We Do WHAT In The Shadows!? - Ep. 5.5 (Journal entry)

The journal entries from episode 5 launches Marcel a total of 60 years into the future. He changes less than the mortals in his life.

Before enslaving family Garibaldi, our guy reflects on his 60-year long marriage.

Content warning: Profanity, murder, Disney's Up -vibes

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Special thanks:

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:00

Hello and welcome to Your Worst Nightmare, another RPG actual play podcast. Solitude, a journaling RPG podcast, is just me in a room, not to brag, with a journal, a solo RPG, and some damn good coffee. I play to see what happens in the story, write in my fictional journal, and you get to hang out next to me by the fire. My name is Auri. Welcome. I hope you enjoy our time together. This episode This episode is a dramatic journal entry reading for the prompts we got to in the previous episode. Some things might have changed a little bit from the decisions made in the episode since I've had a bit of time to collect my thoughts and write stuff down. This is Solitude. We do what in the shadows? 15. Court Date April 1592 I am writing this entry in Utrecht, where the echoes of the religious wars of the South can be heard at a most deafening volume. I've concealed my Catholicism well in this promised land of the Protestants. At the gate, the guards surprised me and showed me a picture of the Pope, and I screamed in unholy agony. They took that as a political stance and promptly let us in. We are on our way home, to Paris, from a several year long journey to the northern land of Ing. Our original intention was to conduct business, purchase some land in York. But the fates have a cruel sense of humor. The land was bought, but at what cost? Well, 50 pounds to be exact. I had thought that long ago, before my unholy transformation, I had been an innocent person. But in York, a terrible truth was revealed to me. I feel as though a veil of ignorance has been lifted from before my very eyes. At my core, I am not man, but bone. Clackety-clack, motherfuckers. Elise and I had planned on purchasing the beautiful land surrounding the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey. If we ever had to flee the continent for whatever reason, it would make for a wonderful place to build an unlife in. We strolled about in the abbey gardens when we stumbled upon a holy ball court. The smell of leather, sweat and blood. Two teams of orphans were playing on the court. led by nuns of the Abbey. I suppose I was once much like these children, only spiking on my mind. Inspiration struck us, and we wished to purchase the court instead of the entire abbey. That would leave us with enough money to buy several courts across Western Europe. A financial spike, if you will. But we found ourselves in a bidding war with another party. The dispute was quickly taken to court, so we stepped over the fence to stand on it. The other party was a figure in a very fashionable coat and an elegant, curly, five-foot-long powdered wig. They introduced themselves as Siegfried the Skeleton. Instantly, I felt a warm wave of familiarity and kinship wash over me. But it did not last long, for as I gazed into the eye sockets of this clearly French aristocrat, I felt a shiver go down my spine. I saw beyond the disguise, so carefully put together, a French accent, skull for a head, the name of a French aristocrat. Siegfried the Skeleton. Sie, sie, sie. Besides, skeleton was but a one-letter difference to skeleton. A coincidence? No, no, I don't think so. They downed a calcium supplement so effortlessly, it might as well have been vitamin C. This was a member of the Z family. My biological kin. And moreover, I was 70% sure they were a skeleton. As soon as the carriage of my thought had arrived at Conclusion Station, I knew what I was. I felt my hands, my arms, my face. Under the deceptively fleshy surface, there lay a rock-hard core. There was a skeleton inside of me at this very moment. Had it always been there? I'd always thought skeletons were just a made-up scary story so children wouldn't play in the graveyard. But why was my skeleton half covered in this soft tissue when Siegfried's skeleton appeared bare and bone dry? Clearly they didn't mind their condition. They wore a smile, a grin even, reaching ear to ear. The proceedings of the court were rather dull, and focused on figments of imagination like property laws and money. I'll write down the important parts, lest I forget. Elise and I would have lost the court to them, because their funds were rather substantial. Even Elise, a master debater, could not convince them to give up the case. Then I took a risk. I grabbed my face and pulled, revealing my true form. That of bone and flesh combined. Ziggy started. But then promptly, like a headmaster in heat, marched through the court and embraced me. It was a cold, hard embrace, for they were essentially just a bag of bones. I told them as much as I could remember. Who I was. Where I came from. why I was here. They were astonished that I had been in Paris for years, and we had missed this opportunity for joyful reunion. But the Zed, rather the skeleton family, never met with anyone. When we got to the reason I wanted to buy the court, and my history with Holy Ball, they suddenly took some distance from me. They seemed sympathetic about the space jamming of my skills, but the mere mention of Father Weisschnicker's name was clearly like a knife in their spine. After learning that Big Papa Cheese was truly my unholy sire. They immediately made it clear that I could never return to Skeleton Manor. Siegfried explained the Skeleton family had been against Father Weichneger for generations. For it was our great-great-grandfather who was defeated in a duel against the Dread Priest. A one-on-one holy ball match. Father Weichneger spiked so hard, our progenitor became the first skeleton. Father Weichneger is the antithesis of all life, and the master vampire of all of Europe. All he creates is death, and he spreads his influence through Holy Ball and the muscled monastery of the Gold's Brotherhood. This is why Ziggy said the skeleton family has been buying courts to keep the fiend of Vienna at bay, banning him from tournaments in Western Europe. I do not know where my loyalties lie, but I do know that one day the muscled master and I will meet again, and he will expect something from me. Until then, I want to stay in the game. It feels like the right thing to do. At least I get to savour the fresh air of a good game whenever I want. Even though I can't meet with my family, for life has taken me on a different path, I am happy knowing they're there, clickety-clacking away in skeleton manner. Marcel Delacroix, 36 years old. Prompt 13 Crazy Eternal Love June 1640 A lifetime a happy, joyous lifetime. Today was the celebration of my dear Elise's 80th birthday. For some reason, I got a craving for a slice of apricot pie. Food has lost its taste ages ago, but I enjoy the smell. Apricots were always Elise's favorite, as time turned I find myself rereading the chapters of the small life we shared. If our life together was a book, it would be titled Beauty in the Ordinary. Here are some of the dearest of my memories from our six decades together. 1583 We had been fake married for six months when I fell in love with her. It happened so suddenly. We were stuck inside because of the mad Protestants lurking on the streets. Mercedes Uber Eats brought me dinner, and as I dragged the deceased banker's corpse to the Wurstkraft 3000 we had in our basement, Elise laughed and said, Honey, do you want it rare or well done? Ha ha ha. That's when I knew I would never leave. I was home. Ever since that day, we were wed for real skis. That night we danced until we fell asleep with a smile and pussy spread across my face. 1595 Our mutual British friend, a playwright of some increasing fame, called Bill the Bard, wrote a fantastic play about fairies and young ancient Athenians in a complicated tangle of enchanted infatuation. He even designed the character of the Fae King Oberon in my honour. If only young Billy knew how close he was to the truth. I was very flattered, even though Queen Titania is no Elise Delacroix. 1601. We finally found a woman who accepted being Garibaldi's wife. We put them up in a village near the northern border. Elise always told me to be nicer to Garibaldi. She said that giving up my holy ball skills might have been the best thing that ever happened to me. That was a lie. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. 1609, Elise bought a family mansion at the outskirts of Paris. She's such an amazing conversationalist. When she opens her little bird's beak of a mouthling, everyone listens. My heavens, my part in this family is mostly to just look pretty in a little thing and play the lute, while she did what she did best. I might have spent a few nights convincing her political enemies of some other cities they might as well inhabit. such as Hell City, Hell. 1616. Elise gained fame as an orator, and as we were the largest holy ball benefactors of Western Europe, she was invited to the Netherlands into the University of Utrecht to be the new professor of the architecture of holy ball courts. I was able to aid her, and my knowledge of the court was of some use. I listened to every lecture she gave. enthralled, enchanted. 1630. The Delacroix family was invited to King Henry IV's grand ball in His Majesty's residence in the Louvre Palace. This marked Elise's life's work as complete. Her family was finally recognized as one of the big players among French nobility. Even though we never had children, on account of me being a half-skeleton, half-flesh pile that got turned into a vampire? Her many siblings and cousins did. The family line is thus safe. 1637, three years ago. Elisa's constitution failed her, and she became bedridden. I have sat by her side the past three years, playing the lute and singing. She always adored my voice, and she was always my favourite audience. 1640. Yesterday, the eve of her 80th birthday, her hearing has long gone now. Yet every day as I sing to her, she still smiles. I lift her to sit on her bed, and we sway in a slow dance. She falls asleep wearing the same smile I fell in love with 60 years ago i leave and i collapse behind her bedroom door where did the decades go why did it happen so fast couldn't we have just one more year enjoy one more blossom of the garden flowers together Even now, as I listen to the distant sounds of a waning party downstairs, I cannot help but think, soon, the earth shall consume her. Why must she, a verdant green willow, wither? and leave a snake like me to slither through these gardens, even as autumn's final judgement has turned everything else into a blackened brown. Yet I remain. Not even a snake anymore, but a petrified statue of one, covered in moss and vines. Shall I ever slither again? How can one continue after living a full life? Alas, one must start anew. Even though my life with Elise has only ever been a delight, Garibaldi has cast its shadow over it ever since the very beginning. And what a miserable dark blot it turned out to be. I gave him a deal fifty years ago. I would pass on my gift to him if he swore absolute servitude to me for his entire bloodline. I thought it was the least he could do. And he agreed. His first great-grandchild, Garibaldi, just turned five. The Garibaldis, they scutter around in their unholy catacombs, where they make graven images of me from granite and mud. His descendants view me as something of a god. I would never ask them to do this. It is Garibaldi's attempt at licking my boots clean. Though I'm not going to lie, it is quite flattering. I have no plans on turning Garibaldi senior. No one deserves the dread mark of Father Weichneger. Not even Garibaldi. Besides him living with the hunchback, crusty teeth, and his newly acquired French armpits disease, his eternity as a prince of darkness would be only that more horrifying to witness. I have Sigh. Sigh. A lifetime. A happy, joyous lifetime. I will never forget her, and I will forever be thankful to the heavens that I got to spend her entire life with her. Marcel Delacroix dies with her. From her passing, I am born again. Signed, Guy Skeleton 86 years old Thanks for listening, folks. My name is Auri Itamaki, and Solitude is my personal project. I hope you enjoyed this episode. You can follow Solitude on Instagram at solitudeshow, and if you got something to say, drop a message or comment. I have no idea what I'm doing, so I'd be delighted to hear your ideas and suggestions on where to take it. Also, please, if you liked it, rate and review it so people can find it. There's no budget, there's no plan or anything. I'm just playing a game I'm super interested in and think maybe somebody else is as well. So would be awesome if it found its way to people who enjoy it. Additional episode music and sound effects courtesy of Epidemic Sound, theme song courtesy of me. Solitude drops every week, so every other week there's an actual play episode and every other week there's a journal reading episode. You might be able to follow the story by just listening to the journal readings, but you probably get more out of it if you listen to the whole thing. Up to you. I don't care. I care a little bit. Thanks again for listening, everybody. See you next week. Bye!