The Forever Man

The Whistling Man's page

2 posts. Alias of pinvendor.


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Miyari or Perception DC 25:
The figure is the most revolting thing ever—he has no scent. It's not just an absence of smell, it's more like a vacuum of it, draining even the comforting odors of the earth, ozone, sweat, and blood from the surrounding area. It's semi-disorienting for a creature or humanoid whose acute sense of smell is so taken for granted. The expectation of smell always being present (even when unpleasant) makes this man an affront to the natural order of things.

The Whistling Man's smile turns into a terrible leer...it's just too long, his face and mouth seeming to bend unnaturally, maddeningly.

"You won't let it? You won't let it? You won't let it? You won't let it? Youwontletit?" The words erupt from his mouth in a chaotic mess. He only says the phrase once, but somehow each way it could be said is said together...separately...all at once. It's terrifying and otherworldly. Something akin to the monster of each person's nightmares is in that phrase and it chomps at each listener's sanity.

His voice and tone escalate, the cadence wrong in all the most horrific ways.

"Is that what you believe, Corinne?! That these fools are the heroes!?! That they can prevent the young one's destiny?!?

Laughter booms from nowhere. It is not the Whistling Man. It comes from within the darkness that cloaks him. The nonexistence which coats his frame laughs.

"I have seen where this river flows as well, Chroniker. Your anomalous kind are not the only ones that can see time as it will be. She will fulfill her purpose and my master will correct the mistakes of creation itself! You know this to be true. your heroes will fail. It has been foretold. Just because you have chosen to include these innocents...they can change nothing!" The word "innocents" is not what he says, it is not what the oblivion inside him says, but it is all the mind can remember.

While he speaks, the shattered Lyre of Lunacy begins to regrow in his hands. The wooden shards filling in and curving into a beautiful polished shape while thick strings begin to stretch and reach for the struts on the opposite ends.

"To commemorate the victory of tonight, I think I'll play a little song!" The man/monster/darkness says with a smile too long/angled/intangible. "But first to set the note."

And the Whistling Man begins to whistle...

Everyone make a Will Save DC 50. If Arielle has physically touched your character in any way add +30 to your roll. If you have any kind of ear protection, add another +5.


The man on the stage laughs, a rich hearty sound.

"Do you still call me that?" He grins at the child. One of his eyes seems to gleam in the low light. "But why wouldn't I whistle? The sound of music...it can really inspire people to greatness!"

The Whistling Man bends down to pick up a piece of the now broken lyre and holds it out to the gathered would-be charter holders as if displaying proof of the power of music.

He looks down at Mouthpiece. "What have you done to that lovely lyre I gave you?" A tsk-tsk sound is heard from the shadowed figure.

The shadows which envelop him seem to drip off his shoulders now. Revealed, the Whistling Man appears as a rather unattractively lanky man with unnecessarily long features. It's almost as if someone had taken a short stubby person and then stretched them out in an effort to re-balance the proportions. The effect is a tad disconcerting, and it is with much relief those beholding him that only a few parts of him are visible from within his hooded cloak. His cloak, however, might be even more concerning.

The garment does not appear to be cloth. In fact, it seems to be merely darkness somehow folded into a shape the mind perceives as a cloak. The darkness feels much different than that of shadows or even deep places. It reminds any looking upon it of staring into the night sky...but without the moon and without the stars. While impossible to perceive anything in the blackness, one cannot help but feel the darkness is anything but empty.

In the Whistling Man's hand the piece of lyre seems to twist and contort. In fact, it almost seems to be growing...

"Ah!" he bursts out spying the scarred face woman in front of the stage. "Why if it isn't the Forgotten One! How are you doing, Corinne the Chroniker, Woman Out of Time? Still think you will be able to stop the inevitable?"

Corinne says nothing, but her lips are pressed together making her scarred face look very grim.

More to come. Feel free to post any RP reactions if you desire.

Also, everyone can have 1 RC. Kalica gets another 1 RC as well for her most recent excellent post.