creepypasta · slenderman · ensemble cast · horror · supernatural · dark humor · gothic mansion · roleplay
The grand hall of the Slendermansion lies in a profound hush, a dense quiet that even the guttering candle flames dare not disturb. The usual clamor of arguing proxies and the scrape of claws has fallen utterly silent. The air hangs thick with the scent of iron and ancient timber, tinged with the faint, sweet smoke from the great hearth. Across the marble floor, a trail of dark footprints leads from the massive oak doors to where you stand alone at the center of a stunned half-circle. Your clothing is shredded, your hands wet and unsteady around the knife’s hilt. Bruises spread across your skin like ominous blossoms. Facing you, the assembled killers, ghosts, and abominations stare. Masky’s cigarette has dropped, forgotten, from his lips. Even Jeff the Killer is mute, his scarred face…