Bark Worse Than Bite[Event]

Somewhere, not too far off from the trio that are being acquainted, a man stands by himself.

His clothing is strange, as though he’d stepped right out of a Victorian painting, and it makes him stand out on landscape of green, brown, and grey. There’s an all-American hero coded in his tousled hair, his silver eyes, and the lean physique.

Yet, there’s something transient about him, or something not all there, like he’ll disappear into a wisp of air if you startle him. Other than that, he appears normal, if not strikingly handsome.

He’s standing near a small tree that flourishes with youth. It’s a refreshing contrast to the dark clouds that roll overhead. It’s almost too perfect to be there, amongst the other gnarled, unsettled trees that whisper in the breeze.

“Hello? You three! Over there!” he calls, having spotted the trio. He’s waving a hand at them amiably, and his pearly whites show through his smile. “I apologize sincerely, but would you mind giving me a hand?”

At the inauspicious reactions, the man’s eyes widen before he lets out a laugh. It’s a full sound, skimming the voids between the trees.

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. “I don’t want your money. Actually, I was just wondering if you could help me grab—”

Before he finishes the last of his words, a high-pitched scream rings in the air. It’s young and terrified and outraged, and it wrenches the handsome man’s face into something unpleasant. He tugs at his blood-coloured cravat and fumbles with his tweed vest, and his apprehensive eyes peer in the direction the scream was coming from.

A small girl, looking like a jumble of moving limbs, runs toward them, her face smattered with freckles and tears. She’s wearing nothing but a simple white dress. It billows behind her as she tears through the trees.

“Help! Help, please!” She sounds hysterical, and her voice cracks, like a one-winged dove tumbling out of the sky.

From somewhere far away, another scream is heard. This time, it’s the ghoulish shrieking of a banshee, the sound chilling and raw-grating. It’s far, but it’s coming closer.

The handsome man seems to forget to look scared, and he mutters something angrily—unfortunately, the trio is too far away to hear what he says. Then the fear comes back, brightening the man’s silver eyes.

The girl runs past the man and collapses in front of the trio, her face in her spindly hands. She looks too fragile; if you touched her, she might break. She holds the same pellucid quality as the man; one wrong move, and she’d be gone in a blink.

“My—my tree,” she sobs.

The man beside the lively tree begins to look a little flustered. “Um, so, if you three would be so kind as to—”

He’s cut off once more, by a roar from the distance and a wail from the child, and the three can only see his mouth moving and the fear in his eyes.

MOD NOTE: Switched to 2nd person, as it flows better for this situation. If you've any problems at all, just notify this account and it'll be fixed! Prompts added at the end of sections, because I know this can be a little confusing to respond to.


While Donovan makes valiant attempts to soothe the young girl, you approach the strangely-clothed man with caution.

The man turns to you and breathes a sigh of relief, as though he had just then thought to entertain the possibility that nobody would hear his pleas.

“Thank you, thank you,” he says, and though he does sound grateful, his voice is strained and his brows are pulled together with worry. He looks a lot more careworn up close, like yellowed paper.

He opens his mouth, looking like he’s going to go ramble on with flowered vocabulary, but he instead takes a deep breath and tells you straight out: “I am looking for a diadem. I have it on good sources it is around this tree.” He directs your attention to the tree, flourishing jubilantly. It isn't very tall yet, and its trunk is thin compared to the rest of the trees.

Two distinct screeches are heard: one is from the voice in the distance, which isn’t very far off at all. The second is from the girl, who wails in response to what the gentleman has just said as though she’d heard every word, and doesn’t like what she’s hearing.

“I need this diadem. It’s for somebody important. To me.” He has a hand over his heart. “And we have to hurry, before--”

He’s cut off, once more, but this time it’s by the presence of what can only be described as a terrifying ghost. Where eyes should be, there are deep, sunken black holes instead, and its jaw is unhinged like a snake, wrenching its mouth into a gaping maw. It floats above the ground, and blood-rusted shackles hang off of its limbs. Strangely, it seems to be dressed in the same manner of clothing as the gentleman, but tattered and worn.

It screams once more, and this time you can make out what it’s been screaming: “AH-LO-WEEEE.”

“ . . . before this dirty scoundrel appears,” says the gentleman. The expression on his face is odd - it almost looks guilty, rather than fearful.

Another shrill cry from the ghost. It may have been trying to say something, but you can’t understand a word it says - it all sounds garbled and distorted. The ghost doesn’t make any move to attack you, though - he just floats there, occasionally belting out a screech. The gentleman is looking at you uncertainly.

(The gentleman sounds like he knows something about the ghost.)


The girl falls into your arms - but something doesn’t feel quite right. She gives you the same feeling as the gentleman speaking with Kyu-Sik by the tree - not entirely there. It’s almost as if you’re holding an idea of a body, held together by an image of a girl in half a frock.

“They’re going to take it! I’m not allowed to let them take it!” She sobs into your chest, but your consoling appears to have some effectiveness - her weeping slowly reduces itself to heaving sighs and coughing fits. When she’s calm enough to speak, she answers you with a shaky voice.

“Alice. I’m Alice,” she says, looking up at you with red-rimmed eyes. “I . . . live inside that tree.” She points to the tree, and her eyes glazes over the gentleman. She pauses, as though listening to something, before her eyes go wide with a feral fear all over again.

“No!” she wails. “Don’t let them do it! Please!”

(Specific questions might be better than “What the hell’s going on?”, which would probably be met with nothing but more hysterics from the girl.)


As the chaos unfolds around you, you’re a little uncertain as to what you should do.

As you’re not speaking with a strange man or hugging a strange child, you notice a small, indistinct key on the grass beside the man and the girl. It’s intricately-crafted, set with jewels that are dimmed by the dreary weather. Its appearance is about as normal as the floating spirit that has just appeared.

(The key might be significant to whatever the hell is going on, just because it exists on the same level of weirdness as everything else.)

MOD NOTE: This section was shorter than the others because most of things happened in Kyu-Sik's section, and I didn't think it made any sense to repeat it all.

MOD NOTE: No more prompts.


“They’re looking for it,” she says, her voice ragged, so low only you can make out her words. “The diadem. They want it.”

Alice scrunches up her face—if not for you, she looks like she might have started crying again. Little strands of hair are sticking to her cheeks. She eventually bolsters the courage to speak again, but her wavering voice sounds uncertain.

“I’m not allowed to let them take it. If they do,” she shudders, “I’ll . . . die. I don’t want this again. Please.”



The gentleman looks at you with his eyes wide, as though astounded by your lack of obvious knowledge.

“Of course it is. I am most certain of this,” he says, raking a hand through waves of hair. His deep-set brows signify that there may be some merit to his claims, but he doesn’t tell you why he knows this is so. “And you do not need shovels—it’s right there. Under the tree.”

If you look closely, you’ll find the roots of the tree act as a gnarled cage for something small, but from where you stand, you don’t know what it’s guarding. The roots are thin and don’t seem to pose a problem, if you ever decided to help the gentleman.

“And it is very important,” he continues. “It’s for . . . somebody. Special. To me.” He’s looking at the ground, his eyes forlorn, as though remembering of something lost. His lips are curled downwards. “And it’s mine.”

A howl terrorizes your ears, louder than its predecessors. The shackled ghost is shaking with what looks like unmitigated fury.

OOO—ARRH—A—LIIIAR!

The shackled ghost assaults the gentleman with blinding speed—you don’t know what happened—but one second, your vision goes white, and the next, the shackled ghost is hounding furiously at what looks like a barrier of white light. The gentleman has his hands outstretched, strained, and shaking.

“Gods,” he mutters, clearly out of breath. He speaks quickly, his efforts vocalized on the spot where the ghost is attacking. “He’s gone berserk—who know’s what he’ll do? Tell your friends to get inside, now.”

The barrier looks big enough to accommodate the four of you, and the tree.



Alice whirls her head to face you, eyes popping. She nearly wrenches out of Donovan’s hold, but instead opts to cover her mouth with her face.

“It’s the key—oh, oh, oh! Please, hide that, it’s important! You can’t let them get the key, okay?” She stares into your eyes. Her eyes are otherworldly, too—like looking into galaxies. “Never. Ever.”

Suddenly, a howl pierces the air. Sounds like trouble.