the story

[Grim Jestor]

--The parchment is torn at the top, and the beginning will never be known--

...the Grim Jestor stands in shadow, although the noon day shines down upon him. His non-face would be wearing a grin, you are sure, if such a thing were possible. "the object here is simple, the story must go on. Each new post must advance the plot, building on what was written previously. Unlike other quasi-roleplay threads, a new tale does not begin with each new entry, only to be forgotten and never finished; instead, a weary warrior can speak from his place by the fire but once, and once will be enough, even if he never returns to pick up where he left off... for it is the story, not he who tells it, that we follow after in this place. All submissions will be in the third person, with as close to proper grammar and spelling as possible, which means quotes but no asterisks please. I'll begin, just to make it easy. Remember that submissions can be as long or as short as you wish, as long as they advance the plot in some way." Without waiting to make sure you understand, the formless, shapeless entity known only as the Grim Jestor slowly disappears, until only a strange and disturbing grin remains floating in the air... and then that too is gone. Shaking your head, you walk off in search of something a little less-weird, preferably with a cold drink or two.

[Grim Jestor]

The snow is falling gently, riding on a cold breeze. He stands in front of the door, unable to shake the feeling that he has been here before. He used to get feelings like this all the time, but since he stopped sleeping, everyday life seems more and more like a long dream from which he is unable to wake up. The doctor told him to get out of the city for awhile, and take a break... relaxation as a cure for sleeplessness seemed like a bad joke at the time, and although he is willing to try anything, he is not optimistic about success. At any rate one motel on the long highway from someplace to some other place is the same as any other, and chances are he has been to one like it, at some point in his long life. As he steps inside, battered black gym bag in hand, the bed seems to call to him, and without even bothering to undress or shower, he collapses on top of the quilt, and not noticing the slightly-ajar door or the hastily-dropped bag, lets the darkness take him. For the first time in what seems like ages, he slips into the place of dreams and nightmares. Somewhere in the distance, he thinks he can hear a telephone ringing, but subconsciously ignores it. After awhile, the ringing stops, and then there is only silence.

[Grim Jestor]

In the midst of some unknown dream, the sound of a telephone ringing jars him awake, and search though he might, he cannot find the phone anywhere. In fact, there seems to be no bedside table at all, and through the fog of his mind he cannot seem to recall noticing one earlier. He has no idea how long he slept, only that he feels better than in a long time, and strangely revitalized. With a start he notices the door, now open wide, and realizes that he must not have completely closed it before passing out. A bright light is streaming into the room, and the sound of birds chirping can be heard... he remembers dropping his bag, and not seeing it anywhere in the room, figures a thief must have taken an open door as an invitation. Grumbling, he steps outside, only to find himself in the middle of a forest clearing, rather than at some cheap roadside motel as he should have been. Looking back, he cannot even see the door back into his room, although he had taken only a few steps out before he noticed his environment. Confused and rather frightened, he can think of nothing to do other than start walking, and so he starts out among the trees, hoping to find a road or a path... and certainly someone to explain what has happened to him.