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TDM #3 - It Came from Beyond the Veil! [REPRINT]
Pumpkin Hollow Gazette Issue #3 [REPRINT]
[Mod Note: This is a very long TDM because I was pulling out all the stops for spooky season, but I'm excited to share it with you all! Hope you can forgive all the reading I'm about to make you do, and stay spooky!]
11/10/23 | TDM #3 - "It Came from Beyond the Veil!"
Those who enter Lockwood Forest, particularly after dark, will find it abruptly inhabited by many ghostly beasts. Those with knowledge of specific other worlds may be able to identify these creatures as Ghost-type Pokemon. As stated by the Chief Constable, the appropriate tools for capturing and taming Pokemon permanently are not available, as the knowledge and supplies required to make them are not present in Pumpkin Hollow. However, with a little patience, they can be befriended. Pumpkin Hollow residents can each domesticate up to two ghostly friends, which will stick around after the rest of their kind move on at the end of November. It is possible they will return at a later time, but not guaranteed.
While none of the creatures seem to be of a legendary or mythical variety, especially lucky explorers may encounter one shiny per resident if they purchase a Sparking Talisman from the Shady Merchant’s shop for 50 Brass. (New residents, even those test-driving, begin with 100 Brass.)
It is also possible that random Pokemon-tamers may be attacked in the forest by Marrow Isle’s local cryptid, the Pine Devil. This dangerous creature attacks locals at random with the intention of eating them. Perhaps your new partner can help you survive the encounter! Or if not, your friend can at least keep you company during your 24 hours as a ghost. Also remember that ghosts can interact with one another! Ghouls of a feather haunt together! See our Death page for information on how dying works on Marrow Isle. If you do not want to interact with the Pine Devil, please simply include an OOC note on your post opting out!
Attendees to the seance meet Dr. Neil West outside his home and office before following him to a large old house down the road, not too far from Leeds Estate. He has a lot of gear, so he distributes the burden among volunteers---- covered platters containing the dinner he organized for everyone, candles, matches, chalk, various funny little instruments that are apparently ghost hunting equipment, spare bedding, and a few fire extinguishers. He came prepared, to be sure.
When the group arrives, Neil spends some time talking about the house. It belonged to Christopher Larkin, who had been Mayor Poe’s predecessor’s predecessor--- two mayors prior to now. He’d been a popular man. A high elf from a well-appointed family, but humble and reserved. A pianist, well-read and well-traveled before settling down on Marrow Isle. He had been mayor for many terms.
“Every year for the Winter Solstice, he would hold a dinner party for his friends and family. Not a large, ostentatious affair like Leeds galas, but there were plenty of people in attendance. However, the party that took place in the year 16:37 was different,” he explains as he sets up an arrangement of candles and begins drawing sigils on the old hardwood floor. “Something went terribly wrong. Survivors were few, and their accounts of what happened were disjointed and chaotic, but what could be gleaned from them was that the mirrors had gone… metaphysically rotten, in a manner of speaking.”
“It’s not unheard of, since mirrors are often used as portals, but whatever this was--- it was directly hostile. Predicting violence or terror which had not yet happened with impossible visions that would inexplicably play out in the room being reflected moments later, from the sounds of it. It was a bloodbath. Half the house burned down as well. It’s been silent here since then, aside from some reports of spectral activity. My hope is that tonight, we can reach out to these spirits and find out more about what happened here.”
Much of the house is coated with dust, and as Neil stated, there is a large portion that is dilapidated and scorched. A fair number of the mirrors have been shattered. The ones that remain seem normal enough now, though. You have a simple dinner together at the aging, once-austere dining table before returning to the living room to begin the seance.
Sitting on the hardwood floor around the chalk and candle circle, everyone looks to Dr. West as he performs his invocation.
”Spirits who reside here, lost and trapped souls of the fallen, we beseech you. Make your presence known to us, draw from our energy to make yourselves seen by mortals once more. Give us signs of your presence, that we may commune with you again and learn more of your lives and of your fate. Come forth and show yourselves.”
There is a foul, cold breeze that runs through the room. The candle flames flicker--- not at once, but in a wave, as if something has passed over each in turn. But then, there is no change.
“Hm.” Neil frowns. “Well, it seems there was some kind of reaction. Let’s settle in and wait.”
And so your group does just that. Guest rooms, still equipped with old and dusty but perfectly usable beds are divvied out, as well as the furniture from other rooms that remains usable. It was necessary to draw lots on who would have to sleep in the living room. Instruments are set out. People chat and wait around until one by one, they go to bed.
In the night, however, the house comes alive.
A grandfather clock which had previously not been working chimes the hour of 3am down the hall where the bedrooms are, loud enough to shake the bones and wake the dead. The fireplace in the living room roars to life on its own. The glass casings on the oil lamp in the parlor smashes for seemingly no reason.
Neil takes charge, deciding this to be a lost cause. “Let’s get out of here. Quickly, leave everything behind and head for the doors!”
But it’s too late. All the doors and windows are stuck shut. No amount of pounding will let you out, and windows that shatter heal themselves immediately. You are trapped. And as you are realizing this, ghostly figures begin pouring out of the mirrors. They fly off in all directions, into the walls and ceilings, and disappear. For now.
Attendees of the seance are trapped until dawn. There is no escape from Larkin Manor until sunrise. You must make it through the night together. Poltergeists of all sorts can be found throughout the large home. Ghosts are NPCs that can be written as players see fit, though most if not all will be motivated to attack or terrorize player characters. They can be warded off, tricked into leaving, or banished but not destroyed or harmed. Injury for player characters is a real possibility, but death is not likely. Stick together and stay safe!
Ghost Stories
The wind has grown a chill and smells of fallen leaves, drenched in rain water and decomposing to return to the Earth from whence they came. A crescent moon hangs in the blackening sky, cutting a Cheshire smile across the void. Rows of white stones stand stalwart against the night, recently polished by kindly volunteers, like sentries at their posts. Fall’s Promise --- a monument to what was and a reminder of the fate that no longer awaits the residents of Pumpkin Hollow.
Dahlia sits on the steps of a mausoleum bearing her own name. A cluster of candles and oil lanterns have been placed on the cobblestone circle around it. There is a picnic blanket with treats--- homemade apple crisps in tiny pie crusts and metal carafes of tea and coffee, still hot. She beckons you into the circle. There are plenty of blankets on which to sit.
There is chatter and eating for a while as the sun finishes its descent, storytellers and listeners alike gathering round. Then, the stories begin. If you have your own, you may take your turn to share it. Perhaps it will help you strike up a friendship with a neighbor.
Then, Dahlia takes her own turn to share the story she prepared. There is an old book in her lap--- thin, like a child’s book, but not decorated with the usual colorful illustration one expects from children’s literature. The flickering candlelight casts her face with an eerie glow.
“This is the oldest folk legend local to Marrow Isle,” she says. “It dates back nearly 50 years, not too long after my late father founded the town of Pumpkin Hollow. It’s the reason we carve pumpkins to this day and is based on a true story.”
Dahlia opens the book.
“This is the Sordid Tale of Smiling Jack.”
She reads.
”Many years ago, in the time of our forefathers, Pumpkin Hollow was brave and new. Many people came from all over the Emerald Isles, from Glassighe, Anwyll, and Braxtony alike. All were curious about the mysterious island, said to have been born out of sea fog and craggy rock from nowhere, and they came across the Black Jade Sea to see the newborn town that Japhet Leeds had built there.”
“One of these people was a man by the name of Jack Briar. Jack was a cheerful sort, always laughing and telling jokes and brightening the day of everyone around him. He was well-loved by all of his neighbors, and became known to the townsfolk as Smiling Jack, as he was almost never seen without a grin on his face. But Smiling Jack had a secret. Not a large one, but damning nonetheless--- Jack was a very selfish man. He was not a kindly neighbor seeking to share a smile out of the goodness of his heart, but an egotistical fool who only loved being the center of attention. Still, this secret was hidden inside his heart with no evidence to prove its truth, so no one would ever know it. Until that fateful day when a scarred stranger arrived on the back of a trade merchant’s ship, hidden among the cargo.”
“The new arrival was a thug, a crook and a murderer on the run from the Royal Guard. He had come to Marrow Isle because it was isolated from the Great Fairisle and from the king, to hide until the bounty hunters and lawmen forgot his face or he could make his way out of the country. He kept to himself, wanting nothing more than to lay low and avoid the notice of the burgeoning town. He never even shared his name with any of the residents. His plan would have gone perfectly if it were not for Smiling Jack, because of course, how could the town jester not notice the surly man who hid in a corner always wearing a frown?”
“Every time they saw one another, Jack would run up to the frowning man and attach himself to the stranger’s hip. He showered the man with compliments, told all of his very best jokes, and played all of his cleverest pranks and pratfalls. Never once did the stranger ever crack even a hint of a smile, glowering at Jack every moment they were in each other’s company. But Jack could not stand the thought of anyone not finding him funny, of anyone not having their heart warmed by his company. Everyone liked Smiling Jack in Pumpkin Hollow. He became ever determined to amuse this stranger. And when the man would finally tell Jack to leave him alone after being followed and pestered for half the day, Jack would hold up his hands defensively and say, ‘Oh, sir, there is no need for quarrel! I am only trying to make you smile.’”
“At last, the stranger grew fed up with Jack’s persistence, and one night after sundown he followed Jack to his home on the outskirts of the village. Once the wicked man was sure Jack was alone, he pounced, forcing Jack to the ground at the edge of a darkened pumpkin patch. He took a knife and carved into Jack’s face, cutting from the corner of his lips up to his cheek bones. And as Smiling Jack screamed in agony, the strange man finally cracked a grin and said, ‘Why are you so upset? I am only trying to make you smile.’”
“By morning, the man had skipped town on a stolen boat, and Jack lay bleeding into the tilled farm soil, his mutilated face crammed into a pumpkin. A nasty surprise for anyone who might find him. Since then, it’s been said that the ghost of Smiling Jack can be seen around the time of the pumpkin harvest, wearing a grinning Jack-o-Lantern over his face to hide his grisly forever-smile. Tales say that if he finds you after dark, he will corner you and tell you a joke. Those who do not laugh or who fake a laugh will find themselves meeting the same fate as Smiling Jack, unless they can flee quickly from his wrath.”
Closing the book, Dahlia smiles. “So, apple tart, anyone?”
After the Tale of Smiling Jack is told, residents (including those who didn’t hear the story) will begin encountering the malevolent spirit around town, who will tell them a grim joke--- largely grisly black comedy or gallows humor. If you don’t find the joke funny, you will have to run or fight for your life! Find a neighbor to help you, rescue someone else, slip into someone’s house in an attempt to escape, whatever you like! Smiling Jack can only be escaped by knocking his pumpkin loose from his face (at which point he will disappear) or by going inside of a home with a Jack-o-Lantern outside the door.
Additionally, if you do find the joke funny, he will follow you around pestering you until he finds someone else to attack or until the same parameters are met.
Smiling Jack is an NPC and can be written however the player likes outside of the aforementioned. Please remember to use content warnings for the jokes if necessary! You may also handwave the joke if you can't find one you want to use.
[Mod Note: This is a very long TDM because I was pulling out all the stops for spooky season, but I'm excited to share it with you all! Hope you can forgive all the reading I'm about to make you do, and stay spooky!]
Pumpkin Hollow Gazette
11/10/23 | TDM #3 - "It Came from Beyond the Veil!"
Content Warnings: [Article 5 (Further Details)] Murder, facial mutilation
Pumpkin Hollow continues to welcome new residents!
BLUE ISLAND BEAST BESTED AT THE BEACH
By Yorick Aberdeen
TAWNY BEACH - Thanks to the brave and talented newer residents of Pumpkin Hollow, the day is saved! The enormous, building-sized mother crab that attacked our fair island this past month for eating so many of her babies has at last been handily defeated. The Pumpkin Hollow Damage Claims Adjustment Corps (PHDCAC) will be adding damage claims from the crab attack to their “to-do” list, behind their long list of repairs and financial aid to be given to those homes and businesses impacted by this year’s Parade Day. While the parade this year was no more or less deadly than previous years, property damage did see a noticeable uptick due to local blacksmith River la Croix becoming possessed, inciting a magically-fueled fire that impacted several local businesses. When reached for comment, la Croix had this to say of the incident: "That was hellfire. Once you get a safe distance from an unidentified flame, look to see if it's feeding on something inflammable like metal or stone. If so, good news and bad news: it won't spread beyond a single conceptual object. Your house is a single conceptual object." In any case, with both the vile Parade and the crab attack behind us, Pumpkin Hollow leaves behind the Season of Beasts and enters the Season of Spirits with pride, dignity, and significant mark-downs on the price of crab meat. Participants in the battle against the Blue Island crab have been awarded with special medals from Mayor Poe for bravery and as much crab as they can possibly eat.SPECTRAL CREATURES INFEST FOREST; FRIENDLY OR HOSTILE?
By Yorick Aberdeen
An artist rendition provided by local teenage artist, Cassandra Seltic.
LOCKWOOD FOREST - Reports have flooded into the local constabulary from all over the island that the forest that encompasses the majority of the Northern portion of our island has recently become overrun with small creatures with ghostly appearances. As many of you are aware, earlier this year the forest suffered a prior invasion by tree-like trickster spirits known as Brutoks, which has since waned with the changing of the seasons. The creatures appearing now seem to be of an entirely different nature. Some have even described them as “cute”.
Chief Constable Janine Kilbride has stated that numerous attempts to capture these creatures have been made thus far and have proven ineffective. When reached for comment on the matter, Dr. Neil West, local psychiatrist and occult expert, speculated that perhaps we lack the appropriate tools. However, brave souls may be persuaded to venture beyond the tree line and attempt to befriend them. Perhaps you could even end up with an adorable, dangerous, ghostly new pet! Or you could die. That is, after all, always a possibility.
A COMMUNITY MESSAGE FOLLOWING SEPTEMBER GALA
By Cecil Gershwin Palmer
A photo of Hemsworth Custom Tailoring's store front.
PUMPKIN HOLLOW (Downtown Hollow) - The Pumpkin Hollow Artisan’s Guild would like to remind all citizens that rented attire should be treated with care and returned in the condition it was rented in. Those who rent clothing for formal events should avoid running into danger, fighting, clothed sex in private corners, duels, being set on fire or other acts that may damage clothing, as additional fees for repair and cleaning will be charged for garments returned in poor condition.
A representative for the Artisan’s Guild, Saraya Meridell, had this to say: “Do you know how hard it is to repair charred velvet? Do you realize that bloodstains don’t come out of silk? Wine, yes, we expect wine. But blood? It’s really a step too far.” She shook this intrepid reporter’s rented dress shirt in his face as she spoke, her green eyes wide and bloodshot. She then continued to murmur angrily to herself, grabbing a bar of laundry soap and retreating to the back of her workshop.
The vampires who attacked Dahlia’s Birthday Gala and caused the need for acts of derring-do could not be reached for comment.
DR. WEST ANNOUNCES SEANCE
By Yorick Aberdeen
NORTHWEST HOLLOW (West Dream Analytics) - As the days gradually begin to darken sooner and sooner, the veil between our world and the Beyond thins, drawing us ever closer to the spirits of those who have left our world behind. As a result, this time of year is popular for seances among the magically and spiritually inclined. Dr. Neil West --- proprietor of local sleep psychiatry clinic West Dream Analytics, occult expert, and leader of the controversial Ocularum --- has made a public announcement that he will be holding a large group seance to reach out to departed friends.
This seance will be hosted at the abandoned home of former Pumpkin Hollow mayor Christopher Larkin, the site of the tragic Winter Solstice Party Disaster of 16:37. It will feature an overnight lock in to observe spectral activity with dinner provided. Guest beds and other furniture remaining in the house will be utilized, or bedrolls supplied.PUMPKINFEST MOOD LINGERS; LEEDS HEIRESS PROVIDES MOOD SETTER
By Yorick Aberdeen
A scenic image of Fall's Promise.
FALL'S PROMISE CEMETERY - Despite this year's Pumpkinfest being behind us and the shocking events of its finale, the autumn air which persists into November still lends itself to the telling of tales of terror! Our own Dahlia Leeds will be hosting a festive mood-setter on the lawn of Fall’s Promise Cemetery. Leeds, member of the Town Council and daughter of Pumpkin Hollow founder Japhet Leeds, invites anyone interested down to the graveyard to join her in the sharing of ghost stories. Warm beverages and fresh apple pastries will be provided! Potential attendees are advised that the event will run until after dark, so please bring a lantern and dress warmly. It is best to walk home in pairs if you are able.
Page 1
Further Details...
Spectral Creatures
Those who enter Lockwood Forest, particularly after dark, will find it abruptly inhabited by many ghostly beasts. Those with knowledge of specific other worlds may be able to identify these creatures as Ghost-type Pokemon. As stated by the Chief Constable, the appropriate tools for capturing and taming Pokemon permanently are not available, as the knowledge and supplies required to make them are not present in Pumpkin Hollow. However, with a little patience, they can be befriended. Pumpkin Hollow residents can each domesticate up to two ghostly friends, which will stick around after the rest of their kind move on at the end of November. It is possible they will return at a later time, but not guaranteed.
While none of the creatures seem to be of a legendary or mythical variety, especially lucky explorers may encounter one shiny per resident if they purchase a Sparking Talisman from the Shady Merchant’s shop for 50 Brass. (New residents, even those test-driving, begin with 100 Brass.)
It is also possible that random Pokemon-tamers may be attacked in the forest by Marrow Isle’s local cryptid, the Pine Devil. This dangerous creature attacks locals at random with the intention of eating them. Perhaps your new partner can help you survive the encounter! Or if not, your friend can at least keep you company during your 24 hours as a ghost. Also remember that ghosts can interact with one another! Ghouls of a feather haunt together! See our Death page for information on how dying works on Marrow Isle. If you do not want to interact with the Pine Devil, please simply include an OOC note on your post opting out!
The Seance
Attendees to the seance meet Dr. Neil West outside his home and office before following him to a large old house down the road, not too far from Leeds Estate. He has a lot of gear, so he distributes the burden among volunteers---- covered platters containing the dinner he organized for everyone, candles, matches, chalk, various funny little instruments that are apparently ghost hunting equipment, spare bedding, and a few fire extinguishers. He came prepared, to be sure.When the group arrives, Neil spends some time talking about the house. It belonged to Christopher Larkin, who had been Mayor Poe’s predecessor’s predecessor--- two mayors prior to now. He’d been a popular man. A high elf from a well-appointed family, but humble and reserved. A pianist, well-read and well-traveled before settling down on Marrow Isle. He had been mayor for many terms.
“Every year for the Winter Solstice, he would hold a dinner party for his friends and family. Not a large, ostentatious affair like Leeds galas, but there were plenty of people in attendance. However, the party that took place in the year 16:37 was different,” he explains as he sets up an arrangement of candles and begins drawing sigils on the old hardwood floor. “Something went terribly wrong. Survivors were few, and their accounts of what happened were disjointed and chaotic, but what could be gleaned from them was that the mirrors had gone… metaphysically rotten, in a manner of speaking.”
“It’s not unheard of, since mirrors are often used as portals, but whatever this was--- it was directly hostile. Predicting violence or terror which had not yet happened with impossible visions that would inexplicably play out in the room being reflected moments later, from the sounds of it. It was a bloodbath. Half the house burned down as well. It’s been silent here since then, aside from some reports of spectral activity. My hope is that tonight, we can reach out to these spirits and find out more about what happened here.”
Much of the house is coated with dust, and as Neil stated, there is a large portion that is dilapidated and scorched. A fair number of the mirrors have been shattered. The ones that remain seem normal enough now, though. You have a simple dinner together at the aging, once-austere dining table before returning to the living room to begin the seance.
Sitting on the hardwood floor around the chalk and candle circle, everyone looks to Dr. West as he performs his invocation.
”Spirits who reside here, lost and trapped souls of the fallen, we beseech you. Make your presence known to us, draw from our energy to make yourselves seen by mortals once more. Give us signs of your presence, that we may commune with you again and learn more of your lives and of your fate. Come forth and show yourselves.”
There is a foul, cold breeze that runs through the room. The candle flames flicker--- not at once, but in a wave, as if something has passed over each in turn. But then, there is no change.
“Hm.” Neil frowns. “Well, it seems there was some kind of reaction. Let’s settle in and wait.”
And so your group does just that. Guest rooms, still equipped with old and dusty but perfectly usable beds are divvied out, as well as the furniture from other rooms that remains usable. It was necessary to draw lots on who would have to sleep in the living room. Instruments are set out. People chat and wait around until one by one, they go to bed.
In the night, however, the house comes alive.
A grandfather clock which had previously not been working chimes the hour of 3am down the hall where the bedrooms are, loud enough to shake the bones and wake the dead. The fireplace in the living room roars to life on its own. The glass casings on the oil lamp in the parlor smashes for seemingly no reason.
Neil takes charge, deciding this to be a lost cause. “Let’s get out of here. Quickly, leave everything behind and head for the doors!”
But it’s too late. All the doors and windows are stuck shut. No amount of pounding will let you out, and windows that shatter heal themselves immediately. You are trapped. And as you are realizing this, ghostly figures begin pouring out of the mirrors. They fly off in all directions, into the walls and ceilings, and disappear. For now.
Attendees of the seance are trapped until dawn. There is no escape from Larkin Manor until sunrise. You must make it through the night together. Poltergeists of all sorts can be found throughout the large home. Ghosts are NPCs that can be written as players see fit, though most if not all will be motivated to attack or terrorize player characters. They can be warded off, tricked into leaving, or banished but not destroyed or harmed. Injury for player characters is a real possibility, but death is not likely. Stick together and stay safe!
Ghost Stories
[CW: murder, facial mutilation]
The wind has grown a chill and smells of fallen leaves, drenched in rain water and decomposing to return to the Earth from whence they came. A crescent moon hangs in the blackening sky, cutting a Cheshire smile across the void. Rows of white stones stand stalwart against the night, recently polished by kindly volunteers, like sentries at their posts. Fall’s Promise --- a monument to what was and a reminder of the fate that no longer awaits the residents of Pumpkin Hollow.
Dahlia sits on the steps of a mausoleum bearing her own name. A cluster of candles and oil lanterns have been placed on the cobblestone circle around it. There is a picnic blanket with treats--- homemade apple crisps in tiny pie crusts and metal carafes of tea and coffee, still hot. She beckons you into the circle. There are plenty of blankets on which to sit.
There is chatter and eating for a while as the sun finishes its descent, storytellers and listeners alike gathering round. Then, the stories begin. If you have your own, you may take your turn to share it. Perhaps it will help you strike up a friendship with a neighbor.
Then, Dahlia takes her own turn to share the story she prepared. There is an old book in her lap--- thin, like a child’s book, but not decorated with the usual colorful illustration one expects from children’s literature. The flickering candlelight casts her face with an eerie glow.
“This is the oldest folk legend local to Marrow Isle,” she says. “It dates back nearly 50 years, not too long after my late father founded the town of Pumpkin Hollow. It’s the reason we carve pumpkins to this day and is based on a true story.”
Dahlia opens the book.
“This is the Sordid Tale of Smiling Jack.”
She reads.
”Many years ago, in the time of our forefathers, Pumpkin Hollow was brave and new. Many people came from all over the Emerald Isles, from Glassighe, Anwyll, and Braxtony alike. All were curious about the mysterious island, said to have been born out of sea fog and craggy rock from nowhere, and they came across the Black Jade Sea to see the newborn town that Japhet Leeds had built there.”
“One of these people was a man by the name of Jack Briar. Jack was a cheerful sort, always laughing and telling jokes and brightening the day of everyone around him. He was well-loved by all of his neighbors, and became known to the townsfolk as Smiling Jack, as he was almost never seen without a grin on his face. But Smiling Jack had a secret. Not a large one, but damning nonetheless--- Jack was a very selfish man. He was not a kindly neighbor seeking to share a smile out of the goodness of his heart, but an egotistical fool who only loved being the center of attention. Still, this secret was hidden inside his heart with no evidence to prove its truth, so no one would ever know it. Until that fateful day when a scarred stranger arrived on the back of a trade merchant’s ship, hidden among the cargo.”“The new arrival was a thug, a crook and a murderer on the run from the Royal Guard. He had come to Marrow Isle because it was isolated from the Great Fairisle and from the king, to hide until the bounty hunters and lawmen forgot his face or he could make his way out of the country. He kept to himself, wanting nothing more than to lay low and avoid the notice of the burgeoning town. He never even shared his name with any of the residents. His plan would have gone perfectly if it were not for Smiling Jack, because of course, how could the town jester not notice the surly man who hid in a corner always wearing a frown?”
“Every time they saw one another, Jack would run up to the frowning man and attach himself to the stranger’s hip. He showered the man with compliments, told all of his very best jokes, and played all of his cleverest pranks and pratfalls. Never once did the stranger ever crack even a hint of a smile, glowering at Jack every moment they were in each other’s company. But Jack could not stand the thought of anyone not finding him funny, of anyone not having their heart warmed by his company. Everyone liked Smiling Jack in Pumpkin Hollow. He became ever determined to amuse this stranger. And when the man would finally tell Jack to leave him alone after being followed and pestered for half the day, Jack would hold up his hands defensively and say, ‘Oh, sir, there is no need for quarrel! I am only trying to make you smile.’”
“At last, the stranger grew fed up with Jack’s persistence, and one night after sundown he followed Jack to his home on the outskirts of the village. Once the wicked man was sure Jack was alone, he pounced, forcing Jack to the ground at the edge of a darkened pumpkin patch. He took a knife and carved into Jack’s face, cutting from the corner of his lips up to his cheek bones. And as Smiling Jack screamed in agony, the strange man finally cracked a grin and said, ‘Why are you so upset? I am only trying to make you smile.’”
“By morning, the man had skipped town on a stolen boat, and Jack lay bleeding into the tilled farm soil, his mutilated face crammed into a pumpkin. A nasty surprise for anyone who might find him. Since then, it’s been said that the ghost of Smiling Jack can be seen around the time of the pumpkin harvest, wearing a grinning Jack-o-Lantern over his face to hide his grisly forever-smile. Tales say that if he finds you after dark, he will corner you and tell you a joke. Those who do not laugh or who fake a laugh will find themselves meeting the same fate as Smiling Jack, unless they can flee quickly from his wrath.”
Closing the book, Dahlia smiles. “So, apple tart, anyone?”
After the Tale of Smiling Jack is told, residents (including those who didn’t hear the story) will begin encountering the malevolent spirit around town, who will tell them a grim joke--- largely grisly black comedy or gallows humor. If you don’t find the joke funny, you will have to run or fight for your life! Find a neighbor to help you, rescue someone else, slip into someone’s house in an attempt to escape, whatever you like! Smiling Jack can only be escaped by knocking his pumpkin loose from his face (at which point he will disappear) or by going inside of a home with a Jack-o-Lantern outside the door.
Additionally, if you do find the joke funny, he will follow you around pestering you until he finds someone else to attack or until the same parameters are met.
Smiling Jack is an NPC and can be written however the player likes outside of the aforementioned. Please remember to use content warnings for the jokes if necessary! You may also handwave the joke if you can't find one you want to use.
no subject
He held Ash's gaze for a long minute. If Ronan was the champion of uncomfortable stares and eye contact, Kavinsky was the runner up. He wasn't going for discomfort though, it was more like he was trying to pry the truth from Ash's expression. "Why not both? I usually bare other things, but-" he smirked, "-I haven't been to the beach since I lived in Jersey. And that was...six? No, seven years ago."
no subject
cw: mentions of attempted murder
"No fucking kidding. We moved to Virginia after that. To the mountains. Mountains are nice, don't get me wrong, but it's not the same as seeing the beach from your bedroom window." And things had been- well, they'd been better with his mother, but Jersey was where his father had tried to kill him. He'd never go back to that house. Let his mother fly up alone if she wanted to.
And Ash was more than welcome to ask Kavinsky how old he was--when they were outside of the tavern. Kavinsky would tell him the truth. The other part of the truth was, K was too young to contain all of the trauma and anger and poor coping methods and poor decisions that he did. Too young to have already been written off as a lost cause. He needed someone to throw him a life line.
He snorted. "No. But they gave me a map." And they were on an island, so he figured if you walked far enough in any direction, you'd eventually get to a beach. Or...the coast. He didn't know if it would necessarily have sand. Anyway, good thing he had a map with the actual beach marked.
He started to get up, reaching for the previously mentioned map that he'd folded up to fit in his pocket, then paused. He would've paid for the drinks if he'd had money on him, but legitimately all he had was the map--and these relatively awful clothes. Shrugging, he pulled the map out and gestured for Ash to follow him as he headed for the door.
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"Never been to Virginia. You like it?"
Ash gets up and stretches. Sitting down, his height is obscured. On his feet he's a big guy at six foot four. Looking down at himself he groans. These fucking clothes.
"We have a map and we're on an island. It would be embarrassing if we can't find a beach or at least the water."
What he would give for a cooler full of beer, a steak to cook, a bonfire on the beach and a damn surfboard. He nods towards the exit. Nope, he's not paying. Some guy at the pier said staying here was covered Ash assumes that means food and drinks too. Guess they'll find out the hard way.
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"It's..." he broke off for a moment as he realized how tall Ash was--even taller than Ronan, who'd been the previous tallest person Kavinsky had known. At five-ten himself, he was...considerably smaller. "You like racism and bigotry? And a town so small I'm literally the one organizing ninety percent of the entertainment? It's not always so bad, though." The strength of his dream place had been a plus, giving him the ability to dream dozens and dozens of cars. It hadn't quite been like that in Jersey.
He couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, that's true." He pointedly did not look in the bartender's direction on his way towards the door. He'd also been told the town would cover things for a while, and unless they were all liars, he was going to hold them to it.
Shoving open the door and stepping out onto the street, he unfolded the map, studied it for a moment, and set off. "You know what I can't help but wonder? What the fuck happened to what we were wearing before. Did they fairy godmother us or does someone literally strip and dress everyone who shows up here?"
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Outside Ash laughed at that. "I was trying not to think about who stuffed me into this crap. Don't even have my own underwear on." His brow lifts abd he grins. "Someone got a show."
His shoulder bumps against K's. "Pick a direction, sweetheart."
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"They sure did. And neither do I, and this shit's kinda itchy." It definitely didn't compare to whatever expensive designer boxers he'd had before. He'd fix that, of course, just...eventually.
"I'm working on it, babe. Looks like the most direct route is-" he gestured to all the buildings (houses?) beside the tavern, with all of the narrow alleys between them. "Feels like home," he added, as he headed that way. Not that Henrietta had an abundance of alleys, but there were enough.
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"Not exactly my style." He was also use to designer clothes and shoes. "I would do unspeakable things for a plain cotton tee-shirt and some jeans instead of this itchy crap."
If this was going to be long term he's going to have to figure some shit out. This just won't cut it. The guy at the pier mentioned jobs. Following K down the alley he smirks. Babe. Guess he'll have to let that slide if he keeps calling him sweetheart.
"That needs more explanation, K."
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But then, he couldn't help but smirk. "I'll keep that in mind, considering I'm capable of providing those things." And he could be persuaded to cough up better clothes for more than just himself.
"What does? Oh-" he hesitated again, shrugged. How did he put this? "I've done a lot of business in shady places."
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Ash looks like he's in his late thirties but he's going on ninety. He's going to have to get the flirting under control if he's right about his age. Kid brother, think kid brother, he tells himself. "I'm picturing you behind a sewing machine now."
He nods, that's kind of what he was thinking. "I was going to assume but thought I would ask. Only a few shady things happen in an alley."
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Too late, Kavinsky was already charmed. He was the sort of emotionally raw and lonely right now where he soaked up any positive attention like a sponge. Ronan had left him broken open, a ship dashed upon the rocks. He would behave himself if necessary though. He'd never bothered to worry about what age anyone was before, but he hadn't really had to. He worked with teenagers, generally. Ronan was more or less a year younger than him. Kavinsky's friends were all eighteen, too. He absolutely had a line drawn for when someone was too young, of course, but he'd never pondered issues with someone being older.
He laughed. "It's more like going to Walmart." He knew that didn't make sense, but. "Never seen a sewing machine in person. Something ripped, we'd just buy a replacement." Except for his favorite holey jeans and threadbare t-shirt that he'd never see the originals of again.
"I appreciate that. A lot of people make assumptions about me. They're not always wrong. I don't always correct them when they are. Rumors get started no matter what." And honestly, he'd rather meet people in an alley than lurk in the men's room like a creep. Even better though, was just meeting people at their house- but that had been rare. People were jumpy, afraid of getting caught and getting in trouble, while Kavinsky would likely only get a slap on the wrist.
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And he likes talking to him. A lot. Shit, he struggles to find people his own age he can talk to this easily. Ash has money and power, runs a huge company. He's smart. Yet, he finds he doesn't always connect with people because they have expectations about how he should behave at his age. Yes, he will drop his entire work schedule to fly out to a festival at the last minute. Stay up all night playing video games. He still loves to party and recreationally use drugs. In a lot of ways his life isn't his own. There are things he has no choice in. What he can control he does and he refuses not to enjoy as much of his life as he can.
"I have never stepped foot in a Wal-Mart." He states as if that is very normal. As much as he likes a custom made suit, he loves jeans, tee shirts and shorts. Really, he likes tank tops and will mutilate most of his tee shirts. He runs hot and let's be real, he doesn't hate the way people look at him when more skin is showing. But, he's not shopping at Wal-Mart or their classier big sister Target. What he's picking up from the conversation has nothing to do with clothes but insight into who K is. Sounds like he comes from money. Probably not generational wealth though.
"I'm always curious about what people assume about me. How close they are to being right. What kind of vibe I give off. How much those assumptions change if I'm in a suit driving a Bentley. Or in ripped up jeans on street bike."
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He knew he didn't make it easy for people, most of the time. Being the biggest asshole in the room protected him from most things, kept people at arm's length, but it left him fucking lonely, too.
"You're not missing out on anything. Pretty sure my mother would die before going to Walmart, herself. She flies out to do her shopping, or orders online. I just- I don't always need designer shit, you know? I don't need a t-shirt that costs someone's whole paycheck for a week." But he didn't compromise on underwear; it was one of those important things where he felt like you should treat yourself, if you could, for the comfort. And shoes- shelling out like, eighty bucks for some high tops just to dick around in his field of Mitsubishis was pretty much nothing to him.
"People really love judging a book by its cover when they don't know better. Some people use that to their advantage." He couldn't help but think of Ronan--just for a moment--how he'd gone from the boy with the carefree smile and curls Kavinsky'd wanted to run his fingers through to the boy with the shaved head who's entire look had been carefully constructed to say 'caution: I bite'. Kavinsky's mistake had been assuming he could appeal to the softer parts of Ronan. "But- gotta ask. Do you like wearing suits?" He was curious.
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The last thing he wants is to make Kavinsky talk about all of his trauma in a single night. "No one needs it, right? It's about want. I can admit I go overboard on a lot of shit just because I want to. Nothing noble about my spending habits."
Ash stops walking and stares at Kavinsky. "I look incredible in a suit. Funny thing is, I'm a bit of a clothes horse but I don't really like being dressed. It's hot and confining. I love shoes but I hate wearing them. First thing I take off when I get where I'm going, shoes." Having clothes was part of the persona though. He needed to be seen a certain way to convince the general public he was just another self-centered Silicon Valley billionaire. "You would look good in a suit."
'
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He leaned into it, subconsciously, when Ash ruffled his hair. It was nice, and it'd been a while. Usually, it was Proko when they were rough-housing, when he had Kavinsky in a headlock and was taking advantage of the fact he couldn't escape, while K was laughing and telling him halfheartedly to cut it out. Sometimes, it was Swan, but he tended to be a bit rough--not on purpose, Kavinsky figured; it probably had to do with Swan being a big guy and being unsure of how much strength he was actually using.
"I thought about it," he admitted. "Came really close. But I couldn't."
He considered the other bit for a moment, then shrugged. "If you can afford it, why not buy or do what makes you happy? I usually want things money can't buy. And I'm not...usually super attached to material shit. Set my car on fire once. Bitch had a dent in it, anyway." 'A dent' was a gracious way of putting it, but it could have been fixed before the molotovs.
It took a second for his brain to get the memo that Ash had stopped, and he had to back up a step or two. "I bet you do. And god, yeah, I feel that. Like, how do people not take off their shoes as soon as they're inside?" He paused after that, and he didn't...blush, exactly, because it would take a lot to make that happen, but his expression was something like quietly flattered. "I've never worn a suit, actually. Thought it was bad enough I had to wear a tie every day for school."
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"That's the hard part. When you can buy anything you want but the things you want...that you need don't have price tags. Figuring out how to get those things feels impossible sometimes."
He can't help the smile that plasters itself on his face. "One day I'll find a reason to drag you out in a suit. And you'll love it."
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And- oh. He thought he'd had a moment before when his thoughts had scrambled- this was different, too, better. He took a shaky breath and gave Ash's hand a squeeze, holding on like the contact was as necessary as air.
"It is. And- I do impossible things all the time, and trying to get those things is still out of reach." He didn't think, maybe, it would actually be so bad to talk about his secret.
He laughed, even if he was still a little unsure about wearing a suit. "We'll see." But it wasn't no.
so many typos, thanks phone
"Maybe not as impossible as you think." Ash glances down at their twined hands and smiles softly. "That's not a no, Kavinsky."
He looks around. "Where the fuck are we?"
autocorrect: messing things up since ever
"Maybe," he agreed. "There's still plenty of time for me fuck up everything like always, though." He was only half joking. "And it's not."
That was a good question, really. He also looked around. "Uh- halfway to the beach, I think." But he also wasn't entirely sure, at this point.
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"Maybe it wasn't you fucking anything up. Maybe it was just a matter of the wrong place, wrong time, wrong people?"
He smiles. "Good." That meant this walk of theirs wasn't over yet. "Think we can find wood for a fire?"
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"Maybe." But he didn't sound sure. "Got a feeling I might've pushed too hard or something, though." But he'd felt like he had to or risk letting the chance slip through his fingers.
He grinned. "Bonfire or campfire? Map said there were some trees between us and the beach, so- maybe?" He was sure actual firewood was sold somewhere, too but that felt like more effort.
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He grinned back. "Bigger is always better, right?" His brows lift over his bright blue eyes that now look a little excited.
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His grin brightened even more somehow. "Always. C'mon." He started walking again, in the direction--he hoped--of the cluster of trees. "I feel like bonfires are one of those things that never go out of season, but they're especially nice when it's a little cool out."
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Ash grinned. "Waves hitting the shore. Chill in the air. Big ass fire. Fucking perfection. Well, I should have lifted a bottle of something to drink."
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Forgiving himself for any of the shit he'd done was probably one of the hardest hurdles he could ever face. Especially when he hated himself at a base level.
"Yeah, that does sound like a perfect evening. Or day. Or night. Can't help with the alcohol." Would if he could, but they'd taken literally everything from him here. "Next time, though."
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cw: death/suicide talk