You know what it's like growing up with a couple of hippies for parents? They're always like, "Oh, you and your sister have to love each other at all times!" and, "No, Ivaz, you can't throw rocks at the neighbor's dog!" and, "Hitting your mother is a very bad thing to do!" By Rasslin, they are so annoying. It'd drive anybody crazy.
So, yeah, I have a twin sister, and my parents were peace-loving tree-huggers. And while they were both Life Bases, my sister and I somehow ended up being Shadow Bases. Not unheard of, but definitely unusual.
When we were really little, I guess you could say we were normal enough. I mean, what infant isn't? Right? Psycological stuff usually takes a few years to develop. Like, maybe five or so. That was about the time I discovered my connection with Zavi.
I'm sure we had experienced it before. Our parents did it when we were a little over a year old, so it had been going that long. And kids being kids, we had each gotten our share of bumps and bruises. But, at least in my head, it never really clicked until this one time about a month after our fifth birthday.
We were out in the backyard, goofing around like little kids do. Our parents were probably there. Don't really remember their part in it much. Zavi was sitting with her legs sprawled out, playing with some toy ponies. I was running around with an airplane in my hand. I tripped on a loose shoelace and fell, my knee landing on a rock. Now, being only five, I took the normal course of action to such an event. I started bawling my eyes out. My parents rushed over from wherever they were and picked me up. It was then that I noticed that Zavi was holding her knee and crying just as hard. Which confused me cause I was the one that fell, not her. And I was the one bleeding, not her.
So, after I got bandaged up and our parents stuck us in our room to play (yes, of course we shared a bedroom), I got curious. As I was sitting next to my sister, I decided to try something out. So, I decked her in the arm. As much a five year old can, anyways. As soon as my fist connected, I felt it also hit my arm, right in the same spot. Zavi cried out and winced away. I did it again, laughing as I felt the same impact. It amused me.
Zavi scooted out of my reach, and when I tried to go near her, she moved. Then I thought that if it worked one way, why not the other? I decided to try by punching my leg. Zavi cried out again as soon as I hit myself. I was grinning and completely forgot the toys. I amused myself by either punching Zavi or myself.
Now, our parents saw the bruises we got from my punches and started asking what happened. For some reason, Zavi didn't tell them the truth. I wasn't sure why. She never told me. Still don't know. But, hey, whatever. Kept me from getting into trouble.
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Ivaz dressed as Bomb Queen done by myself.
Quotes and goodies:
Spoiler
Quote:
This isn't like the Loch Ness Monster or leprechauns. This is something I have to see to believe.
You know Kerfluffle, the fact that you haven't posted a single word of feedback on anyone's stories makes me rather negatively predisposed towards your output. Perhaps you should do something about it.
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My FFRP characters. Avatar by Kid Kris. Sigatars by Gulaghar, Kid Kris, Zefir and billtodamax, respectively.
I'm not reading all the stories; I kept up until page four or so, but I wasn't paying much attention. Now I'm reading all the new ones that start, and will do so until I get too busy to read them for a few days, at which point I'll probably not catch up again. Just because I'm not reading your story doesn't mean it isn't good or I don't enjoy it; it's that I'm too lazy to go back, find the first post in it, and work my way forward through ten or so posts.
Rise of the Prophet: Very good story; I'm really enjoying it. Definitely like the way everybody is underestimating them; it shows they've learnt from past mistakes and are certainly not a species worth crossing.
Who Am I?: Very good, though quite creepy, too; I think that adds to it. I quite like reading Xifra, too- it's a rather sad ability she was born with, and I feel sorry for her.
Wolfy, General: You are a superb author, and if I knew your real name and saw a book by you, I'd probably buy it. Even if it wasn't fantasy or science fiction; I do read other genres, but not often enough to know any authors of them.
Sisters: For scientists, those Life bases seem rather stupid. Or, no, they just didn't think it through properly and consider all the possible outcomes. At the least, they should have waited and asked Zavi and Ivaz's opinion on the matter.
Hellstomper Goes To School: I don't routinely follow the Remnant thread, but I can remember Hellstomper's introduction. Particularly asking if a badly burnt elf (I think- maybe human or something else) was her supper. Really enjoyed the story, and I think Mrs. Bloodplunder would like meeting her. Not for very long, however; she's not as young as she was, and has had difficulty with orc young for as long as she's known them.
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Semper in faecibus suvum, sole profundum variant.
Terrowin Avatar by HappyTurtle. Much thanks!
I have a point!
Always willing to run a dungeon for those who need somewhere to explore. Just PM me, and decide the character and location and I'll see what I can rummage up.
You know Kerfluffle, the fact that you haven't posted a single word of feedback on anyone's stories makes me rather negatively predisposed towards your output. Perhaps you should do something about it.
That's...a good, point. I'm sorry.
I'm normally not good with review stuffs. At least, I don't think I'm good. But, I'll do what I can to fix this.
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Ivaz dressed as Bomb Queen done by myself.
Quotes and goodies:
Spoiler
Quote:
This isn't like the Loch Ness Monster or leprechauns. This is something I have to see to believe.
I'm trying to do this whilst it's still in my head. Should I forget and neglect it, I'll have to re-make-up all this information. Which probably wouldn't be too hard, as I've done it once .
Wars and Weddings (Part 3) Mrs. Bloodplunder
Spoiler
Alondra climbed down into the pit and looked across at her adversaries. They were large, heavily muscled, and each were stronger than the most powerful barbarians of her tribe. Strength, however, isn't the only test in this ceremony- cunning, endurance and speed are equally important. She smiled, taking a battle-ready pose, opposite the two orc berserker-maidens opposite, confident in her abilities. They took up similar positions; they're both battle-seasoned warriors, and they have clubs against Alondra's bare hands.
Suddenly, Alondra charges the closest, ducking under its blow and kicking one of her legs out from under her. The other orc charges into the melee, expecting Alondra to be focussed on her fallen adversary and possibly in unwrapping the club's straps from the downed orc's wrist. Instead, Alondra grabs the fallen orc under the shoulders and heaves the stunned orc into the way of her companion. The two orcs collide and tumble to the ground, Alondra quickly jumping onto the pile and head butting the orc on top until she's unconscious, before rolling off and dragging the insensate orc off her companion with a grip on her arm.
The other orc gets to her feet and stands ready for another attack. She smiles and charges wary of her human adversary's tricks as the unconscious orc starts to recover. Alondra grabs the orc's wrist and heaves, pulling her attacker not only off balance, but off her feet and over Alondra's head, landing heavily on her head and shoulders. Alondra lets go and grabs hold of the orc under the armpits and lifts her off the ground as she starts to spin. The other orc has gotten up by now, and sees Alondra spinning, the other orc's legs and back nearly horizontal as Alondra lets go, the thrown orc flying towards her companion who only just dives aside in time. The thrown orc is out of the fight; she collides with the pit's wall feet-first and with a crunch of breaking bone. The other orc just grins and charges, Alondra dodging out of the way and rolling to her feet before jumping onto the orc's back, wrapping an arm around the orc's neck whilst the other thuds repeatedly into her ear and the breath is squeezed out of her chest by Alondra's legs. Eventually, the orc collapses and Alondra has won.
I'm not too good at fight scenes, but I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Semper in faecibus suvum, sole profundum variant.
Terrowin Avatar by HappyTurtle. Much thanks!
I have a point!
Always willing to run a dungeon for those who need somewhere to explore. Just PM me, and decide the character and location and I'll see what I can rummage up.
Gonna miss you, Dippy. I’m sorry, I know I was kinda dismissive towards you and such when you were alive, and we only knew each other for a couple of minutes, but you were a perfect little minion while you lasted. Spelled ‘Slaaneshi’ right and everything, like a fudging ace. You didn’t misquote me either, from the looks of things, which is pretty great. At the very least, I’ll always have the blood you splashed all over that one page of the journal to remember you by, though. Maybe, if I ever get home to the MagCave, I could always start cloning y-
Oh right, nevermind. It wouldn’t really be the same, would it? What with your brain reduced to tiny little lumps of bloody meat all over the Clockwork Fortress walls, getting your memories and level of discipline and scribe skills into the clones wouldn’t be easy. I’ll try to contact your next of kin when this is all over instead, maybe. You might have a son who’d make a great Dippy II, if he’d be willing to follow in your footsteps. Preferably with less brain goo, though. This magical journal thingy can probably only withstand so many bloodstains before pages start getting all stuck together and junk.
Anyways, for those of you just tuning in and too dumb to flip back a few pages to the beginning, (like you’re supposed to when reading this sort of thing instead of just picking an entry at random like a silly dunce), we last left off with Dippy the imp scribe and I, onboard the Clockwork Fortress just as it was unexpectedly attacked and invaded by rabid invertebrate bug demon things! As always, I was completely calm and totally cool under pressure. Even as the airborne fortress quaked and shuddered beneath us (thrown off-balance by what I later found out was a giant chain of the horde beasties wrapped around the aircraft, anchoring us to the ground with their combined strength), I was doing my utmost best to reassure Dippy that everything was going to be alright with me around to protect him. Playing up the war hero image, and definitely not screaming in terror and asking fate to take Dippy’s life instead of mine. I don’t do that sort of thing, absolutely not.
If I had prayed for such a thing, which we’ve already made clear that I didn’t, it would’ve seemed as if the gods themselves had answered such a plea, because despite all my very real and not at all fictional reassurances that Dippy would pull through and we would get through this whole mess alive, I was wrong. Wrong, and covered in Dippy’s blood. The wall beside us exploded, a brass pipe stabbing right through the poor imp’s skull, and leaving me quite uncharacteristically free of harm. I wasn’t about to let that stroke of good luck go to waste, so with a fearsome war cry (No, I wasn’t screaming like a little girl in gut-wrenching terror, it was a war cry. Shut up.) I wrested my journal out from the cold, dead fingers of my dear friend Dippy, and hightailed it out of there as fast as I could. It was plain to see that I was needed elsewhere, and I wasn’t going to be doing anyone any favors if I showed up late because I was wasting time mourning some smelly little imp.
I could hear shouts in the air behind me, indecipherable jabbering approximately around the area where Dippy took that pipe to the skull. Looking back now, my best guess is that wall had been smashed through by the bug swarm in order to make a new entrance into the fortress, and Dippy was just unlucky enough to have been in the way at the time. Then again, maybe they were aiming to capture me, and thought I’d be too busy freaking out over the death of my new minion to make my daring escape. Doesn’t really matter, though. The important thing is I got away and I’m alive (unalive? Re-alive? Anti-alive? What do you call a dead clone’s soul who hasn’t been extinguished, anyways?). Little details like that wouldn’t start to matter until hours later, and even knowing what I know now, I’m not sure I would’ve done anything differently.
I’d successfully put several hallways, thick security doors, and trigger-happy imps between myself and Dippy’s corpse, when twelve additional alarms went off throughout the compound. According to the magical directory map thingy I gave a cursory glance whilst mid-sprint, the Clockwork Fortress was being hit from all sides, little holes being jabbed across its entire outer surface, as if some drunk acupuncture doctor deity had decided his godly medical license really didn’t matter too much anymore, and went to town on Morgana’s prized warship for kicks and giggles. Our forces were doing a fine job of keeping them out, but we were spread so thinly, it’d take only one good push for the infernal insects to get through and start pouring in like locusts.
As grim as things seemed right then and there, they were only going to get so much worse, so very soon. In fact, had I any notion at all of what awaited me in the next few minutes, I would’ve found myself the nearest window, thrown a hapless, unsuspecting imp through the sheet of infernal glass, and I’d have just taken my chances with the ground below, instead of the almost certain death that awaited me within that clockwork tomb. At least if I jumped, there’d be a chance that the harpoon or a pile of dead bodies would break my fall or something.
"Maaaaaaaagtok."
But no, as always, I took the stupid, reckless, completely suicidal route. I was in something vaguely resembling a throne room, and just when I was on my way right out the door, my path was blocked by a pair of tanned, muscular gentlemen in speedos.
"Maaaaaaaagtok?"
Behind me lay the path guaranteed to spell my doom, a quest that could only end in the eradication of anything and everything I hold dear (Me, myself, and absolutely nothing else, for those of you who weren’t paying attention). I took a deep breath, braced myself for my own destruction-
"Magtok, you know it’s very rude to ignore your queen when she’s speaking to you. Everyone else in the hallway dropped what they were doing and bowed down in proper reverence of their beloved queen. Why, pray tell, haven’t you done the same?"
-and turned around to face the Archdevil herself, Lady Morgana. As I’ve said before, if ever there was a devil in the entire Nexus with a strong lust aura, it was this one. Seriously, the aura’s so strong, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the reason she made Archdevil in the first place, and not just one of the perks. Gods help us all if she were to ever get bored of the Hells and try to take over the Nexus; the army of drooling, sex-crazed idiot monkeys that would flock to her would completely unstoppable. I don’t know what she’s trying to hide behind that mental fog, or who she’s trying to impress with it, but it wasn’t doing her any favors with me right then and there. I’d built a nifty little lust aura-gauge into my arm only a few days before, so I knew exactly how much of this was real, and how much just phony magical pheromone nonsense.
Kneeling down to try to keep my legs from buckling any further, I eyed the ground before her feet, adamant on looking anywhere but upon that mind-violating tyrant. I haven’t forgotten the pledge I made when I came here, and I’d be damned before letting some dumb magical perfume stops me from putting that goal first and foremost above all else. I just had to keep telling myself that it was an invisible magical cloud making her seem so attractive, not anything about the woman herself.
…Okay fine, she’s got a pretty good figure too, but shut up. That’s not even close to relevant, and it’s not like she’d be anywhere near the first Nexus woman to have a ridiculously perfect body, either. She was the enemy, pure and simple, just another oblivious fool I was obligated to eventually destroy in order to take over Hell for myself and become the most awesome post-death Maggy to ever post-live. Sure, I may have accidentally given her super-fantastic god powers too, but nobody ever said life, in this world or the preceding one, was easy.
"Apologies, your majesty. I hadn’t heard you over all the explosions and alarm klaxons going off everywhere, and I-"
"I wasn’t asking for excuses, was I?"
"No, your majesty. I just-"
"What I want from you is results."
Oh, perfect. It was just as I feared; somehow she wanted me to pull some sort of miracle out of my butt, and magically banish all these freaky Dalachrech-looking monsters right back to wherever they came from. I didn’t have a liver’s chance in Trog’s of getting through this alive, much less producing the sort of results Lady Morgana was expecting of me. I told her so, in the most sycophantic and unassuming manner I could, and her response was anything less than predictable.
"No, you listen to me, mister Magtok-with-a-harpoon-sticking -out -of-his-chest. You’re going to go out there, you’re going to find the leader of this little swarm of filth, and you’re going to talk them out of this attack, you hear me? You’re going to do that, and it’s going to work. Would you like to know why?"
I nodded slowly, quaking in fear as she pulled my chin up to meet her eyes. This was it, I guess. Another pretty face thinking she has all the answers to my problems, only to make everything worse for everybody. If Libby had spared herself some torment and had just left me to die in that stupid cave, none of this would’ve happened, nobody worth mentioning would’ve died, and nobody would’ve gained a single fudging inch of territory in that stupid gods-damned hell war. I’d have been killed nice and quick-like, instead of being sent to be eaten alive by ants. Ol’ Harpoontok’s story would have ended a loooooong time ago, and I wouldn’t have been watching the scry-screens in horror as some six feet tall ant monster lady with harlequin-themed black and red skin ran amok, cutting heads off with a sword in one hand, and shooting holes through my comrades with the bio-pistol attached to the other.
"Wait, was that just-"
"It’s going to work, pay attention Magtok, because the leader of this ridiculous swarm of demon-ants you’re going to talk to is none other than your fiancée from the Nexus, the ant-woman you call Pat."
In other news, The Fall of the Firebrand was absolutely mesmerizing. I hope the poor captain got, at the very least, to the 2:20 bit of that song before being blown to bits.
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"I can see inside you, the sickness is rising,
It seems that all that was good has died
Oh, no. The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me."
Still covered in orc blood, Merrick entered Captain Baker’s office. His filthy appearance was a stark contrast to the cleanliness of the office. The desk had been cleared of any documents. Which meant the situation that had resulted in Merrick’s summoning was not a good one by any means. The look on Baker’s square-jawed face didn’t help matters either. The man sitting in that chair was one of the few that Merrick could begin to respect, which was why that look almost intimidated him.
Almost.
“Sit,” the Captain said, and Merrick obeyed. “Is there a problem, Captain?”
“Of course there’s a god-damned problem, Hayes! Sixty orcs just attacked the Wales base!” Baker’s North Irish accent provided the perfect underline to his angry tone of voice.
“I and a few others successfully repelled the attack, sir,” Merrick said, expecting praise. “We suffered no casualties or wounded, sir.”
“That doesn’t mean much coming from the bastard who provoked the attack, now does it?”
Merrick was suddenly thankful that Baker wasn’t able to see the face underneath his gas mask. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Hayes! You’d think I would have a psychic as unpredictable as you without having a way to watch them?”
Merrick froze at that. He hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t he thought of that? All of his plans were reliant on there being no other psychics in the SAS. How could he have made such a basic oversight?
Baker continued when he saw that Merrick wasn’t going to speak. “I don’t know what the **** you’re playing at, Hayes, but you’ve just caused a hell of a lot of problems for us.”
“The public won’t care, sir. To them, we just repelled a group of terrorists, sir,” Merrick said. He had to salvage this somehow, some way.
“Oh, and is that what we should say to the UN? ‘Oh, it’s okay, those were terrorists!’”
“Tell them what you always do, sir. It was an isolated incident and we are unsure of the cause.”
If it was possible for a man’s head to burst from anger, Baker’s was getting close. “Absolutely not. I can’t keep covering for you, Hayes. The first two times you did something like this was enough, but know you’ve provoked a direct attack on the United Kingdom! We’re likely to go to war, now, because of you!! Do you honestly think that excuse will fly this time around?”
Merrick stayed stiff in his chair. He appeared calm, but this was not the case in his thoughts. His plans were this close to being exposed. His efforts were falling apart because of this one mistake.
“I didn’t think so, Hayes.” Baker gave a long sigh. “The military court will decide what to do with you. Until then, you’re confined to quarters. Coutts will escort you. Get out of my office.”
“Yes… sir.” Merrick stood and walked to the door. Thoughts rushed through his head as he did so. He had to do something to salvage this! He couldn’t let Baker go to the court with this. There had to be some other option! He went through all the possible plans with each step he took, but he eventually arrived at the only real option he could take as his hand fell on the doorknob. His actions would not be reported to the court. Couldn’t be reported. So, Merrick didn’t open the door, nor did he leave.
“Did… did you just lock the door, Hayes?” Merrick heard Baker say.
“Very observant, sir.” Then Merrick heard Baker’s head slam into the desk in font of him. And again. And a third time. He turned around, took his blood-covered ice pick from his pocket, and approached the dazed Captain.
“That’s all,” Merrick said, placing his hands on the table.
“That’s all?” Oakley repeated. “Surely, there’s more you can tell me? About Captain Baker’s death, your own motives?”
“Any other pertinent facts regarding my case can be found in my trial records. I doubt I was brought here to recount my crimes, unless that’s how you work.”
“No, of course not.” Oakley glanced at the clock; it had been two hours. “That’s the end of this session, Mr. Hayes. You may go back to your cell now.”
Oakley remained seated as Merrick stood, walked over to the door and let the guard pull him to his cell. Charles waited until the two pairs of footsteps faded away, and then he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number.
It wasn’t long before Oakley’s call was answered. “UK military court. How can I help you, Dr. Oakley?”
“I need access to the evidence from case 35267A.”
“You’re working on that psychic, Doc? I’m sorry.” The unnamed voice went from neutral to sympathetic. Then it returned to neutral as the person behind the voice continued. “Any specific pieces of evidence?”
Oakley thought for a few moments before the answer came to him. “I’ll need the gas mask he wore and the ice pick he used to kill Captain Baker.”
“Right, we’ll have that for you within the week. Good luck.” The phone line cut off and Dr. Oakley sighed. This idea of his was a long shot at best, but he was willing to take any risk to cure Hayes of the numerous psychoses he was afflicted with. And besides, if this didn’t work, what could?
It was early in the evening and Phoebe was waiting at a fork in the road for the stars to come out and guide her way. She often relied on the stars to guide her way, less like a sailor and more like an astronomer. She looked up at them and read stories and parables in them, and took the meanings she saw seriously.
So for now Phoebe waits for the stars to tell her where to go. She wears a dark cloak the color of moss growing on rock in the forest that she has flipped over one shoulder so she can enjoy the cool night air. Her pants, some sort of homespun cloth that look like it would be itchy, a simple light brown. Her top is a stark contrast, turquoise blue silk that would look out of place on a female pirate, or sultans wife. And barefoot, oblivious of any rocks or sticks she might step on, but enjoying the grass between her toes.
Her outfit isn't the only thing that makes her look a bit odd, but the stick at her waist that she wears like a sword makes it look like she is playing at being a swashbuckler with his cloak tossed back ready to fight. Also on her belt hangs several small glass bottles filled with various colored liquids. A key, bell, whistle, and a small geode also hang from her belt. And who knows what is in her backpack.
Phoebe hadn't always been so strange. For a few days after she was born she was pretty normal. Then when she was taken and carried off under a hill to live with a faerie clans ruling family. And there in the Fae she was strange due to being normal, and grew up trying to learn to be strange. And even though she has long since moved on and lives with mortals once again she never really gave up the practice of being strange. Saw no point.
So waiting for darkness to come Phoebe hums to her audience, the stones and trees, wind and water, earth and sky. And while the tune is simple she hopes it pleases them, and before she knows it the stars have filled the sky, and so she quieted herself and read them as she was taught with the strange stars of the Faeire realm she grew up in. And despite these stars being completely different she sees the paths before her and made her choice and turned right.
And as she steps to head down her path she stops, staring at the empty path before her. She freezes in fear because for a split second she had seen a dark familiar figure in front of her. A figure that only Phoebe had ever seen and she could never describe it quite right. She remembered telling one of her sword trainers after he asked of her deepest fear.
Spoiler
”He wears a dark cloak that covers hides his body and always seems to be billowing smoke out of it. The smoke is black as ink and moves all around him hiding his features.”
”He? So it was a man.”
”No, maybe? I think of him as a man, but you wouldn't be able to tell it by looking at Him. I think he has two legs, and only one head. Beyond that it is hard to say.”
”Does he talk or attack you?”
”No... well I use to talk to him. I had conversations with him. But I was a bit loopy back then, not really wired right.”
”Back then?”
”You should have seen me.” Skinny and unafraid. Wearing clothes she found in peoples yards or trash, lived in a junkyard. This was she had escaped and ran from the Hill. A was a little wild child who saw magic in all the world. She was Maya then. But that is another story. ”And he doesn't move.”
”What do you mean?”
He doesn't attack me, he doesn't move at all, not an inch. Still as a statue, the only thing that moves is that black damned smoke.”
Even back then it had been years since she had seen the figure anywhere besides her dull dreams. And years have passed since then. But for that fraction of a second that figure was in front of her blocking her path. She wanted to turn and run down the other way to avoid him. But she knew the stars had said her path could be dangerous, but is the path filled with adventure and excitement. A path to deeper understanding of herself and the world around her. Her chosen path, chosen by her, and she would not turn away because of fear. Not fear of him.
So she continued down her path, despite the feeling in Phoebe's gut of this path being dangerous it seemed innocent enough. She traveled first with a pair of bickering squirrels who followed her trying to get her to give them treats for free, but she demeaned favors owed from both of them. Then with a cloud of bats, who remained silent to her ears but seemed to flock around her expectantly. She followed them blindly as it quickly became to dark to see as clouds moved in to cover the stars and moon. But listening to their wings flapping she followed them as they swooped around her making sure she didn't run into any trees.
And then she saw a destination in the darkness, a fire in the distance. So Phoebe made her way that way leaving the bats behind in the darkness silently waiting for her.
The woman whose fire Phoebe had found has a small covered wagon and seems to be cooking something in a large cauldron on her fire. She is dressed in a dark ragged cloak, wearing a large black pointed hat that flops over to one side, with a wide brim. And if you look closely on her nose you might spot a wart or two, though they are fake if you look even closer.
”Ah hello there, you startled me. Come sit down my dear, what is your name.”
”Why should I tell you that when you are so clearly a witch.”
”Just because I am a witch is no reason to be rude. As a matter of fact quite the opposite.”
Phoebe tends to take her time when talking, often pausing for an awkwardly long time before responding as she thinks things over. This is one of those times. Maybe the witch was right, this could be one of those helpful old witches right, and even if she wasn't it would be better to be polite but wary.
”I am called Phoebe, and I thank you for your freely offered gift of a place at your fire.”
The witch just laughs at this and gives a small bow while trying to stop from chuckling.
”Girlie I am not going to swindle a thing like you this late at night this far from anywhere. Sit with me if you choose, I mean you no harm, maybe I could even help you.”
”Help me with what?”
”That fear you are carrying around with you. Any plain fool can see it.”
The witch means how twitchy and nervous she appears since seeing the figure earlier in the night. But Phoebe takes it to mean that she sees the figure and quickly looks around for him. Drawing a chuckle from the witch.
”There is a medicine I have for fear, it could help you.”
You think I would trust your medicine?”
”Oh it can be dangerous I suppose. Because to defeat your fear you must face it. Do you think you are strong enough to face your fear?”
Again Phoebe pauses sorting the thoughts in her mind. But this is her Destiny right? To face this is the path she choose. She couldn't turn away now. Besides she didn't fear this witch all that much, she had power herself.
So the witch heads into her wagon and returns with a small black glass bottle, that has a long twisting neck. Like a swirly straw Phoebe can't help but think. Unable to see in through the glass, and unable to see what kind of potion is inside Phoebe pinches her nose and downs the whole thing. And then the world gets Swirly and Phoebe faints.
And then she wakes up chocking as a dark smoke pours out of her mouth. She sits up and doubles over gagging and gasping, dry heaving as the smoke slithers out of her. And there he is in the smoke, standing there watching her. Shaking she looks over at the witch who seems terrified and tells her to sleep, and she slumps over.
Phoebe stands up as the last of the smoke escapes from inside of her and she can breath again. The smoke doesn't just gather around the figure, but spreads out and encircles them covering them in complete darkness.
So is it this again, the staring contest. Will I hear your voice again like I did as a child.”
”Yes a Talk may be nice. It is Time for one I think.”
Phobe jumps at the voice, not the voice she had talked to as a child. Less of a monster, and more of a mans voice, dark and deep for sure, but no growl to it, rather smooth actually.
”Who are you, what kind of Craft brought you here?
Her words meant to be demanding, forceful bending him to tell her the truth she finds her power faltering, stumbling a bit on her words. She seems surprised by her sudden change.
”You have never figured it out over all these years? Then again, you never gave me much thought, and a lot of energy went into you forgetting about the things we did together.
”I have never done anything with you. You have followed me, you have entered my life, you killed-”
”We, killed. How much of that do you remember now... the ones as Maya, the child trying to be a woman, running from the hill, living in the streets. You convinced yourself I was protecting you, and I was, I couldn't see you end up dead. You understand right? But what about before that. The family at that farm who found you still feral? Yes, that is right you dreamed of that last year. Ever wonder why you dreamed of it after all this time?
Oh his laugh is smooth to, with just a bit of annoying snort in it. The perfect laugh to hate, and Phoebe hated it immediately.
”You killed them. Yes I dream, and remember, but it was you who snuffed out their life, not me. Whoever you are.”
”We will get to that, but do you remember farther back. Before you 'escaped' from the Hill. Do you remember what happened, how you got away. Of course it is blurry, it is so traumatic, hard to think of. Obscured. Hidden away from you?”
There was that laugh again, enough of this. ”Much like you were for much of my life, but it seems you seem clear enough now. And I think it is time to end this.”
She draws her stick which she has named Sword and holds it in a practiced stance, her muscles showing in her fairly reveling outfit before the dark cloak swirls around her covering all but her head.
”You think you and your Stick can fight me. You think you will be able to beat me over the head and win this fight. You don't understand this fight, Which is Why you will Fail.”
His words crash over her with all of the power she had so recently lost, her Sword now a stick no longer feeling heavy in her hands and it seems slightly foolish. And she takes a step back suddenly scarred.
”Do you remember your last birthday in the Hill. The party? Do you remember how you hoped they would finally accept you, really into their family. Do you remember the prank? I do, it was glorious, it is what really let me get out and do something. Stop them from pushing you around, mistreating you. You liked that right. You liked when I killed them, I couldn't do it all messy, but I made that exception for your... what do you call the woman who raises you after kidnapping you?”
Phoebe seems stunned by the words, as memories are forced back into her mind. She had been renamed to hide this part of it from her. To make her forget, but whatever this force was he was undoing it.
”You can't fight me. Because I am your power, placed within you like a inmate in a prison. Or a rare and powerful item in a safe. I am what has filled your world with magic, but I have long existed, much longer then your pitiful mortal life, and I tire of you growing older.
”Wait what? I'm not old, I am barely 29... Ok 32. That isn't that old.”
”Oh you are fun to poke. But not fun enough I tire of being trapped, and now that I have some semblance of control I think we should make it permanent. I think you need to change your name.”
Phoebe scared as she is, still reacts as the fighter she has trained to be. She clutches her stick with two hands in front of her and whispers to it. ”Sword” And then she lunges forward to stab the man. And even with just her little bit of power she somehow manages to stab staright through the cloaked figure in front of her. And it goes right through the cloak with no resistance till it hits the other side.
There is that evli damn laugh again.
”Do you really want to fight, all right. Fight, these things mean nothing to me. But perhaps this will teach you a lesson.”
The cloaked figure moves quickly, the front of the cloak unfolding and a stout walking stick swings out of the smoke within the cloak knocking Phobe's stick into position before striking. Phoebe could barely defend herself as the cloaked figure seemed to float across the ground walking stick constantly stricking at her from all different angles. And soon despite her attempts to further enchant her stick to be a Sword it was slowly, and then suddenly cracking apart with a loud snap. Phoebe watched as the stick she wielded for so long snapped in her hands. And then the walking stick proceeded to attack her, striking her brutally and unforgivingly. She ended up curled on the ground when they stopped.
”Now then, I think it is time for the renaming.”
”You think wrong. I named my Sword, and even though you broke it, I still had named it. Without your help.”
Phoebe says as she uncurls and stands back up, knowing the attack was over, and sore as she was she wasn't finished with this.
”And if I was in control before, I see no reason not to be in control again. I don't think this potion gives you as much power as you think.”
”Foolish girl, do not doubt my power I will rename you here and now. I will mold you to be but a vessel for me. Now tell me girl, say it, tell me your Name.”
”Shouldn't you know it? I mean if you are in control, and you are my power, wouldn't my name be your name as well? Don't you know our name?”
The dark figure is quite, stumped perhapes, but Phoebe continues on.
”So I think I will tell you my name. Because they might have given me power when they trapped you in me. But I learned how to use the power myself. So I name Myself.”
And she speaks her name, which is long, should be unpronounceable and some times sounds more like waves, or wind then words, and on occasion reaches a pitch beyond human ears. And in her name she forms the powers prison, more completely then before.
And for a second the figure seems shocked. And then the world flashes and instead of standing up she finds herself flat on her back with the witch looking over her.
”How was it?”
How did the witch get up, didn't Phoebe tell her to sleep. And is that the sun rising, how much time passed. Wait Phoebe... that doesn't seem right. She gets up, it sure feels like she got beat like she remembered, and she glares at the woman sitting across from her chuckling at her pain.
And it seems wrong and she knows what she needs to do. It is what the stars hinted at. It was time for change. And no longer Phoebe was good at changing. She already had a new name. She grabs the pointed hat off the woman's head and speaks clearly in a voice that commands and controls.
”You are no Witch. You are a swindler, who passes some potions as true magic and sell it to feed your fat self.”
That might have been a bit mean but this woman almost set that thing free.
”You are a charaltan who creates potions she doesn't understand and then feeds them to people for amusment. And so, since I am A Witch. Maya the Witch. I like that. I take your hat from you and... your broom too. She says spotting the old thing sitting not to far from the fire. ”Call yourself witch no more, and improve yourself, for I am watching. Now begone. And bother me no more.
She keeps a serious face as she makes the woman pack up and head out down the road. Time to find a place to rest and heal up. Then, she should probably get down to doing some witchy business.
She looks down surprised to find herself leaning on the old broom, floating in midair supporiting her.
And so Charlie unwittingly gives Soldier Girl the piece of information she needed to know so her plan could be put into action.
Finding the nearest object to do the job, and remaining in the van so she can't be seen by anyone in the house, she'll gag him with a piece of cloth, then retrieve a splinter from the wood and rope bonds he had around him. With practiced precision and efficiency, she dips it into a vial from her medical kit, and then will jam it completely into Charlie's arm, where it will dissolve with strange rapidity, until there is nothing left but the hole it entered in.
"You were right, Charlie. It's time to go. Your friend bargained for your release, and so I'm letting you go together. But I've poisoned you- I won't say with what, but I find it quite unlikely that anyone else will be able to give you the antidote in time.
"You have a few hours at most- enough time to get to Remnant, or to turn yourself over to me. Do so within that time, and I'll be able to administer the antidote. Otherwise, you'll die."
This accomplished, Soldier Girl will relieve Charlie of his cellphone, then leave him bound and gagged in the back seat of the van. She shuts the door behind her, then head back inside to begin searching for the grandmother- presumably the remaining cult member has seen her take Charlie to the van, if the message was true, and has started out to join him.
Quote:
Originally Posted by happyturtle
Charlie's Plot
Linda edges near the van door, still holding Grandmother. She fishes the keys out of her pocket, leans in and starts the van with one hand. Then she eases into the seat. At the last minute, she shoves Grandmother hard, towards Latas, and tries to speed off.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Vael
[House - Outside]
Latas will allow them to leave, keeping the grandmother as her priority at the moment. She'd risked enough by poisoning Charlie, after all, and wasn't sure she should have even attempted that. That said, she managed to pull it off, so hopefully things would go well from here.
"Don't move any more. I'm going to take care of this." Latas says as she tries to gently assist the grandmother in sitting or laying down. No more movement than that until she figures out where she is wounded. Latas gets out her medical kit and begins inspecting the injury, though she'll call out to the others inside the house while she does so.
Linda drove away, in high speed, knowing they'd be tracked and pursued. She had to get Charlie to safety. What had they done to him?! She adjusted her mirror and saw him in the back, bound and gagged. She couldn't afford to stop yet, but once she got into the heavily urban part of the city. She called ahead, and when she pulled into a parking garage, there was another cult member ready to swap vehicles with her. Linda pulled her beloved Charlie out of the van, and the other driver jumped in and drove off, to try and draw off the pursuit.
Jan was already behind the wheel of a rather plain looking hatchback - the kind that was common enough in the city to avoid notice. Linda untied Charlie and removed his gag.
"You're injured?"
Charlie pulled Linda into a deep kiss and looked into her eyes. "Nothing serious. But it's time to go."
They climbed in the back seat, while Jan drove, according to Charlie's instructions. Elsewhere, Remnant was pursuing the van, and the little blue hatchback escaped notice at first. By the time they reached the cliffs over the harbour, the switch had been discovered. The satellite feed was studied, the backtrail of the van scoured. There were several places where the swap could have been made, and many vehicles to investigate.
Charlie made it easy for them. He got out of the car and stood on the cliff's edge, looking to the sky. He wanted them to see him - if not live, at least in their recordings.
And he also wanted his Family to see it. He ordered Jan to record on her phone as he made his last sermon to his followers.
To most people, it was barely coherent hate-speech, blaming all of the world's ills on the mixing of races. His true believers heard it as an inspirational call for humans to take their rightful place as leaders and caretakers of the Nexus.
"My children - I will always love you. I will always watch out for you and guide your hands."
He threw himself backwards off the cliff, his arms outstretched in crucifix style. But before he reached the water, he vanished.
Linda and Jan escaped before Remnant was able to track them. The recording of Charlie's last words and his miraculous escape from death circulated among his followers. There was treachery. One of their members who had been captured during the robbery expressed remorse for the extremes they had gone to. She claimed that she believed in human noblesse oblige and racial purity, but not in murder. She was given a lenient sentence in exchange for the information she was able to provide about the Family. They lost some of their safehouses and some of their members. But the Family grew.
They had a new leader named Brian. He wasn't as charismatic as Charlie, but he was more focused. He was respected, rather than loved. He organized the tenement fire, disgusted by the mixing of races - so many in one building. The death of Remnant's fire chief was hailed as a victory.
Linda felt Charlie's presence in her heart, but she ached for him. When Brian came up with his plan to assassinate Magtok during his live broadcast, she volunteered at once.
Maybe she could be a martyr for Charlie.
Maybe she could join him.
Charlie's death happened months ago in Nexus chronology (and this story should have been written then, but... spoons....) Anyone keeping up with current events may have heard of it. Anyone who wants to play a cult member is welcome to do so. If they are genuine human supremacists, membership can be handwaved. If they are trying to infiltrate, then gaining the trust of the members will need to be roleplayed.
If Charlie's philosophy, insanity, and the rabid devotion of his followers seem familiar, it's because he's based on a real life Charlie, and a rather famous one at that.
Here comes the next, penultimate part of Rise of the Prophet.
Rise of the Prophet, Part 4
Spoiler
A figure was trudging through the snow on the outskirts of an Imperial town of Yellow Water in an area the war hadn't reached yet. It was a young adult human, wrapped in furs to ward off the bitterly cold wind. If anyone knew what he was doing there, he would be imprisoned or put to death. But he was fine with the risk if it meant helping the goblin slaves. He was among the few humans of the Empire who saw the common practice of slavery as an affront to the gods and an unforgivable cruelty. But helping slaves escape was condemned as theft and so was helping them without their owner's consent. Now Bartosz was heading towards one of the spots he used to meet his contact among the slaves. The risks Dipsnig the goblin - his contact among the slaves, responsible for coordinating the escape plans and aid among them - was taking by slipping away to speak with him were even greater.
Once Bartosz got inside the small, abandoned barn on the very edge of the town, he immediately saw Dipsnig squatting on one of the rotten crates littering the place. The goblin was skinny and malnourished, with hair falling around his face in untidy streaks. He was dressed in mismatched, oversized clothing. As soon as the human entered, Dipsnig began to speak, in an agitated tone.
"Master Bartosz, you must flee! You and your whole family must flee! And your friends too! The Prophet is coming!"
"The Prophet?" Bartosz gasped. "You mean... the leader of the goblin army?" he asked, color draining from his face.
"Yes, yes," Dipsnig said, nodding eagerly. "The great goblin army is approaching. They want to free us slaves and..." He swallowed. "...and kill all humans."
"How do you know this?" Bartosz asked. His mouth was rapidly going dry. How... what could they do? The city was large, and there were many soldiers there, but the goblin horde had rolled over everything in its path thus far. They had no chance. Noone had any chance. They were doomed.
Dipsnig looked down at his feet. "We... we were contacted. A free goblin snuck past the human guards and delivered a message. We're going to be freed and our captors punished."
Bartosz was silent for a while. Eventually, he asked: "Even us?"
Dipsnig nodded glumly. "Yes. I tried to convince him, but I couldn't. All humans will die. Unless they flee. Please. You have to do it."
Bartosz sat down, leaning against the wall. He said nothing. After all he'd risked helping the slaves, he was going to run away from their kinsmen or die. Dipsnig looked down at his feet.
"I know you must think the goblin people ungrateful. After all you've done now you risk death at their hands. I'm sor-"
"Don't be," Bartosz interrupted, getting to his feet angrily. "You've seen as well as I have what my people have done to yours. It's always like this. One race does horrible things to another, then that other one retaliates, and more blood is spilled and more hatred is bred. And noone ever stops to think," he said, clenching his fists. "It's a vicious circle we can't get out of. The Empire stopped it for a while, but only by crushing everyone else underfoot. Now it's back." He put his hands against the wall and leaned on it again. "It's bigger than both of us. It's history. The merciless wheel of history doesn't care for little people. If the gods do exist, they must be having a hell of a laugh from all this."
Dipsnig sighed. He almost envied his kinsmen who hated all humans. But the human in front of him wasn't a human. He was his friend and he just happened to be a human. Why couldn't everyone just see it? "It's easier for us. When you're a goblin, you accept that you have no control over the world. Things just happen to us, yes? Always have. We live and we die on the whim of others. But the prophet... he leads the goblins to a world where we can finally decide for ourselves. This is why the others will follow him into the depths of Devouring Darkness. I just hope in that world, it is possible for humans and goblins to be friends.
Batrosz turned around and looked at the goblin. "Friends. Yes. Thank you for warning me. I'll take my family and we'll leave... if there's anywhere to run to. I hope we'll meet again, in this life or next."
He extended his hand to Dipsnig, who shook it. Then, without a word, he turned and left the barn. After a while, so did Dipsnig, sneaking away quietly. Bartosz and his family survived the rest of the war, and so did Dipsnig. But they never met again in life. One can only hope they met in the next world, if there indeed is any.
The town of Yellow Water had not been chosen at random. It lay at the border of the remaining Imperial territory, in between the three advancing armies - the native humans, the dwarves and the goblins. After sacking it, most of the goblin horde moved away, leaving only Hultznim, Trablig and their elite guard - a squadron of wolf-riders and a group of commandos - in the ruins. As the sun set, the goblins watched two parties move in, one from the northwest and the other from the east.
The group coming from the east was composed of humans. Some of them were riding strong northern horses while a larger part was made up of footmen - they all carried large shields, spears and axes. All of them were clad in thick furs, but some of the horsemen had much more elegant and rich clothing than others and all of them had broad swords strapped to their belts. The one riding in the front, in particular, wore a large hat brimmed with mink fur and a necklace of silver and gold. He was a large, wide-shouldered man with raven hair, a short beard and narrow, intelligent eyes. His name was Ilmarinen and he was the war-chief of the united Northener Clans opposing the Empire. The horsemen behind him were his best thanes and the footmen - his best warriors. He did not trust the people he was going to meet in the slightest.
The second group consisted of dwarves, but had a similar composition - some dwarves were riding on small, durable mountain horses and others were following them on foot, carrying heavy spears. The difference was that the leader of the dwarves - Ulrika Kizmet, a blonde-haired muscular woman dressed in mail - was surrounded by her mounted warriors instead of riding in the front. She would not take any chances while meeting the goblin prophet and the human chieftain.
The three groups met in the middle of the destroyed city. The three leaders sat down by a table put there by the goblins, after clearing the rubble off the city forum. They eyed one another warily, until Hultznim spoke.
"So, we meet eye-to-eye at last," he said somewhat sardonically. "We have much to discuss."
"It seems so," Ilmarinen said. "The Empire is finished here. It won't be a war much longer. Soon enough, it'll turn into cleanup."
"You're being overly optimistic," Ulrika said dryly. "Mopping up the remnants of the Imperial forces will take months. Maybe years. Especially if they manage to get a grip on things down in the south and send reinforcements."
Ilmarinen had no answer to that. However, Hultznim spoke up, casually and confidently. "That's true. Which is why we need to take Czartoria as quickly as possible."
The other two leaders looked at him. They didn't know what they had expected from the goblin prophet, but it hadn't been that. Unlike them, Hultznim was no warrior. He was a scrawny goblin dressed in simple, drab clothing that looked a little oversized. But there was shrewdness and a fire in those pale yellow eyes. Any hope they might have had about goblins just disbanding and ceasing to cause trouble after the was disappeared. As absurd as it sounded, they would have to deal with him - a goblin - as an equal. Still, this idea was risky. Czartoria was the capital of the Northern provices of the Empire, after all.
"Czartoria, you say. It wouldn't be easy, even now. The Imperials will defend it to their last breath. They still have troops there, located in towns and forts. Czartoria itself is very well-defended."
"Yes. Casualties will be high. But it's like you said - if we don't finish it now, we'll get bogged down by the remaining forces and Imperial citizens. We need to take Czartoria to cripple their leadership and break their spirit. Just like they had broken our spirits so long ago," Hultznim said with some malice. He was referring, of course, to the times past, when the legions from the Central Plains marched into the North, subjugating its inhabitants.
"I like the way this goblin thinks," Ilmarinen said with a cruel smile. "Taking Czartoria... we could put the head of the Emperor's useless brother on a pike! See what it does to his men. What better way to show them that the North is free now?"
"And if reinforcements do come from the south... they won't have anyone waiting for them here. The Imperial armies in the North will be in disarray," Ulrika said. The idea started to sound actually appealing. "Of course, it requires us to act in accord. Only our combined forces can take Czartoria quickly. And we'll need to leave some of our warriors behind to guard our back."
"Are we agreed, then? We'll order our armies to begin the march towards the capital?"
Ilmarinen and Ulrika nodded grimly, then extended their hands. Each of the leaders took the hand of both others and gripped it tightly. A tenuous alliance was made. None of them liked the other ones very much - goblins and dwarves in particular had little love for each other - but they were joined by a common purpose. None of them hated anyone at the time than the Empire. It was imperative that it is wiped off the map.
What the three leaders didn't know was that they had little to fear in terms of retaliation from the south. As they spoke, the three High Priestesses in the temple of Marzanna - the goddess of winter and death - in Czartoria recieved a vision. During their evening ritual, they all entered a trance and saw something that was happening - or had happened - far away.
They saw a blasted landscape of sand and rocks. The eastern fringes of the Empire, encroaching upon the Razoredge Desert. The land of the orcs. They saw ranks upon ranks of orcs - eastern orcs, smaller but bulkier than their northern kinsmen - marching east, in disarray. They had many wounded among them. Then the vision shifted and they saw ranks of humans. They were Imperial soldiers - mail-clad infantry carrying large shields adorned with a flaming fist - making camp over a battlefiend littered with corpses. They had won the day, it seemed, but it was a hollow victory. A thick cloud of despair was hanging above the army.
The vision focused then, showing what lay in the middle of the camp. Upon a stone slab there was a body, mangled beyond recognition by crude orcish axes, but wearing unmistakable armour - the gleaming, glorious armour of Bożydar II, the Emperor of Mankind. The last Emperor of Mankind. He was dead, slaughtered by orcs in a victorious but insignificant border skirmish. He had left no heir. His sister and her family had been poisoned years before. The only surviving member of the Imperial line was in Czartoria, in the north - Ziemowit, his brother. Sent there to get him out of the way.
When the priestesses told the news to Ziemowit and the High Command, they did not believe it at first - they did not want to believe. And the visions of the priests were not always accurate. Still, they knew that there was a good chance it was true. There had been no news from the south for a long while, which was unsettling even despite the raging war. The complete chaos that must have erupted after the Emperor's death would be an explanation.
Of course, the news did not leave the room in the Steward's palace. To tell the people their Emperor had died would have been a disaster. Let them think that their glorious god-given ruler was out there, fighting for them - as they die at the hands of the blood-thirsty hordes swiftly approaching the capital. It was the end, if a painfully prolonged one.
Whew. As previously, the comments will come later.
__________________
My FFRP characters. Avatar by Kid Kris. Sigatars by Gulaghar, Kid Kris, Zefir and billtodamax, respectively.
I'm taking Happyturtle's advice. Its hard to make plots in FFRP work when interacting so it takes too long to put it out or ends up being done off-screen. I don't like doing things off-screen, it feels like waving off the character. So here I go.
Part 1: Everything Began When the World Ended
Spoiler
Sweat pours from Grantz brow as he punches the heavy bag. He has been punching non-stop for an hour now. A voice from the entrance of the room wakes him from the trance of punching.
"Grantz, hurry and wash up I need to lock up the stadium."
The man leaves immediately. Grantz collects his possessions and head for the bath house. In the bath house he strips the clothes he trained in revealing a strong body with properly toned muscles. He dips himself in the large pool of hot, steaming water. His height forces him to move deeper into the pool. Only near the center can he relax where the water is over nine feet deep. After thoroughly cleaning himself he dries and clothes himself then heads on home.
His home is a simple hovel made by carving into stone and putting wood in the hole for a door. Inside lies a small but somewhat comfortable bed, a burnt out cook-fire with a makeshift stove on it, a small wooden table with a chair to match. On the table are Grantz most prized possessions, a quill next to three bottles of ink, five scrolls and a few pages of paper. He lays on his bed and closes his deep-black eyes. Rubbing his hand through his raven-black hair he starts to reminisce about the past.
Grantz was an Orphan in this city. Having nothing on him he worked as a servant on the stadium to earn his supper. One day one of the students who had been practicing pankration decided to test his skill on Grantz. No one stopped the student, after all who cares about an orphan servant boy? If the orphan boy dies then someone will just throw him out for the dogs to eat. The student threw a punch at Grantz and something unexpected happened, the punch was countered! Amazing! A 16 year old who was larger and taught how to fight was knocked out by a boy of 10, with one punch no less!
After the incident the master of the student took Grantz on as a pupil. Grantz learned well and fast in the art of pankration, though he did prefer the boxing part over the wrestling part. He was also taught reading, writing and numbers. He was not a genius but he was apt and eager so he continued to be taught. Still the other students couldn't stand him, how dare a mere servant mix in with the highborn? So the other students decided to teach him his place. First they fought him one on one but each were knocked out by a few punches. Next they took him in groups but that failed as well. Thus no one dared mess with him ever again.
Six years have passed since then and Grantz grew harder, better, faster and stronger. The days passed on normally, training and studying. Some of the other students learned to accept him and those who didn't respected him albeit grudgingly. Then one day Grantz was given a letter. And thus the end begins.
Grantz opens the letter and reads it.
"Sir Grantz,
I give you this letter as an invitation to a tournament. We have invited strong people from across entire world to attend. We hope that you participate as well as we hoe to see your skill as the greatest pankration or rather boxer in the City of Pugnus.
Sincerely,
Natas
"
On the back of the letter was drawn a map of the way to the tournament, it was a weeks journey on horse. After reading the letter something triggered inside his head. A sudden compulsion to attend the tournament and win it nagged at his thoughts. He could not ignore the compulsion. In the dead of the night he took all of his belongings, stole food from a house in the market area and stole a horse. The compulsion drove him to ride the horse at a deadly pace for an entire day. He reached his destination but the the horse was dead.
In front of Grantz was the place where his compulsion forced him to go. It looked the same as the stadium in his town, only ten times as large. The gate opens for him and he enters. The moment he is inside the door close behind him and his mind is free once more. The compulsion has ended.
His head ached and he was confused. He procceeds to rub his temples and blink.
"Where? How.... did I get here? Ugh..."
Grantz walks aimlessly trying to gather his thoughts.
"There.... was a letter.... It was an invitation. something about a tournament?"
On and on he walked without really knowing where he was going.
"A horse..... I think I stole it.... but its dead. Why would i steal a dead horse?"
All the memories of the past few days feel like a jumble. He felt scatterbrained . Thinking seems to be useless now.
"A punching bag? ugh..."
Without noticing he reached the top of the stadium where spectators would watch the combatants duke it out in the ring. He looks around and notices other people around him. They look as confused as he felt. Suddenly without warning an earthquake rocks the ground. The sky and the air itself crack into pieces. A white light forms on the sky consuming everything in sight. As Grantz falls to his knees he hears a cold, merciless voice.
"Hello little lab rats, welcome to the birth of a new world. You are quite lucky! ha ha ha ha ha!"
The light consumes all and everything fades away.
Part 2: Project Daemn Militis(Partway done)
Spoiler
Inside a room lies many containers that are lined from wall to wall. One such container holds Grantz inside it. Around him are others as well, a dark-skinned creature labelled Serph, A handsome youth with slanted eyes labelled Element, a small child labelled Red and many many more.
At the center of all these is a hooded-being with a humanoid shape. With a pen in hand he writes on a notebook. Hours pass and the being continues to write without rest engrossed in his work.
"Demens. Demens. Demens!"
Another hooded being shouts.
"Ah.... Natas, what brings you here? Did we not agree that I was to be left undisturbed? You do want me to finish Project Daemn Militis correct?"Demens replies in an arrogant tone.
Natas' eye twitches at the response but he keeps himself in control.
"It has already been ten months! Yet you stay in this room scribbling in that blighted noteboook! You promised results but you have not even touched the specimens, merely looked at them."
"Now now you know that's not true. I examined all the data on the specimens. A genius must not, can not..... be rushed. And you said I have a year to produce results. Return when the given time is over, then you will see the fruits of my labor!"
Natas listens to Demens word, annoyed in Demen's manner of speaking. Prolonging words unnecessarily and stopping in some parts for no reason.
"Fine, you have two months Demens."
Natas disappears to leave Demens to his work.
__________________
I can't think of anything to put here.
The customer came in, feeling the woman's eyes on him. Could she tell he'd lied about being 18? Maybe the woman at the front had been able to tell and that's why she sent him to this creepy girl, all pale and stoic... but, y'know, she was good-looking.
"S-so, uh..." He tried to think of something to say, then stopped as she immediately began slipping out of her clothes to lay on the bed.
"Are you ready, or will you need help?" She blinked at him; was she making fun of him? He wasn't sure, but fumbled at his jeans and answered.
"I-I'm fine... uh..." She just sort of lay there and she'd opened the foil packed for him already, so...
---
Alia. Jenna. Chloe.
She remembered the last time she saw them... she thought so, at least.
The last time she remembered seeing them was at the base... but how she got here...
Not sure.
Not sure at all.
And when came down to it, she missed them. They were nothing if not all she'd had.
They'd been annoying and hard to deal with, but they always had her back and she always had theirs. They weren't family, but they were about as close as anything would ever get.
But for the past 2 weeks, she had been here, in this city of hell-knows-where, maybe not even on Earth.
All she knew was that she needed to not starve, and that working in this brothel helped that happen. It wasn't the best work, but she didn't have to actually do all that much...
---
The girl wasn't saying anything, so the customer decided it'd be better to get dressed and leave. He was done.
As the scruffy teen made his exit, the pale girl sat up, pulled out a sketchbook and pencil, and started to draw.
Decided to start a thing to show how Vesa got to where she is now.
There's out-of-Nexus backstory that I'll have to get into, and I'll have to work certain elements out with Murkus, but for a start (written distractedly in a hotel) this'll do.
Please note that all of these need approval by Beans before they become canon, as Nycca is their character. Also, these are written from her point of view, so not everything is necessarily accurate.
Dreams and Nightmares - Part 1: Entrance (Talina, Nycca)
Spoiler
I've done what I can, for now. Remnant has been informed that there's a slave-brothel in the Red Zone. Or rather that there's one at a specific place, currently in operation; I'm sure they knew that there were probably dozens, given the size of the district, but sending enough people out to find them is impossible, even with magic, psionics and whatever crazy tech they've got.
Now it's just a matter of doing what I can to help the girls there while I wait, whether with potions when they get sick or just giving them a shoulder to cry on. Nothing else I can do, without getting myself arrested, and probably letting the ones running the place get away in the process. So why do I feel like crap for not doing more?
Dreams and Nightmares - Part 2: Cleansing Flames (Talina, Nycca)
Spoiler
It's been two weeks, and Remnant has done nothing. Apparently, it was easier for them to 'misfile' my report than actually do something about it. Bloody bastards.
But it doesn't matter now, I suppose. The place is burning merrily as I write this, despite the drizzle. Turns out they weren't expecting the 'healer-witch' who came in and tended to the girls to be able to sling combat spells for some reason. Guess they didn't realize that when most of what you do is sympathetic magic, anyone clever and with power can figure out all sorts of nasty things...
Anyway, everyone is out now. Finding work for them, and a place to stay in the meantime, is going to be hard, but they seem to be pretty resilient, so at least they should be mostly okay once I have. Not that they're fine, of course, but they will recover, with time and help.
Or most of them will, anyway. I'm worried about one in particular; a batgirl of some kind. From what one of the others could tell me - she wouldn't, or couldn't, speak, and I didn't push her - her name is Nycca, and she just... Stopped eating soon after she was captured. Poor girl looks like she was in one of the Veilking's prison camps back in the Starsong War. But all I can do is my best, and pray to Chaedarcha she recovers, and worrying about her here isn't going to help, even if it does make me feel better.
I'll try to write review later, I suppose. I'm not all that good at them, and I've lost track of those stories I was following at some point...
__________________
Plague Rat in the Playground
Quote:
Originally Posted by Grim ranger
I support the godly magazine idea, and hope that Eld can serve as mix of town crier and incredibly deadpan game show host in some sections. Also, for some odd reason, he will also make appearance when it comes to godly fashion tips, for even if he is grim reaper he will be the most bishounen god there is. Just you wait
Quote:
Originally Posted by Moonwolf
Damn you and your comprehensive understanding of synergistic tactics. :|
Please note that all of these need approval by Beans before they become canon, as Nycca is their character. Also, these are written from her point of view, so not everything is necessarily accurate.
Dreams and Nightmares - Part 1: Entrance (Talina, Nycca)
Spoiler
I've done what I can, for now. Remnant has been informed that there's a slave-brothel in the Red Zone. Or rather that there's one at a specific place, currently in operation; I'm sure they knew that there were probably dozens, given the size of the district, but sending enough people out to find them is impossible, even with magic, psionics and whatever crazy tech they've got.
Now it's just a matter of doing what I can to help the girls there while I wait, whether with potions when they get sick or just giving them a shoulder to cry on. Nothing else I can do, without getting myself arrested, and probably letting the ones running the place get away in the process. So why do I feel like crap for not doing more?
Dreams and Nightmares - Part 2: Cleansing Flames (Talina, Nycca)
Spoiler
It's been two weeks, and Remnant has done nothing. Apparently, it was easier for them to 'misfile' my report than actually do something about it. Bloody bastards.
But it doesn't matter now, I suppose. The place is burning merrily as I write this, despite the drizzle. Turns out they weren't expecting the 'healer-witch' who came in and tended to the girls to be able to sling combat spells for some reason. Guess they didn't realize that when most of what you do is sympathetic magic, anyone clever and with power can figure out all sorts of nasty things...
Anyway, everyone is out now. Finding work for them, and a place to stay in the meantime, is going to be hard, but they seem to be pretty resilient, so at least they should be mostly okay once I have. Not that they're fine, of course, but they will recover, with time and help.
Or most of them will, anyway. I'm worried about one in particular; a batgirl of some kind. From what one of the others could tell me - she wouldn't, or couldn't, speak, and I didn't push her - her name is Nycca, and she just... Stopped eating soon after she was captured. Poor girl looks like she was in one of the Veilking's prison camps back in the Starsong War. But all I can do is my best, and pray to Chaedarcha she recovers, and worrying about her here isn't going to help, even if it does make me feel better.
I'll try to write review later, I suppose. I'm not all that good at them, and I've lost track of those stories I was following at some point...
Note to authors: More and more, authors are only putting a title header, without a character or topic. Until now, I've been looking through the story to find the main character, but that makes indexing very slow. It's not always obvious to me which character is the main one, or if the author would rather not have one chosen.
So from now on, entries with no Character/Topic in the heading will have that section left blank in the index, like so:
Spoiler
Character/Topic
Story Title
Author
A. Aaron Aaronson
The Story of My Life
Player1
The Centaur Revolution
Part 1: The Stomp Act
Player 2
-
Great Title without a Topic
Player 3
-
Spiffy Story, also without a topic
Player 4
Anyway, as always, authors please check your entries to make sure it's indexed the way you want it to, and that the link goes to the right story.
[The following is from a salvaged log/journal from the Saiyan known as Kirlia]
-Birth Logs-
Name: Kirlia Carratz
Gender: Female
Weight: 12 Pounds
Power Level: 100-file is corrupted-
-file is corrupted-
-file is corrupted-
-file is corrupted-
-file is corrupted-
-File was unsalvageable until the first date in the journal-
Month: 1 Day: 1 Year: 8
Well, erm...hi journal? My mom said that now that I was old enough, I had to keep a journal of my life in case I became famous enough to become a hero of -file is corrupt-
Anyways, not much has happened today. Well, except for Nappa coming over to play with me! He's so pudgy, I doubt he'll ever be powerful...he'll probably be put in a more servant like role!
That's all for now, journal. My mom's calling for me. Apparently a guy called Friez-file is corrupted-
Month: 1 Day: 2 Year: 8
Well...it seems I'm being sent off to go conquer my first planet. Apparently Nappa's dad is friend's with-file is corrupted-and put in a good word for me after seeing me beat Nappa so many times!
I'm being sent to Earth, which I've been told is full of weaklings. Though this will be an extremely easy planet to conquer, mom says it'll give me experience! Apparently it'll take two years to get there though...
-File is Corrupted-
Month: 6 Day: 3 Year: 10
I've arrived at Earth! Man, hypersleep is hard to shake off. It feels like I've been sleeping forever!
Anyways, I've meet this nice seeming old man, who's letting me stay in his dojo for the time being.
Hahaha! That fool! Little does he know that he's letting the enemy of his entire world stay with him!
I think I'll save him for last, so I can enjoy the look on his face when he sees me kill his entire ra-file is corrupted-
[The rest of the files were unsalvageable, however it seems that the journal only had entries for the next month]
((This is only a...prelude I think it's called? Anyways, a proper chapter 1 will come next!))
@ Magtok: I continue not to be a fan of this sort of defined and physical afterlife, but I do like what you're doing with it. Magtok's suspiciously specific denial of being a dirty coward is amusing, as always. I really am looking forward to seeing Pat's hordes attack Hell.
@ Earl: This is a very nice combat scene. Those are not easy to write, so good job with that. However, I think the effect might be better if you wrote more at a time.
@ Rotting Baron: The format is as interesting as it was before. I'm not too familiar with the character of the Operative, but his story is a good one. Could use some more information about the setting though, like I said. But dry exposition is never very fun to read, so perhaps that is for the best.
@ Happy: It was an especially interesting read for me, since my character had had a hand in Charlie's death. Anyway, his "family" is so crazy and interesting as bad guys. Actual racial supremacism that goes beyond blathering on the Wall is rare in the Nexus.
__________________
My FFRP characters. Avatar by Kid Kris. Sigatars by Gulaghar, Kid Kris, Zefir and billtodamax, respectively.
The date? It's the 10th year of my life, the 6th month, and the 3rd day.*
Though the inhabitants of this planet call it February 3rd, 2007...the air here is cold, the ground frozen. The only liquid I've seen had to be hacked out of the solid black ice of a pond and boiled and purified many times before it was fit to be called water. They say this is just a season of their planet, and I hope they're right. I don't think I'll be able to take this more than a month!
I was greeted by an old man today, who dragged me inside his warm dojo after he found me passed out and dying from the freezing cold. Thanks to him, I'm still alive. I think I'll kill him last. Maybe even just make him my slave...
Kirlia, age 16 to the day woke up from her dream, sweating like crazy. She had it ever night of her birthday for the last 6 or so years...ever since gramps had saved her from dying outside.
As she got up she saw that it was 4, still an hour before she needed to get up anyways to prepare for morning meditation.
She sighed and, knowing that she wouldn't be able to go back to bed, stood up and walked to the door. Walking out of it she went straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She turned the water on in the shower, knowing it'd be a good 5 minutes until it warmed up. Then, she went to the sink and grabbed her toothbrush before squirting a gob of mint toothpaste on it. Pressing it against her teeth she began to brush vigorously, knowing that if gramps caught even a whiff of morning breath, he'd make her do it again. "If the student can't do even the simplest things right, then how will she ever become a master of anything?" he always said...
She spit out the foam from her mouth and swished water from the sink around in her mouth before spitting that out too. Checking her teeth in the mirror and her breath against her palm quickly, she was satisfied and shed her clothing before hoping in the shower, right as the water hits the perfect temperature. "Take only what you need." gramps would always say...
After a quick shampooing of her hair and a rinse of her body after soaping it off, she stepped out of the shower and dried off on the towel labeled: Kirlia.
Wrapping the towel around her, she walked back to her room and shut the door. Then proceeded to put on her undergarments, then her shirt, and then her gi.*
Looking at the clock she saw it was 5:05.
Cursing under her breath she ran downstairs and out of the house, booking it to the dojo.
When she opened the door, she was greeted by a fist flying towards her face. She dodged it deftly and dodge*to the left, expecting a right hook but going right into a unsuspected left hook.
"Now now, Kirlia, fortune may favor the bold, but haste makes waste..." gramps said.
She looked up and saw that it was another one of gramp's students who had thrown the punches, with gramps looking on from behind.
"You can't expect everyone to be like me in a fight, so you must always access the situation instead of assuming."
Kirlia nodded.
"Yes, gramps..."
And then walked inside the dojo, shame evident on her face.
Today was going to be a looooong day...
((Another part to come tomorrow, hopefully.))
Justin honestly couldn't believe he thought he was in Alabama for so long. It was surprising he hadn't realized it wasn't Earth after his first trip to Trog's. Maybe he's not as smart as he thought he was if it takes a cartoon car chase to make him believe this isn't Kansas anymore.
Inside was unexpectedly fun to live in, and certainly better than Atlanta. Food was plentiful and his cash, while more useful as toilet paper in the wasteland, had actual value, maybe even moreso than caps, which he had to argue with vendors to use. Best of all, everyone carried around gold coins for some reason! Gold coins were small, valuable, easy to swipe, and they were like pennies here. He didn't even need to feel bad for stealing them.
The only thing he was missing was a regular place to sleep. As rich as he had accidentally become, he didn't have have enough for his own house. He could always just stay at Trog's, but that place was too crazy for his liking. Staying on the street was an option, he supposed, but he'd probably just give up and stay at Trog's if it was available, and it was always available.
Justin decided to drop the issue for the day. He could worry about it tonight. For now, he wanted to explore this stupidly huge Escher print of a city.
He had been looking around a section of the city that was probably the most like Atlanta. As similar as the cityscape looked like superficially, it was a completely different feeling. The emptiness of the crumbling downtown Atlanta made him feel anxious, scared of what would come out of each building, brandishing weapons or claws or whatever else it wanted to use to kill him. Inside was more comforting to him. People walked about, not really afraid that at any minute, a squad of mohawked idiots could come out screaming and shoot up the place.
That afternoon had been spent lollygagging in the park until that evening. He would have just gone to Trog's but the urge to explore and see what this place was like at night was incredibly alluring. At night, everything changes. The feeling of safety in the daytime had left, and the familiar anxiousness returned. He was used to it though, and it felt exciting to be so nervous after spending so long feeling safe.
As he explored well into the night, sticking to walls, avoiding the light, and sneaking about with a kind of silly glee of a child playing hide and seek, his pip-boy sounded a notice. This was strange, as it was the first time it had done so since he had arrived in the city. Reading the notice, he learned that he had discovered Laneside Bowling. Looking up toward the building he had been sneaking against, he saw the busted old sign that had lost several of its letters from what had probably been years of neglect.
Never being able to resist some newly discovered building was a curse of Justin's. Back with his old team, one of the few ways he was allowed to induldge in his kleptomaniacal habit was scavenging, so he took every chance he could. All of the front windows and doors were boarded up, so he decided to sneak around the back. The back door had been locked shut, but that had never been something to stop him before. It wasn't an instant before he heard that ever so satisfying click of a perfectly picked lock.
Justin entered the pitch black bowling alley and was greeted by the smell of dust, metal, and grease. He realized that this must be where the machinery that sets up the pins was. He closed the door behind him and listened very closely for sounds. He was looking for any signs that he might not be alone in the building: footsteps, murmurs, or the tell-tale hiss of a feral ghoul. Unable to hear anything, he decided it was safe to turn on his pip-boy light. He was right, this had been the pin setting machinery. He could see the lanes from where he was standing.
With his wrist mounted lamp he was able to find his way to an unlocked door that lead to the the far left of the main room, where he could begin searching.
The snack bar had been cleaned out of most of its contents except for several bags of chips and candy under the counter and a soda machine that must have been too much of a hassle to take apart. He pressed the button for Coke, but was unsurprised when nothing came out. Of course it wouldn't work, the city probably shut the power off years ago. Pocketing the candy and chips, he moved on.
The old arcade area was in a similar state. It was mostly empty space except for an old crane machine sitting in the corner still full of ugly unofficial merchandise of copyrighted characters.
Finding the men's room rather suddenly reminded him that he hasn't gone all day. After finishing, he pulled the plunger out of habit and was quite surprised at how loud the flush had been, his ears having grown used to the silence. Then he was surprised that it even flushed at all. He turned on the sink faucet to make sure, and although it sputtered at first, water ran just fine. That didn't make sense. Water should have been turned off years ago, but if it's still running, then maybe the power still worked!
Justin rocketed out of the bath room, after washing his hands, because he was raised better than that, and back into the machine room. It was a short search before he found the switch box. When he flipped the master switch, he heard the sound of a few machines whirring and lights flickering on. As he began to turn on more he heard even more machines turn on, coming to life again with the power restored. He could even see the the lights in the main room from the lanes.
Justin left the pin machines behind to see just what he had accomplished. The room looked completely different than earlier. In the light, he found a hall off to the side he might have missed earlier. There was a storage closet, a janitor's closet, and a manager's office he would have to look over thoroughly
This was probably the best find he had ever come across. Running water, working electricity. . . Secluded. . . His. This building is boarded up and abandoned. For whatever reason, the city forgot to turn off the water and power, and he could use it however he wanted. It would need cleaning, and maybe a mattress, and a way better lock than that dinky little thing, but those were cheap fixes. His head was buzzing with so many ideas on how to improve this place, but Justin decided to drop the issue for the night. He could worry about it in the morning. For now, he wanted to enjoy his new dustbin of a home.
Reviews:
Elaine/Billie: Split personalities have always been sort of fascinating to me. In a psychology class I took in college, I watched a video of a man with several. Having someone else in your head is scary, and making war or communicating with someone you can never actually meet, is really interesting. Your depiction of a transsexual is also interesting, as I had recently seen a video about trans issues when I first read your story.
Bloodplunder: Went back to read the others so I could understand it. Part 3 is a decently written fight scene.
Kirilia: The diary bits in the prelude were good, but I didn't care for part one of the actual story though.
Goblins: Oh Hutznim. Your smugness is so wonderful. Keep up the good work.
__________________
Pirate Justin avatar by myself. Emmi avatar by Gulaghar, Much Thanks!
Again, as this is about one of my characters but also one of Beans' people, they need to check it before it becomes canon, and as it's written from the point of view of a character, things aren't always objective.
Dreams and Nightmares - Part 3: That Sleep of Death...
Spoiler
Nycca’s started writing a journal now. She doesn’t like to talk, so I suggested she might find it worked better for her, and judging by the fact that she's using the one I gave her, it seems like it does. Of course, spending her time hidden off upstairs writing has made her even more withdrawn. Sometimes it feels like whatever I do to try to help her, she turns it around somehow so that the consequences leave her worse off than she was before... Not that I think she's doing it because she has something against me or anything like that, but it does get frustrating.
And she's still shivering all the time, and not putting on any weight. I don't know why. She's been getting food, and the supplements and potions I've been giving her should have helped with the malnutrition by now.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apparently, Nycca doesn't want to keep living; she's been giving her food to Lenia, and putting the blankets we give her back as soon as we aren't looking. The same with everything else.
I'm not angry with her, more... Sad, and frustrated that I can't seem to help her. I did sit with her for a while, though, which she seems to like. I don't know if she could be said to enjoy it, exactly, but she seems like she appreciates it, and it does seem to make her feel better for a bit.
She's also hooked up to an IV now, so that she'll at least be getting some sort of nutrition, and I can make sure that the potions I make are actually used. She doesn't like it, but what am I supposed to do? Let her starve herself? If she asked me for poison, I don't know what my answer would be at this point, but I won't let her die like that.
Her nightmares are still bad too, but Sherry's going to be sleeping next to her, and I'm working on figuring out the sympathies to help. I'd do the same thing Sherry is while I am - I don't think Nycca would mind - but there are just so many other things I have to do... Most nights I've ended up falling asleep over my work, or laying down on the couch to wait for my head to clear because I can't see straight, and then finding out in the morning that the minute or two it was supposed to be ended up with my passing out for a few hours.
Anyway, reviews of the things I've actually read:
Vesa:
It was interesting. I like being able to see Vesa from a different perspective, and getting a look at how she sees the world. I look forward to seeing more of how she got to Elexxion.
Kirlia: I have to agree with Orchestra on this one. The diary bits were interesting, but there was something off about the story itself.
NLD:
There were some typos that threw me, but overall, it was good. It certainly had an atmosphere very reminiscent of Fallout, which seems to have been the intent, given where Justin comes from.
__________________
Plague Rat in the Playground
Quote:
Originally Posted by Grim ranger
I support the godly magazine idea, and hope that Eld can serve as mix of town crier and incredibly deadpan game show host in some sections. Also, for some odd reason, he will also make appearance when it comes to godly fashion tips, for even if he is grim reaper he will be the most bishounen god there is. Just you wait
Quote:
Originally Posted by Moonwolf
Damn you and your comprehensive understanding of synergistic tactics. :|
Again, as this is about one of my characters but also one of Beans' people, they need to check it before it becomes canon, and as it's written from the point of view of a character, things aren't always objective.
Dreams and Nightmares - Part 3: That Sleep of Death...
Spoiler
Nycca’s started writing a journal now. She doesn’t like to talk, so I suggested she might find it worked better for her, and judging by the fact that she's using the one I gave her, it seems like it does. Of course, spending her time hidden off upstairs writing has made her even more withdrawn. Sometimes it feels like whatever I do to try to help her, she turns it around somehow so that the consequences leave her worse off than she was before... Not that I think she's doing it because she has something against me or anything like that, but it does get frustrating.
And she's still shivering all the time, and not putting on any weight. I don't know why. She's been getting food, and the supplements and potions I've bee giving her should have helped with the malnutrition by now.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apparently, Nycca doesn't want to keep living; she's been giving her food to Lenia, and putting the blankets we give her back as soon as we aren't looking. The same with everything else.
I'm not angry with her, more... Sad, and frustrated that I can't seem to help her. I did sit with her for a while, though, which she seems to like. I don't know if she could be said to enjoy it, exactly, but she seems like she appreciates it, and it does seem to make her feel better for a bit.
She's also hooked up to an IV now, so that she'll at least be getting some sort of nutrition, and I can make sure that the potions I make are actually used. She doesn't like it, but what am I supposed to do? Let her starve herself? If she asked me for poison, I don't know what my answer would be at this point, but I won't let her die like that.
Her nightmares are still bad too, but Sherry's going to be sleeping next to her, and I'm working on figuring out the sympathies to help. I'd do the same thing Sherry is while I am - I don't think Nycca would mind - but there are just so many other things I have to do... Most nights I've ended up falling asleep over my work, or laying down on the couch to wait for my head to clear because I can't see straight, and then finding out in the morning that the minute or two it was supposed to be ended up with my passing out for a few hours.
Companion story time! This was written from Nycca's perspective. Certain elements, like the story and chapter titles, are references to the music I feel fits the tone of the story, and listening to it may augment the experience.
Character: Nycca Dreams and Nightmares Nycca Eat Nothing
Spoiler
Entry I - pale grey and dripping saline
Talina said I should start writing in a journal.
Writing is easier than talking.
Talking lets everyone know your voice is thin and cracked.
Talking makes everyone start fussing over you when you just want to be left alone.
It's always well-intentioned and it makes sense to them. "Nycca, won't you have some applesauce?" "Nycca, you're shivering, do you need a blanket?"
I don't want to eat and I don't care if I shiver or not. If they give me food I'll sneak it to Lenia---she's as skinny as I am and her metabolism is probably higher.
If they give me a blanket I'll wait until nobody's looking and put it back in the linen closet or whatever.
And they'll just keep giving me nice things I don't need or want because they don't understand what I've been trying to tell them:
I'm done. I'm exhausted with life. I don't feel any need to keep going, especially now that the other girls are safe. Sherry's got her smile back and Marina's shoulder is healing and that's great and I'm happy for them but I don't want to stick around here. Here there's aches and tiredness and nightmares.
There's nothing I want in this world.
---
Entry II - crawl space girl
Okay, maybe I should have considered that Talina and the others might read what I wrote before I went and spilled my guts to the paper, because here I am hooked up to an IV of protein and calcium and whatever most of the time.
Talina admittedly has been pretty cool about this whole thing apart from forcing an IV on me; she wasn't angry or offended, she just sat with me a while and asked me if I'd like to come downstairs to spend some time with her and the other girls.
Of course, I didn't, but it was nice of her to ask.
Sherry's decided to sleep next to me until these nightmares stop being such a problem, which is exactly the kind of sweet thing Sherry would do. I told her it was fine and she shouldn't trouble herself, but it's not like that's ever stopped her before.
Le Reviews!
Spoiler
Kirlia: Good overall, but there's something about it that feels a little bit rote and old-horse (not to the level of being a dead horse for the beating, however); note, however, that doesn't mean it can't be good.
NLD: I liked this one, especially with him having discovered an empty bowling alley to live in. Bowling alleys are awesome, and the way Justin thinks within the Nexus environment is natural.
Here you go. Blue is where something should be added, yellow is something that probably needs to be changed:
Quote:
Originally Posted by OrchestraHC
...It was surprising he hadn't realized it wasn't Earth after his first trip to trog's. Maybe he's not as smart as he thought he was of it takes a cartoon car chase to make him believe this isn't Kansas anymore.
Inside was unexpectedly fun to live in, and certainly better than Atlanta. Food was plentiful and his cash, while more useful as toilet paper in the wasteland, had actual value, maybe even moreso than caps, which he had to argue with vendors to use. Best of all, everyone carried around gold coins for some reason! Gold coins were mall, valuable, easy to swipe, and they were like pennies here...
...People walked about, not really afraid that at any minute, a squad of mohawked idiots are going to come screaming and shoot up the place...
...As he explored for so well into the night, sticking to walls, avoiding the light, and sneaking about with a kind of silly glee of a child playing hide and seek, his pip-boy sounded a notice. This was strange as it was the first time it had done so since he had arrived in the city. Reading the notice, he learned that he had discovered Laneside Bowling. Looking up toward the building he had been sneaking against, he saw the busted old sign that had lost several of it's letters from what had probably been years of neglect...
...Justin entered the pitch black bowling alley and was greeted to the smell of dust, metal, and grease. He realized that this must be where the machinery that sets up the pins was. He closed the door behind him and listened very closely for sounds. He was looking for any signs that he might not be alone in the building: footsteps, murmers, or the tell-tale hiss of a feral ghoul. Unable to hear anything, he decided it was safe to turn on his pip-boy light. He was right, this had been the pin setting machinery. He could see the lanes from where he was standing.
With his wrist mounted lamp he was able to find his way to an unlocked door that lead to the the far left of the main room, where he cold begin searching.
The snack bar had been cleaned out of most of it's contents except for several bags of chips and candy under the counter and a sodamachine that must have been too much of a hassle to take apart. He pressed the button for Coke, but was unsurprised when nothing came out. Of course it [or something of the sort] wouldn't work, the city probably shut the power off years ago. Pocketing the candy and chips, he moved on...
...It would need cleaning, and maybe a matress, and a way better lock than that dinky little thing, but those are cheap fixes. His head was buzzing with so many ideas on how to improve this place, but Justin decided to drop the issue for the night. He could worry about it in the morning. For now, he wanted to enjoy his new dustbin of a home.
__________________
Plague Rat in the Playground
Quote:
Originally Posted by Grim ranger
I support the godly magazine idea, and hope that Eld can serve as mix of town crier and incredibly deadpan game show host in some sections. Also, for some odd reason, he will also make appearance when it comes to godly fashion tips, for even if he is grim reaper he will be the most bishounen god there is. Just you wait
Quote:
Originally Posted by Moonwolf
Damn you and your comprehensive understanding of synergistic tactics. :|
I support the godly magazine idea, and hope that Eld can serve as mix of town crier and incredibly deadpan game show host in some sections. Also, for some odd reason, he will also make appearance when it comes to godly fashion tips, for even if he is grim reaper he will be the most bishounen god there is. Just you wait
Quote:
Originally Posted by Moonwolf
Damn you and your comprehensive understanding of synergistic tactics. :|
So, in following through with my effort in reviewing...some reviews!
Chelonie - Liking what you've got. Moves a little fast for my taste, but that's fine. Probably just cause you don't have all the fine details worked out. Raven's parts throughout it is interesting.
Shrike and Dani - Liking them as kids, seeing what made them who they are. Just kind of wishing for more. Kind of short. At least, in my opinion.
Sophie - Very much liking this, and very much looking forward to more. I am wondering what happens next.
Mrs. Bloodplunder - Huh. Always interesting to read about the traditions of other cultures. Good job.
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Ivaz dressed as Bomb Queen done by myself.
Quotes and goodies:
Spoiler
Quote:
This isn't like the Loch Ness Monster or leprechauns. This is something I have to see to believe.
Much as I like this story, I feel that it's beginning to drag just a little. Probably just me, though.
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Originally Posted by Morty
Rise of the Prophet, Part 4
Spoiler
*snip*
There's not much I can say that hasn't already been said. This was great, I can hardly wait for the final part.
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Originally Posted by Mindfreak
The Story of Kirlia: Prelude
Character: Kirlia
Spoiler
*snip*
I don't like Dragonball, so that probably colored my thoughts on this story a little. I do think it's well-written, and the dialogue of the next part is good; it's just not for me.
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Originally Posted by OrchestraHc
New Location Discovered: Laneside Bowling
Spoiler
*snip*
I'm probably not unbiased with this story either; Fallout's one of my favorite game series. That said, I feel that this managed to elicit the feel and atmosphere of a Fallout game rather well. It's pretty good.
Lots of people are suggesting I write more at a time. I'm not sure how feasible that is for me, as I'm writing it for the first time when I post, and it always seems to be more before I press the 'submit reply' button than afterwards, and the 'preview post' doesn't help much because it, too, is a different scale to the actual posts. I'm glad people enjoyed reading the fight scene. I shall, however, try my hardest to write more, but don't expect the next part any time soon; I'm still working on it. Sort of.
Dreams and Nightmares: I'm enjoying this, very much. Along with Nycca Eat Nothing. I hope to see more .
New Location Discovered: Again, very good story; completely unfamiliar with Fallout of any variety, so I don't have that to colour my perceptions. I think C'nor's got all the typos and other mistakes.
Grantz Stuff: Not familiar with the character, but I am interested as to where it's going. Please continue.
Finding the Broom: I enjoyed this, too. Can't think of any criticism, however.
Rise of the Prophet: As always, fantastic. I eagerly look forward to the next part, but I don't want to reach the end of it.
The Story of Kirlia: Perhaps some more formatting would be useful? It's up to you, though, and I did enjoy the story, though I did prefer the prologue; it's an unusual format. Not familiar with Dragonball, though, so if it's got anything to do with that I'm missing that connection.
Charlie's Last Message: I really enjoy reading your work, Happy, and this was no exception.
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Semper in faecibus suvum, sole profundum variant.
Terrowin Avatar by HappyTurtle. Much thanks!
I have a point!
Always willing to run a dungeon for those who need somewhere to explore. Just PM me, and decide the character and location and I'll see what I can rummage up.
Rise of the Prophet: As always, fantastic. I eagerly look forward to the next part, but I don't want to reach the end of it.
That won't be the end of the worldbuilding from that setting. It'll be followed by more stories that will detail the fall of the Empire and its aftermath. They will be, obviously, grim. Not that anyone expect something else.
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My FFRP characters. Avatar by Kid Kris. Sigatars by Gulaghar, Kid Kris, Zefir and billtodamax, respectively.
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Re: [Nexus] Stories etc
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She adjusted her mirror and saw him in the back, bound and gagged. She couldn't afford to stop yet, but once she got into the heavily urban part of the city. She called ahead, and when she pulled into a parking garage, there was another cult member ready to swap vehicles with her. Linda pulled her beloved Charlie out of the van, and the other driver jumped in and drove off, to try and draw off the pursuit.
Interested in Nexus FFRP? Read 
