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My Content
Dec 30 2017, 06:31 PM

Seventeen-year-old Gina Saperstein had an axe and was dragging it down an alley two blocks past Yancy Street.

This by itself would be concerning, but the trail of blood behind her - leading away from the front door of an apartment building, which was ominously open and swinging in the December breeze - was more than enough to push it over the top from 'concerning' to 'emergency situation'.

"He pulled back the curtain from the yawning oceans and showed me a window behind the skin prisons." Her eyes were vacant, rolled up to show the pale sclera, as she staggered jerkily over the pavement. "The cup of his wrath is flowing over and even now the gathered days of the fall are moldering in the cellar of the human condition." Her voice was a low murmur, delivered in steady monotone. Bland. As if this was a completely normal situation. "He's far away in the glass pane and the forced perspective but his laugh echoes in the halls of my marrow."

Having done an Extremely Bad Thing, Gina's chances of having this day end decently were plummeting by the second, but if she was bothered by that fact, there was absolutely no indicator. Indeed, the girl's expression as she trudged toward a nearby daycare center was...empty, for lack of a better term. Entirely mindless. Like her muscles were moving on their own, without any input from her brain.

Case in point: the approaching sound of sirens, and the flicker of red and blue in the distance. The police were definitely on their way to the scene, and things would get even worse then. Gina didn't seem to care - didn't even notice anything until the massive form of a stranger darkened the alley in front of her. There was a moment of contemplation, and something seemed to shimmer in the air behind her. A distortion of some sort, vaguely humanoid in shaped, glimmering with malice and demonic intent.

"All the things in the yard have turned red. You know, as those things often do."

She turned, neck craning like an owl, and lurched toward the newcomer with the axe raised.

Sep 24 2017, 04:25 PM

It was a quarter after midnight, and there was a screaming man crawling down a terrible street in a terrible part of the South Bronx. You had to really work at it to get that particular combination of bad circumstances.

This particular man, a sanitation worker by the name of Albert Lowell, seemed to have won that lottery, because here he was, blubbering at the top of his lungs in a constant screech half-choked by tears and snot, dragging himself along the pavement with one hand and clawing at his chest and ribs with the other. It was as if he was trying to scratch an incredibly pervasive itch, or perhaps brush off an invisible fly.

"Help me!" Lowell shrieked hoarsely, stopping to roll from side to side. "Somebody get them off me--"

All the way down the block, lights dimmed and windows were pulled shut. Nobody was getting in the middle of this. Hell, apart from the occasional eye peeking out from between a slightly-parted set of blinds, nobody even wanted to watch. Maybe they'd call the police in a few minutes, if they mustered up the nerve.

Alongside the unfortunate Lowell, a tall man in filthy, tattered coveralls was taking a casual stroll. He glanced down at the screaming man with a clinical sort of interest, puffing on a Kool 100, and chuckled at all the wild-eyed flailing.

"You know the thing about maggots, Al?" the man asked, in the same tone of voice one would normally use to discuss the NFL playoffs. "They're picky eaters. They only eat dead tissue." He shook the ash off the end of his cigarette and leaned down to continue his conversation with the prone Lowell. "So then why are they eating you? Are you...are you dead, Al?" There was a disingenuous incredulity to his expression, wide-eyed to the point of being almost feral - the kind of po-faced seriousness that was clearly seconds away from shattering into peals of laughter.

"Get them off! Oh my god, get them off!"

"Maybe you've been dead all along! You fell down the stairs, or you didn't look both ways before you crossed the street, and this has just been one long bad dream." The raggedy man chortled and took a knee, patting his victim on the shoulder with exaggerated solemnity. "At least you didn't go on the can, eh? Like Elvis! Heh heh. Imagine what your daughter would've thought about that."

"I'm not dead!" Lowell wailed, brushing at his chest, where...absolutely nothing was gnawing at him. It was a bizarre sight, and if anybody had been walking by, they could have easily been forgiven for mistaking him for some kind of sanitarium escapee being comforted by a homeless man. "I'm not dead, oh my god they're eating me--"

"Are you sure?" his companion asked, making a great show out of looking him up and down. "The maggots seem to think you're dead, Al. Are you calling the maggots liars?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm--no! I'm not dead! Just get them off me!"

With a theatrical sigh, the man reached into his breast pocket, producing the tarnished ivory handle of a straight razor. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth for a moment, he unfolded the razor, and the blade glimmered in the streetlight. Its warped blade was flecked all along the edge with dried reddish-brown flakes.

"Well, all right then. Use this! I just remembered I had it - what a stroke of luck for both of us, eh?"

A toothy grin flickered on D'Spayre's face as he extended an arm offered the razor to the writhing man on the pavement. Well, if past experience was any indicator, this would be over quickly, but at least it'd be entertaining while it lasted.

OPEN THREAD - come be heroic and, more importantly, trip balls
Sep 21 2017, 05:50 PM

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."----H.P. Lovecraft

D'Spayre is the worst type of evil: the kind that harms simply for the sake of doing so. He maims and kills and most of all, terrorizes, based on some bizarre alien mandate that gives him power the more he does it. Worse, as much of an ineffable force of nature as he seems at times, he claims to be nothing more than the emissary of something far greater and more distant and incomprehensible. Only time will tell.


D'Spayre isn't a hurricane or a flash fire or some other random act of disaster. He can be directed, even if he can't be reasoned with. There have been those high-minded types throughout history who have tried to make use of him, to turn him against some enemy of theirs and watch the ruin of the ones they hate.

This is inadvisable. There will be short-term gains, and they will be tempting, so tempting, but your usefulness lasts exactly as long as D'Spayre's attention span, and when it is exhausted, you will quickly find he takes allying with humans about as seriously as a human takes allying with insects.


Logically, every sapient being on the planet should be violently opposed to D'Spayre's continued existence, but only certain noble souls, with heroic steel in them, have the courage to stand up and do something about it. Need a villain for your thread? He's great for one-offs - always pursuing some kind of shadowy agenda, which provides great excuses to slot him into basically any situation and have the nightmares start kicking in.

It's a fun way to explore your character, too. What are they afraid of? Can they overcome it?


Hey, did you have a monster under your bed as a kid? Friend go missing in the subway? Ancient artifact buried under the floorboards in your bedroom? Curse on your entire bloodline? D'Spayre has you covered, baby.
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