Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: Cue Thunder

I still don't understand why he wanted to be buried here. A woman told another as a group was walking up the mountain side with many goats, who gnawed the plantlife down to the dirt. They are strange and he had those atrocious tombstones all ready here. Another brushed off, looking up at the replicas of roman statues that stood on a clear, flat oucropping of the mountainside, which was kept up by the interlocking roots of many grand trees, their gnarled branches casting most peculiarly shaped shadow. It is as if he wants us to think it is haunted, just because they buried him over the source of their drinking water. It had been strange that he was to be buried there. The man hadn't been in the best of health in their eyes, and having his coffin by buried in such a damp place... It was just asking to have the worms get right at him. Children, inside before the Kinderfnger comes! It was really quite grating. There had been more attacks by wild animals these days. Or it was expected, as bodies of the missing were never found. Did they just walk off a cliff? There weren't sheer drops like that near most of the homes, so it was a mystery. Probably had something to do with those foreignors, though. The militia had taken to guarding the town from the rooftops, laterns spread throughout the streets so as to chase away the rolling fog that gave to the rumors of the Slavish bloodsuckers that turned to wolves. They would stop anything coming to town which wasn't screaming for help. They would shoot the with bullets, bolts, or arrows, beat them with picks, and trap them in nets. The last part being a mystery, with people also wondering where the hell they came from
Thread: Cue Thunder

Hurry up, I cannot see my feet. Mr. Hale walked briskly along the dirt path up away from the residences that smattered the edge of the town. It was growing fairly dark now, and the uneven, gritty surface of the path made the trek all the more perilous for the already horribly uncoordinated English man. His thin hand flew to his valet's shoulder more than once to steady himself or prevent a fall. I am most certainly never doing this again Sir, there it is. Mr. Bourg announced, pointing off to a small outcropping surrounded by twisted, weather beaten trees. Mr. Hale tore his eyes away from his shoes, looking up from the road for the first time since they started the perilous walk. Perilous for Everhett at least. Goodness. He remarked coldly, eyes traveling over what he could see of his uncle's alleged burial-site in the distance. The sun had all but set, the sky fading into a deep indigo. The only light shined from the large lantern in Javier's grasp casting a bright pool around their feet. Mr. Hale sniffed, A disgrace to my name if I should ever end up like him he muttered. Buried in this off place with nothing to honor his life but a tombstone on the side of some cold, foreign mountain. Not that the good old man had cared. He was a recluse, just like his nephew. Had Mr. Hale not taken his estate, no doubt it would have been sold and forgotten. Come on Javier, let's get this done with. As Mr. Hale approached up the winding road leading to the soppy outcropping, looking up intermittedly to scoff at the ugly coarseness of his uncle's choice eternal rest, he thought he saw a brief light. Mr. Hale's eyes blinked for a second, then he shook his head, blaming it on his travel weariness. His uncle's tomb should be somewhere nearby Blast! Everhett Hale shouted, stubbing his toe on some avenging rock, that went flying into the nearest tree, God! Where in this forsaken rock is my uncle's grave?! I swear, Javier, if we don't find it soon I will turn right back around and never retur- Mr. Bourg cut in promptly over another of Mr. Hale's loud rants, I'm sure we will find it sir. The translator said it would be beside the oldest tree.. Well which of these can you tell is the eldest? The boy fumed, waving his arms about. There was a good lot of them, and it did not help that it was quite dark now. They were getting well into the outcropping now, both pairs of eyes strained at the ground for a sign of any sort of marking. Mr. Hale suddenly stiffened, head whipping towards his right, Javier- He whispered quietly, blue eyes wide and alert as they vainly tried to search the darkness, Javier, did you hear that? There had been a noise, he was sure of it.
Thread: Cue Thunder

The ground should have kept him cool enough. A somewhat middle aged voice said in accented French to a another pair of men, while someone stayed hunched over a grave, moving the slab aside with a long iron prybar. For the elbalming we were sure to get things overlooked, so as to not cut the subject up too much. The speaker joined the figure hunched over and began to pull a coffin out of the trench, dropping tin cases to the side as they slid off the top. The parasites should not have yet managed to get to the body, and the artificial oxygen will have kept him alive, even if not enough to allow him to keep complete lucidy when we augement his body. The tube going from the coffin to the air was pushed aside during the demostration, having been pinched shut by the grave slab. However this still would leave opening the possibilities to attempt to reproduce the experiments on the matter done by Dr. Caligari and the peoples of Saint-Domingue when- Someone loud was coming. The lantern has a cap lowered over it to slowly cover the light while the men began to spread out, reaching for items in their coats or for the digging implements.
Thread: Cue Thunder

I didn't hear anything sir- There! Everhett cut off his valet feverishly, jabbing his finger towards the darkness between the shadows of the trees to his right. Did you hear it? I swear Javier, it sounded like a man's voice His hissed whisper shook slightly despite his effort to remain poised. This place was creepy. Cold, wet, and dark. The invisible wind rushing through the near-bare branches of the creaking trees and chilled one to the bone. He didn't like it. And when Mr. Hale didn't like something, he made it known. Loudly. Inching a little behind his valet, Everhett cleared his throat, addressing the darkness whilst feeling slightly silly for talking to supposed air, Hello? Is anyone there? He had heard something. Definitely. Whomever was playing this game would have to stop. Right now. It was making him very uneasy. What sort of person came out in pitch darkness this far past the edge of town anyway? Hello?! Come out! He demanded, this time clutching the hem of Javier's coat as if startled by the volume of his own voice before he dropped his hand, disgusted with himself, I know there is someone there! Not yet receiving a reply, anger slowly seeped into the man's fear, making him a little bolder if not only for a few moments, My name is Everhett Hale, the nephew of Sir. Valin Hale who's grave resides in this place. Do you understand english? He stated his name proudly, his voice slightly raising at the end of his question as he still did not receive a reply. I. am. looking. for. my. uncle's... grave. He said each word deliberately, his pitch rising as the silence continued, his growing fear making his shaking worse. Sir, I don't believe there is anyone- Shut up Javier, Mr. Hale interjected. This time Everhett's trembling fingers flew to the wrist of his valet and stayed there the touch gave him a little comfort, I heard something while your mouth was jabbering, he hissed, eyes flicking around. Now it sounded like something had made a noise behind them He was seriously questioning now if what he had heard earlier was indeed a human. A decent person would have revealed themselves by now no? Show yourself! Mr. Hale yelled, his voice cracking. He startled even Mr. Bourg, who quietly tried to hold the lantern aloft despite the uncomfortable sensation of his circulation being cut off from his hand due to Mr. Hale's stranglehold on his left wrist. Sir, no one is there..
Thread: Cue Thunder

Around the grave was a collection of models. Wax dummies, carved wood, a bit of statuary... They were thin skeletons, decked out in theatrical costumes or ragged togas, holding up various symbols of death. Clocks, a burned out sandle, the burial shrouds... And there were skulls. Yellowing, brown, ivory white, any skin on them was sunken as the latern light spread over them. The eyes of one of the better dressed ones glowed gold from within its sockets, nose gone, skin like yellowing parchment. It was rather noticable to the glowing beads and cruxifix of a veiled figure. The rosary had been half torn from it's hands and were still rolling over the ground, some landing in foot prints. There were enough foot prints to suggest someone had been allow. Many people. The coffin had been buried in an area filled with life, as to suggest it was a Roman ruin hidden in the hillsides. And shoving the stone everywhere and jamming stone slabs from the fortress walls into the ground to make a sepulcher had disrupted the flow of water. There was still a bit of a waterfall, but more of it was sent along the ground, leaving it constantly moist, imprints greater prominence. While it should hardly be considered ovlery strange that there were footprints, these ones seemed overly fresh, as if they had not yet been washed away or had the grass raise back up And the smells... Perfumes? Soot? Sweat and grime? They lingered in the air, some leading to a statue of the archangel Raphael. The sounds... Too silent. Well, silent might be too strongof a word. There had already been the sound of shuffling after the two yellew out to high heaven. There was the sounds from the snap of the rosary. And there was the sound of breathing. Very heavy breathing. From within the coffin, half out of the grave, with the lantern fallen next to it, the spilled oil lighting up some grass and a clipboard with papers in some language unfamilar to most. It was on the man inside the coffin, and it was in danger of catching on fire with the grass. It told about time of death, the process in which he was to slowly die, how much to feed him before he went into the coffin, when to get him out... And their was the sound of breathing from the tube leading from the coffin.
Thread: Cue Thunder

Intruders can come. And they seemed... Less than a threat to the four men hidden amongst the shadows. They waited, silent as the Englishmen went along their search. Nephew of the near hermit? It seemed strange for him to arrived at this point in time. It couldn't have been planned. Seriously though, nephews? In the middle of night, near a ledge with no railing, going somewhere they apparently had never been before. Not all the men knew what the Englishmen were saying, but those who did already put their plans in motion. Then they got the papers. This would not do. People were going to start talking. Maybe even investigate. A signal, like the shrieking of a kettle went through the night, from one of the those in the group of skeletal models. It had some length of strange rope... Really catgut. While he could stay about, he didn't see much reason to prolong this any longer. And now the hosts would have to hurry up and show that they could get something down. The signal was timed for when the the body sprung up, long nails, flush cheeks. It was in the sitting position still, and it had been rather unexpected. There shouldn't have been gases from the decomposing body to cause that unless someone screwed up, but it mattered not. A thin man in a large overcoat and the figure of a man with a hunch moved towards the entrance, long items in there hands shown by the light flickering behind them.
Thread: Cue Thunder

Push.. Finally the heavy wood budged with Mr. Bourg's help. They threw it open and many things happened at once. A shriek rang through the air as the body inside sat up suddenly- The body within sat up . Mr. Hale and Mr. Bourg both jumped back in startled fear, Everhett giving a terrified shout and turning to stumble hastily towards the entrance. Oh please, let the monster eat Javier! Please... please... He stopped, skidding short and almost fell over, Wha-? Everhett heard Mr. Bourg stop behind him, putting out a hand to help steady his shaking form. Adrenaline running through his veins, he couldn't quite comprehend why there were two men blocking the exit in front of them when there was a monster, a... a living deadman in the coffin behind them! He had to get out! Who are you!? Move out of my way! Mr. Hale attempted to keep the fear from showing in his voice, but it was already quaking terribly. The two men were strange in appearance one was hunched over.. and had a hump. The other was thin, he couldn't make out their faces as the light from the lantern burned behind them. And.. they were carrying... what? Rope? Shovels? Suddenly Everhett couldn't make up his mind which was more frightening- the menacing figures before him, or the thing in the coffin behind him. He hesitated, fidgeting like a cornered animal and his eyes growing in their nervous shifting as he realized they were not going to be let past.
Thread: Cue Thunder

You've broken the seal! One of the men snapped in Genevese, despite having been planning to do it himself, as well as knowing the boys spoke English. Still, he was being tested and he was going to place the blame squarely upon these two for disrupting the experiment. He gave a lean and mean look over the more foppish of the two. The body looked as if keeping the man alive hadn't been completely successful. Might be brain dead or his brain might be the only thing left working. Get to the wall! Get on the ground! He ordered in English as he looked aruond for the papers that had been dropped that the two intruders had found. He would need to salvage the experiment somehow. One of you get in the coffin. If there was one thing Victor had learned over the years it was morality. And how it isolated those breaking its rules. Outside the two other men had arrived, looking over the figures of those in the doorway. The golden eyes of the human skeleton still shone with dull curiosity, while the one beside him had his eyes covered. After muttering something to the skeletal figure, he started walking away, leaving the trees and statuary behind him. The Skeletal figure moved to the side after giving the slouching man an appraising look. He had his own form of beauty. A fair bit of stiching, but it was finely done and difficult to see. The Qausimodo had done well for himself. Much more potential than Victor, even after that one creation from the student. Well, it was time to see how he handled things. Though he might as well have some fun... Sounds came from the body, an unaccented English asking for water. And blood.
Thread: Cue Thunder

Mr. Hale's eyes widened as the man in the long trench coat yelled something at them. Some strange language that sounded guttural or perhaps that was just his voice, Get to the wall! Get on the ground! This time he spoke in English, though his words confused Everhett. Frightened, he simply stood frozen beside his valet as the man searched the ground, picking up the clipboard. One of you get in the coffin. Everhett felt the panic rise in him, The hell we will! he said defiantly, though his voice could not be mistaken as anything near confident. Just thinking of entering the rancid coffin with that thing made him want to vomit. Two other men seemed to drift in from nowhere, appearing at the sides of the strange thin one and the slouching humped man. Mr. Hale felt a shiver run through him as he took in the glowing eyes of one of the bone-thin men. He couldn't comprehend why they were all here, why they looked so strange... and why his uncle was half-dead and breathing ! Could he have been buried alive? Why would someone do that to a person? Mr. Hale and Mr. Bourg's backs stiffened when they heard the breathy request from behind them. Mr. Hale's zombified uncle asking for water, no, blood... That was it. Mr. Hale broke. Please let us out! Don't feed us to that monster! Oh dear god! Everhett broke down and pleaded with the figures, not sure which one to address, but made sure to stay in front of his valet in case the talking dead man could crawl as well.
Thread: Cue Thunder

'Everyone seemed to be falling apart', the skeletal man thought to himself as he continued to grade Victor, though making extra notes on the other three so as to be able to reference their comparitive reactions. The Quasimodo was apparently waiting for some instruction, as was to be expexte for someone trying to be a Hench, though he wasn't lisping enough. Sure, he hadn't actually spoken yet, but it was something the up and coming crackpots wanted. The chewing tobacco was a nice touch though, filling one cheek and browning his teeth while he waited hunched over. He had acted fast when the corpse began to talk, though. While Victor stared in shock, not thinking they would have gotten some sort of ghoul, the Qausimodo swung the shovel they brought for one reason or another, attempting to knock one of the boys onto the coffin. Victor... Not so good. He seemed to be acting more like the crybaby Englishman than anything else, despite his own familiarity with death and raising the dead. He had gotten the same idea as Igor though, pointing the bar at the intruders to push them to the body, instead of doing something creative like talking to them or using some sort of gas gun. The Englishman's quite friend, though... He seemed to have a spine. He hadn't heard a single sound from him, though he get his ground, even as the other pansy cowered against his body. How about this. One of you can stay, one of you can leave. Who will be who? Victor asked them, moving forward to further block their escape.
Thread: Cue Thunder

The hunchback rushed towards them ignoring Everhett's pleas, raising a shovel against them. Mr. Hale was still frozen in place- watching his imminent doom draw near when he was forcefully pushed out of the way. Mr. Bourg caught the glancing blow on his arm, hissing and stepping back from the pain. The valet had been quietly assessing their situation as his master fretted and seemingly angered their captors. The could not overpower... Well, he could not overpower these men armed with digging tools and implements. He was outnumbered, and in all likeliness instigating violence would bring harm to Mr. Hale, which he could not allow. Mr. Hale on the other hand, had seemingly forgotten his valet entirely. Mouth still gaping in shock at the lumbering hunchback with his swinging shovel, he stumbled back as he was pushed again this time against his valet by the thin man. He'd never been so brazenly attacked before! How dare that slouching freak! That hooligan! That- T-that barbarian! Everhett's sensibilities only seemed to return when the cold bar pressed into his chest once more, presenting a choice How about this. One of you can stay, one of you can leave. Who will be who? Mr. Hale blinked, mouth falling back open. What did he say? Certainly he does not expect me to choose! Everhett's blue eyes slowly rose to his servant's warm brown ones. Rhett... Javier spoke first for once, using Everhett's childhood name. The smaller man choked. Don't worry Rhett. Go- With a firm hand on his back, he pushed his charge towards the thin man. Mr. Hale's foot caught in the uneven ground, causing him to fall against the horrid bastard. He shot the coldest glare he could muster in his faint-hearted state up at the trench coat man, before pushing away in disgust. Javier, Everhett turned back to his valet, You can not. I forbid this nonsense! He tried to remain calm, give orders and have Javier reply Yes sir. as was their normal dialog, but he couldn't bring his eyes up to meet his valet's. Everhett knew he was a coward He knew he wouldn't sacrifice himself. Javier must know... No, he always knew how horrible I am.. I'll be fine. Mr. Bourg's familiar comforting voice ripped through conscience. He chanced a glance back up a last attempt to memorize the blonde man's features. Bad idea. Mr. Hale caught a glimpse of the waiting corpse behind him, his throat tightening. He was feeding the only man who ever could stand him to his own demented, corrupted, horrific shade of uncle. His knees felt weak. It didn't seem real... It couldn't be. Mr. Bourg leveled his eyes against the thin man. Take him outside. I'll give you no trouble.
Thread: Cue Thunder

You take him. Victor said in French as he nudged his head towards field some fields outside. Mastha. The hunched man spoke to the man in the dirty overcoat with a mouth full of tobacco as he yanked the fobbish Englishman out of the room. He was unsure about how things would go, but he wasn't going let uncertainy ruin his night. He was a servant himself and he knew that you should just do what was told while in eyeshot, even if it didn't make much sense. Even if in an unfamiliar language. Take this and shoot him if he struggles or I call out that this one is uncooperative. He handed over a pistol to Igor, the ball having fallen out in his pocket. Igor had doubts about the widom of them switching places like that, but allowed it, walking in a complex changing of the guards formation to keep the Englishmen in site. Victor had his reasons, of course. He had a body to turn into a Lazarus and he now apparently had his nephew staying behind. Igor took the Englishman out who was to leave, pistol pointed at him. Mofe it. It may have been unclear who was going to die at this point. The grave party wasn't entirely sure either. At least one would, if the state of the body in the coffin was anything to go by. We need one of you because you have ruined things. So long as one of you is alive we can fix it though. Victor removed another pistol, pointing it at the man in the tomb. Either of you may ask to be shot at any time. You would try escaping anyways, so it is best if we get a clean shot to deal with you, rather than you fall off a cliff or lay crippled on the ground for wolves. Points for creativity. Igor took the boy further, leading him several minutes walk away from the graveyard.
Thread: Cue Thunder

Javier! I said no . You bastards, you can't do this! Let us free! The valet seemed to be ignoring his charge now, standing quietly by. They both watched as the thin man dropped a pistol into, from the sound of it, his servant's hand. Upon hearing the reason for this Javier stiffened, his eyes flicking with concern to Everhett. Mr. Hale did not know French... and he would not stop his mouth. Mr. Bourg tried to plead for Everhett to be quiet with his eyes, but it must have been mistaken for fear because it only made the man's insults of their captors more fevered. If the man's life had not been in danger, he would have smiled. For the first time in a long while his cold charge was showing some sort of appreciation, even if it was a little late... We need one of you because you have ruined things. So long as one of you is alive we can fix it though. Alive? You're going to feed him to that thing ! Again, Mr. Hale was ignored. He hated being ignored. Either of you may ask to be shot at any time. You would try escaping anyways, so it is best if we get a clean shot to deal with you, rather than you fall off a cliff or lay crippled on the ground for wolves. Mr. Hale swallowed, his eyes going to the second gun in his captor's hand now pointed at Mr. Bourg. Having the pistol pointed his way, the Englishman's mouth stopped. It was best to be quiet... he was pushed outside with barrel of it pointed at his back by the slouching man with his looping gait. He tried not to stumble as they made their way through the graveyard, mumbling insults the entire time, head turning back ever so often to try to glimpse the tomb that was fading into the night the further they got. As if he could see Mr. Bourg within... I'm sorry Javier. Mr. Hale stumbled, cursing for the umpteenth time that night. He shot a glare towards the grotesquely stitched man who loped behind him, I thought the agreement was I would go free, you ugly, demented twat! Perhaps if he did, he could rally the townspeople. Expose this strange experiment. Despite the language barrier of the native people... Still, Mr. Hale's mind whirled.