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Found 2 results

  1. DsGSilver

    The Contagion

    "I suppose it would be pretty be fair to say that, by the time the apocalypse came, nobody was really surprised. The first outbreak was the Green Scare back in 2013, where a sudden, violent mania suddenly took control of a small town in South Carolina, driving all of the residents insane. In a panic, the Office of Disease Analysis was created to isolate and neutralize the cause. And they succeeded. ODA prevailed when everyone else thought the zombie apocalypse was upon us. In 2015, another epidemic arose in Georgia, much more resilient than the first. ODA once again responded and terminated the threat. In 2016, Louisiana was struck. Amid the panic, ODA began to expand its power, creating new sub-organizations such as the Public Health Commission and the Ministry of Epidemiology. Don’t let the professional names fool you, these were tyrannical parties, bent on containing the infection and exterminating the infected. The rest of the world watched with bated breath, all were terrified of the spreading disease, now ominously known only as “the Contagion”. Then, in late 2016, an outbreak erupted in the UK. That was all it took to blow the house of cards over. Nations everywhere shut down their harbors and airports, fearing they, too, might suffer an outbreak. It is 2018, now. Over the last 2 years, outbreaks have gone from being a yearly occurrence to being monthly, and now only weekly. People have become isolated and paranoid, and ODA is losing control of the situation. There is a lot to know about ODA, the Contagion, the crumbling world around us, but our story has a more humble beginning to it. Our story begins with a small group of three people whose evacuation didn’t quite go to plan…" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Welcome to my interactive story, The Contagion! A terrible plague has ravaged the land, and begun the zombie apocalypse that every gun nut has always dreamed of. There’s just a few points that I want to cover before we can truly begin: 1. This story will be told from the perspective of 1 of 3 characters, and you guys get to decide who that is. While every character will remain in the party, and they will still have accidents, you will only be able to fully control a single character. There will be times when the perspective temporarily shifts to a different character, and there may even be times when the option to completely permanently change perspective is available. 2. This story will feature a main male character who is subject to accidents, along with 2 females. More characters may join the party as it progresses. 3. This story will absolutely feature messing. A lot of it. 4. This story will most likely wind up considerably darker than most others that I’ve written. Characters will get hurt, do bad things, and be put in very horrible situations. 5. And lastly, just to add some risk and unpredictability, the results of a lot of the actions you guys select will be determined via d20 roll. Not all, but a lot. With all of that out of the way, let’s introduce our cast. Leo Taylor Bio: The younger brother of Grace Taylor. His quiet, reserved speech on top of a decisively unimpressive stature and musculature makes Leo the last person anyone would expect to survive any kind of disaster. Despite his physical shortcomings, Leo has managed to survive thanks to his shortness, speed, agility, and quick wit. He always manages to find some way out of any trouble that comes his way. Though the thought of being alone terrifies him, both Grace and Angela know that he’s likely the only one of them who could survive alone. Appearance + Equipment: Leo is younger than his companions, being only 17. He is short for his age. He has light skin and shaggy, messy brown hair. Currently, he wears a green hoodie and some blue jeans. He possesses a small pistol, some ammunition, and a combat knife. Continence: Bladder control - Low, prone to leaking. Bowel control - Medium low. Fear/Stress Tolerance - Low, he will lose control easily. While Leo may always find or invent a way out of dangerous situations, he hasn’t yet discovered a way to do so without needing a change of pants. Being the timid, nervous sort of person he is, he’s always had a little trouble keeping his bowels and bladder under control. After the apocalypse, this has manifested itself in him being too shy to ask his companions to stop for a bathroom break, along with him being pretty easily scared to the point of leaking, if not flat out voiding himself in his clothes. Grace Taylor Bio: The elder sister of Leo. Grace is a respected and admired individual. Prior to the end of the world, she was a police officer, and one with a stunning record. Talented, intelligent, and strong, she was very well suited for her line of work. Evidently, she was pretty well suited for the apocalypse, too. Granted, a whole lot of her survival knowledge comes from video games and movies, but it’s served her well enough so far. Appearance + Equipment: She is 25. Similar to her brother, Grace has light skin and brown hair, though hers is kept tied in a small ponytail. She is fairly tall, and fairly fit. Currently, she wears an unbuttoned blue shirt on top of a white tee shirt, and dark blue jeans. She also wears an old, gray baseball cap that she’s owned for many years. She is the most well-armed of the group, carrying a bolt action rifle and her police handgun. She also carries a police baton. Continence: Bladder control - High Bowel control - Medium Fear/Stress Tolerance - Mixed, fear is high, stress is low. Details are below. Grace is no stranger to terrifying and dangerous situations, considering her line of work. Undoubtedly, during the early days of her career, the more intense conundrums saw her pissing or soiling her pants, but those days are long past. However, Grace has always had stomach problems, ever since she was a kid. Today, performing exceptionally strenuous physical activity will often cause her bowels to leak, or even totally empty. Angela Blake Bio: While she is unrelated to the Taylor siblings, Angela has been a close friend to both of them for many years. Before the apocalypse, she was a librarian. Like Leo, she is not the type of person you might expect to see outlive everyone else in a disaster. And, well, you wouldn’t really be wrong to think that way. Angela is not a skilled fighter or survivalist. At all. She has survived mostly by doing whatever Grace tells her. She is, however, fairly good at keeping the others going. She is decently skilled at mending clothes and wounds. She is also an excellent cook and organizer, so she is generally left in charge of supplies. Even beyond those skills, though, she is simply a very charming and optimistic person, and is usually able to inspire her friends to keep going, no matter what. Appearance + Equipment: She is 23. She has pale white skin, due to all the time she spends indoors. Her hair is black, perfectly straight, and stretches down to her back. Currently, she wears a light pink sweater and a long purple skirt that reaches nearly to her ankles. A slim pair of glasses adorns her face. She is equipped with a small revolver and a switchblade. Generally speaking, she carries their supplies, due to her skill at managing them, unless an item proves too heavy. Continence: Bladder control - Really low. Bowel control - High. Fear/Stress Tolerance - Extremely low. Angela has somewhat of a weak bladder, and it’s always been a bit of a problem for her. Scary movies or games, Halloween haunted houses, even just startling pranks, all of them had a tendency to leave her slightly damp. When the end of days rolled around, Angela found it nearly impossible to keep herself dry. Curiously, however, neither Grace nor Leo have ever seen her shit herself, nor even mention the need to relieve herself. For whatever reason, despite her weak bladder, her bowels are stronger than anyone’s. Which character will you control? A). Leo Taylor B). Grace Taylor C). Angela Blake
  2. Seven generations ago, the city of Green Massif was a very different place. It was so small that the marauding Tarnigants didn't even bother ransacking it during the Mylincian War, and so isolated that the war was over for 3 years before anyone in Green Massif heard it had begun. So when an abominable monster from unknown lands came to terrorize the village, there was no one there to help them. The simple folk of Green Massif had to toughen up or die. The monster, which came to be called the Bower Gulper, was quite a thing to behold. "Stories and woodcuts do not do it justice," they say, but there is nothing else to know it by, since everyone who saw it is now gone. The town hall is built into the shell it would retract into to sleep, giving the people of today some idea of its size. Even though the shell looked like a colossal example of something that would be cast upon a beach by the waves, the monster didn't look like it came from the depths. This is probably why some say the shell belonged to another monster it slew in battle, and that it merely appropriated it as a soldier crab does. But none of this is really known. What is clear is that the monster was a beast made of bones and red blood, not some soft and oddly-shaped sea creature. It was covered almost entirely in scales that cut as keenly as knives and protected as well as full plate armor. It was shaped something like a serpent. Its long body was girded by yoke-shaped plates of impenetrable armor, and interlocking scales protected its underbelly. Its vast and peculiar body bore myriad curious features. Many men died trying to find a weak spot. Eyes studded its body and formed a mosaic on its face, but these were protected by thick eyelids that would snap into place too quickly for any arrow or spear to pierce the soft parts beneath. The multitude of eyes also prevented anyone from sneaking up on the beast. Its head was shaped like a cone which came to a blunt end where its mouth opened. Two giant horns grew upon this cone, and another jutting out from underneath. In that part beneath the head there was a place where the scales seemed to thin out, and the movement of muscles and veins could be seen. But it was directly adjacent to a horn and a pair of jaws, so no lancer could make it there, and no archer could shoot with enough precision to pierce any of those veins. Its jaws weren't so very powerful, but they didn't have to be. What it couldn't bite to pieces, it could swallow whole. It would sometimes be seen picking rocks from the mountainside and swallowing them, so the food it ate could be ground up inside its stomach. Many different figures have been given for the number of its limbs, but I can say safely say it was more than three pairs, each with tearing claws. It was an unpleasant time in which to live, in many different ways. You may already have noticed that a great many of the antique chamber pots that can be seen today date to the time of the monster (identifiable by their blue glaze and the angular patterns decorating them). It is said that this was because more were made during that year than any other time in history. You see, the fear that grasped the village was so strong that people were afraid to go to the outhouse alone at night, and chose instead to use their own home as a place of easement or else suffer 'til the morning. After a while, the monster didn't even leave the city after its rampages. It feared the people so little that it would simply tuck itself into its shell and go to sleep. It was bad enough being attacked by a monster every few nights, but to be able to see it sitting there at all through the day was a chilling reminder of the threat. The villagers' spirits dropped further. Warriors performed even more poorly against the monster. A quarter of the town moved away to where the shell wouldn't be in their vision at all times, living in tents. Of course, this made them even less safe. Meanwhile, lances, battering rams, and fire were used against its sleeping form, to no avail. Before falling into slumber, it always rolled into a shape that left the thickest plates of its armor blocking the entrance to its shell. The only times the monster left the village was to drink from a nearby stream, and to visit a remote location where it disposed of what remained of the devoured villagers. Attempts were made to catch it off guard at these places, but the monster was too canny to fall to a surprise attack. There was one warrior in Green Massif who was not only bold enough to fight the Bower Gulper, but crafty enough to defeat it when so many others had failed. This valiant challenger was not a knight, nor a man, nor even a boy. Diceanct Gemniss was a small girl with great ambitions. Let me describe her. Her hair was red almost beyond hair's capacity to be red. She didn't put much fuss into grooming it, so it flowed all over her head and shoulders, and looked like a flaming torch when the wind caught hold of it. Inside she was just as fiery. A spark could be seen in those sapphire eyes of hers. She had the long lashes, thin eyebrows, and shapely lips that would usually catch the fellows' attention. But in her case they were more likely to be covered with dirt than makeup. She was small, even for a young lady, but the muscles that clothed her tiny skeleton could do incredible things. While the other little girls had been gathering flowers and braiding their hair, she had been outrunning hunting dogs and scaling mossy ruins. While the other girls had been learning to sew and cook, she had learned to hunt wild animals and to tan and stretch hide to fashion leather armor. Such was her way. Some thought she was mad. Others that she was really a boy. For all these reasons, the boys never brought her flowers or asked her to dances. But she was sought after in hunts and sports and other boyish pastimes. She wished to be taught in the ways of a knight, but such a thing was unheard of in those days. Many adults disdained her, as did some children, telling her she should be in a kitchen or at a spinning wheel. Even those boys who enjoyed having her as a comrade thought it was unfitting for her to be a warrior, such was the strength of the taboo. But she did have some things in common with the other girls of Green Massif. For instance, she had been eagerly awaiting the annual festival held for the boys and girls who had recently become men and women. Her year had finally arrived. When the threat of the monster became so pervasive that the festival was deemed to dangerous to hold, these children were heartbroken. But this girl Dicea instead became truly angry. The day of that announcement, she separated herself from any human contact. She was sighted in the tallest branch of the tallest tree in the countryside, stewing with rage but also working over strategies. There, hanging upside down so the blood would nourish her brain in abundance, she devised the perfect plan. She procured some daziper oil, a sweet-smelling yet potently poisonous concoction. Then she went to her family's home and began to soak her armor in it. That very night, she wrapped up her inconveniently large bosom, slid into her newly fortified armor, sheathed her hunting dagger in her belt, and went off to wait for the Bower Gulper to come out of its shell to snatch up the cattle that were being herded nearby. The villagers who witnessed the ensuing battle did not think Dicea fought valiantly. They thought she was simply mad. She taunted the monster while armed with only a dagger, and hardly defended herself at all. It wasn't long before the colossal beast was biting at her wantonly with its massive jaws. It was unable to penetrate her tough leather armor, but that didn't prevent it from wolfing her down. One swallow and she was gone, armor, dagger, and all. The onlookers wept. She had been their best hope, and would probably be their last. But in a moment, the daziper oil in which she had soaked her armor had its intended effect, and the monster disgorged her, whole and alive. This had been her plan all along, because it gave her access to the monster's one vulnerable spot. As she was cast from its mouth, she caught hold of the horn that protruded from its chin. This placed her just beyond the reach of the monster's foremost pair of arms. With her legs gripping the horn like a vice, her upper body was freed to locate and cut the great veins in the beast's unprotected neck. In moments, it fell down dead. That day, a huge celebration was held in honor of Diceanct Gemniss the Beast-Slayer. She was modest, and didn't want to receive all of the attention. She made it known that this would replace the coming of age festival of which the people her age had been robbed. And so the young women got to show off their fancy clothes and reduced girths after all. There was a great feast. All the tasty food in the village was devoured in one afternoon, but no one cared. And there was much song and dance. But more of the young men danced with Dicea than with anyone else, because, even with her body covered in cuts and bruises, she was still the most winsome woman in the land. She was the one to which they owed their lives. If not for her, they would be no more than skeletons in piles of dung. The year went on, the village rebuilt, and the suitors never left Dicea alone for a moment. She had much fun sparring with them all. The toughest and boldest of them all won her hand in marriage, although he never did win a wrestling match with her. Their combined warriors' blood, propagated by their many children, is the reason that today Green Massif has the most valorous fighters in the land, and the most feisty women. Now that you have heard this legend, which is still on the tongues of many after seven generations have passed, I will tell you the true story. Like many oft-told tales, the story of the Bower Gulper's death takes detours around certain truths. I know this because my grandfather had the privilege of studying Diceanct Gemniss with a thoroughness that is impossible today. Many relics from her era, such as her personal diary, are now lost. But the secret true history has been told among my family, and now I tell it to you. Women are a secretive sex, and it can be hard for we men to believe that each one has a full set of bowels tucked into her person, which function just as they do in a man or a beast. Combine this with the way we make idols of the heroes of the past, and it seems absurd to suggest that Diceanct Gemniss the Beast-Slayer could ever have sat on an outhouse bench. But before there were legends or paintings or statues of her there was a real person who was as much flesh and blood as you or I. I can tell you with certainty that, beneath the well-developed muscles of her torso, were nestled the five feet of bowels that are allotted to every mortal man and woman. I can tell you with equal certainty that each inch of that organ was full when she went into battle. The reader must keep that in mind as I retell the end of the story. Tellers of this tale supply its heroine with only a dagger, but she actually took a sword and shield into battle. She had even stolen a catapult from the city's defenders. This was the keystone of her cunning plan to vanquish the beast that had conquered so many. She believed the best place to strike was between the plates girding its back and sides. These came very far apart when it twisted its body, and she thought she could pierce the soft flesh between them using a poisoned sword. A long lance would have been better, but she didn't have one, nor would she know how to use one if she stole it. But she was confident in her abilities as a swordswoman, and in the potency of the poison she had found. When she faced it that night, she had a plan which the tellers of the tale have forgotten, it having been a miserable failure. She let some cattle out of their pen and goaded them toward the shell of the sleeping monster. The farmer was upset, but didn't shout her away from his livestock for fear that the mad girl might attack him. The beast ventured out to snatch up these tasty morsels when Dicea did the maddest thing yet. She had lured one of the cattle onto the catapult, and propelled it out past the edge of the town. The Bower Gulper rapidly jerked its neck to catch the flying treat, as she had hoped. But the exposure of the tender flesh between its scales was fleeting. When she charged its neck, it was already coming back around. The force of that failed stab was so great that the sword flew out of her hands. When the beast reared its head, she had to draw back instead of retrieving her weapon. In a moment it had been lost beneath the great serpent's advancing body. She tried to ward it off with a torch, but it was no use. She hid in a gap in a wall, hoping the beast would pass her by. But it used its awful curved claws to fish her out of that crack. She put up her great shield, which reeked of daziper, between herself and the hideous fiend. But it scratched and batted at the poisoned iron, and eventually snatched it from the girl's bloodied hands. She reclaimed her torch and tried to burn its hand to discourage it, but it would not leave her alone. Soon it presented its jaws instead of its arms. It was determined to eat this irksome pest. No plan of defense could have prevented the moment when its teeth caught her body. When the monster's jaws closed, they left Dicea in a compromising position. The armor kept her torso unharmed, but those shark-like serrated teeth were all about her, and she could not move an arm to draw her dagger without wounding herself deeply. The torch still burned, but didn't singe the flesh of the mouth enough for the monster to react. She tried with all her might to kick its teeth out and make her escape, but they would not be broken. The only thing defending her body was her armor. The monster no doubt tasted the daziper oil she had soaked it in, but it showed no concern for the poison. It certainly wasn't vile enough to make it spit her out. As it tried to chew its meal, Dicea's arms and legs received some cuts, but the bulk of her body was spared. The monster grew tired of trying to puncture her armor with its teeth, and gulped her down whole. She tried to make herself too large to swallow, but she still slid down that soft and slimy tube without making any trouble for the monster. She was carried for hundreds of feet before finally being deposited in a stuffy, damp, hot place. She fell onto her side, and was cemented to the floor by a sticky coating. The torchlight revealed to her a saddle-shaped pink chamber, empty save for her and a nest of sharp rocks. The spongy walls pulsed with life, and seething hot fluid was rising to meet her. Then the flame went dark. But the ending of the battle, as you have heard it before, is true. She did receive a second chance at life. When she was thrown out of the monster's mouth she was shocked to be alive, but she came to her senses quickly enough to cling to the horn of its chin and avoid a nasty fall. And she wasn't too overcome with fear to take advantage of her position. She drew her dagger and slashed madly until the beast fell to the earth, and her with it. Even then, she hacked at it frantically until its neck was a pulp and the remains of its head were totally separate from the body. Her hysteria finally ceased, and she collapsed to the ground and slowly caught her breath. Once the villagers were convinced that her mind wasn't gone, they showered her with praise. She found herself telling and retelling the story of her strategy and victory to an adoring crowd, not caring that only parts of it were true. The women were empowered to know that a humble member of their sex had achieved such a feat. The men's eyes were ablaze with fondness. The jubilant mood began to shift with the first mention of an unpleasant smell. It was at first assumed that the dying monster had ejected its bowels' contents, but no evidence could be found of this. The smell lingered, and elicited more remarks by the minute. As this was happening, Dicea began to look more and more uneasy. She began to stammer and pause in her storytelling, and her face grew more and more red, to the point that one couldn't tell where her hair ended and her skin began. Finally, it got to where she couldn't bear it anymore. She broke down, and the emotional outpouring that resulted gave everyone in earshot a full confession. These are her own words, as recorded in her journal: "I soiled myself! I soiled myself! You are smelling my shame. That's why the monster disgorged me. I was too atrocious for its body to contain. I might not have even turned its stomach, were this not an especially foul and voluminous expulsion. But I couldn't help myself. I thought my life was over, and was terrified, and the filth just issued forth. I had no control. As a fighter, I have been a terrible coward. The daziper oil had nothing to do with my escape. It was meant to protect me from being consumed in the first place, because I never planned to enter that awful thing's body at all. It was only through good fortune that being swallowed led to my victory. I had a plan, and it failed! It failed awfully, and I was eaten, and I defiled my garments like a child." What she spoke was true. As it had happened, her mind collapsed in terror and despair when she found herself in complete darkness in that horrible churning pit of death, and her muscles gave out in turn. She was conscious of the consequences of this. In fact, she was conscious of little else. She recorded in her journal the feeling of her bowels purging themselves while she was powerless to halt the process. She felt a long solid mass push the seat of her pants away, then fold over and smash itself into a formless lump against her rump. More and more came out, putting space between her armor and her body. The dank atmosphere became especially atrocious. Her inability to keep her waste inside made her failure that day even more bitter. Just when she thought she was about to suffocate, she found herself being thrust upward. Her mind ignored the disaster of her bowels, so elated she was to be alive. In the heat of the fight that ensued, and the shining splendor of her victory, she forgot all about the extra weight in her clothes. She didn't even think to go back and wash up, so lost she was in this happy moment, and now the villagers could see the pitiable thing she had done. Of course, she had proper underclothes, and all that she had produced was held inside them, and was further obscured by her armor. But, once one knew to look, they could see between her legs a mass of sagging cloth that looked like an overfilled sack of turnips, and smelled like the hole of a privy. After finishing her speech, Dicea wept and wept, and had to be consoled like a child. The villagers emphasized that she had had the presence of mind to cling to the monster's horn and slit its throat, and that she had been brave enough to face it in the first place. But all she could think about was the pungent muck she was sitting in. She never fully regained her composure that morning, but she did eventually halt the flow of tears and sulk off to the bathhouse. She peeled from her body the clothing that she had befouled, and set it aside to bury later. Then she went about soaking and scrubbing herself until her flesh was rosy and tender. All the foul-smelling filth was removed, but the shame would not wash away. After that, she walked back to her home in her armor, nude underneath, while people stared and wondered and chuckled. There she stayed for quite some time, and would not show her face to anyone. As word of the beast's vanquishment spread throughout the surviving villagers, so did instructions not to mention the vanquisher's lapse of continence. Still, Dicea would not be seen for some time. She was so humiliated that she wouldn't even show herself during the celebration of her victory, and it went on without her. Of course, it didn't take too long for her to realize that she was adored and respected much more than she was made the object of derision. Even as she sulked, she was sent flowers and gifts and enough clean sets of fine clothing to last her many years. And, even though she had missed her one chance at a coming of age festival, she soon had more suitors than all the other young ladies of Green Massif combined. True, some of the men were disgusted by her embarrassing mishap, but most were captivated by her. After all, a lady who can slay the greatest monster in living memory is quite a lady indeed, even if she does sometimes wreck her undergarments. And the rest of the story is as you know, regarding her popularity, her marriage, and her dozen and two children (which were all sired by the same man, contrary to a malicious rumor you might have heard). To compensate for her own failing, she made sure they each received stern and strict toilet training, and none had a single misfortune of the bowels or bladder after their third birthday. She was a mighty warrior. No one questions that. But she never outgrew the tendency to become deeply stricken with fear at the direst moments. Stricken right down to the bowels. Those who served with her in battle would always pretend they smelled nothing. The habit of dousing her armor with perfume continued, to hide the smells she produced due to vigorous exercise and less mentionable bodily processes. The skirt that adorned her armor, which has become such an iconic part of her legend, was something she adopted to hide her lower garments from view in case they were distended with matter she had voided. Other female fighters embraced these practices, partly so she wouldn't feel ashamed, and they are now commonplace, even though most of these lady warriors do not know the embarrassing origin of the perfume and skirts that adorn them. Thus goes the true story of Diceanct Gemniss the Beast-Slayer. I may catch malice for telling it, but none can find any solid proof that the popular version of the tale holds any more fact than mine.