worlds-worst-anecdotalist

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

Not writing related but like… it was a beyond monumental pain in the ass to make this image. I am not visually inclined and like I’m proud as hell about making this silly stupid board/game yes I have rules written down and it is related/connected to a different project of mine that I am also quite proud of

It’s called Gamchaek and it can be played by 2-6 players

I mean I doubt I’ll ever actually play it… but a man can dream I suppose…

That being said credit to Wikimedia Commons for the icons used I guess? I genuinely don’t know what the protocol is here for stuff like this and like it’s late when I’m writing this

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

There are two types of writers:

1. 'It's fiction, it doesn't need to make sense!'

2. 'I didn't account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash'

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

Julius Caesar is hosting a party,

Reblog to invite others to the party

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

they finally caught that madman now the story can end

average man from florida

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

The Correspondences of William Penn

November 4th-December 9th 1910

An exchange of letters from the Archives of the Miskatonic University, Occult Sciences Dept, Written by one Mr. William R. Penn. to a Prof. Johann D. Van Alden “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

-Theodore Roosevelt 1910

11/4/1910 Esteemed Mr. Van Alden.

I am William R. Penn. My brother, Leopold, and I were actors before his, shall we say, accident. The details of which I know you are well aware of. I was left alone, but in his memory I continued on with my career. I dazzled crowds across the world from Europe to America including a successful run as the titular Mikado in a production staged in Yokohama. Roses were laid at my feet wherever I went. My critics called me the chameleon as I took on any role so completely that even the most seasoned critic believed it completely and totally. 

But those stories are unimportant compared to my current tale. You see upon the completion of a particularly well received run of Le Prophète in New Orleans and just before I took a steamboat through the bayou a strange man rather gruffly beckoned me into a parlor full of occult artifacts of strange and dubious origin. In the manner of a good bohemian host I was offered absinthe. I tried to avoid returning the gaze of a jar of eyeballs as I was politely albeit still forcefully interrogated regarding my brother, his condition, masks and all sorts of other strange and frankly disturbing mumbo jumbo.

The purpose of this interrogation still confuses and bedevils me. Which is in part why I have written to you. The Seattle Asylum for the Mentally Insane, has not been replying to my letters regarding my brother's condition nor his treatment.  The most I got was in response to my last letter written by one Dr. Innsmouth as he told me that you would be able to illuminate me regarding these circumstances.

Yours, 

William Penn

11/8/1910

Dear Mr. Penn, 

I hope this letter finds you in decent health. I regret to inform you that Dr. Innsmouth is clinically insane and has been under institutional watch for several years now. Regarding your Brother I fear the news is similarly bleak. I offer my deepest condolences to you and my deepest apology that this was not relayed to you sooner but your brother is most likely no longer on this mortal plain.  Dr. Innsmouth was assigned to your brother's case. I began investigating the case at the behest of Dr. Innsmouth.  

Did your brother have any interests with masks before his disappearance or any odd behaviors or circumstances? I understand you will no doubt be leveled by this tragedy. However the circumstances of your brother's disappearance are a matter of current and ongoing investigation and any assistance would be greatly appreciated to ensure events like this do not occur in the future.

Yours,

J.D. Van Alden 

Miskatonic University Occult Sciences Department, Corner of Lich St. and Garrison St., Arkham Mass.

11/10/1910

Mr. Van Alden 

What on God's green earth do you mean?? “Your brother is most likely no longer on this mortal plain”?? Do you mean to imply he is dead?! And if you do so imply that he is in fact dead, which I strongly suspect you are, then why the hell wasn't I notified earlier? And why the hell has the Asylum been avoiding my letters? Maybe I am just from the sticks but it seems like common manners to notify the surviving family of the death of a kinsman

As for interests with masks, not really. None that were particularly odd. We were actors and were raised in the craft. We have been surrounded by masks all our lives, I love my brother but truth be said he always struggled with the craft. But then just before he disappeared, he was no longer finding performing difficult.  The last time I spoke with him he seemed happy enough. A bit overly energetic even. 

Yours

William Penn

11/14/1910

Dear Mr. Penn

Thank you for responding.  When I say your brother is no longer on this mortal plain, I mean in simplest terms your brother literally no longer exists on this mortal plain. That doesn't mean dead, it just means not here. As for why the asylum has been avoiding your letters, if I had to guess, it is to save themselves the confusion of parsing the situation as it occurred.  

What Innsmouth reported to me is that he believes your brother was possessed by an extra dimensional entity and was taken into its domain. This demon was the King in yellow, the youngest of their ilk, Chamberlain of the hanged king of thorns. fetid Prince of the alabaster city of Carcosa. His primary shard in our world is an artifact known as the “Choleric Masque of Carcosa” ;Use of this masque is in essence a physical Faustian bargain as these kinds of sorts of artifacts generally are. The masque grants its wearer, whoever that is, a preternaturally superior talent for telling believable lies  as could be understood.

 The Choleric masque of Carcosa is part of a set of four masques representing the various humors: Choleric, Sanguine, Phlegmatic, and Melancholic. They represent in turn the Chamberlain, the Marshal, the Steward, and the Treasurer who are the; chief attendants to an entity that is frankly beyond sane and sensible description. This entity is known as the hanged king of thorns. There are scant few records on him, the earliest I can find point to the 1100s although references to the masques are much more recent dating generally to the 1500-1600s. Generally taking the form is a rotten stained yellow leather Il Capitano Mask although that being said seeing as the concept of Il Capitano as a character developed around the 1500-1600s its entirely probably the mask predates these descriptions by names now misunderstood or forgotten

With that being said I must insist that you tell me all you can about the questions the occultists asked you, who they were and where I might find them? I also would like to know where your brother might have acquired the Choleric Masque?  

I am, again, sorry to inform you of your loss. I await your response and  I am hopeful that any additional information regarding the occultists or their whereabouts could assist in expediting my investigation into this most distressing matter.

Yours, Prof Van Alden. P.S. For your convenience I have decided to include with this letter a copy of Dr. Innsmouth’s original report that being said a fair warning is in order you may find its contents slightly distressing. Again my deepest and most sincere condolences regarding this most unfortunate matter.

12/9/1910

Mr Van Alden

Slightly Distressing? Slightly Distressing??? S L I G H T L Y  D I S T R E S S I N G ? ? ? Dear sir, my apologies for my late response, but for the sake of my own health, I considered not responding in the slightest. I however then considered the most unhappy notion of you sending more letters to check in with me, the notion of which compelled me into writing this letter. 

Sir, I am an actor. I am used to salt being rubbed into my wounds. This audacity however is nothing short of straight vinegar. Either you are mentally sick or you are truly cruel and if you expect me to believe a single word of this cockamamie malarkey then you are sorely and most bitterly mistaken. As has been said Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee. In addition, I would beat thee myself but I fear I would infect my hands. This utterly inane drivel insults my brother's legacy and memory. That being said if answering your questions results in never having to see your god forsaken penmanship ever again so be it.

I was intercepted outside the Old Absinthe House on Bourbon street before being swiftly escorted three blocks up Bienville street and up a building on the eastern corner of its intersection with Burgundy street. 

Do remember they got me quite drunk,  but I distinctly remember them asking about something called the “phlegmatic masque” and as you illustrated before the “choleric masque.” They were amicable enough but seemed rather agitated and frankly a bit frustrated at my lack of knowledge. 

As for where my brother could have acquired this “masque,” about a month or so before his incident, whatever that may have been, he took a brief sabbatical to Venice when he returned he remarked about acquiring a very handsome mask which was around the time his career started improving. 

Those are all I can stomach divulging to you now and forever. Please for the love of all that is good and holy DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES CONTACT ME AGAIN!!! You damnable quack bastard thy name be Mudd. 

P.S. If you fail to follow this recommendation I will pursue legal action for harassment.  Again I cannot clarify and insist upon this strongly enough nor with enough emphasis  DO NOT CONTACT ME AGAIN!!! 

Listed below are recorded notes from Prof. Van Alden regarding the exchange 

I must remember to send Mr. Penn a condolences basket of some kind? Do they even make those?? Unclear

Evidence points to the point of origin being somewhere in or around Venice; all logic dictates Padua being the most likely place of origin. There really ought to be an investigation into why Padua specifically is a nexus point for anomalous events such as these and not other senior universities in the old continent.

That being said, the issue in New Orleans seems arguably more pressing, which means I should procure a train ticket there with utmost haste and at earliest convenience.

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

Me core

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

Void's Best Empiricist

Reblog and write the opposite of your URL

thatwasnotveryravenofyou → itisextremelypigeonofthem

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

STOP SPEEDRUNNING MY TOWER YOU INGRATES

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

Spin this wheel of ~300 AO3 tags three times.

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

Me writing

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

whelp that's certainly ominous

spin this wheel of fanfic tags. this will be the theme of your day tomorrow.

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

It feels like this every time I write a fic

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

i hauve a cold

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

me, eating a pile of nuts, cheese, and apple: mmmm tasty

the medieval peasant in my head watching me eat: thou knowst what would MAKETH this meal? dried fruits.

me, getting out the raisins: god damn, etheldred, you are SO right

the medieval peasant in my head: yet thou art still not heeding mine words regarding the blasphemy

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

“write what you know” is boring. i write what haunts me at 3am.

[worlds-worst-anecdotalist]

“How’s your WIP going?”

"Have you made any progress?”

“How close are you to being done?”