rpanons | I'm bad at this

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Groan. Okay, there's a couple of options here:

1) We can split up. Most of us will go back to the house, call the police to report the anons missing. I'll lead a group of people to search for our now three missing friends.

2) We stick together and search for them as a group. I'll take up the rear as we walk around. Don't want anybody else to go missing.

Let's take a vote.

The Count
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Split up: 15 Stay together: 2, including handholding anon

A few anons have the decency to look ashamed, but most of them are thinking about pizza, and they have so much faith in your ability.

it's true

and I think we should bring the beer

(ooc. also I am going to bed but I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. Thanks to both loud anon and creepy storyteller anon.

also lakefinder anon needs to RUN!)

It was fun! Sleep good! Have good nightmares!

muhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Squints at everyone, looking somewhat disappointed. Not because most of everyone's choosing to go back (if I wasn't leader I will admit I sure as hell probably would maybe ugh), but because there is definitely going to be no more pizza left now.

We're taking the imported beer beer though.

...and we are not holding hands, is a point I loudly make.

On the plus side, this is a completely manageable group. We separate from the main group and head deeper into the woods. I fall behind the other two to keep an eye on them. Not too far behind, though. Why is this fog so dense, anyway??

(ooc; haha, me2 handholding anon. good night! i'll try not to get us killed ;))

The wuss anons gather themselves up to leave, some guiltily, some mirthfully, some with smiles touched with sadistic glee. They are pretty sure something nasty will happen and they are already entertained at the thought of how unhappy they will get to look while they tell the police about it. By the way, since you did not assign any specific person to call the police, nobody will do it, as they will all believe it was someone else's responsibility.

Leadership is hard.

They all file off and leave you, Handholding Anon, and Team Sports Anime Fan Anon (to be referred to in the future as Tsafa), alone in the cloudy chill. The quiet of the forest may hit home at some point. It's Unusually Quiet, no hoots, no chirps, no crickets, no nothing. Just the sound of three anons breathing, for now. Handholding Anon (to be referred to in the future as Hah) brightens at the mention of beer, but looks downcast as you refuse to hold hands. Tsafa also refuses, as she doesn't want to look like a weirdo.

Nice of you to leave your friends in point position. You trail along behind. The fog is so thick because the temperature of the air is approximately 3.8 degrees below the dew point and you are proximate to both a lake and to a naturally humid forest which has recently enjoyed a rain that soaked the ground and trees thoroughly, thereby ensuring the high ambient humidity necessary to generate fog. At least that is the technical reason. But it is perhaps noteworthily thick fog.

You head deeper into the woods. The trail runs roughly southerly, though it curves a little to the west. Is it getting colder? You seem to be going downhill. The trail is still wide enough for two to walk abreast, but long hazel branches, hung with moss, are encroaching into the lane.

"Where do you guys play?" Tsafa says, breaking the silence. You can't see it, but her breath forms a puff in the growing chill.

I reply "Holy Heights" only to gauge a reaction from my companions. I don't really play at Holly Heights. I don't play anywhere.

I move to zip up my North Face jacket but am reminded by the nothing that I grab that I'm not wearing one. Left it at the house, like the proud, island-blooded, now-shivering champion that I am.

I suggest huddling closer together. I say it's to keep Hah and Tsafa in sight and out of reach of the branches, but really I'm wanting to keep myself warm. But you know what else can keep you warm? Drunkenness. Sure, the bottle of Fosters I grab from the box isn't vodka or rum or whatever liquor people say is supposed to keep you warm in the cold, but I figure maybe drinking half of this six-pack could at least help me forget that it's freezing out.

"Oh wow, Holly Heights is really cool!" Tsafa says enthusiastically. "Who do you play?"

Down you go into the foggy vale, with only pendulous mosses and skeletal tree limbs visible in the gloam, and only the voices of your comrades to orient yourself by. Nobody notices your shivering, except possibly the weather itself, which takes a vengeful turn for the frosty. But hey, cold beer! Really cold. And really beer. Fosters: Real Beer For Real Anons. You do in fact feel deceptively warmer.

But before you can stop chugging and answer Tsafa's innocent question, Hah and Tsafa stop dead in front of you.

"What the hell is that?"

What the hell is what? Your reflexes are a little slow. All you can tell is that there's a darker bit of the rather dark night. Hah holds up a cell phone on flashlight mode and murmurs, "Wish I had a flare gun."

It's a black... rectangle. In the midnight dim it at first looks like a solid block, but as you approach, you can see that it is covered with narrow gouges that run mazelike over its surface. Someone or something has piled up a heap of fir boughs up on one side of it, so that with a little scrabbling, you might be able to get on top of it.

It is getting very cold. Although no foggier.

"Hold my beer," I say to Tsafa.

Because I am gonna climb the thing like the increasingly drunken part of my brain is telling me to do.

It's okay, you lush. Hah has been pounding the other half and is secretly admiring your initiative.

"What? I can't hold a beer!" Tsafa shouts, suddenly panicked. Her enormous dark eyes are thrown wide with alarum. "I'm only 17!"

Hah reassuringly takes the beer for her. Slugging a huge gulp (what's a little backwash between handholding pals?), Hah frowns. "Are you sure you should go up there? I thought you weren't going to try to get us killed."

Too late, your drunk ass is already scuttling up the pile of brush. It's a little over eight feet to the top. It's thoroughly dark up here.

"Here, take this!" Hah shouts. You see the glowing light of the cell phone arc up, up, into the air, over... It falls neatly at your feet and shatters. In the brief span in which it still shed light on your efforts, you might have seen the wide black stone altar beneath the statue of a horned god. Hewn into the gently curved stone face were, if you saw them, which maybe you didn't, several holes, which probably had something to do with the array of open-mouthed demons carved all around the sides of the altar.

I'd be more choked up about this but my phone is almost five years old and I've never liked the touch pad on it. If our inebriated/or underage asses make it out of this alive, I'm justified in buying a new one.

I'm bad at this

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handholding anon

creepy storyteller anon

loud anon

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hah