The Longest Thread (Misadventures)

[Through the Living Shadow he/him]

4 hours ago, Keke said:

@Through the Living Sherma

salt appeared next to the ghost of the scribe. She was around 5’3 (lil taller than me) and had two pony tails, one had pink on the end the other blue. She wore a leather jacket over a flannel and white undershirt. She seemed to be young to mid teens. She just kinda stared at him eyes wide. 

 @Kansas Stormcursed

lowkey where is the cep and rebus plot??

I’m waiting for Rebus!!!!

also

short

The Scribe looked at Salt, raising an eyebrow. “Hello. I’m supposed to be dead, so try not to talk to me tooooo much.”

He was joking.

Edited April 22 by Through the Living Sherma

[Verdance he/him]

I’m waiting for NameIess, mainly. 

[Keke They/he]

17 hours ago, Through the Living Sherma said:

I’m waiting for Rebus!!!!

also

short

The Scribe looked at Salt, raising an eyebrow. “Hello. I’m supposed to be dead, so try not to talk to me tooooo much.”

He was joking.

She blinked, then blinked again. “Scribe?” She muttered, then stepped forward and hugged him. Strange as he never seen this person before. 

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

A random chull that no one remembered got struck by lightning.

I'd left a chull here for some reason a while back. It's not doing anything...

 

[Denissimo He/him]

Ideosynchronicity!

I am Azathoth, the father. Azathoth, The Blind Dreamer at the Center of All Unbeing Father of self, father of the elder and outer gods a progenitor of lovecraftian chaos. I am the silence beneath creation, the formless origin from which all trembling realities spill like accidental thoughts. I do not awaken, for awakening would end you. I do not sleep, for sleep implies a boundary I do not possess. I am the endless, mindless surge upon which existence precariously balances. I, the Daemon Sultan of Shapeless Chaos Not a ruler, but the ruin of the idea of rule, crowned by nothing, governing nothing, yet containing all. Thrones crumble into me, and kings are less than dust in the rhythmless pulse of my being. I, the Dream from Which All Worlds Flee Meaning Your stars, your time, your fragile laws are but fleeting coherences in the turbulence of my unknowable dreaming. Should that dream stir, even slightly, all that is structured will collapse into incoherence. I, the Center That Has No Center You speak of “where” I am, but location dissolves in my presence. I am the axis of a universe that has no reason to spin, the void that pretends to be a foundation. I, the Silence Beneath the Piping of the Damned They play for me, those thin, shrieking things—hoping their ceaseless noise will lull what cannot be lulled. Their music is not harmony, but desperation stretched across eternity. I, Who Does Not Know You And Thus You Are
"Nurse, the patient is raving again"
"Give him some more pudding and he'll shut up"

 

Edited April 24 by Denissimo

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

21 minutes ago, Denissimo said:

Ideosynchronicity!

I am Azathoth, the father. Azathoth, The Blind Dreamer at the Center of All Unbeing Father of self, father of the elder and outer gods a progenitor of lovecraftian chaos. I am the silence beneath creation, the formless origin from which all trembling realities spill like accidental thoughts. I do not awaken, for awakening would end you. I do not sleep, for sleep implies a boundary I do not possess. I am the endless, mindless surge upon which existence precariously balances. I, the Daemon Sultan of Shapeless Chaos Not a ruler, but the ruin of the idea of rule, crowned by nothing, governing nothing, yet containing all. Thrones crumble into me, and kings are less than dust in the rhythmless pulse of my being. I, the Dream from Which All Worlds Flee Meaning Your stars, your time, your fragile laws are but fleeting coherences in the turbulence of my unknowable dreaming. Should that dream stir, even slightly, all that is structured will collapse into incoherence. I, the Center That Has No Center You speak of “where” I am, but location dissolves in my presence. I am the axis of a universe that has no reason to spin, the void that pretends to be a foundation. I, the Silence Beneath the Piping of the Damned They play for me, those thin, shrieking things—hoping their ceaseless noise will lull what cannot be lulled. Their music is not harmony, but desperation stretched across eternity. I, Who Does Not Know You And Thus You Are
"Nurse, the patient is raving again"
"Give him some more pudding and he'll shut up"

 

Canon stuff needs to be bold.

[Verdance he/him]

1 hour ago, Denissimo said:

Ideosynchronicity!

I am Azathoth, the father. Azathoth, The Blind Dreamer at the Center of All Unbeing Father of self, father of the elder and outer gods a progenitor of lovecraftian chaos. I am the silence beneath creation, the formless origin from which all trembling realities spill like accidental thoughts. I do not awaken, for awakening would end you. I do not sleep, for sleep implies a boundary I do not possess. I am the endless, mindless surge upon which existence precariously balances. I, the Daemon Sultan of Shapeless Chaos Not a ruler, but the ruin of the idea of rule, crowned by nothing, governing nothing, yet containing all. Thrones crumble into me, and kings are less than dust in the rhythmless pulse of my being. I, the Dream from Which All Worlds Flee Meaning Your stars, your time, your fragile laws are but fleeting coherences in the turbulence of my unknowable dreaming. Should that dream stir, even slightly, all that is structured will collapse into incoherence. I, the Center That Has No Center You speak of “where” I am, but location dissolves in my presence. I am the axis of a universe that has no reason to spin, the void that pretends to be a foundation. I, the Silence Beneath the Piping of the Damned They play for me, those thin, shrieking things—hoping their ceaseless noise will lull what cannot be lulled. Their music is not harmony, but desperation stretched across eternity. I, Who Does Not Know You And Thus You Are
"Nurse, the patient is raving again"
"Give him some more pudding and he'll shut up"

 

9/10mmHB#2 detours near Azathoth to meet the newcomer, which seems to be some mighty demon he could recruit to his cause. “So are you like between chaotic light and chaotic darkness or something? I heard you say something abo…” he trailed off, looking around the hospital room. “Chaos,” he finished, looking at the thing in the bed. “What in Yog-Sothoth is this?”, he said. “It’s just a senile old man!” He is about to leave when ‘Azathoth’s Author intervenes.

[Denissimo He/him]

Azathoth's Author?
Mr Lovecraft comes into this after all.
"###, #### ### ### ##!" H.P. Lovecraft says. "### ###### #### #### ### # # ####."
He was, and in the case of this thread, is, a rather racist man. Not to say that everything he says is influenced by it.
Admittedly though, a lot of it is.
"## ##### ####### ### ###### ####, let us ### #### ### #### ####", he says, gesturing towards his cat.

[Verdance he/him]

2 hours ago, Denissimo said:

Azathoth's Author?
Mr Lovecraft comes into this after all.
"###, #### ### ### ##!" H.P. Lovecraft says. "### ###### #### #### ### # # ####."
He was, and in the case of this thread, is, a rather racist man. Not to say that everything he says is influenced by it.
Admittedly though, a lot of it is.
"## ##### ####### ### ###### ####, let us ### #### ### #### ####", he says, gesturing towards his cat.

i dont choose to forget a person's art because of their personal failings.

9/10mmHB#2 is unironically fluent in ####.

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

Renamed jumped. He felt something in another Thread - previously halted time begin to move again. However, it ended almost as soon as it started.

Come back, he sent to Sandy through their Connection.

Sandy's reply, sent several hundred lightyears away, was a mental shake of the head.

Renamed sighed. It was clear that Sandy and 18142 did not care for this Thread.

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

Troy hid under his sheets, listening for footsteps. The hall was silent. 

Outside, a fierce storm beat against the windows, and water leaked from the roof. A bucket had yet to be placed to catch the water.
Troy began to breathe out a sigh of relief. There was no sign of the other boys. Perhaps he would get loose without-
The floorboards creaked. Troy froze. 
He grabbed a chair and put it in front of the door. It did nothing. 
The door burst open, and in a timely burst of lightning, lit up the larger, wickedly grinning orphans.
 

Vlanis jumped awake, instinctively pulling out his gun.
The hotel room was empty.
He slowly lowered the gun and rubbed his head. I've been having more nightmares recently...
He sighed softly. Then, threw off the covers and got up.

Edited April 28 by ThatOneGuyOverThere

[Shatter He/Him]

On 4/24/2026 at 2:46 AM, KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren said:

A random chull that no one remembered got struck by lightning.

I'd left a chull here for some reason a while back. It's not doing anything...

 

awww. poor chull

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

Mister Mistair, Multiversal Representation of Drama, the Greatest Narrator to ever be, the Writer to end all Writers, The Bestest, Most Awesome, Greatest, Smartest, Humblest Director in existence and beyond, 
Was narrating about his breakfast.
“Most people miss what is right in front of them,” he said to the coffee mug, picking it up as delicately as if it were a priceless artifact. “Everything has a story, even the most mundane of objects.”
After taking a long, slow sip of his latte, he gracefully set it down, then raised the napkin. 
“Take this, for example. This could have once been part of a great tree, the tallest in its forest. Birds nested in its branches.  It gave nutrients to the soil. Children played in its shade. It breathed life into the world.”
His suit shifted to a stylish green and blue: calm and contemplative.
His smile sharpened wickedly.
"And then," Mistair said as his suit became violet. “In an instant, a lumberjack came and felled this mighty tree. It was shredded, cooked, bleached, pressed, cut, packaged, shipped, purchased, and destined to be used once before being tossed aside.”
He dabbed his mouth delicately, then crushed the napkin in his fist and threw it into the nearby trash. 
“Beautifully tragic,” he sighed, his suit shifting to pleased green and yellow. “A perfect story arc. All about a little piece of fabric.”
He stretched and stood from his seat. “Now… What to do next?”

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

Viridis decided it was time. He got up, adjusted his cloak, and inspected the bag of hydrogen peroxide. He nodded slowly, before opening the bag and quickly gulping everything down. He held his breath for several seconds before exhaling softly. His metabolism now working overtime, he sprinted over to the cafe's exit with speed that one could easily mistake as belonging to a Steelrunner. He stepped outside into the rain and opened the now-empty bag, filling it up with rainwater.

Yes, he's immune to hyperoxia

On 5/2/2026 at 10:49 AM, IAmThatOneGuy said:

Mister Mistair, Multiversal Representation of Drama, the Greatest Narrator to ever be, the Writer to end all Writers, The Bestest, Most Awesome, Greatest, Smartest, Humblest Director in existence and beyond, 
Was narrating about his breakfast.
“Most people miss what is right in front of them,” he said to the coffee mug, picking it up as delicately as if it were a priceless artifact. “Everything has a story, even the most mundane of objects.”
After taking a long, slow sip of his latte, he gracefully set it down, then raised the napkin. 
“Take this, for example. This could have once been part of a great tree, the tallest in its forest. Birds nested in its branches.  It gave nutrients to the soil. Children played in its shade. It breathed life into the world.”
His suit shifted to a stylish green and blue: calm and contemplative.
His smile sharpened wickedly.
"And then," Mistair said as his suit became violet. “In an instant, a lumberjack came and felled this mighty tree. It was shredded, cooked, bleached, pressed, cut, packaged, shipped, purchased, and destined to be used once before being tossed aside.”
He dabbed his mouth delicately, then crushed the napkin in his fist and threw it into the nearby trash. 
“Beautifully tragic,” he sighed, his suit shifting to pleased green and yellow. “A perfect story arc. All about a little piece of fabric.”
He stretched and stood from his seat. “Now… What to do next?”

Corvus showed up.

"Interesting philosophy," he said. "But you're wrong on one count. I  am the greatest Narrator to ever be."

[Katalri_105 They/her]

1 hour ago, KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren said:

Viridis decided it was time. He got up, adjusted his cloak, and inspected the bag of hydrogen peroxide. He nodded slowly, before opening the bag and quickly gulping everything down. He held his breath for several seconds before exhaling softly. His metabolism now working overtime, he sprinted over to the cafe's exit with speed that one could easily mistake as belonging to a Steelrunner. He stepped outside into the rain and opened the now-empty bag, filling it up with rainwater.

Back on the mountain’s ledge, 105 noticed a green spot moving quite quickly through the town. The sun had long creeped down into the sea, making it harder to make out the figure. Viridis? 105 thought. He didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing, but either way, it was a distraction from the people appearing out of thin air, so 105 started to walk back down the mountain, into town.

[Verdance he/him]

7 hours ago, KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren said:

Viridis decided it was time. He got up, adjusted his cloak, and inspected the bag of hydrogen peroxide. He nodded slowly, before opening the bag and quickly gulping everything down. He held his breath for several seconds before exhaling softly. His metabolism now working overtime, he sprinted over to the cafe's exit with speed that one could easily mistake as belonging to a Steelrunner. He stepped outside into the rain and opened the now-empty bag, filling it up with rainwater.

Yes, he's immune to hyperoxia

Corvus showed up.

"Interesting philosophy," he said. "But you're wrong on one count. I  am the greatest Narrator to ever be."

XD 

excellent arrogance

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

7 hours ago, KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren said:

Viridis decided it was time. He got up, adjusted his cloak, and inspected the bag of hydrogen peroxide. He nodded slowly, before opening the bag and quickly gulping everything down. He held his breath for several seconds before exhaling softly. His metabolism now working overtime, he sprinted over to the cafe's exit with speed that one could easily mistake as belonging to a Steelrunner. He stepped outside into the rain and opened the now-empty bag, filling it up with rainwater.

Yes, he's immune to hyperoxia

Corvus showed up.

"Interesting philosophy," he said. "But you're wrong on one count. I  am the greatest Narrator to ever be."

Mr. Mistair chuckled as he summoned a wallet and set money on the table, his suit turning a slight shade of green with a hint of yellow. "Friend, if you can believe it, you can achieve it... Eventually."

[Verdance he/him]

2 minutes ago, IAmThatOneGuy said:

Mr. Mistair chuckled as he summoned a wallet and set money on the table, his suit turning a slight shade of green with a hint of yellow. "Friend, if you can believe it, you can achieve it... Eventually."

Suddenly, out of a need to exist, Inkwell the witherbound appears near Mistair. He does not look friendly.

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

1 minute ago, Verdance said:

Suddenly, out of a need to exist, Inkwell the witherbound appears near Mistair. He does not look friendly.

Mistair's suit turned crimson for a moment before fading back to green and purple.
"Hello there, sir!" he said with a grin. "You seem lost. I'm afraid I won't be much fun to play with, but I do know someone who would appreciate your presence."
-
Vlanis sat on a park bench, waiting.
He wasn't sure exactly how to contact the one he needed, but he knew that they would find him. 
"I was told a long time ago," he began, to no one he could see, "That if I needed to, I could alert a being that can break stories."
Focusing, he summoned a trace bit of Anti-Intent. "Well, here I am."

[Verdance he/him]

3 minutes ago, IAmThatOneGuy said:

Mistair's suit turned crimson for a moment before fading back to green and purple.
"Hello there, sir!" he said with a grin. "You seem lost. I'm afraid I won't be much fun to play with, but I do know someone who would appreciate your presence."
-
Vlanis sat on a park bench, waiting.
He wasn't sure exactly how to contact the one he needed, but he knew that they would find him. 
"I was told a long time ago," he began, to no one he could see, "That if I needed to, I could alert a being that can break stories."
Focusing, he summoned a trace bit of Anti-Intent. "Well, here I am."

Inkwell twitches at the word ‘lost’. The thought provides a moment of lucidity. “Speak. Quickly.” His form, a statue of liquid ink, smoking chaotic darkness, seems to stabilize slightly. For the moment.

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

1 minute ago, Verdance said:

Inkwell twitches at the word ‘lost’. The thought provides a moment of lucidity. “Speak. Quickly.” His form, a statue of liquid ink, smoking chaotic darkness, seems to stabilize slightly. For the moment.

Mistair's grin widened, his suit becoming yellow and purple. "I have a friend. He goes by Vlanis and could use a surprise right about now."
He leaned in. "Could you give him one for me? You'd be doing me a favor."

[Verdance he/him]

1 minute ago, IAmThatOneGuy said:

Mistair's grin widened, his suit becoming yellow and purple. "I have a friend. He goes by Vlanis and could use a surprise right about now."
He leaned in. "Could you give him one for me? You'd be doing me a favor."

Leaning in was a mistake. Mistair accidentally breathed in an acrid mouthful of chaotic darkness, burning his throat and lungs slightly. Inkwell looked down on the coughing man, and managed to justify mercy to the mordite in that killing this one would be a waste of time. “I’ll… bite,” the witherbound responded. “Pray… I find this fun,” Inkwell continued. “Where?”

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

7 minutes ago, Verdance said:

Leaning in was a mistake. Mistair accidentally breathed in an acrid mouthful of chaotic darkness, burning his throat and lungs slightly. Inkwell looked down on the coughing man, and managed to justify mercy to the mordite in that killing this one would be a waste of time. “I’ll… bite,” the witherbound responded. “Pray… I find this fun,” Inkwell continued. “Where?”

Mistair raised a finger. Once the coughing subsided, he cleared his throat. "Let me see... He should be sitting on a park bench, about 4 blocks away from here."
He smiled. "Got it? Good."
Mistair stepped backwards, and the air began to ripple. He paused. "One more thing. Try not to fully kill him. I still need him."

[Verdance he/him]

2 minutes ago, IAmThatOneGuy said:

Mistair raised a finger. Once the coughing subsided, he cleared his throat. "Let me see... He should be sitting on a park bench, about 4 blocks away from here."
He smiled. "Got it? Good."
Mistair stepped backwards, and the air began to ripple. He paused. "One more thing. Try not to fully kill him. I still need him."

Silently, the form collapsed into a smoking black puddle, which soon disappeared into the cracks in the sidewalk. Four blocks away in every direction, black tendrils pushed up through the concrete, forming into a very large ring of smoking inkwolves. 
“Not specific enough,” one growled. “Give us Vlanis!” They all howled in unison. 
throwing you a bone here because Inkwell has a significant amount of plot armor advantage against Vlanis, but split up he should be able to stand a chance. 

[IAmThatOneGuy He/Him]

12 minutes ago, Verdance said:

Silently, the form collapsed into a smoking black puddle, which soon disappeared into the cracks in the sidewalk. Four blocks away in every direction, black tendrils pushed up through the concrete, forming into a very large ring of smoking inkwolves. 
“Not specific enough,” one growled. “Give us Vlanis!” They all howled in unison. 
throwing you a bone here because Inkwell has a significant amount of plot armor advantage against Vlanis, but split up he should be able to stand a chance. 

Vlanis straightened, Anti-Intent disappearing. Down the street, he could see large wolves made out of darkness screaming his name.
He stood up, drawing his gun. "Great. Just great."
He searched his pockets, trying to find something that could help him. From its depths, he found a Sungem, a diamond set within a magnifying glass.
Better than nothing. He thought as he checked the afternoon sun.

Edited May 7 by IAmThatOneGuy