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- The Legend of "Scarecrow" Jack -
Generations ago, a farmer lived on the outer side of Noware. His name was Jack O'Lanton. He was a kind man of middle age, he would regularly sell his seasonal crops at the market in the Noware square on weekends and mid days of the week, they say that his harvests were fresher, crisper sweeter than any other vendor. To this day, no one knows his secret for such fine produce.
His specialty, however, were his favorite crop; Pumpkins. How he loved them, everything about them, the heft, the varying shapes and sizes, the various pumpkin treats that could be made from the famous squash... Not to mention, it was his hottest seller annually, townsfolks would flock to his stall for his plump, unparalleled pumpkins, which he delivered and sold by the cart which was stacked up high like a mountain each time he would roll into town, along with fresh baked pumpkin pies, bread loaves and purees.
During the Fall season, he could regularly be seen by passerbys on the road, keeping unwanted visitors from his prized crop during the day, earning him the nickname Scarecrow Jack... But his success was not without it's trials. There were young men in town who would regularly dog him and steal his crops in the night, particularly during the Fall, when the pumpkin harvest was nearest. Into his patch they would leap, hooting, hollering, hoisting pumpkins over their heads and throwing them into others, at each other and stomping on the juicy, plump squash, destroying several of them for their own sick kicks.
Jack would always appear too late, unable to predict what edge of his vast patch they would invade, and by the time he got there, the boys would be dancing in the pulp and guts of the pumpkins they pulverized. He would approach to reprimand them, but they would shove him down into the slop they created and laugh at him, call him names, "One day, you're gonna turn into a pumpkin, Scarecrow man!", they would jeer before taking their leave. Sullen, but far from defeated, Jack would pick himself up time and time again and use the seeds from the destroyed crop to plant a new patch, then tend with care to those that remained. It was bothersome, but they could never get close to destroying all of them...
...Until one fall, when the boys had grown into men and added a few more crows to their murder. They came late at night and approached from all sides of the patch, bent on doing more damage than ever. Jack heard the chaos from inside his quaint farmhouse, but this time he was ready. He picked up a harvesting sickle that hung by his door, and out he went.
He was surprised, as he came out of the tall grass surrounding the patch, to see a single man stomping and stumbling over his pumpkins. They usually came in greater numbers and it gave him pause for a moment. The invader was clearly drunk, he could smell the alcohol even over the smell of the ruined pumpkins' innards. "H-Hey! You!", He shouted as he ran at the man.
"Scarecrow!", The man shrieked, startled and drunk as he stumbled to his feet And ran off in another direction of the patch through tall grass. "Scarecrow, Scarecrow!", He taunted, his voice shrinking off into the distance.
Jack realized that the man wasn't alone, after all, and was sounding an alarm to his group. They were everywhere, he could hear them now in the silence he was left in, echoes of laughter and hooping coming from all around. They would do more damage to his patch than ever before this way and he couldn't get to each of them in time to stop them...
"Why..?", He asked, dropping to his knees in the pulp of the smashed pumpkins, which he picked up a handful of and then let his arm drop loosely. "What have I done..? Why do they harass me so..?", He asked himself as a tear of frustration rolled down The valleys of his aging cheek. His teeth ground together and his lip quivered, he slammed his fist into the pulp below, making it splash over him. "I hate them!", He shouted, bent down on his knees and elbows as his head hung limp between his shoulders. "Help me...", He whispered...
It was legend, even in his time, that strange things happened the closer it grew to All Hallow's Eve in the town of Noware. Ghost stories and campfire tales, most dismissed them as, but there were some folk, some story tellers, who told such elaborate stories that some believed them. Tales of the supernatural, of the weird, of the impossible... Scarecrow Jack's story was just beginning.
He felt a cool sensation beginning to crawl up his legs and he sat up to inspect what was happening, seeing his legs sinking into the pool of orange pulp. He'd sat there for too long, he supposed, and he sniffled as he attempted to get up... But he could not. "What in-...?", He asked as he tugged on his legs, trying desperately to get free... Then he realized, he was not sinking. He was being swallowed. "A-... Ahhh!", He shrieked, the cold pulp of the pumpkins creeping further up his body under his clothing. He grunted and cried out with panic as he clawed and tore at the pulp, some of his flesh ripping away with it, but it was spreading faster than he could remove it. Vines shot up from around the pumpkins and wrapped around his wrists and arms, around his neck, binding him as he was consumed. He tried to scream, but the tight grip around his neck prevented it... With one powerful jerk, the vines pulled the man down forward, he forced out one final shriek before his face crashed into a pumpkin, and then, silence...
"Did... Did you hear that?", The invader from before asked his friend he'd joined.
The other man ceased his stomping and looked over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the field around them, listening in the silence for anything more than the joyous sound of laughter from his companions. "Nah.", He said, "Reckon ya heard a crow.".
"No, that was no crow.", The other said, "It came from where Scarecrow was...".
"Who cares?", his friend said as he kicked a bit of pumpkin guys from his shoe, "Come on, let's get outta here. Buzz is wearing off.".
"He's an old man.", The drunk man said, "It's fun to smash pumpkins but I don't want the guy to be hurt.".
"What're ya now, some kinda girl?", His friend scoffed, "F'rget the old coot, let's get the boys and have a few more rounds. I'm tired.".
"Y-... Yeah.", The drunk man said, still looking over his shoulder towards the part of the patch he'd exited from as he followed his friend through the talk grass leading towards their group.
They shambled through the field, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the crunch of the flora below their feet and chirping of crickets were all to break the silence in the air, until the air went completely still, completely silent and they came to a stop, looking at each other as if to confirm they weren't alone in noticing the deafening silence that suddenly befell them. A crackling could be heard before a high pitched vibration, which they could feel in their feet, and then, sound returned to the world around them.
"W-what the hell was that?", The drunk man asked, a quiver in his voice.
"I-... I don't... Let's get out of here!", His friend shouted as he began to hyperventilate and sprint as quickly as he could towards their friends.
They reached the clearing to the next part of the patch and what they saw could have driven them mad... A tall, thin character, with a carved pumpkin for a head, danced and hopped about in a pool of red debris, which they quickly identified to be what used to be their friends. The scarecrow paused, it's back turned to the men, then the pumpkin on it's shoulders turned, slowly, completely around to face them.
"J-... Jack?!", The drunk man shouted.
The inside of the pumpkin began to glow so spontaneously that fire shot out of the holes carved for it's facial features. It's body snapped around in the direction it's head faced and he raised a familiar sickle, which still dripped with blood.
"Move it!", The friend shouted as he grabbed his drunk companion and took of like the devil in the opposite direction. "Oh god, oh god!", He panted as he sprinted, directionless now, as long as they were heading away from the monster that danced in the guts of their friends the way they danced in the guts of the pumpkins they smashed annually. Suddenly, with a shout, his foot caught on a bit of knotted grass below him and he tripped, nearly bringing his friend down with him.
The drunk man stopped, but only for a moment, and continued on, leaving his friend behind. Soon, he hurried back to the patch he started in, seeing the wooden fence he'd hopped. Just a few more steps and he could run into town for help, for safety and-... A bad step in the guts of a pumpkin caused him to slip and fall, tumbling into the ruin he created. He started to get up, but the pulp seemed to bind him in place, he could not move as he hugged and cried out, continuiously pulling at his arms to get free... He was almost there.
He paused, frozen, as he saw a glow like fire casting over the ground beneath him. He looked over and there was the scarecrow, shambling towards him, sickle in hand. "Oh, god, oh, god...", He whimpered, "Jack, is that you?!", he asked, noticing that Jack was nowhere else to be found. "I-I'm sorry, Jack! It was... It was just a bit of fun, we didn't mean for-...!", He paused.
Behind the scarecrow, his friend held a large pumpkin over his head and with a roar, crashed it over the scarecrow's head, causing it to fall limp and the glowing jack-o-lantern for it's head to extinguish and split to pieces on the ground below.
Huffing with his hands on his knees, the man looked over the scarecrow, then prodded at it with his foot and kicked the pieces of the pumpkin away, looking for who was underneath, but found no one. "It... It isn't human...", He said, confused.
The drunk man was released from the pulp and he arose to his knees with relief, but looked over his hands, covered in pulp. "Th-... The boys. They...", He swallowed hard and shoot his head as his hands buried his face, "Oh god, this is a nightmare...".
His friend shook his head and caught his breath, then stood up straight, "I... I don't know what we saw.", He said, "I just know we need to get the hell out of here.".
The drunk man nodded and started to get up, but froze as his blood ran cold. Behind his friend, a pumpkin raised with talk roots seeming to grow straight uoward, until the squash seemed to carve itself, just like the scarecrow had before... He raised a shaky hand and stuttered, pointing over his friend's shoulder.
His friend squinted his eyes, then turned around, only to be grabbed by the creature's hands, which felt like the rough roots of a plant, and held tightly in place as the pumpkin towered over him and he stared up at it. There was a silence as he drew in and exhaled shaky breaths, until he opened his mouth to speak.
With an ear splitting shriek, the scarecrow's face lit again and fire cascaded out of it, engulfing the man in it's grip as the drunk man watched in absolute horror, too afraid to even look away, until the fire subsided and the man the scarecrow held crumbled to ash in it's grip. It settled it's gaze on the drunk man and approached, vines raised at it's side and brought it the sickle it held before. The sickle spun in it's fingers and it drifted towards the drunk man until it reached him and bent down, stating at him.
The drunk man swallowed and trembled like a leaf, then with a silent voice, as if his voice was stolen, "P-please, I...".
With an echoey, deep hiss of air coming from the jack-o-lantern, he could have sworn he heard, "It's just a bit of fun...", before....
This is by and far Noware's most famous legend, every year during Noware's Halloween festival, the legend is even merchandised. People come from everywhere to visit the notorious pumpkin patch, which they are careful to leave undisturbed, pumpkins still grow every year yet no one has ever seen anyone tend to them.
By Imouto Kanna
Name: Satō, Saki
Hero Name: (still deciding)
Age/Date of Birth: 14/August, 24th
Chosen Gender: Female
Weight: 98 lbs
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: White (with blue tips in Hero form)
Physical Description: petite. hair to above her bum. rosy cheeks. Wide hips/bum. Perky breasts. Skinny.
Quirk Type: Emitter
Quirk Name: Cocoon
Quirk Details: The target is wrapped in a hard cocoon which invigorates them, buffing their quirk's ability depending upon how long is spent inside. While inside the target can communicate with Saki to let her know when they are ready to come out. Cannot be used upon herself. Cocoon wears of within 30 minutes after the target leaves the cocoon.
Quirk Strengths: Other's quirks can be buffed tenfold. Target takes significant reduced damage while inside the cocoon. Can be stacked over a short periods of time to get similar effect to a long stay inside within a 30 minute window (10 seconds here and there)
Quirk Weaknesses: short-medium range (further away the more strenuous it is on Saki). To get the most out of the ability the target needs to be inside the cocoon for a significant period of time. To keep cacoon up, Saki needs to use mental energy which requires some concentration- if her concentration is broken the cocoon is likely to be undone.
Personality, Traits and Abilities
Strengths and Skills: Saki is quick to pick up on new things, she has good stamina; can run long distances for example. Fluent in Japanese and English.
Weaknesses: Shyness can come off as arrogance/being cold. She is physically weak- e.i. she can't pick up heavy things.
Ambitions: Saki is a shy and withdrawn individual; she is hoping by becoming a hero she can open up more and make friends.
Hobbies and Interests: Video games, baking desserts, watching anime and reading manga, cosplay, flower arrangement, board/card/tabletop games, collecting butterfly wings, and Japanese calligraphy.
Sexual Orientation: Bicurious
Turn ons: humans, intelligence, friendly, easy going, humor, average to above average cocks, all breast sizes, slender to muscular men, tall
Turn offs: cruelty, overweight and obesity, laziness, overly large genitals or breasts,
Breast Size: 30B-C cup (between cup sizes)
Sensitivity: Very also very ticklish
Additional Sexual Information: Virgin; Saki is also willing to try many things as she is inexperienced
STD History: none
A sadistic smile twisted on Hunter’s lips as he watched the figure in front of him as they seemed to twist on the spot as if lost. To most people, the figure would be barely visible within the dim lighting of the abandoned warehouse as shadows seemed to cling to every surface, unyielding to the meagre light of the mid-afternoon Chicago sun that attempted to peer in through the murky windows. He tilted his head as he continued to observe the man. To Hunter, the man looked pretentious in a rather flashy looking blue and white costume that looked to be something one of those figure skaters would wear. It was skin tight, allowing Hunter to see the curves of their body. He had pale skin that almost seemed to glow, made even more noticeable by his pitch black hair. He had the haughty expression that Hunter had seen on many heroes before. The kind of expression that made him laugh. He watched from the shadows as the hero brought his hand up, a shard of ice appearing in his grip.
The man threw the shard, and Hunter watched the projectile as it sailed through the air, before impacting the wall of the warehouse, penetrating deep. It was also nowhere near him. Hunter let out a derisive snort before saying in an almost singsong voice, “Missed me~” He then laughed as the hero quickly turned towards him and threw yet another projectile. But he was too slow. Hunter was in his element, hidden within the shadows of the warehouse which were numerous and all he had to do was move along the shadows, quicker than the hero could run. He shifted until he was standing behind the man, who was completely unaware of the danger that lurked so closeby. He was a fool to have followed Hunter into the warehouse. When he had first confronted Hunter, he had claimed that he was going to bring Hunter to justice, to cash in the bounty that was on his head.
And yet the fool knew nothing about the prey he hunted. If this was the standard for heroes, then Hunter was sorely disappointed. This hero wasn’t as entertaining as he had been hoping. In fact he was rather boring, only able to fire these pathetic little ice shards that did no damage to him while he was in the shadows. At this point, Hunter was merely playing with the man. As silent as smoke, he emerged from the shadows before taping the man on the shoulder. Even as the man jumped in surprise, Hunter melded into the shadows, watching as the hero turned around and threw another ice shard that seemed to land where Hunter was however it wasn’t able to do any damage.
He laughed again, “You’re so God-damn pathetic. Are you, like… retarded, or something? I thought you were here to cash in my bounty.” Hunter laughed again, mocking the man as he quickly moved away so that he was behind the man again. He emerged from the shadows, bending over as he picked up a piece of wood which he then threw at the hero before shrouding himself in the shadows once again. The wood hit the hero on the head causing him to turn around and shout, “Come on out, you coward!”
Hunter couldn’t resist but to roll his eyes, or rather the equivalent of. This hero was beginning to really bore him. He made a tutting sound before he said, “You’re very pathetic, you know. You say that you’re here to collect on the bounty that’s on my head, and you can’t even hit me with the most basic of attacks. You couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”
“Shut up.” The hero snarled, “I don’t have to listen to this.”
Hunter emerged from the shadows in front of him, his upper lip curled in a snarl of disgust as he tilted his head a little, looking down his nose at the hero, “You know nothing about me. You just saw the dollar signs on my name, and felt the chance to give yourself a feel good wank like all you heroes do. You take down anyone that disagrees with you, and then stand around congratulating yourselves in one massive circle jerk. You’re just a bunch of liars that think of nothing but looking and feeling good. You don’t actually care about helping people and you don’t care about the people that you kill with your incompetence. You’re a bunch of hypocrites.” As Hunter watched, he saw the hero’s face twist in anger before the man threw another shard at him.
A tutting sound escaped Hunter as he once again blended into the shadows, causing him to completely evade the attack despite the fact that the shard struck with pinpoint accuracy. In a rather mocking tone, he said, “Let me tell you something, hero. When someone does the same thing over, and over again and expects a different result… that is the definition of insanity. That perfectly describes you… and the rest of your do-nothing organisation.”
“I’ll make you pay for that!” The hero growled before running towards where Hunter’s voice had come from. Hunter sighed a little before he moved behind the hero in a flash before he emerged from the shadows. The whites of his eyes had turned a solid black as his own shadow moved across the floor like a sinister snake. As it wrapped around the ankle of the hero, the man tripped and fell to the floor face first with a might crack as his nose collided with the concrete and snapped the bone in half. The man let out a scream of agony, but he didn’t seem to notice the shadowy hand that crept up his leg and torso before wrapping around his neck.
Hunter stepped up to the side of the hero, tilting his head a little as he looked down at the hero who twisted on his side to look up at Hunter as blood flowed freely from his nose like a river. The gangster smirked down at his victim and said in a mocking sympathetic tone, “This is the end of your career, I’m afraid.” The shadowy hand on the man's neck suddenly tightened, causing the hero to let out a choking sound. He reached up, attempting to claw at what was strangling him, but his hands met nothing but thin air. Hunter’s sadistic smirk widened as he said, “Just a few more moments, and it’s goodnight.” He squatted down, his gold and black eyes intent on the hero’s face.
The hero seemed to realise that these were the last few moments of his life. His blue eyes went wide with panic, the eyeballs bulging from their sockets. His mouth opened and closed, making him look like a gaping fish. His body twitched before he began to writhe on the floor in a pathetic attempt to escape the cold grip of death. But there was nothing he could do, and Hunter watched with a certain glee as the man's struggles began to lessen. His face had turned pale, as his lips turned a shade of blue due to the lack of oxygen. Hunter tightened the grip of the shadow, his own jaw clenching as he watched the hero’s eyes become dim before a lifeless look settled in them as his body went still.
Hunter watched for several long minutes before he reached forwards and pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, searching for the tale tell pulse that would indicate that he was still alive. When he could not find it, he pulled his hand away and stood up as his shadow retracted. With a blink of his eyes, the whites had turned to their normal colour. He kicked the body of the hero so that they were on their back before he spat on their corpse. This was not the first hero he had killed, and he felt no remorse for their death. After all, they had been the ones to come after him. Why should he feel bad about defending himself? Besides, he held contempt for heroes in general. He had not been lying when he called heroes liars and hypocrites. They were. All they cared about was making themselves feel good about themselves. It made him feel sick to his stomach because they dared to say that he couldn’t use his Quirk the way he did. Still, at least with the death of this latest hero, his bounty might increase which could mean more heroes will be coming after him. Which meant he could kill more of them and he quite liked that idea.