needed to flee like a dog. Running to the bogs to hide, you found it as others had before you. Two men clambered after you, each with chain and spear, coming to end your life. As they bore down on you, you saw it. In fear you reached out.
[ ] The Old Foundryman
What was a steelworker without both hands? The accident had taken your left, and you lacked the strength to continue on. Bolckow, Vaughan & Co, were good to you when you could work well, but there was not a single shilling afterwards. Your son tried to keep you, but he had children of his own to feed, and there was never enough. One night you walked out into the bitter cold, intending to lighten his burdens. Into the bog, down, down, into the bog. At the last moment, before the cold took you, you saw it. Resolute, you reached out.
[ ] The Texan Tourist
What a quaint little town in such a quaint little country! You had money, and time to spend it. Admittedly, holidaying in the winter so far north was peculiar, but you had never been ordinary. The rumours of ghosts in the bog were enough for you - time to get some pictures for your family. And Instagram, of course. Then you saw it. A hundred pictures and it appeared in none of them. How peculiar. With curiosity you reached out.
Who are you?
[ ] The Shamed Centurion
Your gambling debts took you, and the shadows of Margidunum held no place for you. Despite your position you were robbed and humiliated, and then cast out of the Legions. Your glory taken, your children dead, and even your wife left you. With nothing left, you came here. Here, you saw it, and in despair you reached out.
[ ] The Saxon Fyrdsman
You were a fool to anger the Norman noble. With Harold's fall, you had no protection, and the woman you were to take to wife was given to another. Your father and mother were safe, but you yourself needed to flee like a dog. Running to the bogs to hide, you found it as others had before you. Two men clambered after you, each with chain and spear, coming to end your life. As they bore down on you, you saw it. In fear you reached out.
[ ] The Old Foundryman
What was a steelworker without both hands? The accident had taken your left, and you lacked the strength to continue on. Bolckow, Vaughan & Co, were good to you when you could work well, but there was not a single shilling afterwards. Your son tried to keep you, but he had children of his own to feed, and there was never enough. One night you walked out into the bitter cold, intending to lighten his burdens. Into the bog, down, down, into the bog. At the last moment, before the cold took you, you saw it. Resolute, you reached out.
[ ] The Texan Tourist
What a quaint little town in such a quaint little country! You had money, and time to spend it. Admittedly, holidaying in the winter so far north was peculiar, but you had never been ordinary. The rumours of ghosts in the bog were enough for you - time to get some pictures for your family. And Instagram, of course. Then you saw it. A hundred pictures and it appeared in none of them. How peculiar. With curiosity you reached out.
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The Darkness
- Location
- Straya
You look down at your ruined hand. Three fingers gone and two barely usable, the thumb so scarred that it can barely move. The burns were terrible, and ever since then you lived on the goodwill of your beloved son.
Arthur had always told you there was enough, that he would take care of you. At sixty-four you knew this was false, and growing falser by the day. Maria had a difficult birth, and your sixth grandchild lived only for a week. She needed extra care, and while you walked about the streets looking for some way to make a shilling it so rarely happened. An old man with one hand had few enough recourses.
As you land, you can't help but think of him. He would mourn you, but better that than the children being consumed by you and your needs. Your bad hand shakes a little, but you will it still. You had made the choice, now to see where it has taken you.
You have landed somewhere most peculiar. It is a mass of land incredibly dark, and the dirt spills through your fingers with ease. It is fine, finer than sand, and yet you can lie upon it with no issue, at no risk of being sucked under. In the sky endless stars shine, each of them looking exactly the same as fissure you had come from. You do not think you are returning up there. At least, you can see no way to do so.
"Come on Norton, old fellow", you mutter to yourself. "Up you get."
You rise unsteadily to your feet, and the land supports you with ease. You can dig your hand into the dirt and pick up a handful of it as easily as scooping water from a lake, and yet it resists your footsteps.
You walk forward a few paces, seeing up ahead a small hill. You continue walking to reach the top, and beneath see a tree. Its boughs are large and its trunk thick, though it is short. The leaves upon it are black, and it is laden with apples that are a red so dark it might well be considered black. There are three rings around it, etched in pure white. The first is a thin ring perhaps an inch in width, the second nearly six, and the third ring surrounding the tree is nearly a foot and a half in width. No dirt intrudes upon the rings, and nor do the rings spill over even a jot into the dirt, being perfectly circular in nature.
You walk towards them, curious. You are very hungry, as well. The last time you ate was four days ago - Arthur had not been paid and you had given the little bread he had to Maria. She had given it back to him, and upon finding this out... well, you wish you had not said the things you had. You don't regret the decision, though.
[ ] Investigate the rings
[ ] Try and reach the apples
[ ] Go around the tree, continue on further
Arthur had always told you there was enough, that he would take care of you. At sixty-four you knew this was false, and growing falser by the day. Maria had a difficult birth, and your sixth grandchild lived only for a week. She needed extra care, and while you walked about the streets looking for some way to make a shilling it so rarely happened. An old man with one hand had few enough recourses.
As you land, you can't help but think of him. He would mourn you, but better that than the children being consumed by you and your needs. Your bad hand shakes a little, but you will it still. You had made the choice, now to see where it has taken you.
You have landed somewhere most peculiar. It is a mass of land incredibly dark, and the dirt spills through your fingers with ease. It is fine, finer than sand, and yet you can lie upon it with no issue, at no risk of being sucked under. In the sky endless stars shine, each of them looking exactly the same as fissure you had come from. You do not think you are returning up there. At least, you can see no way to do so.
"Come on Norton, old fellow", you mutter to yourself. "Up you get."
You rise unsteadily to your feet, and the land supports you with ease. You can dig your hand into the dirt and pick up a handful of it as easily as scooping water from a lake, and yet it resists your footsteps.
You walk forward a few paces, seeing up ahead a small hill. You continue walking to reach the top, and beneath see a tree. Its boughs are large and its trunk thick, though it is short. The leaves upon it are black, and it is laden with apples that are a red so dark it might well be considered black. There are three rings around it, etched in pure white. The first is a thin ring perhaps an inch in width, the second nearly six, and the third ring surrounding the tree is nearly a foot and a half in width. No dirt intrudes upon the rings, and nor do the rings spill over even a jot into the dirt, being perfectly circular in nature.
You walk towards them, curious. You are very hungry, as well. The last time you ate was four days ago - Arthur had not been paid and you had given the little bread he had to Maria. She had given it back to him, and upon finding this out... well, you wish you had not said the things you had. You don't regret the decision, though.
[ ] Investigate the rings
[ ] Try and reach the apples
[ ] Go around the tree, continue on further
The White Flesh
- Location
- Straya
While you are hungry, you're not hungry enough to ignore the mystery of the rings.
You reach down and touch one, and in a moment the white turns to black, the purity of the ring fading into the unbelievably dark soil.
Around your ruined hand, on the littlest finger, there is a small ring of white. Flesh coloured like a corpse, with an unnatural pallor. At what used to be your second finger-joint, the ruined remains of your finger all turn the purest white, the tip of the healed-over nub being the only thing that retains its natural colour.
You poke at it, and feel nothing. You poke a little harder, and a droplet of blood comes out, or what you think might be blood.
For from the finger comes a droplet of pure white blood, like a single tear of viscous milk. It drops onto your hand, and disappears - leaving a small white mark on your hand, coloured the same as the finger.
You press your other finger into it. You feel nothing.
Worried, you avoid the other rings.
You step over them both, and reach the tree. The dark-red apples entice you, but the white rings...
You can't make a decision. Hunger battles with fear of the unknown, and neither out for the moment. You strain your thoughts, trying to make a decision.
[ ] Eat an apple
[ ] Take an apple
[ ] Move onwards without the apples
You reach down and touch one, and in a moment the white turns to black, the purity of the ring fading into the unbelievably dark soil.
Around your ruined hand, on the littlest finger, there is a small ring of white. Flesh coloured like a corpse, with an unnatural pallor. At what used to be your second finger-joint, the ruined remains of your finger all turn the purest white, the tip of the healed-over nub being the only thing that retains its natural colour.
You poke at it, and feel nothing. You poke a little harder, and a droplet of blood comes out, or what you think might be blood.
For from the finger comes a droplet of pure white blood, like a single tear of viscous milk. It drops onto your hand, and disappears - leaving a small white mark on your hand, coloured the same as the finger.
You press your other finger into it. You feel nothing.
Worried, you avoid the other rings.
You step over them both, and reach the tree. The dark-red apples entice you, but the white rings...
You can't make a decision. Hunger battles with fear of the unknown, and neither out for the moment. You strain your thoughts, trying to make a decision.
[ ] Eat an apple
[ ] Take an apple
[ ] Move onwards without the apples