Piper's Laboratory.

[Scottie]

Scottie's Laboratory!

You fondly know this room as one of warmth and rich smells. Of stews and bubbling soups. Of a traditional dinner and yummy desserts. Where the scent of cookies drags you through the door. Instead of a warm amber-like glow that sneaks under the door, an angry-looking purple slithers through the cracks of the doorframe. The inviting smells you predicted coming from the kitchen have been replaced by a cold mint smell...the smell of wet dog and something else that you can’t quite put your finger on.

The door swings open as you come closer and a small herd of fluffy four-legged things scurry around your feet. You are promptly pushed into the room by a small herd of pugs dressed in sheep costumes. “Oh...OH THANK YOU MY SWEETS.” The woman in the room has large glasses on that seem to be permanently slipping off the end of her nose. Fluffy hair is piled high upon her head and some strange things can be seen nestling in the curls. A twig...a batwing?....and you swear for a moment, something is watching you with crimson eyes.



“Welcome to my laboratory!!” The woman spins and you can clearly see that she is wearing a lab coat that once upon a time would have been white. In the centre of the room, there is a large cauldron bubbling with a deep green gloop. The sheep pugs scurry behind the crazy looking woman as she bounces around the room. “I need your help, my pretties!!” She gives you a wide smile. She taps a finger against the side of the glasses and they magnify her eyes as she gleefully looks you over. “I need new monsters...creatures...guard things for my precious precious pumpkin garden. I don’t like store-bought so I’m making them from scratch. I have everything prepared...I have all the ingredients....well nearly all of them.”



Sitting on a beautiful bronze pedestal beside the cauldron, a very dog eared book sits. The woman drags a finger over the list again and mumbles gently before stabbing the page violently. “I need imagination...JUST A DROP” The dogs that continue to wriggle and worm themselves around your ankles all yap happily for a moment. “You look like a very imaginative individual. You may search high and low for inspiration BUT YOU MUST STAY OUT OF THE BASEMENT.” She pauses for a second, her hair appearing to raise with her anxiety. A single very fluffy looking sheep pug yips and she is brought back to the room. “Here...I’ll show you what is going in this batch and you conjure up my newest creature.”

The woman bounces on her heels for a second before snapping her fingers. “Let us begin, shall we?”

The snap of her fingers echoes through the suddenly very quiet room. Before you, three ingredients appear. The woman hums for a moment as the objects bob gently in the air.

“This particular potion states I need….the remnants of a yeti’s last haircut.” A small burlap pouch hovers before you and then suddenly drops into the green liquid. Swiftly sinking beneath the liquid as an almost cartoonish “bloop” sounds as a large bubble burst.

“Next, it needs the wind created by some very frantic bat wings.” A mason jar filled with a faint grey smog spins before plummeting into the liquid.

“Last, it needed the cheesy gleam of a full moon.” A mirror spins around and around before it suddenly stops reflecting the full moon that sits high outside the dirty kitchen window. As it holds the reflection, it slowly drops to the cauldron and the woman drags her eyes back up to you.

“Well...Go on...Give me the imagination.”


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Every 48 hours, the strange woman of the laboratory (cough cough totally not based on me...cough cough) will reveal three ingredients that must go into her cauldron to create a new protector of the pumpkin garden! This is a monster prompt and you must use those words either as a base for your monster or include them in your description!

Spoiler: Rules! 

- 1 entry per member please!
- I will allow writing entries from 1 paragraph to a maximum of 4 paragraphs!
- If you are going to use the highlighted words in your description rather than basing it around them, -
please highlight them in your description.
- All RPA rules apply. If you would like to create a creature that is more adult in its creation i.e. very
scurry. Please put your entry in a spoiler tag!
- These entries will be judged by the staff members and a few unfortunate souls that I have managed
to wrangle into my web of weirdness.

Inspiration for 25/10/2020:
- Yeti
- Bat wings
- Full Moon

Winner: @Alura;

Inspiration for 27/10/2020 - You have 48 hours to submit your entry!

- Dragon scales
- Web from a Giant spider
- Autumnal mist

Winner: @Alura;

Inspiration for 29/10/2020 - You have 48 hours to submit your entry!

- Crumpled spells
- Spider Venom
- Extra Strength
- Uncontrollable laughter

[Alura]

I stared deeply into the eyes of one of the sheep puggles, mesmerised, before finally startling back to the moment at the mention of the basement. Odd how that particular topic kept surfacing. What is in that basement!?

The mad pumpkin-gardening genius added three ingredients to her cauldron: the remnants of a yeti’s last haircut, the wind created by some very frantic bat wings and the cheesy gleam of a full moon.

“Well...Go on...Give me the imagination.” She said.

I tentatively stepped forward and peered into the bubbling green liquid.

"Well, I do know of one guardian that might do..."

Spoiler: The Abominable Werebat 

Nerrivik, the Sea-Mother, was the provider of food for her people and a goddess whose beauty and charms endeared her to all who laid eyes upon her. Her people lived in the cold, in the ice, where the light chased away the darkness for a few glorious months each year before the sun was swallowed slowly once again by encroaching night. Even in the unforgiving land while the sky gods chased each other forever at enmity, Nerrivik's people never wanted for food so long as they honoured her with a tithe from their catch. She gave them meat to eat, blubber to fuel their fires and keep them warm, bone for their knives and tools, and ambergris to soothe their wounds and fill their frozen homes with sweet scents.

So alluring and irresistible was she that she captured the attentions of the Great Horned God, Cernunnos, who roamed the earth and ruled over the beasts of the land and the bounty of the forests. He came to her with all the riches at his command, imploring her to be his, but she refused him for love of her people. Who would care for them were she to leave them, here alone in the dark and cold? She breathed warmth and life and love into them and the love they returned to her through their tithes and prayers moved her as they would any mother. Cernunnos, enraged that any would reject him insisted that she be his. When she refused him a second time, and a third, he sought out one of the old gods. In the remnants of the primordial world he called upon Achlys, she of eternal night and bound in misery and sorrow, to aid him in capturing the kind Sea-Mother. But Achlys was wiley and bitter alone in her exile into the far-flung recesses of the world, forgotten and forsaken by men and gods alike, one of whom now dared to petition her with hands empty of any offering and a heart full of hubris.

Achlys, much to Cernunnos' pleasure agreed to help him. She stole across the darkness, creeping past the siblings of the sky who chased each other through day and night, to the sea where she appeared to Nerrivik as a woman on the shore, calling for her lost child. Nerrivik, hearing the call, came to her child and at the moment she reached to lay her hand lovingly upon the woman's head she knew that it was no child of hers, no woman of her people. Achlys lifted her terrible face, mouth gaping in the rictus of a smile where no joy was to be found. She gripped Nerrivik's wrist like a vice and slashed her claw-like fingers across the beautiful goddess's face, disfiguring her and dragging her from the sea, back across the dark paths where no mortals may go. She brought her to the forest, to Cernunnos' domain, and flung her to the ground. When Cernunnos saw what had befallen the beautiful Sea-Mother he mourned his pride. Achlys had stolen the light, warmth, and provision of the Sea-People and left them in misery as she had left the Great Horned God humbled by his greed and his loss. The old goddess stole away back into the edges of the world, a dark satisfaction in her wake.

For Nerrivik there was now only the cold, only night. She rocked and wailed upon the earth, beating her breast as she agonised over her children. Who would care for them? Cernunnos took pity upon her and gave to her of the forests, the first seeds of agriculture and agrarian society. He gave her the senses of the animals who move in the dark, so that her wailing might return to her ears to tell her of threats that lay around her and therefore allow her to defend her people and the crops they now grew. Her body, long used to the sea, became dry and brittle. Hair shaggy and straw-coloured like hay, like the coarse hair of a great yeti. Skin brittle and cracked and feet bloody from her confinement to the land. Great wings like the flying foxes who move only within the dark. So too did she grow fangs that gleamed beneath the moonlight and drained life and vitality from those who strayed into the domain of her people uninvited. Such a violent practice, though it saddened Nerrivik, would temporarily give her something of her former beauty despite her blind eyes and scarred face. Time to time her people might see her as a nude woman with great wings walking the fields, and they would leave embers outside their door to warm her and thank her for her protection in the rare seasons when she was sighted. She would sleep through the long year while her people learned to sow crops, to wait for rain in the lands to which they scattered, forgetting their life in the ice and the cold. She, Nerrivik the fallen, would rise when the moon was full at the time of harvest and move through the fields, zealously guarding it from those who would deprive her people of sustenance. Though given the form of a beastly monster, her heart still glowed with warmth for her people and any who paid her tithe. When she was forgotten, when the best tithes of wheat and the fruits of the field were not left for her, her absence was seen in poor crop yields and bad rains - the storm-gods respecting the boundaries of the fallen goddess. When they were offered by the loving hands of farmers who had once cast their nets and spears to the sea for food, harvests were bountiful and the rains warm and nourishing. When her children call her still, the motherly heart of Nerrivik beats strong under the full autumnal moon within the chest of the disfigured and abominable werebat, stomping and dragging with heavy tread around their cultivated plots.

[Scottie]

“WHAT A MONSTER” The woman cackled loudly with glee, bouncing and clapping her hands as the blur of wheat coloured fur left the kitchen through the back door. Barely an inch of the green murky water remained in the cauldron, all of @Alura’s imagination had sapped it up! The sheep pugs cowered in the corner until the creature was far from their sight. “Yes. Please do protect my pumpkins, ma’am!” The woman hollers out to the garden and a soft wail of mourning drifts through the trees. The dogs now find a place of warmth and safety huddling around your ankles.

“OH COME ON.” Glancing over to the doorframe, the woman is hanging from the doorframe looking to her left. “Not...NOT MY SQUASH.” The door is slammed harshly and the woman stomps back to her cauldron, turning on a tap to fill the cauldron with more slimy green water. The woman frantically looks through the book and slams a hand down on the page before mumbling.

“God damn night terrors...ruining my squash patch.” The woman glances back up and grins widely at you all. “Another creature perhaps...This spell requires” A long fingernail trails over the recipe and she mouths the words before returning her gaze to you.

“The crimson luminous scales of a fearsome dragon.” A snap of her fingers and bright red scales appear before dropping into the liquid like petals falling from a rose.

“This one was a difficult one. The dried web from a giant spider.” The thick twisted material splashes noisily into the cauldron.

“And finally. The haunting breath of a cold autumnal mist.” The mason jar cracks open and the mist tumbles to the liquid. Her stare feels like she is looking deep within you.

“Well...Chop chop. I don’t have all day.”

[Alura]

I bend to awkwardly hug the fluffy pugs comfortingly, equally amazed at seeing what looked suspiciously like the mangled Nerrivik making a dash for what was presumably the aforementioned pumpkin patch. Then again, they seem rather used to the strange woman. Perhaps that should be worrying...

"Say, about that basement..."

"Well...Chop chop. I don't have all day."

"Oh, well..." I take a long moment to ponder before rising again to step near the cauldron. "This one is more of a three-for-one, but how about..."

Spoiler: The Scarlet Recluse 

A common misconception about dragon's nests is that they are much like a bird's. An understandable gaffe, as few have actually seen such hidden places and lived to tell the tale. Wyrms and winged serpents vary a bit from a good old-fashioned dragon who has, in point of fact, something rather closer to a spider's nest than a bird's. Glittering treasures from all corners of the world stud and drip along the thick, rope-like webs of their nests: warriors' swords with inscriptions of noble valour, crowns and jewels from youthful beauties and proud royal brows, and a few lucky coins and colourful ores and stones from the rough hands of fortunate humans too boastful to retain their finds. Or, perhaps, simply having used up all of their luck, they were unable to fend off the lusting eyes and smoking nostrils of the scaley draconids. Such well-hung, strong silk is spun by only the most aged and clever of dragons, as is the subject of this recommendation. Once in the faraway land of Merrick there lived warring clans who loved the earth and the land, but who saw the good and bad of the guardians and spirits who watched over the fields, the forests, the beasts, and the people. Not many legends exist from them, mingled as they are now with men who sailed in ships and built up the land until such stories were consigned from the smog of industry to the sacred mists of time. In the time of which we speak, however, dragons roamed there as they did across the world, venerated in paintings and stories nearly as old as the first dawn.

In the autumn, when the hunting and fishing were nearly impossible and the dried venison and the mushrooms and other bounties of the forest were gathered in and smoked or hung in bundles to preserve them, the peat-smoke of fires stung the noses of the people huddled in their lodges by the river. Under the sheltering boughs of pine and oak, they wrapped up tight in skins to stay warm as they sang and listened to the stories their elders would tell. Enamoured of these legends, Delbchaem wandered out one day when the sun was still climbing high in the sky and her sisters bathed in the river. Following the rock face along the nearby hills she spotted a small row of spiders, almost uniformly coming and going from the river. Each carried a sparkling drop of dew upon it's back. Fascinated, Delbchaem bent close and just beyond her nose one of the spiders, who seemed to be orchestrating the others, straightened up proudly on his rock pedestal and addressed her by name. "Delbchaem," said the spider. "Won't you come and see the dew we hang upon the great dragon's webs to keep her lair cool as autumnal morning mist? They are festooned with gold, with feathers and stones of colours like heather and clover, like the eyes of the great wolves that howl in the forests."

Delbchaem, curiosity piqued, followed the spiders into the den of the dragon. Wound up high amidst the heavy silken drapery, the great draconid sat coiled around a crag between the hills. Her fearsome hands wove the silken cords that spun from her sharp claws like a spider's spinnerets. All along her shining body the sun reflected from her crimson, luminous scales and the beads of dew already collected about the cavern like tiny puddles of magic. When the dragon's clicking claws ceased their spinning, she slithered her great body to lower her head near Delbchaem. "Mmm," The dragon entoned thoughtfully. "It has been a great many years since your kind have come, little one, like wolves to my nest." Though the dragon seemed calm, there was a dangerous edge to her quiet tone. "What is it that you seek, Little Child of Men?" Eyes wide, Delbchaem reached out her hand to touch one of the shimmering scales of the dragon, and in awe made no answer. After a momentary pause, the rumble of chuckling filled the cavern and a thick scarlet tail flickered over the ground, shifting stones and coins and other treasures in its wake as it nudged one of the bright scales at the child's feet. "There is a light about you, Little Wolf, something more than your sisters. Because you do not fear me, this place between the hills unseen by men's eyes shall remain open to you and you shall be as a daughter to me. But know this, Little One. If you bring others to my lair, they shall kill me and on the same day spirit you away. Guard yourself with my scale and be well until you have grown of an age to marry. Then you will come to me again." Delbchaem thought to herself that she was very young and that would be many seasons. Yet dragons were long of life, so perhaps it would only be a day to such a magnificent being.

So, the young girl did as she was bid. Though her sisters were jealous at their sister's treasure, secretly her father and mother knew that she had indeed a light that no man had, nor indeed her sisters. Delchaem was a daughter of the Tuatha De, a changeling or a trickster depending on which of the clansmen you might ask. Still, the dragon's scale was forged into a shield and the maiden as she grew was considered as lovely as she was brave. That was why, when she had reached her majority, she did as the dragon had bid and sought out the dragon. Little could she know that one of her admirers amongst the warring clans had followed her to the cavern between the hills, into the swirling mists and thick silk webs. As his step first crossed the threshold of the hidden lair, Delbchaem spun with fingers clasping the crimson shield scale. The fearsome red dragon rose behind her, jointed arms tipped with claws flexing as her mighty wings unfurled. The details of what happened there that day are lost, but what is known is that Delbchaem did marry one of the first High Kings to unite the warring clans and that it was said even the wolves followed him into battle and encircled his camps for protection. Far from the river where Delbchaem had played with her sisters, her children would carry her bright bloodline and the blessing of the crimson dragon of the hills. They would hand down through the generations the shield, thick with cobwebs, forged from draconid scale. It is said that those who possess the shield may summon The Red Recluse to their aid in times of trouble. She defends those bright-spirited changelings who do not quite neatly fit into the world of man, writing spiders sometimes even giving them warnings and prophecies in their early morning webs. Sometimes it is also said wolvish eyes and jaws gleam when she is called, those responsible for her demise eternally prowling with ready claws the land just beyond the place she guards. None, no matter how good or how terrifying, are safe who would trespass where the weaving dragon, the oracle-spiders, and circling wolves have been called to defend.

[Scottie]

Something large toppled the cauldron on its side and appeared to double in size the moment it squeezed its form through the doorway. The woman went scurrying after the large creature that was created through the glorious imagination of @Alura; and let out a shrill cackle as she hung herself from the door frame.

“TAKE THAT, YOU TERRORS” She screeched at the night terrors and bounced with glee as the soft thudding of a large creature faded away. The woman spun as her dogs crowded around your ankles, looking up at you expectantly.

“Finally. I need the pièce de résistance for my pièce de résistance.” She let her hand drag over the dogs that snuffled gently towards her. “I need something that will protect my dear children...and I know exactly the spell for it.” The book flipped its pages violently before the woman arrived before the cauldron. Some sort of spectral force lifted the cauldron off the floor. Any discussion of the basement was met with a loud tut and a worried glance towards the door leading back to the corridor.

“This one is a little different. I’m taking things from the very rulers of this home. Firstly, this spell needs crumpled spells from Kris’s Office.”

The balled up pieces of paper appear to crackle before they drop into the new green sludge that is forming at the base of the cauldron.

“Next some very carefully collected spider venom from G’s guard spiders!”

The vial of bubbling purple liquid tumbled into the sludge which let out a small puff of smoke before settling again.

“The extra strength coffee granules needed to get through one of Azazeal849’s extra long persistent world posts!”

The coffee granules looked as dark as the sky outside and they sprinkled onto the sludge like pepper atop a creamy soup.

“And finally, the uncontrollable laughter of InfraredHero’s meme collection!”

The bottle cracked open and laughter filled the room before suddenly silencing when the bottle dropped beneath the sludge.

“There. Now no more talk of basements. You give me my final creature!”

[bluemoon]

Moon shuffled into the laboratory, casting her gaze about the room. Several members of her horde followed her, their gaits slow and heavy.

"A...creature..." she said, the moans of her minions filling in the spaces between her words.

"Let us see...what we can create..."

Waving her lace-covered hands over the black cauldron, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

Spoiler: The Scarecrow (rated M) 

The wind whistled between the dried stalks of the corn, their papery yellow leaves crackling with each gust. The bloated moon overhead shone upon the wasted field, silhouetting the fallen victims of the blighted crop. All that remained of the ravens were bony husks, each winged beast left with beak agape, a single dark kernel upon their tongue.

On this night...the eve of All Hallows...the Scarecrow walked. Its spindly frame was covered in the traditional garb of denim overalls, a flannel checkered shirt beneath. Straw poked out through the arm and leg holes, but deep inside its chest was a different sort of stuffing. Old papers...worn with crumpled spells written upon them...were the heart of the guardian. Its green eyes glowed like poisoned jewels, an intellect hidden behind them. As fearsome as they appeared, it was the barb-like teeth that brought death to those that trespassed, each elongated tooth infused with potent spider venom, which dripped and hung from its maw like a tendril of silk.

It paced the rows, and in its wake, the tattered specter left behind a trail of fine ebony grains, the heady scent permeating its body similar to an extra-strength brew left on the burner too long. It was a deceased soldier, a ghastly ghoul of wicked dreams, a fright of the night, and a bringer of death. It was the Scarecrow.

Casting its gaze towards the silvery orb, the protector of the corn threw back its head and let out a hellish cry, uncontrollable laughter bubbling from its throat as it dissolved into the shadows.

[Alura]

Spoiler: The Mad Oracle 

Papers stolen from the head nurse's desk and chalks from the recreation hall littered the floor of the little cupboard of a room where Matilda Sweeney crawled and rocked by turns. The symbols. The symbols were there if only she could just get it right. Tearing at her hair and ticking anxiously, the woman in a thin white gown lightly chewed on her tongue in concentration. Missing something. Missing it. What? She paused, body stationary as she cocked her head and strained her ears for something. Only the shuffle of slippered feet and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes reached her in the little locked room. She sat for a while, how long she couldn't have said, gazing out into the light streaming between the bars of her window. She loved the window. Hated it when they put her into the dark. She curled further into herself and rocked, looking around the room suspiciously. Crumpled pages covered in colours and symbols and drawings lined the ceiling and most of the walls, pasted to the walls with stale porridge. The staff hated it, but they didn't understand it. They didn't see. And today, neither could Matilda.

Flexing her jaw and bobbing her rib cage nervously, she slammed her hand down on a spider that crawled across one of her unmarked pages. Licking her palm she blinked. Not it. Not it. Not it. Shivering, she croaked out her breath again and tried to arrange her thoughts. They drifted from her like strands of cobwebs so old they wouldn't stick. Paste them down, paste them. She tried to, mentally locking them in place, but it was so difficult to catch them. Scratching her scalp and shaking out her hair, she blew out a breath she had been holding again and lurched towards the window, slapping a hand against the wall and scraping it against the whitewash so that the spider she had captured slicked across it in a streak. She bent near and sniffed delicately before darting the tip of her tongue into the remnants. This one. Shrugging her shoulders repeatedly, she shuffled around the floor before bending to collect one of the papers covered in symbols and lines that despite appearing as scribbled ravings to some were filled with the arcane for her. "Mm. Mm." She closed one eye and opened it twice. "C-coffee, M-Matilda, extra s-strength. C-coffee." The memory overlayed the reality of the moment and, coupled with the strain to collect her thoughts made her moan loudly and hunch as she swayed on her feet. No. No, they can't see it. Must finish it. Must. Bravely rallying, she shuffled back to the window and pressed the page to the wall, rubbing the remnants of the black spider with the tell-tale red hourglass on its body into the fibers of the paper. When she removed it a faint blur streaked across the page with a few delicately detailed legs retaining their shape. Beautiful. She rocked and gave a panted "Hm. Hm. Ha.". Chortling to herself, she shook her hair back and crooked the wrist of the hand not holding the page, hand rapping the air. "Mm. Mm. He comes. He comes." She bobbed like a bird, tapping her tongue to her top teeth and blowing out barely audible trilled air. "Ahm, ahm. Ahm, ahm." She dropped to her knees in the center of the room, arranging a ring of pages and studying the room to verify that the complicated web of symbols, the geometry of it, was arranged all as it must be. Must hold the thoughts. Must. "Ahhhhm, ahhhm, ahhhm," she sang tremulously, then continued in broken whispers. Though she was alone and her words were feeble, it was almost as if other whispers rose to join her own from the corners of the room:

"Lines of crumpled spells arranged
In ley lines of sacred geometry:
Detritus of Arachne's fanged
Biting, frightening progeny.
Seethe and burn the pigment veins
That creep across this hallowed floor.
With venom bubble,
Strengthen us double.
We greet you at the door."

As she spoke, the spidery remains did seethe and burn like wood etching until it ignited the drawings and symbols that interlaced and ran around every surface of the room. She could hardly tell if the growing whispers were amplifications of her own mind, her own thoughts... or the others that told her things that only the dreamers, the dead, and the mad among mortals ought know. A misty grey smoke hung low in the room and the whites of Matilda's eyes shone as laughter filled the room. Three firm raps resounded at the door, her right wrist ticking so that her hand rapped against the air in perfect time with the heavy sounds. Inhaling deeply, the misty smoke roiling around her slithered through her nostrils until the room was once more just a little cupboard for locking away the peculiar. Her eyes closed and reopened, a hiccoughing fit of giggles bubbling up past Matilda's lips. She'd done it. She'd remembered. It was done. Done. Done. Done. Her merry, mad mind chanted. She had not, through all the addling drugs and days that rolled into night back into days forgotten her purpose. As she sat laughing to herself the heavy door of her cupboard flung open and, like a porcelain cup she was lifted. Unlike porcelain however, she was jostled and dragged, feet piling papers along with her as she wailed pitifully and struggled. It was no use, however. All that they saw was a manky little room with a single, tiny high window and a lunatic seated inside muttering and twitching to herself. Somehow her nimble little thieving fingers had found their way to something incendiary beyond her usual filched drawing materials. Little did they know. They'd done with her scraps of food on the walls and strange wildness. The burned papers about her room were too far beyond the pale. Pale, pale beyond! Smoke, one nurse had said; though no one else could have confirmed it other than to agree they could breathe the lingering scent. Who was to protest? As her feet raked over the frame of the threshold of the door, her eyes went wide and she lolled her head, body dropping like a weight in the arms of the aides and nurses who carried her on her way. "Greetings! We g-g-greet you! W-we greet!" She shrieked euphorically, raucous laughter followed her, pealing down the corridors of the asylum. They threw her into a chair, strapping her down. Flexing and arching against her restraints, she screamed. It rolled from her throat and stomach as she flailed angrily. Wrath! Strength! Burn... Burn! Across the sharp pricks of rage simmered a persistent emotion, strange and familiar. She knew, of course, like most of her thoughts and emotions - or suspected, at least - that they weren't genuine. Not correct. That didn't stop the torrent of laughter from racking her body again so that she sagged against the chair, rage still in her eyes as those surrounding her felt the ridicule in the gales, recoiling from her. The doctor came, his long metal rods for her dragging across the little sterile tray that held them, scowling with his eyes though she could not see his mouth. Did he smile? Will he laugh, too? She wondered giddily to herself. As the doctor approached she shivered again as a draft moved through the operating theater. Like statues. All statues. Unreal half-humans standing around the edge as they watched the man with steel talons move towards her unimpeded. She felt the cold metal tip of the tool at the corner of her eye, like looking down the barrel of a gun, eyes wide as she remained very, very still with her mouth gaped in a vacant grin. A drip of water fell somewhere in the distance and echoed in the silence. The doctor drew a breath and leaned forward, raising his other hand. Two long, spindly legs covered in feathery filaments arced over Matilda's shoulders from the back of the chair and the doctor jerked back as they touched his sleeve, burning it away in moments. Shadow-y coal form laced with magmatic fragments of molten magic, the creatures rose, its rattling groan hissing by fangs dripping with venom. The heat seared away the bindings on Matilda and she inhaled sharply several times, shaking and rocking as the creature darted about the room, heedless of the cries and pleas of those half-human statues within it. Down the halls could only be heard the screams from where they had dragged her into the dark, and the uncontrollable laughter of Matilda Sweeney, The Mad Oracle who charmed the fiends on the other side of the mortal veil to lend their power to the peculiars who could see beyond the hazy curtain.

[Azazeal849]

Winners (and more!) coming soon...

[Scottie]

The creature slithers from the liquid as the cauldron harshly crashes to one side. The woman watches with glee as the creature created by @bluemoon; moves through the door frame almost blocking the light out to protect the pug army that congregates around your ankles. You think that surely everything must be done now, the woman has her fill of monsters...maybe now you can enquire about the basement, I mean you did do everything she asked. Your lips part as the question burns the tip of your tongue…

“WHAT. NO.”

A shrill shout of panic floods through the room as the woman presses her nose against the dirty glass of her kitchen window. Her fingers twitch violently before she scrambles from the window and heads towards the doorway. It takes little effort to brush the new creature out and it’s large form slowly lumbers around, following the pug army out into the crisp air. Moving to the doorframe, you can see the woman grabbing her lab coat and hitching it up as she strangely runs off into the distance. “AWAY, YOU FILTHY RATS.” Even from this distance, you can see the large creatures of before swiping away masses of rats that crowd over the pumpkins and squashes.

“Come on, RPA
Can't you see?”

The eerie song flits through the room, faint at first...barely a mumble. It breaks the concentration you have on the strange woman using a branch to swipe away the rats.

“I'm the Pied Piper
Trust in me”

The sound of footsteps behind you alerts you to a new presence in the room. The entity, clad in a tattered red cloak, pays you no mind for the moment as he scans over the make shift laboratory that has been made in the kitchen. With little effort, he rights the cauldron before turning his attention to the spell book. It is almost as if he hasn’t noticed you, but the first movement that creaks from the doorframe has him singing gently.

“I'm the Pied Piper
And I'll show you where it's at!”

The entity’s gaze snaps to the door frame as the last note hangs in the air around you. He smiles widely as his eyes gleam at you. “Quite an interesting place, don’t you think?” The music notes in his eyes look broken, the stems snapped cleanly in half. “I think we should create some more of these creatures.” He brushes his fingertips against the page of the spellbook and the book starts to flip its pages violently before settling on a new page.



“Perfect.” He sings gently as he scans the page. “This isn’t as complicated as the old kook was making you do. Strange old thing. This is better...Create a creature based on any member of RPA...Use their name for inspiration...or maybe their avatar or signature...or maybe on an inside joke you know…” He tilts his head and beams at you. “Please. I need a new army to take over RPA.”

Spoiler: NEW Rules! 

Your selection of members should not be done with malice. Make it a friend or even a staff member on the site. Please be kind.
Piper will accept entries from as short as a few sentences to as long as 3 paragraphs.
Make sure to tag your selected member so that they can read your creation!
It does not need to be a halloween/horror themed character, it can be a character that is based on the good traits of another member that you want to showcase!
All RPA rules apply.
These entries will be judged by the staff members, I promise we will not be swayed by entries created about the staff!
If you do not agree with Piper’s takeover of RPA, hide the words Down with piper! somewhere in your post to rally loyal members to your side!
There is no limit to the number of creatures you can create...and no-one said you can’t create some supporting Piper and some supporting the existing staff…

[Azazeal849]

A paper aeroplane sails in through the open door, catching the updraft from the bubbling cauldron before turning over and nosediving into the green slime. A flash like a lightning strike fills the vessel, backlighting the rising smoke.

The Piper leans across curiously, intrigued by this first offering. As he fishes the soggy paper aeroplane out of the now hissing cauldron, you notice something scribbled on the wing in tiny, cramped handwriting. It simply reads: @Scottie.

“Oh ho!” the Piper chuckles in amusement, “What’s this then?”

He opens the paper, carefully peeling apart the wet folds, and squints at the badly smudged ink within.

“Inspired by the signature of The Scottish Fluff,” he reads aloud. “The Lesser Highland Fluff is a small, nocturnal creature; originally native to the highlands of Scotland, though due to increasing urbanisation many have adapted to living in attics and basements. Its fist-sized body is covered in soft fur, as are its pipe-cleaner arms and legs; this fur can vary from blonde to brown to black in colour. The Fluff is instantly recognisable by its large eyes, which it uses to navigate in the dark and to track down its preferred forms of nourishment, which include Irn Bru, Coca Cola, and anything with enough sugar to maintain its bouncy metabolism. Despite its adorable appearance, it is known to be extremely fierce.”

The Piper chuckles again, and flips the sodden paper over to read the final line.

“P.S - Down with…” He stops, frowning sharply. “Down with Piper?”

As the cauldron seethes and bubbles, you see a small, fluffy shape wrap tiny stick fingers around the rim and pull itself up onto one of the handles. It draws itself up proudly to its full six inches of height, fluffing up its black fur like a cat raising its hackles. From within the fuzzy mass, two large eyes blink curiously at you, before turning their attention to the Piper. The eyes narrow.

“Square go, ya rocket!” it squeaks in a broad Glaswegian accent, before throwing itself from the cauldron edge and leaping straight at the Piper’s face.

The Lesser Highland Fluff