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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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A man named Charles had a passion for life. Circumstances of moderate coincidence shook both his life and his passion. Charles lives in a quaint town, chilly, but its people warm. Scarves are necessary and coats required, but inside of these houses lay something warm and friendly, something Charles had not yet found but much desired. This man sat on a particular bench, as he did every day, in the same beautiful park he always visited. The serenity of this small place of unnatural beauty made it the favorite spot of Charles, but it was not always so. Charles grew up in a home full of the family he now lacked. The accident left him without his family, without his love by the name of Sarah. Charles has a passion for life, and values it greatly.
He sits on this bench and breathes the revitalizing air in this quaint town to find sanctuary from his thoughts. Charles lives alone, works from home, and does his best to live as he was most often told. He often gets lonely, but can’t stand being around others. He was diagnosed with a condition saying as much, but lives as he can in spite of it. Charles knows nothing will bring back those who were lost, but when he sits on this bench and looks at the trees of so many colored leaves in the chill autumn air, he can find his peace. This peace can’t be made, but it can be kept close as protection against himself.
Charles wants many things from himself and the world. This makes him happy, for wanting and having needs is the sign of a healthy individual. But the things Charles wants will not be given to him. Not refused, but not given, and the path to be taken is not quite long but with much finality. Charles has dedicated himself to this path. The park keeps the peace. Charles loves his family, but he also loves life. Dealing with death is one of life’s hardest challenges. Charles realizes that people are many, and more could fill the canyon rent open by forces beyond his control, but despite this knowledge, his life stays in its stagnant, empty case. Charles wants nothing more than to expel this spent case, to fire it off into the distance where it would trouble him no longer. But despite this sincere desire, Charles lowers the gun, for his passion lay in life, not in taking it. The leaves play their music as the wind blows through them, both the leaves and the wind escaping the park and its sanctuary and going far, far away.
Charles lay back on the familiar bench and closes his eyes. The melancholic smile that appears on his face as he does this would give any onlookers a hint as to what he sees behind the closed lids. The beauty of this place is not lost on Charles.

At this point, however, Charles has come to a crossroads. What does he do now?
The World lay open for Charles to explore, but his fear kept him still. Charles lay back on the familiar bench and closes his eyes. The melancholic smile that appears on his face as he does this would give any onlookers a hint as to what he sees behind the closed lids. The beauty of this place is not lost on Charles.
Holy shit. Dat wall.
Life is not something to be rushed. Enjoying every detail and relaxing to take in the true essence of the moment is why you decided to continue your life. Are you having second thoughts?
He can go to the library.
Charles is concerned about this thought. What would he do at a library? What if there are people there?
He would read books, maybe a few on overcoming social anxiety.
He just needs to get through the door and then find a secluded space. He won't need to interact with anyone unless he checks something out.
Charles gathers his resolve and rises from the bench. He stoops to grab a bright crimson leaf and tucks it into the left pocket of his jacket.

Heading into town, Charles feels slight anxiety at the chance of meeting others. The gun hangs at his side, waving slightly in the wind at the brisk pace Charles has adopted.

Upon reaching the library, he finds the doors cracked open. Charles remembers his plan of attack and charges through the door. Silence greets him. There is no sound at all besides the desperate breaths of Charles and a steady dripping sound nearby. Charles heads into a corner of the library and sits down with anxiety.

What do you do now?
Investigate the dripping sound. What was our plan of attack and why are we attacking?
plan of attack
>read book
>don't talk to anybody.

But, yeah, check out the dripping. that can get annoying.
Oh wait, missed the bit about the gun at the start, was wondering why we had it.
What dripping sound? Dripping is natural, there should be no need to investigate such a mundane and normal occurrence.
The dripping is melodic and soothing, Charles would greatly appreciate the dripping to continue, it reminds him of the park after a gentle rainfall. Slow drips. What book are you going to read?
The gun was our way out, our plan to join the others. But our Mother would be greatly disappointed in us for refusing to yield to life, and so we decided against it, and the gun rests on our lap, the scent of its powder clinging to it.
Something by Piers Anthony.
Getting up is a task that seems impossible, but you manage it. Creeping through the isles of the library you come across a book by Piers Anthony titled "On a Pale Horse". You walk back to your nook of the library, greatly pleased that the library seems to be empty, and relaxing just a tad.

You begin to read, and find the book distressing.

...What do you do?
Keep reading.
>on a pale horse
Aww snap, that's relevant as fuck.

Keep reading.
You give it your best shot, but the topics discussed in the book are truly aggravating the fragile peace you've painstakingly created. The reading continues until you feel a convulsion run through you and the book is dropped on the floor.

The noise echoes throughout the building and then quiets. All that can be heard is the dripping.

You aren't feeling well, actually quite panicked really. The dripping is a comforting sound. What should we do?
Listen to the dripping. let it soothe us.
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The dripping is soft, nice and calming. But it isn't enough. You know what caused the dripping. You know what the dripping is. The peace is breaking away from your mind piece by piece, and you know that you caused this dripping and it is greatly stressful for you.
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As quickly as the flash occurs, it vanishes and leaves you uncertain. You are once again calm, but profoundly unhappy for a reason you cannot discern.

You have a feeling that time is running out. What can we do?
Go to the source of the dripping.
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You understand the source of the dripping. You know that if you go to the dripping, there can be no turning back. It might break you forever.

Can't we do something else? Anything else?!
You can think of nothing but those you have lost. The day blood covered everything. You approach the source of the dripping and see the destruction you have wrought. The pile of bodies behind the counter are still fresh, and the librarian sits on the others almost as she did in life.

There was no meaning for these people, no purpose. The librarian mocked you with her smile, wearing Sarah's skin like a snake. A filthy snake. Your rage almost overpowers your sadness, but is held in check by the lack of anything left to destroy. The people here wouldn't let you make it right, wouldn't let you get rid of the one that so insulted the one you loved.

They wanted to tell the others. It feels as if your own life is ebbing away as time passes. You can feel time growing shorter. You know something is coming for you.

How do we prepare?
Hold head high.
Gun in hand.
(also, holy shit, what?)
Barricade door.
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As tears fall from your eyes and mingle with the vast pool of blood under your feet, you attempt to raise your head and face what comes. There is a throbbing, piercing pain in your chest that comes from within. You have looked down and seen no wound, so it must be so.

The gun remains in your right hand, while the left has been stroking the crimson leaf in a vain attempt to once again find your peace.

You would barricade the door if you could, but you realize the ones coming for you care not for such things. We have to move, to leave this place, leave the dripping.

Through the large windows you can see the sun setting, dipping beyond the horizon and into the unknown. Where do we go?
The woods. It's quiet. Serene.
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As you run down the silent streets, you remember why this is. You did this. This deathly silence was created by you, the one who couldn't stand the incessant chattering. The refusal to believe you. Those who sided with the snake. They're gone. The pain in your chest stops any further thought on the subject, and you feel incredibly relieved. Any amount of pain is better than remembering.

You've made it to the edge of town, the forest. Your legs burn as if the flames of hell have already begun to cook you alive for your deeds. You keep running. They'll never catch you.

It's dark. The leaves here aren't pretty, they aren't nice colors. What are we doing here?
It's impossible to know anymore. All that you have left is the agony in your chest and the despondency triggered by such a severe loss of life that it's difficult to fully imagine.

The passion you had for life drove us mad in the end, and slowly we changed. We didn't want this to happen. We never wanted THIS.

They're here. The rage rises again, and tries to fill every ounce of your being with its corruption. But this time there is nothing but your sadness, nothing but the memories of what you've done.

As they close around you, speak to you, there's nothing left but the memory of your love to blanket yourself with, nothing but her eyes to look at, nothing but her hair to feel between your fingers. Whether you continue to cry no longer matters, only that the crime you've committed cannot be forgiven.
Patient File #10874

Patient Name: 'Charles'; Unknown, refers to himself(?) as Charles frequently

Reason for Stay: Mental Trauma of unknown cause and lack of awareness. Resulted in incident leading to his eventual capture.

Behavior: Patient suffers from severe depression, refuses to interact with external stimuli. Does not refuse food when spoon-fed. Patient has been notably silent since his stay began, and a preliminary diagnosis of Anarthria has been given after a thorough examination revealed central motor nerve damage.

Medications: None

Likelihood of Recovery: Unknown; Past incident resulting in 'dangerous' classification eliminates possibility of release.
Rolled 5

Poor charles. He should ask for help

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