where's Walter?

((short but...all the more quickly posted to seek interaction with whoever's nearby.))

Walter Sullivan was sitting under the long metal stairwell by the post office on a bloodstained blanket he'd filched from the hospital rubbish bin, reflecting on what little he could remember.
For an indeterminate amount of time back there there was nothing; just a large blank drawn when he tried to remember. Ok. again. The arrival. Henry, there with him. He had divulged his plan, given Henry his purpose- the Receiver of Wisdom.
all should have fallen neatly into place; the Sacraments completed.
and then, what happened next was.. Only there was no what happened next, not in Walter's head, anyway. Great foggy expanses of nothing.
A bit like some of the roads in this town.

He had arrived a day or so ago, avoiding people as was his wont.
Walter wasn't exactly the most social of creatures and at times he liked it that way. Not like the world had done anything for him, had it? So very many people passed him by every day when he'd lived on a blocked stairwell in the subway in Ashfield. Passed him without a backwards glance. Or worse. Mocked him, pitied him... he had felt a sort of a draw to return to Silent Hill, a compulsion. Something was about to happen, something important, something perhaps even he would be called to play an integral part in.
He had tried to ignore the calling, but it nagged at him, worrying about in his mind until finally he had got on one of the trains with intent to return there.

One more stop to go, one more! and everything had gone strange.
The train had stopped in the tunnel.
This was annoying, but typical; there must have been congestion in the tunnels. Maybe another train ahead, or a track not yet shifted by a lineman somewhere...

Walter had finally gotten impatient and decided to try to make his way into the front car, see if he could get a look. It was only then that he realized he was the only person still on board.

The only person. Two cars up the line, and Walter pushed open the sliding door and found himself looking up at a freaky monster the likes of which he'd never seen before. Mind you, Walter had seen monsters just...not this kind.
Nor did he want anything more than that one glance. He turned to flee back into the subway car he'd just left...but now the train was somehow moving, and the car before him was just..gone.
He was standing on a thin strip of platform, on a wildly lurching train.

What's it gonna be, boy...

Faced with the choice of stepping back in the car for an encounter with a monster as they rode the line together, or a risk of possible death as he leaped from a moving train, Walter settled for the latter.

It took him a few hours to finally reach the station, and since then he had been trying to piece together what little he could remember of the past, and trying to figure out just exactly why it was he was here.

Sure, he was crazy, but that didn't make him any less meticulous.

To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve...

The last time she had been in the Lakeside church, rubble had been falling about her ears, and it had felt like Hell itself was opening and swallowing up the one place she had called home in a destruction which had turned so sour so swiftly. It had began as an evangelical ruination, the onset of Judgement Day...God had been in her heart, in her body, and tearing at the seams...but then it had all gone so very wrong. 

And yet, here she was, kneeling before the altar as she had done so often since she was a child, and everything was as it was. The church was still glorious, her little cell of a room was still was all here, as if nothing had happened. 

Once, the sheer force of her will had altered reality, had turned Silent Hill into a nightmare world. What was it Vincent had said?

"I have to admit, this attrocious scenery is all yours..."

Was this same force of will the reason that Lakeside Church was now as it had always if her failed attempt to birth God had never taken place? Or had she been given a second chance? A chance to do things properly, to save all prove her father wrong?

As she knelt at the foot of that altar, as the saints looked down on her with pity, she wept. She was alone, she had sinned, she had failed. But God's mercy was infinite; she was not damned. Each tear that fell held a wealth of mixed emotions. She wept for her own inadequacies, she mourned the death of her father, of Vincent, she cried out for an Alessa who was gone, replaced by someone who hated her. She wept with shame, that she had lived when she so clearly deserved to burn in Hell, and she shed tears of warm relief and comfort to be in the presence of a God whose love knew no bounds.

Soon...there would be work to do. There would be souls to save.

But for now, she could do nothing but weep.

(no subject)

Just a word about the time scale for the RPG.

Basically, it's sort of worked out that the Silent Hill 2 players are working from before the game, and the Silent Hill 1 and 3 players are working post game.

So esentially, this is what the setting is:

The events of Silent Hill 1 and 3 have already occured, and the town is calling people back, after the two failed attempts at bringing God into the world. Meanwhile, the guilty are also being called to be punished (such as our good friend Mr Sunderland). So for the purposes of this AU, Silent Hill 2 hasn't happened yet, but 1 and 3 have.

Don't ask me about Silent Hill 4, I'll worry about that when we've actually got some SH4 players. But for the sake of getting a good RP going, timelines will be screwed with, I suspect. 

I'll get a decent plot/backstory written sometime in the near future, but for now at least, that's something to work with. I'm really glad to see that people have started posting already, and the quality of posts has so far been fantastic. So keep at it. 

The Captain

Ps. I know I haven't uploaded my bio, or posted yet. >.< I've been a bit on the busy side this week, but I'll be actively playing within a couple of days, God willing.


Vincent comes home.

((iiii! i'm still writing backstory, but as everyone's arriving, i guess i'd best do that later...))

The road was a tarmac tainted serpent leading him out of the frying pan and back into the proverbial fire.
His car felt huge and it ate the miles like ribbon candy. It was strange to think he felt some sort of nostalgia for the Hill, that his longing to see the town he'd hated for so long sang in his veins as fervently and as brightly as any of his other desires. He took a swig from the wine bottle clapped between his thighs. Chuckled a little crazily to himself as he imagined some sort of a dialogue between himself and some imagined townie...
good evening, Father Vincent. been a long time since you've been in town..
-why yes. been thru hell and highwater to get back too, thank you for asking.
hitting the sauce a bit more than before you left I see...
Vincent took another swallow and tried to think.
He'd put continents behind himself and that other...bad business. Ironic how the safest place to be now seemed to be someplace else he'd been driven from.
He could only hope the one thing he'd come away from would be enough to help him ward off the darkness when he got back home.
Ironic too that the Hill was his home; the only one he'd ever known. A dysfunctional relationship if ever there was one. "Home is where the heart is." he muttered, a little startled by the strident sound of his own voice, "yes it is."
Home was where the heart was. Home was where the streets had turned to rust and ash, men into monsters, familar friends into foes. No, that was being a little too generous; whatever else he could say about Claudia they had never been friends per se. She'd have laughed at the very thought, if she was the sort who laughed. She'd have sneered at him for the very sentiment and made some disparging remark or another about his lack of faith; in return he'd have jibed her back about her lack of sanity.
Not friends, no.
And yet, in spite of the big ol' ritual dagger she'd slammed him with not one but TWO times, lest there be any error about her intention, he found himself missing her. There was an easiness about their rivalry he'd found with no one else, a comfort in their mutual discomfort in each other.
Too bad you're dead now, Claudia, he thought to himself, now I'll never get the chance to laugh in your face about how badly your ritual must have come crashing down...
The fog was getting thicker now, and there was a slight drizzle. Vincent turned on the windshield wipers and the inside fan. The wheel was already getting sluggish from the thin sheen of ice on the point in losing his visibility if he could help it.
He had gone to Tangier. A bit of research had taught him that aglaophotis was mentioned in the Necronomicon, and just tracking down a copy of that had kept him busy for a little over a year.
Finding the thing he had... well. Best to talk of that later.
"Bad business.." he muttered, but no matter. He'd be home soon.
Hard work getting overseas with no last name to speak of; he'd had a few pseudonyms in his time out of the Hill. The drivers license strapped to his sun visor named him Vincent Tiresias; to get overseas his passport said he was Vincent Wolf.
He wondered how Leonard would have felt about him taking on their last name. He wondered how Claudia would have felt.
He wondered how the shit he could have not seen that black ice, why the wheel seemed to almost lurch out of his hands.
after that, everything happened far too fast.
The sign- 'Welcome to Silent Hill'! the ditch. the tree.
When he woke again it was to the sound of the 'door open' light dinging.
He groaned. Slowly took inventory of his body and then his possessions.
"Ve-ry funny." he glared at the sign- did the Hill always have to play these dramatic games??- got his things, and began to walk, well, limp towards town.
Home sweet home.
oddball, crazy, silly, hyper

(no subject)

The evening was one of contrasts on the deserted streets and empty sidewalks of Silent Hill - the inky blackness of night, a backdrop for the swirling wisps of white fog hovering in the air. There was the soft patter of heels on concrete, existing alongside the stillness, almost as if creation itself now paid silent respects to all life that ended up swallowed into the cavity of this town. And there was Maria, beautiful Maria; pale as the looming fog was the soft, fair skin of her temple, its fragility emphasized by the cold gun metal abruptly pressed to it.

". . . the you that is not really you. . ."

She stood there for a moment, almost leaning her head into the snubbed nose of the barrel much as one would lay her head upon the shoulder of a friend. 'What did all of that mean? There's now a "me" that isn't really . . . me? What the hell IS this town?'

". . . you were born in this town."

She thought, thought hard about her existence. Tried to remember birthdays. Graduations. Drunken, playful gatherings of friends in her youth or her first broken heart or her drivers' exam or the first apartment she ever lived in, remember, remember, remember. And there was nothing. Nothing at all.

The only memories were of staggering, shuddering forms of twisted, mangled flesh and limbs that shuffled towards her mindlessly. Only the grasping, desperate crawl before sinking the heel of her boot into their. . . necks? Spines? Whatever it was that grinded and cracked so satisfyingly, signifying the complete cessation of life - if what they had could be called that. It seemed so much more like automation, like a wound clock rather than actual life.

She did, however, remember that voice. That one human voice she'd heard after so long ['. . .long? Was it long? Long compared to what? Just how long have I actually been here? Why don't I remember anything?'], behind the door. Ernest. As cryptic and odd as he'd been, he talked to her. Even through the barrier of unyielding wood and metal, he had been a comfort. And the birthday card, the oddly cheerful missive that seemed so out of place amongst the rest of its surroundings. Ernest was a person, one who obviously once lived for something. From that birthday card, she could tell that. Ernest, that card, what they represented was everything those. . . things weren't.

'If they *can* be killed, if they *can* die, and. . . if *I* can kill them. . . then maybe they can *all* be destroyed. Maybe there is an end to them. Maybe there is an end to all of this. For myself. For Ernest.'

Whoever he was.

"That James. . . he's a bad man."

For some reason, it made sense. James. Her mind tuned itself to ask "Who?" But the curiosity could never quite surface because, somehow, she knew. In some newly unlocked part of her mind, James was just comfortably there, as if he'd always been there. In that way, Ernest had to be wrong. James couldn't be a bad man, not really. He did speak of James, though, as if he were still out there. As if he were still alive, and yet another person who spoke, who saw and touched and felt, who remembered the whimsy of something so trivial now as a birthday. In light of everything, it seemed so precious. Something she needed lay with James. Something important.

Maria slowly lowered the gun, a faint indention marring the skin where it had been closely held. Looking at it for a moment, almost as if its very existence puzzled her, she tossed it over the high brick wall in front of her, the wall surrounding the sprawling, stately mansion out of which she'd just come. There was a new direction to go instead of nowhere, a new reason instead of none. It was now -

[. . . Idon'tknowwhybutIjustloveithere. . .]



The car wheels crunched against the ground, slowly grinding to a halt. In the distance, through the fog, the murky waters of the lake. Strange to the beholder... the water should be shimmering, vibrant, like before. Like always. The way the Sun would dance on the surface of Toluca Lake was always so beautiful, so energetic. And why was the road closed? The paper crinkled as hands pulled open an old map of the area. A footpath led from the parking area to what should be the town. Something felt so very strange. But after what led this man here, that was almost expected.

The eerie silence played host to the sound of the car's door opening, the lack of any kind of sound at all drawing focus to the grinding of steel on steel. James Sunderland stepped out of the car, his feet touching on the concrete and stones beneath him. Snow lightly fell all around and James expected it to be cold, pulling his green jacket over his body instinctively, and yet he felt nothing as the snow touched his flesh. It settled nowhere, seemed almost intangible. There was a restroom just across the parking lot. James had been driving for hours, with very little sleep. How could he sleep with what had happened to him? To sleep was once to escape, a repreive as it were, a chance to find sweet, if fleeting, sactuary from the restless dream that was life without... her.

But the letter... no man could sleep after the letter.

The water was cold and fresh against James' face, but it did little to alleviate his exhaustion. Even at times of rest, his mind had been racing. What was he doing here? He kept trying to rationalise with himself, but it never worked. He was a man of two minds, each side interlocked with the other, kicking and tearing, each half attempting to quell the other, but each time knowing only stalemate. As James looked in the mirror, he could only ask one question.

"Mary... could you really be in this town?"

As James stepped back into the open, yet strangely claustrophobic air, he paced toward a low stone wall, looking out over the trees toward Toluca Lake. Running a hand through his dirty blonde hair, he reached into his breast pocket, taking out a folded piece of paper. Again, once again, he tried to rationalise.

"I got a letter", his voice was calm and soft, somewhat soothing, "the name on the envelope said Mary. My wife's name. But that's ridiculous. A dead person can't write a letter. Mary died of that damn disease three years ago."

A million thoughts ran through his mind at once. "Am I crazy?", "Did Mary really die?", "Is this really happening?"

He opened the letter. The handwriting was Mary's. Mary, who had been claimed by that horrible illness three years past. The sickness that twisted her, malformed her, warped her into not the woman he loved, but something... no... not a monster. James loved her to the very end. That's what he told himself. "I loved her to the very end. How could I think anything bad of her? She didn't know what she was saying in those final days."

Once again, he read the letter...

"In my restless dreams, I see that town.
Silent Hill.
You promised you’d take me there again someday,
But you never did.
Well I’m alone there now...
In our 'special place'...
Waiting for you..."

All alone. All alone in their special place. James couldn't fathom out "her" words. To him, all of Silent Hill had been special. The Lake he was now gazing out at, he remembered well the laughter they shared by that beautiful body of water. There was Rosewater Park, that serene and gentle place where they would walk for hours, not even needing words. Just to touch each other, to move in unison.

"But she's dead", his logical half would argue, "Why am I even here?"

"Because she's Mary", was the reply from himself to himself.

She's Mary.

If there's a chance she was in Silent Hill, then James would go. Just to see her again, one more time. Turning to face the steps that led to the supposed footpath, James drew a deep breath. Even if there was no Mary, there was someone. Someone who wanted him here. With map in hand, James started down the steps, each foot forward bringing with it further doubt. The silence was being swallowed by sound. Otherworldly sound. Sound that could not be attributed to anything James knew. Just subtle, creeping noise.

It should have served as a warning, but there was no turning back.

Mary was waiting.

List Of Reserved Characters

***UPDATED 29TH AUGUST 2006***

Silent Hill

- Cybil Bennet (reserved for weskerismybitch / leatherncuffs)
- Alessa Gillespie (reserved for dalilmoomba)
- Lisa Garland (reserved for salem_saori until further notice)

Silent Hill 2

- James Sunderland (morphinejim - Apped and approved)
- Maria (hellonurse - Apped and approved)

Silent Hill 3

- Claudia Wolf (reserved for misscaptain / sisterclaudia
- Father Vincent (oneshotnothing / snarky_padre_v - Apped and approved)

Silent Hill 4

None at present


Character Application 


- Canon characters from both the games and the film are both allowed and heartily encouraged. You may also apply for characters from the comics. Original characters are allowed, but will have to be carefully reviewed. Character from other fandoms are not allowed, except in VERY VERY VERY special cases (for example, if you come to us with a really good idea that's well thought out...but we don't want this turning into a panfandom RPG).

- When you apply for a character, please respect that this is an Alternate Universe RPG, and so many characters who died in canon may still be brought back to life. Also, respect the people who are playing characters who are closely tied in with the one you want. For example, if you're apping for Mary, the polite thing to do would be to take a look at the backstory for James and make sure you're not treading on anyone's toes.

- Don't go overboard with magic. Yes, we know a lot of the characters in SH can do fun things with magic, but if your character has powers, don't abuse them.

- And with that said...ABSOLUTELY NO GODMODS. If I’m not allowed to do it, no one is.

- You can app monsters, but you have to keep them as monsters. That means that if you want to play as an Insane Cancer, you should put "Likes eating human flesh, being obese and grunting", not "Likes listening to the Spice Girls, writing French poetry, and speaking in sentences." Pyramid Head is the exception to this rule. If you want to play PH, then you can make him a sentient being We suppose.

- You can have as much sex, violence and bad taste as you like, as long as you don’t upset other players with it. So if, for example, you wanted a storyline full of gratuitous S&M, that’s fine, just don’t force the issue around players who aren’t comfortable. Similarly, if you don’t like a plot that’s going on, then don’t read it. Silent Hill is violent and twisted, and if you have a problem with that, then go and join the My Little Pony RPG. The only thing that is banned, and we fucking mean this, is rape (except where it's canon in backstories, for example, Angela).

- When you apply for a character, you are playing AS THAT CHARACTER. You are not using that character to make your own bastardised wangsty goth Mary Sue monstrosity which you then feel the need to inflict on the rest of us poor souls. By all means take as many liberties as you like and be creative, but if you piss all over your character, then we WILL be on hand with a mop and bucket to clean up your urine.

- A maximum, I repeat and for Christ’s sake don’t blithely ignore me on this one, MAXIMUM of TWO characters per person. And don’t be a sneaky bastard and make an NPC then start playing them full time.
- You don't HAVE to create an IC journal for your character, although if you want to, then please feel free, as a lot of people find them useful and entertaining.

- Wait for your character to be approved before you start posting. Odds are, it will be approved, but we need to make sure things get off to a smooth start. Shak lives on the internet, and rarely washes (apparently not true, because she “has a bath once a week whether I need it or not”), so within a day or two (who the fuck is she kidding, it’ll probably be within an hour or two), you’ll get a nice little message saying go forth and cause destruction. Waaaay. Etc. If we ask you to change something, we will explain the reasons, and you are welcome to contest the point, but generally, in the unlikely event that you don't get accepted straight away, then it's not because we're bastards, it'll be for a good reason. If we don't think you belong here, we won't bother asking you to change things, we'll just explain nicely that we don't think this is the place for you.

Code of Conduct

- No bullying. Unless you're a complete twat, in which case, you're fair game.

- If someone is a cock to you in character, it doesn’t mean they hate you out of character. Learn to distinguish between fantasy and reality, even though most of you, including us, blatantly can’t. But also, if you’re using your character to obviously have a go at someone, we will tear you a new one.

- It sounds obvious, but if you are playing in character, then play in character. For example, you are playing as Bungo McSquiffy, a cowardly young individual who is allergic to cheese. Halfway through the game you start playing him as a cheese-munching Rambo. No. Not on. If you get bored with your character, that’s fine. Kill them off and app a new one instead.

- NO SPAMMING. No…fucking…spamming. If you spam, I will kill you. I will actually kill you. I fucking hate spammers. This means no posting every five seconds and not giving anyone else a chance to post, no plugging your fanfiction every five seconds anywhere you can squeeze it in, no derailing every single OOC thread you can get your hands on (going off topic is fine, these things happen, conversation progresses naturally, but commandeering a thread just to turn it into an in joke and exclude the other members is not on. Save that stuff for IM, or for a separate thread).

- Stay in character in the IC community, stay out of character in the OOC community. If you want to make an out of character point while in the RPG section of the board, denote it with “OOC:” beforehand. This makes it easier for everyone to read.

- Respect that every member on the board is equal. Don’t boss your fellow board members around. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve been here since day one, or you’ve just joined, everyone has equal footing and status here. Not that we’re communists, we hate communists, but you know what I mean.

- Having a square go with the admin is encouraged. Don’t be scared of us. We have good reasons for everything we do, and any decisions we make are for the good of the board as a whole, and not because we’re power-tripping. But if you disagree with any of our decisions, then let us know and we will explain ourselves. We are not on a powertrip here, and we are not easily offended. Conversely, however, play with fire, and you will get burned. Any threats or tantrums aimed in our, or any other member’s direction will result in us laughing at you derisively then…ZOMG BANNZ0RD!!!1111ONEONE.

- No controlling someone else’s character without their permission. For real, this is a serious point. It’s bastard annoying, it shows real bad manners, and you just don’t do it. Ever. Not even a tiny, tiny bit.

- Your IN CHARACTER posts should be at least a paragraph. Don’t post one liners (they will be deleted on sight), or post in script format. We’re not saying you have to be the most eloquent or best writer ever to play here, but you do have to make an effort. Similarly, use your discretion and don’t waffle either. Basically, just, when you post, look back and think, “if I wasn’t me, would I want to read this?” and if so, check that you’ve given the next player something to work with. Just, be nice to your fellow players.

- You don’t have to spellcheck everything, or have perfect grammar, but try to make your posts coherent.

- Give people a chance to reply. If there is a scenario going on with five characters, and two of you happen to be online, it’s really not very nice to bat back and forward to the point where the story moves on and leaves the other three completely out of the loop. Conversely, if you’re going to be a shit and not post for a month at a time, don’t have a strop if a plot moves on without you. Admin included.

- Prefereably keep your writing in third person, past tense. We won't come down on your like a ton of bricks if you don't, but we'd prefer it if everyone was on the same wavelength.

- Have fun and play nice.

(no subject)

Character Application

Must be filled in by ALL prospective players and posted in this thread.

About You: 

Personal Livejournal:
Contact information (Email, messenger...just some way other players can get in touch):



Origin (Game? Movie? Comic (boo!)? OC?):
IC Journal (if you have one):
Physical Appearance (at least a paragraph):
Skills and Weaknesses:
Personality: (at least a paragraph)
Background: (at least a paragraph)
Personal Items: (No real limit, but don't go overboard. If you have more items than your character can feasibly carry, that's overboard. Remember, you can pick stuff up along the way).