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"What Happened in Calamityville" is a play by post role-playing game set to run over the month of October. It is intended as a horror game set in the world of Brandon Sanderson's Steelheart and inspired by the success of "What Happened in Oregon". To join, visit the official planning thread. Be warned: violence and nightmares proceed after this point. It's never quite dark in Calamityville. There are no stars in sight. No moon to light up the winding streets. But the city's namesake dominates the sky always. While men and Epics may fight and squabble on the planet below, I don't believe there's any doubt what the true master of this world is. Calamity shines bright over this world, and the Empires of Man rise and fall beneath its shining glare. Its red rays have touched us all. With the touch of its crimson light, the lucky among us became monsters worse than any fairy tale nightmare. The rest became prey. There's a kind of beauty in monsters. I need more of them. It wasn't about the pain. It wasn't about the empowerment. It wasn't about their struggles. It wasn't even about their sweet, sweet screams. It was about perfection. Slaughterhouse drank in the sweet, sweet screams, pressing his hand deeper into the quivering flesh laid out among the rubble. The body shook and contorted, its torso twisting and reshaping. The sound of snapping rib bones Panting excitedly, the man called Slaughterhouse took a few steps away, throwing himself onto an overturned marble pillar and watching the thrashing body intently. The server had been skewered by a piece of rebar when the Palace collapsed, but Slaughterhouse's redesigns eliminated the need for his severed arteries. The man's torso was now oddly contorted, but he was alive. Whimpering, but alive. Shaking, the man fell to his hands and knees and began coughing up blood. Not my best work, Slaughterhouse thought with a touch of satisfaction, but I think it will do. While he waited for the man to recover, Slaughterhouse turned his attention to the city. There were no lights save for what Calamity provided, but he could make out the outlines of distant buildings. The cityscape told a grim story. Buildings were shaking, trembling. It was almost like an earthquake--or a demented toddler's idea of what an earthquake looked like. They didn't simply shake and fall down like normal physics would dicate. Many of them seemed to move around the city in sudden jaunts, like some sort of massive teleportation. Others flipped upside down and held themselves upright. Still others flew into the sky, only to come hurtling to the earth again with resounding rumbles. The screaming of the terrified citizens, usually such a pleasure to hear, was reaching an infuriating crescendo in the background. The bright side--the very dim bright side--was that Möbius was still alive. The queen of Calamityville survived still, and she was in fighting condition. The down side was obvious. Whatever threat had came to her was apparently severe enough to warrant a degree of devastation she'd never before inflicted on her subjects. Slaughterhouse took a deep breath. The city was dark, and its streets were being torn and rearranged at the whim of an angry goddess. Worst of all, he had no idea why she was doing this, or even what had set her off in the first place. Gritting his teeth, he whirled around and locked eyes on the quietly sobbing server laying in the rubble. The man seemed to sense the movement, and hurriedly rose to his feet to run. His attempt at escape began promisingly enough as he speeded away with a frightened cry, but within his first few steps he stumbled and fell face-first into the dust. Slaughterhouse reached him in a few broad steps of his own, then pulled the man to his feet with a grin. "You know," he began, leering into the server's petrified face. "Nobody ever says 'thank you' when I heal them." The whimpering man didn't answer except by giving another of his characteristic whimpers. "Ingrates," Slaughterhouse continued, sighing dramatically. "That's what you are. You'd be dead now if it weren't for me, yet all you can do is whine about it. Though I should warn you, you'll get another shot at the whole dying thing if you try running away again. I put a piece of rib into your thigh. It should puncture a few rather important arteries if you get too lively." The man's eyes widened in terror. Slaughterhouse continued smiling, complimenting himself on his handiwork. He hadn't even told the man about the new heart deformity he'd given him. It was a wonder the guy hadn't already keeled over from cardiac arrest. "What's your name?" he drawled softly instead. "A-Arnold," the server replied, stuttering. His voice was hoarse, probably since his vocal chords were still settling. "Nice name," Slaughterhouse replied. He roughly threw the man onto a crumbled block of marble, causing him to let out a scream of pain. Now, Arnold," he continued, "I'm going to ask that you be perfectly frank and honest with me. What did you see in there?" "Nothing," Arnold pleaded hoarsely. "I wasn't even there when he attacked--" "When who attacked?" demanded Slaughterhouse. "What happened?" "I don't know," sobbed the server. "There was an Epic. He killed Robert and Debbie and Jason--" "I don't care about them," Slaughterouse snapped harshly. "What did the Epic look like?" "Don't know," repeated Arnold frantically. "I didn't get a good look at him. Sort of wispy. Translucent." Great. An incorporeal Epic. One who'd struck so quickly, he'd forced Möbius to destroy her own Palace within minutes of his arrival. Slaughterhouse let out a deep sigh, this time quite sincere in his annoyance. He casually caused Arnold's jugular vein to explode, ignoring the man's shocked gurgles as he turned and walked away. The city still shook, rattling and screaming in the night. Slaughterhouse walked out of the wrecked palace, staring down a dark city street. This wasn't his fight. By rights he should go back to his own mansion and hide until the fight was over. But hiding wasn't Slaughterhouse's style. It was time to face the nightmare.