FJSJ — The Corporeal Masquerade


Darkness is sentient among the Entity's culling. The obsidian wisps whisk away a frightening maelstrom. It appears that Benedict's notes hadn't remain truthful to the development of another divisive nightmare within the nocturnal realm. Foretold by the whispers, the plight of times' past developed its own narrative. WILLED into existence, the corporeal mass took shape of a humanoid husk. Hallowed through the center, akin to an effigy. No flesh, no bone—no writhing souls to bear witness. They'd be captured from the previous crop of victims unfortunate enough to succumb to divine punishment.

The four of 'em posed quite a struggle, as the Entity found them inseparable. A warrior spirit? Certainly not, but among the bunch, they possessed a collective tenacity that could disrupt the mightiest of connections. Their souls tether to the promise of a “better life”, but the realm doesn't play. There's no second chance—no bitter reprisals. Only the purest of 'guises can tread with safe passage, for all but one managed to brave the mangled trenches in search of respite. She's but a lone soul; a delightful flower. The auburn streaks laced with goldenrod nectar—there was nothing else like her. A legend in her own right, bless her soul.

There's DARKNESS AMONG 'EM, and for their treachery, a grave price is paid. Tortured souls, fused within the alchemic magistry; a forced benediction among the apothecary that couldn't bear witness. It's a tragedy, truly. The shadows take shape, draped in a prismatic autumn that polarized the veil that surrounds the realm. It crackles, it creeps—the flicker of inferno, aroused by the four torn asunder. It's a wonder how they managed not to lose their grip as one collective blunder.

To begin, it dates back to their infamous criminal mastermind—Frank Morrison. A troubled man, much like the others whose had everything delightful pilfered from his cold, dead fingertips. That's not to say it's all undeserved—someone struck a nerve and forced his hand. Destined for demise, its no surprise the boy struck back on full tilt, bastardizing the gymnasium in a scornful tirade. It's unclear what really went on, but something burned deep within. A passionate conviction burst at the seams, and the referee found himself knocked out in a winded breeze. He was once a basketball phenom; problematic in his own right, but a shinning star on the court. But after that fateful evening, one poor decision snowballed into a life changing direction. He stripped himself of the good boy aspirations, scoffed at the sight of academic institutions and did away with any athletic aptitudes, all in one fell swoop. Tattoos? Not-a-problem. Let's get a skull with sleeves to match; a few piercings here-and-there. The semi-formal wears were stripped away with a rugged jacket. He'd never drop the hood, all within the same span of a few months. A craftsman of a delinquent crime syndicate, the collective mischief of him and his group sparked an outcry. Unfortunately for Frank, the rewards were short-lived, as he found himself alongside his peers on the edge of darkness itself. The perforating, stringent essence that burned a hole into reality itself lulled them in one-by-one, never to be seen again.

The second of the four sacraments goes by the name “Julie”. Julie Kostenko. Something of an anomaly, she too was an outcast. Never fit the bill socially despite her unique beauty that seemed to tickle Frank's fancy at some point during their high school endeavors. She too possessed a fire for something more, but at the expense of what? An intimate exchange raped all sense of self at the hands of that damned perpetrator within the school, sabotaging far more than her self worth. It's almost as if she lived life on the seams; her tether remains loose. Caution thrown aside, she stuck out the ride with no care in mind. To her, there wasn't much to stay committed for, and entertained Frank's dastardly schemes. She seems to have a history of poor interactions with adults—it didn't stop at the school, but the gang came equipped. Within the well, there's wounds deep down. Merciless in her application, the meticulous approach hadn't rubbed off, much to Frank's surprise. Passionate strikes, and a murderous delight. Julie developed a taste for retribution; the conviction much needed for the Entity's bidding.

Suzie's something of a unique case. A stray among losers, her innocent disposition wasn't quite what someone would expect. It seems she has a knack for the patty-wap, catch-a-cat, steal-your-sh*t-in-one-false-act. Was she a kleptomaniac? Possibly, though it could be argued it was less for personal gain and more for the sport—whatever that meant. Resourceful, but not the most confident. It took quite a few endearing words from Frank and Julie to get her taste for mischief going. The pretense for “something better” was always a wish, and she played along the marching band. Frank hadn't questioned her belongings, though he thought the lot of it was unnecessary. Fast hands aren't a thing if a teddy bear's swingin', but without her material goods, she's hopeless. There's just some things that can't be taken from the girl, no matter how profound they may be. An apt thief, there was something to take from her deft reach. Silent, but steady, he never thought someone so uncertain possessed great dexterity.

Lastly, there's Joe. “Joey”. Not much of a talker. It took some coaxing on the girls' behalf to get him goin', but once he came around, he and Frank remained quite sound. From the looks of it, Joe had a knack for automotive work and was something of a mechanic despite not pursuing an education past 16. He hadn't cared about the uncertainty of his career path—life's too short, and there's a party to be had. Scrapping wasn't unorthodox for him, he's used to confrontation. Often mistaken as a troublemaker, his quiet demeanor is often misread alongside systemic roots dating back to his days in Detroit as a younger lad. Conflict was a way of life, and the pistol's a comfort; a luxury throughout the night. Not everyone could turn the corner without breaking out into a firefight, but if he had to—he'd snap necks to stay alive.

They're not religious, far from it in-fact. There's anarchist beliefs for sure; the chaos bears a cross for everyone to mast. It's from those mayhem roots where the populace flourished. And within the mastermind's hand, he'd make full use of every tool available. The steadfast disregard for authority; a passionate contempt with ferocity for all; a knack for tinkering, with a snide, cunning that could coax most; the brutal upbringing that could change a situation at any time. They're all components for the DARKNESS AMONG US. From their resurrection, the cultivated talents would prove quite the adversary for those beloved survivors, graced by Benedict's protection.

From the kindling, bears a spark to assimilate a mannequin that internalized the sorrows of those unfortunate souls. The misfits, collectively, gave way to a new demeanor. Their thoughts, overlapped; their skills, all in-tact. They'd brave the Entity's path and carve a name for themselves.

FEAR the LEGION! We ARE the LEGION! AMONG US, darkness FALLS. Heed our call, or else—you'll FALL!