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  • Fae-ify It!

    A thread from the old boards that I think we should start here again. Take something from somewhere else, be it a fictional character, story, place, even a real-life event or person, and add that Changeling twist.

    He doesn't remember his name, and it's not important, because that's not who he is anymore. He vaguely remembers his life before, being a two-bit bankrobber with better ideas than he could execute, but that's not important anymore either. He remembers being on the run from some cops, or maybe other crooks, turning a corner, and finding himself in a deep hedge. And then things got. . . stranger.

    He finally escaped, and he doesn't want to go back. But he remembers the pure, simple beauty of chaos, of the only reality being the one you decided upon at any given instant, and he sees this rigid, structured world and can't help but think that it needs more chaos. He's an agent of chaos.

    He's painted his Mask to reflect his Mein. White makeup on his face, black around his eyes, a red slash of a smile over the scars on his cheeks, and green dye in his hair. When people see beneath the Mask, they see skin bleached whiter than bone, empty black pits for eyes, a bleeding red gash where his mouth should be, and green fire atop his head for hair. He calls himself the Joker.
    Last edited by ErikModi; 03-04-2014, 01:59 PM.


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  • #2
    Its Realm is Pieced together from the dreams of children that ask too many questions, stitched together with crayons and construction paper. from its throne of curiosities and stolen imagination The Monster asks the stolen questions of all that It has Dragged to its lair; The marine biologist that questioned her position as a female in a male dominated field and now swims in a tank of her own tears. Forced every night to endure hellish dreams wrought by a monster that can only pretend to care. The opera singer and his family whos voices were stolen and replaced with honks and squeaks act out the answers to the same questions over and over again, bound in a window near where the Monster sleeps and constantly watched by the Monsters soulless unblinking eyes. there were many more but it has been so long ago that i escaped . . .Elmo's World.

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    • #3
      Bruce Wayne was born to an extraordinarily rich doctor. After his parent were murdered, he became a distant lad. Only his butler was able to get through to him, but one night, IT CAME. It called itself Azrael and it took the young master Wayne into the dark. There young Bruce was dumped into a dark and twisted cave full of monstrous bats. It took him years to fight off his fear, but when he learned to embrace his fear, he found others in the dark. These others taught him how to fight and survive in the lightless cave. He learned how to track and hunt. He learned to use his mind and body as an instrument, and one day he found his way out of the cave, and back into the alley behind the theatre.
      He made his way home, but another was there. Another Bruce living his life. This Bruce was a spoiled slave of desire. Lost in his/its desires. In one swift motion, Bruce killed his doppelganger, and resumed his place as the prodigal son of Wayne Manor. To the outside world Bruce Wayne is still the lost playboy, but to the criminals of Gotham, there is a monster in the dark. A creature that prowls the twisted and dark alleys of the city. This monster has the form of a man, but on certain nights, when the moon casts is baleful light, the monster can be seen beneath the cowl. A monster who feeds off of their terror. A monster known only as the BATMAN!

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      • #4
        Bruce Banner grew up as most boys do, but unlike most, Bruce was a genius. He graduated high school by the age of nine. By thirteen, he received his first degree. By the time he was in his mid twenties, he was the lead in his field as a physicist with his specialty in radiation.
        While working late one night with his fiancé, Betty, a horrendous monster broke into his lab. It destroyed everything and did its best to kill Bruce. But when Betty fell onto Bruce's broken body in tears, begging for the horrible green monster to stop…it did. It turned and left.
        Bruce was in a coma for several days, but when he awoke, he was a changed man. He took a leave of absence of work, and went in search of the green monster. He had a responsibility to it…no to him. When Bruce had looked into the monsters eyes, he had seen the truth; the horrible truth. Bruce was not Bruce Banner. He was just a thing, a fake, a simulacrum made of leaves and moss.
        The real Bruce had been stolen as a child by an even greater monster, and beaten and tortured until he had become that monstrous green man. He and Betty would dedicate the rest of their lives to finding this child in the body of a great ogre and they would care for him. They would educate him if they could. They would make him whole again as best they could. Betty would become his mother, and Bruce would do his best as a father.
        Bruce Banner had thought he was a good man. But now he knows he is not a man, but he would still be the best he could be…whatever he was. And he WILL teach the real Bruce how to be human again.

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        • #5
          the children skipped merrily into the classroom, though no one dared utter the unspoken truth. one by one they each gave a lesson, one by one they each sang a song for the bloated purple beast eyeing them with a hungry gleam behind its smiling plastic eyes. at night when all the hugs were had and all the songs were sung, the children would sleep doing their best not to cry for those were the ones who...disappeared. and every morning they rose to start the cycle a new, each day a new lesson each day the same songs. each day their spirits would break a little more to the tune of "i love you...you love me..." each day the children would wait for one of their own to cry at night and fall victim to...Barney the purple dinosaur...

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          • #6
            It was just supposed to be a Game with a group of friends. You had been waiting patiently for weeks after you heard about a game that was more realistic and immersing than anything you had ever heard of, you and your friend couldn't wait to begin playing it. Sure you all had some difficulty from a few online trolls and their ridiculous "Warning" attempts at trolling but they were easily ignored. Once the game was in your possession you all swiftly learned just how powerful it really was. It took you all away from your lives and forced you all to play a game that mortals were never supposed to play, you saw strange creatures made cobbled together memories from your childhoods, Waring Cities of Lights and Shadows, Strange Monsters that lived beneath the strange worlds the game had created, the end of all things, A Sky that brought Visions in its clouds, Things that should not be behind the walls of reality, a Black Demon made of broken dreams, a Witch Queen from another World, a Green monster that brought Death in its wake, and the strangest of all was finding out the Internet Trolls who were seemingly fucking with you were players who were trying to warn you to not play this horrible game. The Game would Challenge you, Break you, Raise you, and ultimately change you into something much more and far less that what you ever were.

            Envelog:
            Glamour response detected.
            Glamour accepted.
            Grafting to soul.
            Connecting to Prospit server.
            Dreamself generated.
            Connecting to Arcadia server.
            Awaiting response from the Noble Lords of Faerie
            Noble Lords of Faerie rejected request for rename. Laughed.
            Redirecting to Dark Fates Foretold
            Connected. Uplink to WYRD established.
            Connecting to Skaia server.
            Connection established.
            Welcome to the Sburb, Jane Crocker, Maid of Life.
            Your game pass was provided by: Her Imperious Condescension.

            It was only supposed to be a Game.

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            • #7


              I have no words...

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              • #8
                Originally posted by Jane_Dargason View Post
                It was only supposed to be a Game.
                Sounds great, but what's the source?

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                • #9
                  Originally posted by Alexander View Post

                  Sounds great, but what's the source?


                  Homestuck. Webcomic, very, very long.


                  Comment


                  • #10
                    Its Realm is Pieced together from the dreams of children that ask too many questions, stitched together with crayons and construction paper. from its throne of curiosities and stolen imagination The Monster asks the stolen questions of all that It has Dragged to its lair; The marine biologist that questioned her position as a female in a male dominated field and now swims in a tank of her own tears. Forced every night to endure hellish dreams wrought by a monster that can only pretend to care. The opera singer and his family whos voices were stolen and replaced with honks and squeaks act out the answers to the same questions over and over again, bound in a window near where the Monster sleeps and constantly watched by the Monsters soulless unblinking eyes. there were many more but it has been so long ago that i escaped . . .Elmo's World.
                    Thank you. Now I can study all the night without coffee.

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      Originally posted by ErikModi View Post
                      A thread from the old boards that I think we should start here again. Take something from somewhere else, be it a fictional character, story, place, even a real-life event or person, and add that Changeling twist.

                      He doesn't remember his name, and it's not important, because that's not who he is anymore. He vaguely remembers his life before, being a two-bit bankrobber with better ideas than he could execute, but that's not important anymore either. He remembers being on the run from some cops, or maybe other crooks, turning a corner, and finding himself in a deep hedge. And then things got. . . stranger.

                      He finally escaped, and he doesn't want to go back. But he remembers the pure, simple beauty of chaos, of the only reality being the one you decided upon at any given instant, and he sees this rigid, structured world and can't help but think that it needs more chaos. He's an agent of chaos.

                      He's painted his Mask to reflect his Mein. White makeup on his face, black around his eyes, a red slash of a smile over the scars on his cheeks, and green dye in his hair. When people see beneath the Mask, they see skin bleached whiter than bone, empty black pits for eyes, a bleeding red gash where his mouth should be, and green fire atop his head for hair. He calls himself the Joker.
                      "Why so serious?"



                      I have decided, after some thought, that I don't really feel happy on these forums. I might decide to come back to post. Who knows - but right now, I'm gone.

                      So good bye, good luck, and have a nice day.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        There were a couple of mine from the old thread that I'm still pretty proud of...

                        ~~The last thing Peter Parker could remember was the spider's bite... or was it the prick of a thorn on the back of his hand? His next recollections were of a dark, dreamlike existence of a tangled silken maze that he learned to navigate as naturally as walking across the ground, constantly wary of danger. When a stranger passed by his web, Peter paid him no mind, but the sight of the passage the stranger took stirred vague memories in the little spider. His Aunt and Uncle must be worried about him.

                        Deftly skittering along the bramble-strewn path, he blinked all of his eyes in confusion at several bright, flashing lights as he emerged. Police. He remembered police. And there was a body on the ground, there. Horrified, he recognized his Uncle Ben. A stranger had approached him from the darkness, witnesses said, and fled after the old man fell before him. Acting on instinct, Peter gave chase after the fleeing murderer over walls and rooftops before finally catching up to the fiend who murdered his beloved Uncle. But when he saw the man's face, he received a terrible shock.

                        Uncle Ben had indeed worried about his lost nephew when he hadn't come home, and went searching for him. Instead, he encountered the thing that had passed by Peter's web, sent to take his place. Startled, the fetch had lashed out and killed Uncle Ben, taking flight when it realized its mistake. Peter watched in horror as the thing with his face dissolved into drifting cobwebs in his grasp, then made his way back home to his grieving Aunt May, who was simply relieved that her nephew was back safe and sound.

                        Today, Peter has resumed his mortal life, but he's also sworn himself to the Spring Court of the Manhattan Freehold, supplementing his doting Aunt May's wages as a freelance photographer. Using his spiderlike gifts to dazzle and amaze his fellow Changelings with acts of daring gymnastics and acrobatics, he laughs in the face of danger as he evades and taunts the varied privateers that threaten the Freehold with spectacular wit and agility.

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                        • #13
                          And another:

                          ~~It is said that the Tainted Coil was the first of the Others to cross out of Arcadia and claim subjects for itself, twisting and changing them according to its sick and warped desires until they no longer had any memory of their past lives and former beautiful forms. Ormagodden, the Cremator of the Skies was brought low by the song of a lovely Fairest named Etulia, and the Tainted Coil slew him, rending his steel flesh so that its changeling children would never have to bear the pain of seeing each other's new forms by his burning light. But the rage, fire and steel unleashed in the Fire Beast's death cry laid the foundations of rebellion and drive for freedom in every changeling to come. The Tainted Coil and its Changeling slaves remain in Arcadia to this day, as does Etulia, eternally weeping a sea of black tears at the loss of Ormagodden and the hole left in her heart by the role she played in the Tainted Coil's betrayal. Her black tears bring power to those who drink it, but also madness.

                          Ages have passed in both Arcadia and the mortal realm, but time twists upon itself in Arcadia. And so, long ages after his death at the hands of the Tainted Coil, the Fire Beast claimed a mortal roadie named Eddie Riggs and spirited him back to the realm of the Fae. There he brought knowledge of how to use Ormagodden's gifts to help rekindle the fires of rebellion in the Changelings living under the oppression of the Tainted Coil's loyalist General, the decadent and cruel Lionwhyte. With a handful of free-thinking Changelings, they established the freehold of Bladehenge and began their push against the forces that stand between them, the Hedge, and freedom. For Ormagodden saw that Eddie had a great destiny, written in the pledges forged by his ensorcelled mortal father and upon the death of his mother...

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                          • #14
                            Officer Ronald Frashour in the Portland Police Bureau of Portland Oregon has sprayed a woman in the face with pepperspray during a domestic disturbance call while she was fleeing him to her own bathroom, tasered unarmed citizens without warning and shot from behind an unarmed grieving man to death with his police rifle but fate decrees that he shall remain a police officer until he breaks his pledge to keep and enforce the secrets of Portland's Autumn Monarch. Fear of police brutality, and violence in general keeps Portland peaceful, which is the way the Freehold Monarch of Soggy Stumptown like it. The police are terrified of their suspects and react with disproportionate force, sometimes lethally, to avoid the potential for injury. This has the side effect of keeping the summer court weak because overt anger and violence are not accepted within Portland. (Real life events)


                            “Youth ages, immaturity is outgrown, ignorance can be educated, and drunkenness sobered, but stupid lasts forever.” ~ Aristophanes
                            "Virescit Vulnere Virtus" ~ Stewart Clan Motto

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                            • #15
                              The town itself is nothing special. A tiny rural settlement hours away by car or train, one example in a million of a sleepy village whose industry is slowly being robbed by a large department store dominating local markets and driving the old shopping district out of business. All that really matters is that it is a small place where everyone knows one another. The perfect place for the Lady of Mist and Rain to begin her game. It begins simply enough. The Hedge fills with a thick fog, making it impossible to see the thorns. Sometimes the fog drifts into the real world. The Lady crosses into the world herself at times, often when it rains. She tells a rumor of the Midnight Channel, an image that appears on a TV screen in the town at midnight (at the precise moment when yesterday becomes today). She draws on the dreams of the town to weave the visions seen. Time passes, the rumors spread. Finally, she crafts an especially wide Trod with an odd key. A changeling that has accepted its fetch and become one can enter this trod through a television inside the town. The trod leads to a strange otherplace, a hollow crafted purely from the hidden dreams of those that walk the trod. But the truth is grim- the Lady crafts this hollow by abducting any mortals who walk the path. She leaves the fetch in the center of this broken hollow. For the fetch it has been a moment, for the changeling a lifetime. The changeling and fetch are given a moment to accept one another. This is made horribly difficult because the Lady has spent time educating the changeling in everything loathsome and hideous about themselves, letting the vile yellow taint of her fog seep into their eyes. The changelings inevitably spit these lessons of hate back at their often bewildered fetches, who cannot help but reject the harsh truths they are given. A fetch that rejects their counterpart is killed by the fae, their body taken by the Lady into the real world and hung from a telephone pole or antenna. The changeling becomes a goblin, deadly and powerful. When all is ready, the Lady picks her pawns among the strangers who enter the town. She infects their dreams, and births aspects of monsters inside their minds. She names her dream children False Hope, the Mad Messiah, and the Idle Despair. The world falls still, the players are ready to enact their roles, and the curtain rises. The killings have begun.

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