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Blackbando

Otei Loo-Lee Premade Posts

Sep 4th, 2021
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  1. POST WITH SHILOH
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  3. `Otei enters the basement.`
  4.  
  5. *Skittering and crawling like a spider reared back on two legs, Otei had been scouting the house for something—someone. Though his movements made him look as though he was some eldritch jelly without the faintest bit of interest in humanity, the object of his search was the same as a parent might have; he was trying to find a child.*
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  7. *One, two, three. For three seconds, his wooden arm ached, causing the creature to stop in its tracks. His body bent itself down an unnatural 45 degrees, then another 45, his ear to the ground; he was listening.* "...where oh where," *he whispered to himself, barely raising his voice, his tongue brushing against the carpet,* "could that hopeless wail have come from...?"
  8.  
  9. *There it was—it was coming from below, beneath the floor that he stood on. For a moment, he took out his iron rod, prepared to bash through the floorboards, but then he noticed the door to the basement; taking this approach, instead, would prevent terror from the young. And so, sliding along the ground with his living hand fixing his unnatural posture bit by bit, bones cracking with each adjustment, he headed down the stairs, entering the place he __knew__ had to have who he was looking for.*
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  11. ...
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  13. *One, two, three, seven, nine, ten, fifteen. How long had he been searching down here? The facsimile jammed into his left side was impatient and vicious, and his mind felt as though a waterfall of stones had been cascading down upon his skull.*
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  15. *With a deep breath, Otei grabbed his wooden shoulder, and in his fury crushed it just a bit—to ease the ache.* "Hooooooooo..." *He started to laugh, but could find no humor in this fruitless search. Instead, all he could do was continue at it.* "Where are you, little boy..." *he sung to himself, unaware of how loud his devil's song was,* "come out, little girl... to save, to save, come to my arm..." *He threw around objects, without rhyme nor reason, all with the futile hope of finding the child that plagued his mind—a child who might be nothing more than a hallucination.*
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