Journal:Frank Freeman

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The Man

A mild mannered fellow, whom his friends call Frank. His professional life before the quarentine shows through in how he shakes hands with the people he meets. In truth Francis Ford Freeman, "Frank" is a moraly bankrupt psychopath that carefully choses his victims before striking.

Level: 13
Group: none
Spawned In: New Arkham

Cemetery stones 2.jpg PK Count
This user has PKed 64 people.

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Before the Quarantine

Life was stable; in fact it was quite comfortable for Francis Ford Freeman. A high level executive in a company he was not quite at liberty to discuss; Frank to his friends and Mr. Freeman to his coworkers, was a man that had climbed the corporate ladder, and at a young age of 29, sat on the board of directors.

It was the sort of white picket life that most people only see in movies, but for him, his wife Samantha, and their daughter Katherine, whom they had named after his grandmother it was a delightful day to day norm. When Frank and Sam had first been married, they bought a house in New Arkham. It seemed the perfect place, with the history, neighbours, and community bordered by old Arkham they could quietly and comfortably settle into their home and start a family, and it’s proximity to Blythville made it rather convenient for Frank to commute each day to work.

The Begining, of the End, of the Begining

Just like each morning, Frank had been up near six-thirty. He had run the block, come in, put on coffee, showered, dressed and ate in exactly that order. Just as the day before, and the day before that, as he did consistantly throughout the weeks and months that had made the last eight years; and for the last time, although he would not know it or feel it coming.

He sat down next to his daughter with his coffee mug in hand. Samantha had served breakfast and was packing lunches at the kitchen counter. The whole family briefly paused in their sun-lit kitchen to listen to the unfamiliar drone of helicopters passing the neighbourhood, then at once dismissing it and resuming thier day and thier routines.

Katherine jumped up and ran to get her shoes on and backpack, with the enthusiasm, and awkward independance that small children so often have. The parents weren't far behind, mom to take her to school, and dad on his way to work. Young Katherine slid out the door and started down the drive, and with her attention elsewhere the parents stopped for a morning goodbye. Sam smiled and placed a hand flat on Franks chest, she smiled noticing that he had chosen the tie and clip she gave him as an aniversary gift. Frank gently in return placed one hand on the small of her back, the other holding his suitcase, and lean in to softley kiss her. The family parted ways then, as they had always in the days beforehand.

There was traffic on the way in to blythville, and faint sirens from a few directions wich Frank assumed were mostlikely the cause of the traffic. The events caused some tension in the air, or perhaps it was just that Franks routine was off, but none-the-less he arrived about a half hour early as always.

The Phone Call

Business was sporadic that day. People had been missing appointments all morning without cancellation, and the employees that did come in were pre-occupied. Mr. Freeman was ‘irked’ at thinking it was one of those days. Around noon the phone rang.

"Mr. Freeman your wife is on the line, are you available?" the switchboard operator squawked. He remembered hiring her specifically for her matronly tone.

"I’ll take it, thank you." Politely and formally, as always and with a subtle warmth hidden in his professionalism. "Sam, Hi..." in the privacy of his office his exterior slipped, and now showed warmth with subtle formality hidden in how he spoke with a smile in his voice.

"I want you to come home" She said. This happened now and again, she would call thinking of him, or to playfully taunt him hopefully into actually coming home early, which they both knew couldn’t happen. It had seemed like months since the last time, and now was much different.

"What is it?" He asked, the urgency in her voice told no tales of hearty taunting, or wishful thinking.

"There’s rioting downtown, it was on the eleven O’clock news." She paused only briefly, "It’s bad Francis, they are killing people.” She stopped again only long enough to give the sentence some gravity "come home please? I just talked with Mary and her husband called from a hospital. Somebody bit him." Frank could tell she was a little more frightened then she was letting on, but remembered she was a tenacious and level headed woman.

"Why don’t you go keep Mary company until Drew comes home, and I’ll go pick our Catherine up from school?" It wasn’t so much a question as it was a confirmation that she wouldn’t be alone. Drew and Mary lived just across the street and a few doors down from them. It was a nice arrangement that kept mutual friends in touch. Drew and Frank were of the same alma-matter, and had played together on Malton U’s rugby team, clinching a championship in their senior year.

Frank and Sam exchanged good-byes, and he agreed to park by Drew and Mary’s house then walk her home with their little girl. A thought he looked forward to, regardless of the situation.

The End of the Begining

“Mary? Mary?!?!” Drew was recklessly shouting into the house as he stumbled in through the kitchen.

“Jezzuz Christ Drew, keep your voice down… You look horrible, let me see” She reached for the arm he was cradling. Their tender and momentary embrace down played the imminent danger.

“The doctor gave me some basic first aid; sterilized the wound and bandage it, but…” he trailed off, a trait unusual for Drew who commonly was a conversation maker, always the loud kid teachers couldn’t stand in high school. “One of them, the one that bit me, followed me to the hospital – the place was crazy, cops, ambulances, firefighters everyone was in and out of there – then fifty… a hundred more followed him, the one that bit me – they were everywhere, I ran through the wards and found an exit and ran home” true to form, Drew spat out his string of sentences in a cut, impulsive manner.

“Sam and Frank stayed ‘till you came home, and little Katherine fell asleep in the den, I’m surprised you didn’t wake her, poor girl has been pretty frightened since the power went out” She spoke softly as she led him through the house to where everyone else had been waiting.

Each sat somberly and told of their shocking experiences that day. Frank had received a text message telling him the power outage was city wide, and Drew explained what he felt was a bizarre military presence at the hospital, while the thrum of helicopters overhead filled the night. The calm of the living room belied the calamity and violence in the city, until the conversation stopped dead at the sound of a bumbling thud at kitchen window. They all became rigid when it happened again at the living room door, and again against the atrium glass, and again against the back door, and again, and again, and again.

The tension was excruciating, each one of them staring in the different directions of the noises, and not one of them with an idea of what to do. There was the crash of breaking glass as a man fell through into the atrium.

“That’s him!!! The one that followed me to the hospital – The one that bit me!!!” Drew reached out with his good arm for Mary. They were all nearly immobilized with disbelief and fear as the man crawled to his feet. His clothes were torn and blood-soaked, his face was a pale blue-white and expressionless as he opened his mouth to let out a spine chilling and hideous guttural moan.

At the moment the groan began the windows broke in and the door blew open. Katherine stirred awake, sat up screaming on the couch. Drew ran up to challenge the man whom had earlier bit him, and followed him from the hospital to his home. The blood-soaked man seemed to take Drew in with open arms, as they both disappeared into the ten and fifteen more standing behind him. Mary, who had a small frame, was quickly overtaken. Samantha had rushed to her child and had wrapped Katherine in her arms.

Twenty or more filled the room, separating the family, and more poured in through the doors and windows. Frank looked on as he became powerless to stop them. He looked on as his wife vainly shielded their child from cold clutching hands. He looked on as his heart and mind slipped into darkness.

~~~ From this point on there are no other characters in the story. All further events will be told from the perspective of Francis Ford Freeman himself. Welcome to the story of a mad man ~~~

The Myth

A Conversation with the Devil

In my feverish trance I was neither asleep or awake, dead nor alive. I was consumed and became apart of the void. There were flashes… all teeth and sinew, and eyes filling the emptiness watching me. Again the teeth flashed in the dark and spoke to me. “I am strength,” they said. The eyes bore down and burned through my soul “I am the hunter”. The teeth and sinew filled my mind “I devour all; their hearts and their flesh”. It howled in my mind and through my soul, a cry that was the agony and expanse of the void, and it became my heart. It burned through me, its fiery eyes keeping me entranced “I am Wendigo, and you are my child.”

I continued to spin and fall through the abyss. Our mutual embrace gradually become stronger, closer; and its voice grew to become apart of my own. “I am the void” each time it spoke I was complete, one with the voice, teeth, sinew, and ever watching eye. “I am your blood and bone” and I grew to understand our symbiosis “I am You” The spirit of the Wendigo confirmed through my very existence.

As though understand my contemplation of purpose like an open dialogue as I fell into darkness “Go, and learn only what you need to hunt” a command that filled me with fervour a lust to do as I had been bid. “Feast child, for I hunger”

Fire.jpg Hell
This user is going to Hell.

April 24th, 2008

Three Days ago I awoke, clutching an axe. Made abruptly and painfully aware I was once again in the world among men, and no longer apart of the void. The room was filled with young frightened faces, each of whom I politely said hello to, and each of which I will remember for when I return.

April 27th, 2008

Three times now Wendigo’s sentinels have crashed through the walls and pitiful diversions made by the people around me, and three times they have not had the strength to deliver me to the void. I watched them feed upon the sleeping bodies and they took little interest in me. Wendigo has made his intentions for me very clear.

May 29th, 2008

I have learnt the very fundamentals of the successful kill. Perhaps I will return home, and look for a familiar face.

I heard the date on a radio broadcast today, it has been over three years since Wendigo took my Wife and child to hold; more than three years I fell through darkness to find my purpose.

The Legend

It Begins

May 30th, 2008

I returned to my home today to find a wasteland where my house once stood. Nearby I found a scottish fellow, a scientist of sorts wearing his lab coat, complaining of poor circumstance.

I spoke with him of my master, as i drove my axe to his chest and feasted of his still beating heart - spilling arterial red agaist the unsullied white coat of his profession.

Although I supped; for Wendigo's hunger is my own, the kill, and this my first, was for my dear Samantha.

June 2nd, 2008

I found myself today in the company of an atractive young woman. I fell quickly upon my victim, and in my eagerness landed my killing blow before I could tell her in person how much this young lady reminded me of my wife.

But good grace was with me, as I had an audience. I told the witness everything I had ment to say, with the warm blood of the kill in my mouth I must have slurred my speach. No matter though, the sight of the flare, burning in her now empty rib cage like a candle on a birthday cake was pure art.

Today I have done Wendigo proud, and I myself shall remember this one for a long time to come.

June 4th, 2008

Two and a half days I watched them. I even prepared myself for the hunt with their very own supplies. I must admit, while watching them it was hard to choose, then Wedigo called to me and my choice became quite clear.

I took their holy man, a Deacon carrying the book of his lord. I asked him if he knew why the dead walked the earth, and if he shared the truth with the men and women of the Bowring Blackwatch.

His pomp and loftiness as clergy made his blood taste thin, as thought he had not the courage to live in his own skin, and made me feast upon his flimsy heart with a sort of grit and disdain.

I should have thanked the Deacon. I grow stronger with this kill, my hand becoming steady and my aim reaching its pinnacle. I slay now with the finesse a painter uses to fill his canvas.

June 9, 2008

In the far north of my hunting grounds, worthy prey is scarce. One man eluded me, and Wendigo’s rage swept through me, commanding that I feast. I know where he sleeps now, and I will deliver him.

Days passed before I befell equal game, I spoke with her, and told her she was not meant to be my kill – but I cannot resist the hunger. The satisfaction of the hunt brought me to a playful sort reverie as I poked and nibbled at her heart. So propped up in a chair, I placed a tea-cup in her hand to have company with my meal.

June 11, 2008

This one was willful. I mused at how they naively called themselfs a bounty hunter. You wold think one with such experience would know better. My bounty is the feast, and the strength I gain through it, and today I grow stronger.

July 2, 2008

Today perhaps, I am one step closer to seeing my family again. With this kill, and the viscous zeal of this young woman’s heart I have completed Wendigo’s first command.

I have perfected the hunt.

There is nothing more I need, nothing more I ought to know. All else seems paltry. It neither serves Wendigo’s purpose, nor does it honour my Wife well.

These last weeks I have dedicated every ounce to the hunt, and feast. To becoming stronger, more fearsome and deadly. I have been rewarded well.

I spoke with them all, these last eight. I even had the amusement of being hunted by my own prey, but the poor fellow who doesn’t appear to know the difference between fireman, and fire fighter had no sense of rhetoric.

I will return to where my home used to be, and think of my dear Sam, and darling little Katherine; and I will look into the eye of Wendigo, and I will never stop the hunt until I am with my loved ones again.

On This Hellbound Road

October 1, 2008

It was dark and lonesome place I visited. There was a long time I fell silent, and spoke with no one. I did not pray and reach into my memory for the sound of my wife's voice, or my little Katherine's laugh. I did not look into the eye of that devil Wendigo, nor did he have any commands for me. My thoughts sank, and I itched to return to the void. To join all the other souls and devils in the sway and dance of the dead.

I was not delivered.

Now, abandoned by the wretched thing that left me here alone. I had but three things for company. The hunt, the kill, and the feast.

I traveled many days and fate placed me as an angle of mercy. Taking the lives of those who were not strong enough to survive. One one ocassion, I liberated three souls in one day in one house; and left the rest to Wendigo's sentinals.

and still, the void did not come, and the devil did not speak to me.

One hunt will stand in memorie for all time. A brave young man name Carl Evans. I had watched him, and his friends for days before i struck, and as I walked in the door Mr. Evans seemed to be waiting at arms for me. I prayed the young boy would have the strength to stop me, and deliver to my master so I may see my family. But no. I even took time to taunt the him, in hopes... vain hopes he would win.

I landed my killing blow and scooped out Carl's heart as his many freinds watched on. My strength renewed by the feast not one dared persue me.

And still, everything was silent.

Enraged, and yet downtrodden, I felt farther from my family then ever. The devil no longer instructed or guided my hand. He had made killing a very part of my pulse. and left me.

My Wife.

My Child.

My Home.

The God damned Devil.

The void.

All were taken away, and all I have now is the kill.

I tried, I tried to become apart of the void. I ransacked the drugstore and turned pill bottles upside down. I turned the oasis of the liqure store into a dessert, trying to drown in a pool of whisky. I would come to. somewhere. Far from where i last remembered, covered in stale booze, dried blood, and ther rancid stench my own piss. A half drank forty ouncer in one hand, and pistol with an empty clip in the other.

still, I was not delivered.

Today, after all of this obscurity, and weeks on weeks of depravity I have reached resolve.

I am a Killer.

I will embrace my nature, clear minded and open eyed, I will hunt, and continue to kill. but maybe... Maybe, some one with a spirit Like Carl Evens could stop me, and deliver me to the void.

Maybe, I can help them.

December 10, 2008

Vapid, imbecilic fools!

Every three days I told them, and every three days I came and killed one of them in plain sight. I would scream with fresh blood on my hands "THREE MORE DAYS! THE MORE DAYS AND I KILL ANOTHER!!!"

Two days would pass, and no one would find me. On the third day as promised I would return and pluck another life like a grape off of a vine. Again, screaming a warning.

No one stopped me. I doubt anyone has tried.\

Through all of October, I kept my promise and killed someone in the same place, at the same time every three days. But only a while did my hopes last that someone would challenge me.

Today though, I've found new distraction. I made a little slice of hell for a man named Henry. I introduced myself of course, in the way I know how, when a wonderful observation occured to me.

I stood in Gyles Bank or the nearby club (memory fails me). Henry's corpse twitching between my feet as I contemplated the walk home, my thoughts drifted to the idiot that had piled debris so high, I was forced to enter the building by jumping from the roof of the hospital next door.

As i drifted, slowly the bothersome hum and clicking of a generator interupted my thoughts. That's when the obvious poped out from under my nose! The Lights, the barricade, and Henry's soon reanimated corpes.

I left his corpse, and the debris that seemed to make and extremely heavy barricade, and I destroyed the Generator and the bank plunged into darkness. No one would see him lying there, untill he rose from the dead, then my good friend henry will flounder in the dark, thrashing at the debris vainly trying to escape, and hunt for the flesh of the living. Yes, because even the living dead need to see, and feed.

Even the living dead know when they are cought in hell. I'll keep an eye on henry for the next while, and perhaps see who else I can snare.

Shrine to the Dead

Called by the Devil's hunger, emortalized by the Feast.

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