A Wound in the Mountain
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A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Tue Oct 27, 2009 1:39 pm
Your first sensation is the unbearable heat. A volatile flame beneath your flesh, threatening to sear you from within and slough the patchwork flesh from your bones. On the surface you feel the bitter sting of glacial air whipping at your raw flesh.You howl out in a roar which stutters with the spattering flame. You want to open your eyes, but feel only the compulsion to tear your body apart in search of the flame inside of you. This strange urge passes once the heat stabilises. The pain of the cold ebbs away as the heat inside you crystalises, acheiving equilibrium. Your nerves register the extreme temperatures, but you feel no pain or discomfort from them. You convulse and strain all the same, snapping thick leather restraints only to find yourself bucking against the cacophony of steel chains. Only your left arm is free.
You can hear the static chitter of arcing electricity over a furious gale. Finally you open your eyes to see something black and forbidding staring down at you through a rough stone wound in some great cradle of rock. There's a blinding purple flash as the sky cracks open and thunder groans. You see a brewing maelstrom staring down at you as if to condemn you, forcing your eyes away. As your eyes adjust, you see a blurred grey figure standing over you to your left.
- Spoiler:
You can hear the static chitter of arcing electricity over a furious gale. Finally you open your eyes to see something black and forbidding staring down at you through a rough stone wound in some great cradle of rock. There's a blinding purple flash as the sky cracks open and thunder groans. You see a brewing maelstrom staring down at you as if to condemn you, forcing your eyes away. As your eyes adjust, you see a blurred grey figure standing over you to your left.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
Age: 22
Location: A Big Massive Boat 
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Thu Oct 29, 2009 7:49 am
He closes his eyes and sags against the weight of his restraints. His mind reels with all of these sensations, baffled by how they can feel completely new and somehow oddly familiar at the same time. He becomes aware of a sharp, bitter and exceedingly unpleasant taste in his mouth, as well as an acidic burning thorughout his body. Not painful, but incredibly irritating.
Thought comes in stuttered sparks. He rakes his memory in a futile attempt to recall how he came to be here. He can feel the annoying burning reaching to his core every time he takes in a breath. Something tell him that this is far from normal. He hears a rough gravelly voice, not at first realizing that it is his own. "What the fu-", he begins before he is wracked with coughs so heavy that they threatened to rip his innards out.
He regains his breath, but the unknown acids intensify to a maddening crescendo. This time he knows how to speak, and does so purposely. He directs his frustration at the blurred enigma looming over him. "What the hell has happened to me?!"
Thought comes in stuttered sparks. He rakes his memory in a futile attempt to recall how he came to be here. He can feel the annoying burning reaching to his core every time he takes in a breath. Something tell him that this is far from normal. He hears a rough gravelly voice, not at first realizing that it is his own. "What the fu-", he begins before he is wracked with coughs so heavy that they threatened to rip his innards out.
He regains his breath, but the unknown acids intensify to a maddening crescendo. This time he knows how to speak, and does so purposely. He directs his frustration at the blurred enigma looming over him. "What the hell has happened to me?!"
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Thu Oct 29, 2009 1:02 pm
The bile in your body realigns as once again you convulse, thrashing fitfully against a modified gurney. Between the bellowing thunder, you can hear the rattle of your restraints. They sound pitiful, buried beneath the skys fury. You hear a hushed, hurried voice. Its speech is masculine, rapid and seems to struggle with certain consonants, vomiting them out painfully, as though the mouth is struggling to keep up with the mind.
"*N*'-Nothing has happened to *y*-you. You just opened your eyes. You shouldn't talk. *H*'-Hush."
The figure turns around and watches the sky light up with lightning. Without warning, light rapidly floods the dark cavity of rock as arcing electricity screams out. Sparks flow through the vitreous humor of your eyes. Before the elements make your world white, you catch a clearer glimpse of the blurred apparition; thin, forlorn and grey.
Your eyes adjust once more to the potent, chaotic light. You see your own arm. It's corded with cable-like sinew beneath flesh scourged at points by swollen patches of some sort of affliction, black like scabrous coal. The joints are laced with ligature, thick leather and wire, binding together flesh of different hues in a sickly patchwork pallor. You notice metal contact points embedded into the flesh of your upper arm. The metals are clearly different. Most elude you, although somehow you recognise one of the more distinctive coloured metals to be copper, a conductor. You have no idea how you know this.
The blurred figure turns back to you, less blurred than before. His skin is the colour of ash and his face is assymetrical to the point where he seems to be wearing two different expressions which you are completely unable to read. His eyes are different colours. One is milky, pale blue. The other, dark brown. You can't read any expression in them either. You don't like what you see, though.
"*N*'-Nothing has happened to *y*-you. You just opened your eyes. You shouldn't talk. *H*'-Hush."
The figure turns around and watches the sky light up with lightning. Without warning, light rapidly floods the dark cavity of rock as arcing electricity screams out. Sparks flow through the vitreous humor of your eyes. Before the elements make your world white, you catch a clearer glimpse of the blurred apparition; thin, forlorn and grey.
- Spoiler:
Your eyes adjust once more to the potent, chaotic light. You see your own arm. It's corded with cable-like sinew beneath flesh scourged at points by swollen patches of some sort of affliction, black like scabrous coal. The joints are laced with ligature, thick leather and wire, binding together flesh of different hues in a sickly patchwork pallor. You notice metal contact points embedded into the flesh of your upper arm. The metals are clearly different. Most elude you, although somehow you recognise one of the more distinctive coloured metals to be copper, a conductor. You have no idea how you know this.
- Spoiler:
The blurred figure turns back to you, less blurred than before. His skin is the colour of ash and his face is assymetrical to the point where he seems to be wearing two different expressions which you are completely unable to read. His eyes are different colours. One is milky, pale blue. The other, dark brown. You can't read any expression in them either. You don't like what you see, though.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
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Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Thu Oct 29, 2009 8:42 pm
'Just opened my eyes?', He thinks to himself, 'who the hell does he think he is?!'
Looking at the mysterious, mismatched face brings only more questions and devours the dwindling supply of patience. He attempts to maintain his composure, but the... wrongness of the entire situation infuriates and terrifies him. He becomes painfully aware of the fact that he is still restrained.
He barely manages to hold his temper and fiercely averts his gaze from the figure. He grinds his teeth, as if literally chewing over his next course of action. The bitter sting of bile washes over his tongue once more. The slight burning crisscrossing his body shifts itself to the forefront of his mind. "What the fuck is that burning?!", He says to nobody in particular has he strains to look down at himself, hoping to locate the cause of the irritation.
He can easily see the yellow bile welling up in between his patches of stitched flesh. Only more questions to ask. He calms himself again and steels himself against the seemingly inevitable frustrations of his new existance. He turns back to the patchwork figure.
"Let's try again. Who am I? What am I?", He asks in a gruff but civil tone, and after a moments pause "Who are you?"
OOC: Through some miracle my rolls somehow managed to succeed. The Unnamed keeping his temper drastically altered the outcome of this post. Had to be the one time I want him to go crazy and smash stuff didn't it?
Looking at the mysterious, mismatched face brings only more questions and devours the dwindling supply of patience. He attempts to maintain his composure, but the... wrongness of the entire situation infuriates and terrifies him. He becomes painfully aware of the fact that he is still restrained.
- Spoiler:
He barely manages to hold his temper and fiercely averts his gaze from the figure. He grinds his teeth, as if literally chewing over his next course of action. The bitter sting of bile washes over his tongue once more. The slight burning crisscrossing his body shifts itself to the forefront of his mind. "What the fuck is that burning?!", He says to nobody in particular has he strains to look down at himself, hoping to locate the cause of the irritation.
He can easily see the yellow bile welling up in between his patches of stitched flesh. Only more questions to ask. He calms himself again and steels himself against the seemingly inevitable frustrations of his new existance. He turns back to the patchwork figure.
"Let's try again. Who am I? What am I?", He asks in a gruff but civil tone, and after a moments pause "Who are you?"
- Spoiler:
OOC: Through some miracle my rolls somehow managed to succeed. The Unnamed keeping his temper drastically altered the outcome of this post. Had to be the one time I want him to go crazy and smash stuff didn't it?
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Fri Oct 30, 2009 12:19 am
Humours dwindle and coagulate, allowing your rage to subside somewhat, but it doesn't go away. It burns terribly, in fact, as its terrible energy is diverted from emulating the furious sky screaming down at your bound form. Your free arm trembles terribly and the fingers shift into gripping a phantom tool. The lightning no longer blinds you.
You can now see the man with terrible clarity as he lopes towards you. He's a wisp of a thing really, dwarfed by the distorted, towering shadow he casts across the illuminated rock. The grey shroud he wears over his slight, uneven frame makes him look like a sack of axehandles. His skin is lashed together by wire and thick fabric in a jagged, chaotic patchwork that's maddening to look upon. He gets within arms reach of you and stops. The man smiles humourlessly. It strains the terrible seams in his face. There is nothing like peace in either of his eyes, you decide. Just an animated, unnatural glint. He speaks again, this time slowly and softly, without the vomited consonants.
"You... are my creation. I made you. I call myself Godot... so I suppose that is who I am."
He pronounces his name 'God-oh'. His skin is terribly... diverse. You can count ten different shades of grey in his face alone, like a burnt-out pane of stained glass. He looks at the floor, his soft voice trembling with an emotion you're unable to place.
"I had... a question for you..."
OOC: Hehe, plenty of time for that...
You can now see the man with terrible clarity as he lopes towards you. He's a wisp of a thing really, dwarfed by the distorted, towering shadow he casts across the illuminated rock. The grey shroud he wears over his slight, uneven frame makes him look like a sack of axehandles. His skin is lashed together by wire and thick fabric in a jagged, chaotic patchwork that's maddening to look upon. He gets within arms reach of you and stops. The man smiles humourlessly. It strains the terrible seams in his face. There is nothing like peace in either of his eyes, you decide. Just an animated, unnatural glint. He speaks again, this time slowly and softly, without the vomited consonants.
"You... are my creation. I made you. I call myself Godot... so I suppose that is who I am."
He pronounces his name 'God-oh'. His skin is terribly... diverse. You can count ten different shades of grey in his face alone, like a burnt-out pane of stained glass. He looks at the floor, his soft voice trembling with an emotion you're unable to place.
"I had... a question for you..."
- Spoiler:
OOC: Hehe, plenty of time for that...
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
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Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Sat Oct 31, 2009 8:20 pm
He lies stunned for a moment before another fit of coughing rattled through his throat and tore his gaze upward and away from this ‘Godot’. No not coughing, this was somehow richer and more… pleasant than the painful experience he endured mere minutes earlier. It also came with a blur of emotions that told him that this was something natural. His deep voice projected the strange sounds well, making them sound both earthshakingly solid and more than a little threatening.
Dimly, he became aware that he was laughing. He was laughing at the situation, at the irony of trying to procure knowledge from one who didn’t have any. He let the sounds die away, but kept the stretched musculature that accompanied the expression on his face as he turned his stare back to his ‘so-called’ creator.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” he returned, barely able to keep from slipping back to the near euphoria of the laughter once again, “What could I possibly tell you?”
The whole while, he begins to flex his oddly pulsing left arm. He hopes even this feeble movement will push back the numbness and put a stop to the spasming.
Dimly, he became aware that he was laughing. He was laughing at the situation, at the irony of trying to procure knowledge from one who didn’t have any. He let the sounds die away, but kept the stretched musculature that accompanied the expression on his face as he turned his stare back to his ‘so-called’ creator.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” he returned, barely able to keep from slipping back to the near euphoria of the laughter once again, “What could I possibly tell you?”
- Spoiler:
The whole while, he begins to flex his oddly pulsing left arm. He hopes even this feeble movement will push back the numbness and put a stop to the spasming.
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Sat Oct 31, 2009 9:06 pm
The slack in Godot's burlap hood blows partway around his head, swallowing up a face rent by emotions you somehow understand; bitterness, disappointment, revulsion. Towards you and your laughter. Your efforts quell the juddering tendons in your arm. While you regain tentative motor control, the limb remains on the razor thin edge between basic control and chaotic convulsions. The grey man murmurs something under the wind's shrill whistle.
"Division or Unity. Hunger into Nihil. Lead into Gold."
You feel the last wayward surge pass through your arm. It becomes your own once more. Godot raises his voice so that he may be heard over the elements. It's darker now. The sky simply rumbles and flashes, and the arcing electricity has dwindled into a dim, occasional cascade.
"I don't know that you can... I shall ask it though... regardless... this... is my question..."
You decipher the riddle writ into Godot's patchwork face. His wretched eyes gleam down upon you, filled with anger and revulsion. His voice trembles with sadness and frustration. The rasp returns to his words as he forces them out in a ragged whisper which somehow carrys over the skys fury.
"What is the nature... of one not of nature?"
OOST: All sorts of unlikely successes for the unnamed one it seems.
- Spoiler:
"Division or Unity. Hunger into Nihil. Lead into Gold."
You feel the last wayward surge pass through your arm. It becomes your own once more. Godot raises his voice so that he may be heard over the elements. It's darker now. The sky simply rumbles and flashes, and the arcing electricity has dwindled into a dim, occasional cascade.
"I don't know that you can... I shall ask it though... regardless... this... is my question..."
- Spoiler:
You decipher the riddle writ into Godot's patchwork face. His wretched eyes gleam down upon you, filled with anger and revulsion. His voice trembles with sadness and frustration. The rasp returns to his words as he forces them out in a ragged whisper which somehow carrys over the skys fury.
"What is the nature... of one not of nature?"
OOST: All sorts of unlikely successes for the unnamed one it seems.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
Age: 22
Location: A Big Massive Boat -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Mon Nov 02, 2009 9:30 am
Suppressing a spike of impatience, he attempts to mull the question over. However, he finds that his thoughts are sluggish and can’t quite grasp what it is that he’s being asked. It’s all too much for him. The burning bile, the mysterious figure, the cryptic questions. He has had enough of this entire situation and desires nothing more than to escape it by any means necessary.
Instead, he turns to the one thing that he does know that he can count on, his frustration. A terrible anger brews within him and threatens to loose itself. He keeps it in check for a moment more, not to contain it, but to direct it.
“I don’t know!” He spits acidly, “How the fuck am I supposed to know? You tell me 'creator.’ You’re the one pulling the strings! If you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who’s chained to a fucking rock here!”
He rattles his chains for effect and stares defiantly into Godot’s face, not sure what he has started, but too angry to care.
OOC: Sorry about the abrupt change of pace here, I just can’t imagine The Unnamed sitting still any longer. Not sure if I’ve kicked a beehive or what, but as far as The Unnamed is concerned, he’s had enough of this “cryptic bullshit.” Hopefully this won’t mess with the story too much and no offense meant.
Instead, he turns to the one thing that he does know that he can count on, his frustration. A terrible anger brews within him and threatens to loose itself. He keeps it in check for a moment more, not to contain it, but to direct it.
“I don’t know!” He spits acidly, “How the fuck am I supposed to know? You tell me 'creator.’ You’re the one pulling the strings! If you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who’s chained to a fucking rock here!”
He rattles his chains for effect and stares defiantly into Godot’s face, not sure what he has started, but too angry to care.
OOC: Sorry about the abrupt change of pace here, I just can’t imagine The Unnamed sitting still any longer. Not sure if I’ve kicked a beehive or what, but as far as The Unnamed is concerned, he’s had enough of this “cryptic bullshit.” Hopefully this won’t mess with the story too much and no offense meant.
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Wed Nov 04, 2009 9:41 am
With alarming speed, Godot lurches forward and bends, hunching over you, as though his vertebrae is hinged or that perhaps his tattered sack hides more joints than the average person possesses. The black sky billows and flashes. Its roared complaints have died down now, though brief flashes continue to illuminate the rock cradle. The ragged man is peering into your eyes. He's close enough that you can see the milky lattice of scar tissue seperating neighbouring portions of skin, where wire, leather and fabric do not. Close enough that your own reflection is visible in his eyes. A dull, colourless outline warping and undulating like flickering flame.
You feel your left arm tense up before the rest of your body follows suit. Humors surge through your anatomy as the fire beneath your flesh reacts to something unseen and unfamiliar. The expression he wore has now changed. Frustratingly, you can no longer read his patchwork face. He's smiling again, but you're unsure whether the revulsion you saw has left.
"I c-can't tell you your nature..." he murmurs, as though surprised that you'd ask him a thing like that.
"You... are distressed?" he asks, hooking three spindly fingers through links in your chains. The fingers don't appear to match the thumb, and the remaining finger looks almost unfinished, as though it stopped growing when Godot was a child. You feel the chains dig into your flesh as he tugs lightly at them before relaxing. After a few seconds, the thick metal links around his digits become another substance; something between fluid and grey sand. The chains binding you grow slack as the links seemingly dissolve.
OOC: No trouble at all. If The Unnamed doesn't want to sit through Godot's pretensions and yearns for real answers then I feel as though we're both doing our jobs.
- Spoiler:
You feel your left arm tense up before the rest of your body follows suit. Humors surge through your anatomy as the fire beneath your flesh reacts to something unseen and unfamiliar. The expression he wore has now changed. Frustratingly, you can no longer read his patchwork face. He's smiling again, but you're unsure whether the revulsion you saw has left.
"I c-can't tell you your nature..." he murmurs, as though surprised that you'd ask him a thing like that.
"You... are distressed?" he asks, hooking three spindly fingers through links in your chains. The fingers don't appear to match the thumb, and the remaining finger looks almost unfinished, as though it stopped growing when Godot was a child. You feel the chains dig into your flesh as he tugs lightly at them before relaxing. After a few seconds, the thick metal links around his digits become another substance; something between fluid and grey sand. The chains binding you grow slack as the links seemingly dissolve.
OOC: No trouble at all. If The Unnamed doesn't want to sit through Godot's pretensions and yearns for real answers then I feel as though we're both doing our jobs.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
Age: 22
Location: A Big Massive Boat -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Thu Nov 05, 2009 10:14 am
He maintains his bold, disobedient visage as he attempts to stand. He manages to get to his feet, but only just. His newfound strength works against him as he overcompensates for even the slightest imbalance. After a few seconds of fighting for stability, his thoughts turn back to the shriveled thing that claimed to have birthed him.
Fury fuels his motions as he moves his powerfully built body to tower over the bent old man. A terrible and wonderful anger burns within his chest at the sight of Godot’s stature compared to his own. He can feel power radiating from the dark clouds roiling above him. Raw, unadulterated force unleashed in a magnificent display of indomitable spirit.
Electricity began to arc menacingly between the metal nodules embedded in his flesh, unbeknownst to him as his rage swallows reason. His hands ball themselves into huge dreadful fists at the ends of hideous, bulging arms. Wrath has become a tangible force within his body, a sort of dry heat that emanates from the core of his very being. Everything his is and knows cries out to beat the hunched form until he lies in a crumpled, broken heap at his feet.
It’s the chains that stay his hand, or rather the lack of chains. As furious as he is, the impossibility of the situation causes him to rethink his actions. Not only that, the wisp of power that turned the chains to dust responded to something within him as well, something that he possesses. He can feel it in the storm as well, as a power untouchable but potent. “Could I…,” he asks himself as his mind races over the possibilities.
His fury fades to a slow simmer, but doesn’t flee him completely. He turns his withering gaze back to the burlap swathed figure, curiosity, anger and ambition obvious in his watery yellow eyes.
"Distressed? I’m not even going to waste my time with that understatement.” He forces through gritted teeth. “I’m sick of these games. I don’t have any clue what the fuck is going on, but I’m trying to figure it out. I need answers. You’ve got them. A little help would be nice.”
Fury fuels his motions as he moves his powerfully built body to tower over the bent old man. A terrible and wonderful anger burns within his chest at the sight of Godot’s stature compared to his own. He can feel power radiating from the dark clouds roiling above him. Raw, unadulterated force unleashed in a magnificent display of indomitable spirit.
Electricity began to arc menacingly between the metal nodules embedded in his flesh, unbeknownst to him as his rage swallows reason. His hands ball themselves into huge dreadful fists at the ends of hideous, bulging arms. Wrath has become a tangible force within his body, a sort of dry heat that emanates from the core of his very being. Everything his is and knows cries out to beat the hunched form until he lies in a crumpled, broken heap at his feet.
- Spoiler:
It’s the chains that stay his hand, or rather the lack of chains. As furious as he is, the impossibility of the situation causes him to rethink his actions. Not only that, the wisp of power that turned the chains to dust responded to something within him as well, something that he possesses. He can feel it in the storm as well, as a power untouchable but potent. “Could I…,” he asks himself as his mind races over the possibilities.
His fury fades to a slow simmer, but doesn’t flee him completely. He turns his withering gaze back to the burlap swathed figure, curiosity, anger and ambition obvious in his watery yellow eyes.
"Distressed? I’m not even going to waste my time with that understatement.” He forces through gritted teeth. “I’m sick of these games. I don’t have any clue what the fuck is going on, but I’m trying to figure it out. I need answers. You’ve got them. A little help would be nice.”
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Tue Nov 10, 2009 5:05 pm
"G-game?" Godot asks, bitterness lingering in his glass, wavering voice. "There is no game. I am... your maker. I... made you... from p-pieces. Scraps... of man... and metal. Save... your gratitude."
He looks up at you with a curious expression. The ashen shroud he wears seems to crawl with something, as though it's simply a sack of lice animating a disembodied set of limbs with a head lashed on top.
OOC: Sorry this took so long. My internet's been patchy and I've been snowed under with college. On the plus side, I've been piecing together some things for the proposed Throng game, so it hasn't been a complete waste.
He looks up at you with a curious expression. The ashen shroud he wears seems to crawl with something, as though it's simply a sack of lice animating a disembodied set of limbs with a head lashed on top.
OOC: Sorry this took so long. My internet's been patchy and I've been snowed under with college. On the plus side, I've been piecing together some things for the proposed Throng game, so it hasn't been a complete waste.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
Age: 22
Location: A Big Massive Boat -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Tue Nov 10, 2009 8:35 pm
He matched Godot’s curious look with his own, giving him a disturbing mental image of staring at a mirror. Something within him squirmed at the sight of the hunched figure, but something else was drawn to him. Questions came to his mind unbidden. Was he just as incomplete as the shriveled sack of vermin before him? What was this simultaneous feeling of kinship and revulsion that dripped from his creator like sweet venom?
Even as his lack of information threatened to overwhelm him, a kernel of understanding took root in his mind. Something wasn’t right about Godot, something far more unsettling than the unnatural aura surrounding both of them. His mind had trouble comprehending the concepts of what he was about to say, but he had to know regardless. His voice dropped to a chilling rumble. “You seem surprised, creator. Almost like you never expected to make me at all. Tell me… if I am the failure, what was it that you truly wanted?”
Lightning punctuates the final word, shortly accompanied by the thunder that escorted each flash. Again he drew a connection between himself and the storm. He felt like that arm of liquid light right now, waiting for the inevitable and terrible thunder that was to follow.
OOC: No worries man, I’m surprised that I’ve been able to keep up as well as I have with college, work and getting engaged on my plate. Glad to hear you made some progress on the Throng game, that one has gotten me really excited. But yeah, take your time. Haste makes waste.
As for the scene, The Unnamed will not take dodging this particular question lightly. He is focusing all of his attention to the answer, and already has suppositions that will not easily be placated. This translates to the use of willpower as needed on an Empathy roll to judge facial expressions or a Subterfuge roll to pierce any sort of deceit that his duplicitous creator might attempt. Barring that, he will probably turn to violence and play out the inevitable (but undoubtedly futile) brawl with Godot. Sound okay?
Even as his lack of information threatened to overwhelm him, a kernel of understanding took root in his mind. Something wasn’t right about Godot, something far more unsettling than the unnatural aura surrounding both of them. His mind had trouble comprehending the concepts of what he was about to say, but he had to know regardless. His voice dropped to a chilling rumble. “You seem surprised, creator. Almost like you never expected to make me at all. Tell me… if I am the failure, what was it that you truly wanted?”
Lightning punctuates the final word, shortly accompanied by the thunder that escorted each flash. Again he drew a connection between himself and the storm. He felt like that arm of liquid light right now, waiting for the inevitable and terrible thunder that was to follow.
OOC: No worries man, I’m surprised that I’ve been able to keep up as well as I have with college, work and getting engaged on my plate. Glad to hear you made some progress on the Throng game, that one has gotten me really excited. But yeah, take your time. Haste makes waste.
As for the scene, The Unnamed will not take dodging this particular question lightly. He is focusing all of his attention to the answer, and already has suppositions that will not easily be placated. This translates to the use of willpower as needed on an Empathy roll to judge facial expressions or a Subterfuge roll to pierce any sort of deceit that his duplicitous creator might attempt. Barring that, he will probably turn to violence and play out the inevitable (but undoubtedly futile) brawl with Godot. Sound okay?
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Thu Nov 12, 2009 5:56 pm
Sheets of lightning flicker down from a condemning sky like some serpent's forked tongue, heralding the relentless roar of broiling black clouds. The black anger above seems determined to upstage the patchwork men in their cold rock cradle. An intense light swells behind you before over the thunder, you hear something shatter and tinkle, then the swinging of chains. Godot's face, a ragged puzzle of flesh, is contorted into yet another grim mosaic, useless and unreadable to you. You see bitterness and anger writ into the shard-strip flesh, but the wretch's eyes change like the black clouds above you, taking with them any certainty. He croaks back at you, slow and sly, as all the while, a strange resonance throbs between the pair of you. welling up in the furnace inside of you, surging out and .
"My intention was to *make* you, nameless. W-why? What... *makes* you think... that I want anything... from you? Any...thing more... than to make something... from s-spent men? To *chain* them.... to the w-world?
Your creator's voice is too scattered in places and too sly in others. You decide that he's given you only a grain of truth. There's more to this. His eyes remain unwavering and lifeless, like glass beads, gleaming as the sky's arcing electricity reflects from them.
OOC: Sounds fine. I'm cool with whatever you want to do. We both know the outcome we're working towards. It's up to you what happens leading up to that.
- Spoiler:
"My intention was to *make* you, nameless. W-why? What... *makes* you think... that I want anything... from you? Any...thing more... than to make something... from s-spent men? To *chain* them.... to the w-world?
- Spoiler:
Your creator's voice is too scattered in places and too sly in others. You decide that he's given you only a grain of truth. There's more to this. His eyes remain unwavering and lifeless, like glass beads, gleaming as the sky's arcing electricity reflects from them.
OOC: Sounds fine. I'm cool with whatever you want to do. We both know the outcome we're working towards. It's up to you what happens leading up to that.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
Age: 22
Location: A Big Massive Boat -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by Ashbound Sage on Thu Nov 12, 2009 11:31 pm
There was the tremor that he was looking for. It was all he needed to confirm what his instinct had already told him. The barest of proof that he needed to condemn his creator to as much punishment as he could deal. Godot, his only source of answers and assistance, the only reason he even existed, was hiding something from him. Something important. Maybe even something that could hurt or destroy him.
It was all it took to push him over the line.
The quiet fury that he had managed to hold in check broke free in a terrible and exhilarating flood. A roar tore itself from his throat, almost completely obscured by the pounding of blood in his ears. A blood haze settled over his sight, blocking out the storm, the makeshift lab and the very slab that he first opened his eyes upon. Only the object of his wrath remained in clear focus.
Rage flooded through his body like a flickering flame. A burst of intense heat radiated outwards from his chest, searing its way to the powerfully corded muscles that made up his huge frame. An odd sensation followed in the wake of the inner flame, a pressure building in his limbs and torso, as well as a warm flush to his skin not entirely unlike the acidic burning he experienced when he first awoke.
He lashes out at his creator in a blind rage, sweeping his long arms in graceless arcs of pure force. He attempts to do as much damage as possible with his bare hands, more suggesting than aiming his hammer like fists in the direction Godot’s head and torso.
OOC: Unconscious activation of the Might transmutation and a dice pool of 8 for his brawl attack to Godot’s lying ass. I’ll let you roll this one, as I shudder to think what the lithe, little Frankenstein has for defense.
Also, I'm not sure if you would count this as an act of Wrath, but it might be. Figured, I would ask since I'm going through Willpower like crazy.
It was all it took to push him over the line.
The quiet fury that he had managed to hold in check broke free in a terrible and exhilarating flood. A roar tore itself from his throat, almost completely obscured by the pounding of blood in his ears. A blood haze settled over his sight, blocking out the storm, the makeshift lab and the very slab that he first opened his eyes upon. Only the object of his wrath remained in clear focus.
Rage flooded through his body like a flickering flame. A burst of intense heat radiated outwards from his chest, searing its way to the powerfully corded muscles that made up his huge frame. An odd sensation followed in the wake of the inner flame, a pressure building in his limbs and torso, as well as a warm flush to his skin not entirely unlike the acidic burning he experienced when he first awoke.
He lashes out at his creator in a blind rage, sweeping his long arms in graceless arcs of pure force. He attempts to do as much damage as possible with his bare hands, more suggesting than aiming his hammer like fists in the direction Godot’s head and torso.
OOC: Unconscious activation of the Might transmutation and a dice pool of 8 for his brawl attack to Godot’s lying ass. I’ll let you roll this one, as I shudder to think what the lithe, little Frankenstein has for defense.
Also, I'm not sure if you would count this as an act of Wrath, but it might be. Figured, I would ask since I'm going through Willpower like crazy.
_________________
And thats why you're not invited to the Communist Party!
"The full force of the Batarang (B) when properly extruded at the Riddler's tomfoolery (Tf), factoring in the resistance from Robin's homoerotic costuming(QUeer) and the Joker's reliance on governmental subsidies to pay for low-grade dementia medications (M) can be summed up by the equation B2 x πr2 = The Green Hornet."
Ashbound Sage- Posts: 16
Join date: 2009-10-26
Age: 20
Location: Meanwhile, In the dark confines of the Batcave... -
Re: A Wound in the Mountain
by dean on Sat Nov 14, 2009 6:21 am
- Spoiler:
You feel turgid sort of solidity surge through your limbs as you strike at Godot's ragged form. A rotten contrast develops in the patchwork skin of your arms as though putrefaction has set in. It flickers back to normality, a passing complexion. The Maker moves like a twitching snake, but you manage to land a blow to his chest which causes him to falter back half a step. The feel of his crooked body is unsettling. You feel pain as something like teeth rake at your knuckles through the filthy sackcloth he wears. His form seems to pulsate arhythmically in a grotesque, bubbling spectacle. His own skin becomes ashen and his eyes milky as he leers at you with a needle-toothed, rigor rictus.
- Spoiler:
"Th-this is d-disappointing..." he croons. You hear the tear of flesh and fabric, only to see a bone-white blade, protruding along the length of his inner forearm. It's slick with bile and anchored onto a stick-thin limb with gristly sinew, which laces through his skin. He brings the wicked protrusion up with unnatural speed, and you feel something sharp and shallow between your ribs.
- Spoiler:
OOC: Yeah, I'd say this merits a Willpower Point. Combat has a tendency to take forever on PbP, so if you want to run the rolls and basic outcome on messenger or something, just PM me and we'll figure something out and write up the fight later. I'll note that I seldom force 'to the death' combat on players and I'll be offering plenty of outs. By the same token, most npcs in similar situations will try and escape if they're getting their asses handed to them and death seems like a possibility.
dean- Posts: 746
Join date: 2009-04-21
Age: 22
Location: A Big Massive Boat -
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