No hope for the damned RP [IC]

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AuthorTopic: No hope for the damned RP [IC]
Law Bringer
Member # 6785
Profile #25
Al's interest picked up. The locals were senting a party to Salintu. At least he wouldn't have to cross the desert on his own. Having a guide would save him time and help keep him from getting lost. There weren't any more villages between here and there.

He didn't believe in a demon and some sort of curse. The area had just had some unseasonal weather and they wanted an excuse. Superstitous fools. He just hoped that he could be gone before they decided to blame him when their lot didn't improve.

"I'll go to Salintu," he volunteered. He could earn the gratitude of the locals and maybe some supplies. Too bad the storm had destroyed the tavern. What hadn't been ruined by the storm had been drunk by the villagers. There wasn't anything for him here.
Posts: 4643 | Registered: Friday, February 10 2006 08:00
Lifecrafter
Member # 7252
Profile #26
Heh. Funny, old, rural folks. Believing in such things as supernatural curses. Davion chuckled. But, it's interesting. The two coots volunteered, and the midget might go too. This is really interesting. Davion shrugged. He surveyed the people again, with no difference. They're still the depressed, tired, unlively, bunch of people he saw when he entered.

I have nothing to do with this curse of theirs. My job is to find that girl... Davion took out the piece of parchment that supposedly contained information for his job at hand. He looked for a specific word that'll go with his thoughts. Alicia, is it? But I'll do that tomorrow. I have no other business here. I guess I'll sleep for now. I think nobody will notice. Davion sighed, for the last time for the day, and slept.

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But after revenge is taken, nothing remains but a painful scar...
You ain't evil until you hear this!
Looking for group to slaughter the world..
Posts: 732 | Registered: Saturday, June 24 2006 07:00
Infiltrator
Member # 4248
Profile #27
A slight breeze blew over the knocked-over tombstones and fallen trees. The night was already old, yet the sun still wouldn't rise for few hours; it was the darkest, and coldest, moment of the night. The demon stood tall over the defiled grave, staring mutely at the lump of dead flesh that had once been Alicia. Her body was still in relatively good shape: looking trough the darkness, the demon could have sworn that she was still alive, and just sleeping. Of course, it knew it wasn't so: her body was too silent, and it could already smell the creeping decay. It wouldn't have cared to look at the body for too long, but its gleaming eyes were still searching, still desperately trying to find what it had given to the girl.

And every moment it became more obvious: it wasn't there. The necklace was gone, someone had taken it. The demon's eyes were wide open, its hands shaking from mute anger. This it had not taken to consideration; it had thought that the villagers had buried Alicia with all of her belongings. Curse me for a fool! I should have guessed!, it thought and ground its teeth together. Yet again, the world was mocking its attempts to stay alive, to stay free and unbound. And in doing so, it had again tricked the demon to do something it would have rather left undone.

Embittered and enraged, the demon began shoveling dirt back on the girl's earthly remains. One of its paths, the one it had been least reluctant to take, ended here. So, what other options do I have?, it pondered. It could think of only one, and it would need to be done in a hurry; it would only take so long for the sun to rise once again. Silently the demon labored, quickly filling the pit that had taken hours to dig. Then it once again dissolved into the shadows, setting its course towards the other edge of the ruined village...

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Life is a neverending carneval where everyone has multiple costumes. I just hope mine are pleasing to the eye.
Posts: 617 | Registered: Tuesday, April 13 2004 07:00
Lifecrafter
Member # 7557
Profile #28
It would be nice to say there is at least one fundamental truth about deserts in the universe, however there isn’t.

Jeran stared out across an endless expanse of greyish yellow sand. Oh well he thought I tried. His arm felt better after a few hours, and the bruises had already faded from his dark skin, leaving the toned muscles to their solitary splendour. He sat under a scrawny bush, sword slung across his back as always, arms crossed over his knees, face twisted in its usual contortion of angry suspicion.

He hated deserts. Give him a one-man stand against the forces of eternal death, destruction and extra French homework any day. The last time he’d been in one a tribe of rather-older-then-was-good-for-the-body tomb guards has been chasing him because he had apparently violated some long-forgotten ten thousand year old burial site, thrice cursed by some god not even the rocks remember now. He’d escaped of course, after falling down a precipice into a lich lair and finally convincing it to return him to civilisation after several bottles of millennium-old desert grape wine and an invitation to dinner, which was sadly later interrupted by a band of tomb-robbers who had been informed of a mysterious black figure lurking around the triangles and swearing as he was hit by the various decades-old traps the pharaohs had installed to protect their cobwebbed old dungeons and paradoxically, Jeran himself.

Adventuring was never an easy profession; the fact that he had never been one was not the issue. He hated adventuring, with a fury. Unfortunately due to quote “Past influences” end quote, he was now inextricably linked with such a career. Life losses its subtle lure after several millennia of uncooperative servitude towards beings a person would just as soon stab repeatedly with a glowing rod of sharpened starmetal.

He repressed the urge to sigh, as around him, sighing generally caused continents to collapse and dark lords to be born. Ok, so this isn’t entirely accurate, around Jeran, sighing generally caused creatures to take an interest in him and transport him to places were such things were actually happening at the time. So that’s cleared up. He plucked the old sword from his belt and swung it about for the heck of the thing. It was an old, corroded blade that had stalwartly endured his rabid attempts to sharpen it. In a pinch it would probably make good firewood, and if he was really desperate, the woodworm in the handle would make a decent snack. His inventory consisted of provisions for another day, the sword, and the only thing that he was assured to keep in his planar travels. The Voah Stone. Perhaps one day I’ll find a use for it he thought absently, returning the sword to its place and securing the little opal-like stone back in his travelling cloak.

He had just settled down to sleep, when his near-perfect hearing caught the slightest of sounds in the bushes. It was classified in the humming, whirring cockpit of his brain as a red-liner, an invasive noise, the noise of something without the grace of nature, and the stupidity to attempt to creep up on him. Old, half-dead senses began to reassert themselves, the neurological equivalent of old computer software chugging into overdrive to cope with the graphical requirements of some vastly updated configuration system.

Or the reverse; in short, Jeran’s body was undergoing a transformation, gone was all the old sarcasm and demeaning behaviour, in its place was a consciousness honed by three thousand years of trial and hardship. A primal creature, driven by naked instinct and bloodlust, one implanted in his genetic memory in a universe so far divorced from this one that even the gods feared it in their ancient halls of thought. Unfortunately, this was all taking part in a place of memory that Jeran had long since sealed away and trapped so that he would never find it again. Therefore, his reaction was to get up slowly (Terrible idea) and stare wildly around the featureless plains. There was a pregnant pause while the universe remembered who it was dealing with, then Jeran realised.

“You’re behind the bush aren’t you?”

Something hit him in the back, lifted him off his feet and deposited him in a heap several metres away. He struggled upright, shaking sand deposits off his travelling cloak and staring around for his assailant. He didn’t have to search for long. A massive, hulking figure shambled out of the darkness, reaching for him with long, blunt appendages. He yelled a curse to the air and dodged nimbly aside as a woody arm-like protrusion slammed into the rock he had been lying on, smashing it into an intricate stonework jigsaw puzzle. There was no fire nearby, no light, and all his vision was telling him was that something that looked horribly like a massive bush was coming at him with alarming speed. He somersaulted behind another rock as a wine sneaked out from the writhing mass and slashed the area were his head had just been. He could just make out massive, dagger-like thorns on it before it was sucked back into the plant-creature, which shambled towards him again, as fast as a running man and a thousand times as smelly.

Methane He thought wildly fire, have to get some fire!

The stench was almost asphyxiating, but he ignored it as he dodged and weaved his way over to his pack, he had exactly three seconds to reach inside, snatch a tinder box and leap away again as the animated cookbook nightmare leapt at him from yards away, the entire bubbling mass somehow launching itself into a clumsy long-jump to grab at his legs. A tentacle/vine/whip appendage caught him in midair around the ankles, thorns tearing into his soft flesh, liquid fire was the only way to describe the searing agony that lanced through his body as he was plucked out of the air, and he realized numbly that the creature must be poisonous as well as smelly. Then he was on the ground, his feet being dragged steadily into the centre, or maw of the heap, then he realised that this was exactly where he needed to be. As the wet mass began crawling up his chest, his hands struck the flint into the thing. White flame roared skywards, a massive bonfire erupted among the rotting leafage of the thing, and an unearthly crackling, screaming, tortured bellow issued from it. Jeran dragged himself out of its trailing tentacles, and rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames, he had timed it right, the explosion had been funnelled upwards then outwards, away from his body, which had been pressed face-down to the ground.

He lay on the damp grass, breath coming in laboured gasps as dark blood oozed from his torn legs, to coagulate with the pinkish-green secretions of the dying creature as it screamed. The pain from the venom had dulled, and Jeran registered dimly that in fact he wasn’t hurting at all, it was clearly a slow-acting anaesthetic, to prevent prey from damaging the creatures intestines as it was swallowed whole for processing in the stomach. This was all rather hazy though, as his vision began to fail him. It was better to regenerate now and view the remains later, then try to fight this poison. He let himself turn inwards, secreting himself away in the most secured parts of his mind, his bodies heart-rate dropping, the processing of the poison slowing, the flow of blood decreasing, the cell replacement increasing, much akin to a dead troll regenerating lost limbs then rising to plague foes again. The phoenix would be reborn…tomorrow.

Jeran drifted on endless dark wings through corridors of the timeless void. And at the back of his mind, an ancient dark thread began its steady pounding on the walls of sanity.

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*Eyes potential targets*
Posts: 942 | Registered: Sunday, October 8 2006 07:00
Law Bringer
Member # 4153
Profile Homepage #29
Demarkus awoke with a start as a ray of sunlight burst into the temple. He hadn't slept well at all.

The meeting had been... well, disappointing. Most of the villagers in attendance had simply stood silent and listened to Kelleth's proposal. One man who kept inexplicably sighing throughout the meeting had left early, and Demarkus had written him off as a coward. The only other volunteers were a man who looked like an alchemist (judging from the singed robes), and the midget boy, Michael (Demarkus wondered where that old windbag Magero had gone).

He could still see the pained look of disappointment on Kelleth's face when he said for the volunteers (and anyone else who changed their minds overnight) to meet at the obelisk outside the temple. Honestly, Demarkus couldn't blame him. This was not an encouraging sign... he gathered up his belongings and made his way outside, where the others were waiting.

-----

The obelisk, a solid piece of marble eight feet tall, was the only real monument in Emerald Cliff. It had been quarried in some ungodly-faraway place and dragged out to the desert when the town had first been founded. Some thought it was a gift from an ancient Ta-Shanti king, but nobody knew for sure anymore. It had been struck by lightning during the storms of the past few days, and still bore black scorch-marks.

Demarkus tossed his sack onto the ground by the obelisk, and exchanged pleasantries with the alchemist (he had been right) and Michael.

"Have any others shown yet?" Demarkus asked. The others shook their heads.

"It's alright, I'm sure we'll manage," Al said, perhaps a bit more cheerfully than necessary. Michael gestured to the sack, which bulged comically on the dusty ground.

"What's in the bag?"

Demarkus grinned, and with a flourish, upturned the sack and emptied the contents onto the ground. "This is my livelihood. And with any luck, a few things that we will find useful."

He carefully picked up a strange assemblage of metal strips and wood, and pointed it at a nearby tree. A sharp twang followed, and a twisted piece of metal had buried itself in the tree's trunk. As he retrieved the missile, he explained, "This is my finest work. A deadly accurate crossbow pieced together from the detritus of desert ruins."

As he came back to his pile, Al pointed at something small and shiny poking out from under a few loose wooden splints, asking what it was.

"That is... well, I've never seen that before. Might've picked it up somewhere and forgotten, but it's nothing I can remember," he said, picking it up. It was a delicately-wrought gold flower, hung on a silver chain. Offhand, Demarkus mentally priced it at roughly three times the worth of everything else he'd had in the bag. "Strange."

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Gamble with Gaea, and she eats your dice.
Posts: 4130 | Registered: Friday, March 26 2004 08:00
Infiltrator
Member # 4248
Profile #30
It was exactly one hour before sunrise. The demon could feel the giant ball of fire slowly rolling towards the horizon, ready shine its exhausting warmth upon the barren land of Ta-Shanti. It wouldn't be long untill the first rays of light would illuminate the ruined village and cause the demon to fade into obscurity. Some people were already rising up, preparing themselves for the toils of the new day; the demon could hear them yawning and shuffling around as it crept past their damaged homes.

It was hard to find what it had come to look for. The power of the sun was already distracting the demon from sensing the faint echo of power it had been trailing. Finally, it found the right place: a rough, angular clay hut, with one of its corner smashed by a falling palm tree. The demon hurried to its door and tried it; it was unlocked. Quickly, it slipped inside.

The inside of the building wasn't nearly as chaotic as its surroundings. Even though there was a gaping hole in the wall with lots of debris surrounding it where the tree had fallen, otherwise the hut's insides were clean and orderly. Small shelves hung on the walls, with spices and books arranged upon them, and a small table at the middle of the room had a vase full of lilies placed upon it. There was also a small bed in the left most corner; the owner of the house was luckily absent, though. Besides the bed was a small dresser, and the demon decided to search it first. Silently it crept to it and began opening the drawers. The first two were unlocked, and contained only clothes and some small jewelry. The demon couldn't have cared less for them. Impatiently it tried the third locker. It was locked.

Hell be damned!, the demon thought as it tried to pull it open. It took quite a lot of force to rip the drawer from its place, so much that the demon almost fell backwards as the stubborn container finally gave up. Anxiously, the demon dumped its containers on the floor. It sighed of relief as the item it had been searching fell on the ground. "At last", it muttered as it picked a small, sheathed dagger from the floor. Just then, someone opened the hut's door.

"Is there someone here?", a frail, creaking voice echoed from the exit. The demon froze, and then, slowly, turned to look at the intruder. A wrinkled, elderly woman stood on the doorway, peering into the shadowy corners of the hut. The demon noticed her eyes were obscure white, likely ruined by disease and old age, but it didn't drop its guard just yet. The woman had a suspicious expression and, worse yet, she was clearly reluctant to step into the hut. The demon hid the dagger to the recesses of its ragged clothes, lingeringly rising to its full height. The woman remained motionless, but the demon could hear her old hearth picking up pace in rising panic. "You can see me", the demon said aloud as the first rays of light poured into the small house...

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Life is a neverending carneval where everyone has multiple costumes. I just hope mine are pleasing to the eye.
Posts: 617 | Registered: Tuesday, April 13 2004 07:00
Lifecrafter
Member # 7557
Profile #31
On close inspection, the devouring mass proved to be both informative and disappointing. For a start, it had obviously been dying. The methane was from the rotting material that normally served as the “skin” of the creature, the vegetation that had been sprouting from the thing had been slowly rotting, malnourished and diseased. Jeran flipped over a large wad of the creature and saw that the things that passed for internal organs within the mass were encrusted with a horrible knobbly rough green fungus.

This creature was being eaten alive He thought Now what the hell would cause that?

The other thing he noticed was that the creature had a distressingly small set of internal organs. This suggested that either the disease which had afflicted it had attacked and atrophied them, or the devouring mass was born inside a shell of predetermined size and grew with age or digestion.

Jeran weighed these possibilities while cleaning the mess of scabs on his legs. He healed a lot faster then most, but still used the proportionate amount of energy that a human would use if healing a wound the same size at a normal rate over a longer period. The effects of overtaxing himself were vividly imprinted on his genetic memory, and it was a memory he honestly wished wasn’t genetic, and didn’t sometimes wake him up screaming uncontrollably in the night because he’d rolled over and grazed himself on a sharp stone.

I’ll heal in a day or so, but that’ll leave me to weak to cross the desert he thought bitterly That means I’ll have to head back to the village. The chief is going to kill me

He finished with the outer shell and appendages, and then moved on to the creature’s stomach, which was as he had expected, by far the largest internal organ it possessed. There were a few corroded bones and a lot of the aesthetic venom which he scraped away with a rock. He lifted a snare-tentacle carefully and used a sharp piece of flint to slice it down the middle until he found the venom sacks, then he took an empty water-container, dipped it in a little of the venom to make sure it wasn’t corrosive to the leather, then drained a good half-pint of the stuff into it. The sacks were bulging, which suggested that either the creature had eaten very recently or was starving yet still producing the secretion. It was impossible to truly tell, the parasitic fungus had played merry hob with its physiology, rendering any kind of detailed analysis void.

The afternoon was well on by the time he set off back towards the village, hopefully he’d find a well or oasis on the way that would replenish his supply of water, but until then his only option was a straight line back the way he came. Small animals scurried out of his path as the air around him took on a faintly purple glow as he cycled through his impressive repository of swear-words.

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*Eyes potential targets*
Posts: 942 | Registered: Sunday, October 8 2006 07:00
Councilor
Member # 6600
Profile Homepage #32
Michael searched through Demarkus' "livelihood" for anything useful. He didn't know what half of it was, and everything in the other half was either too large for him to use or useless for a desert crossing.

He kicked his pack moodily. Probably just as well, really. It was already heavy enough.

Demarkus looked around. Michael could tell he was still hoping someone else would join the group.

"No one else is coming. Let's go, already." Michael put on his pack and picked up his walking stick.

"Wait. Someone is approaching." Al squinted at the figure running down the path towards them.

Demarkus perked up. "Who?"

"Oh. It's just Kelleth's apprentice," Al said, "Look's like he has bad news."

Martin nodded at the three of them before disappearing into the temple. Michael shrugged off his pack and followed him to see what had happened.

---

Dikiyoba.

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Episode 4: Spiderweb ReloadedEpisode 5: Spiderweb Resistance
Posts: 4346 | Registered: Friday, December 23 2005 08:00
Law Bringer
Member # 6785
Profile #33
This was a useless group to help Al get across the desert. A midget that had to run to keep up with them walking and a collector of junk out to collect more. This village didn't have anyone that could hunt coming with them. At least the collector in his scrap collection wanderings would know the way.

Now there was probably more bad news from that feeble priest that ran the village. Probably that more food had turned bad so there wouldn't be any supplies.

He had heard rumors that there had been someone else that had already headed out before he had arrived. Some idiot with a skin condition that they hadn't minded seeing leave.

The three went inside where Kelleth was upset.

"The demon was seen inside the village. "

Al wondered what really happened. Demons didn't exist. Maybe there was some alcohol left in the village.

[ Friday, April 11, 2008 13:52: Message edited by: Randomizer ]
Posts: 4643 | Registered: Friday, February 10 2006 08:00
Lifecrafter
Member # 7252
Profile #34
He was awaking and he was aching. His sleep on the floor wasn't that much comfortable but it still made a decent sleeping pad. He stood up and with a dazed look, he lurched out the door to see it was high noon already. Mister Davion Arc has been sleeping for quite a while. It took a while for his eyes to be set in the current contrast of the area. After they had adapted, he saw the town, if it can be called a town, more like a squatter's area. Broken pots, broken houses, broken hearts, the common works of a crisis. Not my problem though.

Fully awake now, Davion went out to search for the village chief's house. He walked on the streets in strides. He whistled nonchalantly. He held up his head up high, or it seems that way because all others was low. Only one thing was stopping him, he doesn't know where in the name of the gods is the house. And this hit him eventually. Seeing that he is going nowhere, he did what anyone would do, deny the fact that he doesn't know where he's going and let the false fact that he knows where it is prevail. After much walking in the village, he finally stopped, sighed, and sided on a wall from a peculiar building. This isn't going anywhere at all. Maybe if I asked the locals. Nah, they won't know where the chief is, but they do live here. As his pondering continues, he heard voices inside the building he was lying on. Looks like there are some locals there. Might as well ask them. Davion went to find the entrance to the building. As he entered he saw the three peculiars fellows that volunteered to go to Salintu.

"Greetings friends." Davion cringed and greeted them.

"Hail to you stranger. I am Kelleth, the current chief of the village of Emerald Cliff. Of what service, if possible, may I be to you?" answered the clearly bothered man in the group.

Davion eyed the rest of the group. He remembered them completely, midget and coots. He carefully thought what he's going to say. Village chief? Finally!

"Friends, I am Davion Arc, and I came from the bliss-blessed city of," Davion seems about to spit out the next word, "Honist."

"Honist you say?" Kelleth asked. The rest of the group stayed quiet and listened.

"Yes. I was with no regret to leave sent here to though I'd rather go whoring help a lady named Alicia."

Kelleth's face turned straight.

"Did I say something that bothers you Sir Kelleth?" Davion inquired.

"She is dead. For three days now." Kelleth answered sadly.

Davion was clearly surprised. "Is she now? What was the cause?"

"We do not know. One morning, as she tried to leave the village, we heard her screaming in pain. After a while, she went silent and dead." a teardrop seems to drop down from Kelleth's eye.

"I see," Davion said "it seems I can do nothing more."

"Yes, for her. But maybe..." Kelleth eyes suddenly turned hopeful.

Davion quickly answered, knowing what the chief is about to say. "Help your village with it's curse and demon?" Davion hid a chuckle but it was clearly spotted by Kelleth.

"I know that you are thinking that we are just rural folks with their superstitions," Kelleth said "but please! You have seen the village, the chaos that envelops it, the suffering, the depression."

"Yes, yes. I saw it all. No taverns. What could be worse than that?" Davion said, clearly lacking the same happy demeanor he had when he first talked with Kelleth.

Kelleth remained silent and stared at Davion. Davion stared back but suddenly felt alone when the others stared at him.

What to do? What to do? If I go home now, I'll be rid of this backwater boredom and have some good ol' fun but if I remain, I have to help these people, without pay, and risk my neck. What to do?

"Ok. I'll help the village." Davion said unflinchingly.

Kelleth was surprised. "Are you sure there Davion? I know that Honist is such a wonderful city, with all the taverns and women you can have."

"Yes, it's a little but too wonderful." Davion said.

"If that is what you want." Kelleth said. His face showed an pinch of happiness and an ounce of surprise, "Well then, might we continue discussing the current matter?"

"Excuse me first my good sir," Davion interrupted. "maybe a little introduction is good."

"You may be right." Kelleth replied.

"Well then, I am Demarkus, a desert junkman they say," said the man with the big bag, "and the other members are Alex Coe Hallic and Michael the midget." Demarkus pointed respectively.

"Ah. I see." Davion nodded with satisfaction.

"With the introductions done, can we press on with the current situation?" Kelleth asked.

All nodded.

[ Thursday, April 17, 2008 20:56: Message edited by: Azuma ]

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But after revenge is taken, nothing remains but a painful scar...
You ain't evil until you hear this!
Looking for group to slaughter the world..
Posts: 732 | Registered: Saturday, June 24 2006 07:00
Infiltrator
Member # 4248
Profile #35
Zachary was lying on his bed, eyes closed yet still awake. He hadn't slept well; odd dreams had pestered him the whole night, waking him up every few hours to wonder what was really happening. He had dreamt of walking trough the cemetery, wandering past the ruined burial ground in search of something. He had also dreamt of digging; even though he was certainly awake now, his hands still felt sore and dirty.

I wonder how long this sleeplessness will go on, the man pondered. I haven't been able to rest well for more than a week now, and these nightmares are getting stranger every night. How am I supposed to feed my kids if I'm too tired to even stand during day? Sighing heavily, Zachary turned around in his bed and opened his eyes. Trough the broken windows, he could already see the sky was getting lighter. Zachary knew he was supposed to get up already, but the thought of doing so didn't really appeal to him. "Only a little while longer", he muttered and drew his blanket over his face.

You can see me.

Zachary's eyes shot wide open. What had that sound been? Had he fallen asleep once more? Confused and filled with strange sensation of dread, the tired farmer wrenched himself up and dragged himself to the window. It still wasn't very bright, but in the faint light he could still see someone standing in the doorway of old Miriam's hut. "Morning, neighbor. Is everything alright?", Zachary shouted to the figure, thinking that it was Miriam. But as soon as the words had escaped his mouth, he realized it wasn't so; the figure was too tall and too dark to be the old lady.

"Hey! Who the heck are you?" Zachary yelled, leaning so far out of the window he almost fell out from it. The sudden shout startled the strange figure, but it didn't bother answering to the farmer. Instead, it darted out from the doorway so fast that Zachary lost track of where it had gone. Filled with worry, the farmer hurried way from the window and to the door of his hut, not even stopping to put his shoes on as he bolted out to the muddy streets. He didn't know why, but he was sure the old woman was in grave danger...

---

"As I said, the demon was seen this morning. The damn thing broke into old Miriam's house this morning. We don't know why, but the creature almost choked her to death. If our smith Zachary hadn't found her so soon, we don't know whether she would have made it", Kelleth stated with a grave expression on his face. The four people before him gave him trouble looks.

"Uh, may I ask, how do you know it was a demon?", Al asked after a moment of silence.

"Miriam told us", Kelleth replied with a voice fraught with concern. "Younger healers managed to wake her up roughly an hour ago. She said she wanted to see you before you go. I suggest you go to meet her before you set on your journey. Demarkus, you should know where she lives. Now, is there anything you want to say before you go on your way?"

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Life is a neverending carneval where everyone has multiple costumes. I just hope mine are pleasing to the eye.
Posts: 617 | Registered: Tuesday, April 13 2004 07:00
Law Bringer
Member # 6785
Profile #36
Now they were off to listen to the rantings of a deluded woman. Maybe she had been drunk and hadn't finished it all.

They had managed to pick up a fourth for their group, Another stranger, but at least he seemed intelligent. He also was upset at the lack of a tavern. Too bad he didn't have anything with him to drink. *sigh*

Oh well they might as well humor that priest and go see Miriam. It couldn't take that long.

The group was guided by the assistant to Miriam's hut. It was going to be a waste of time as far as Al was concerned. Then he saw Miriam and knew it was a waste of time. A blind woman saw a demon. Sure she did. The place was probably being robbed by a passing stranger since the smith hadn't recognized the thief he chased off. Not that the place looked like it had anything worth taking.

So Al endured Miriam's boring talk about seeing the demon here ransacking her belongs. Blah, blah, blah, demon, blah, blah, blah. Now he really needed a drink.

[ Thursday, April 17, 2008 20:49: Message edited by: Randomizer ]
Posts: 4643 | Registered: Friday, February 10 2006 08:00
Councilor
Member # 6600
Profile Homepage #37
Michael checked the sun's progress across the sky. It was already midmorning. If they didn't leave soon, it would be too hot to travel. And at the rate things were going, if they waited until the afternoon, they'd never go at all.

Michael didn't believe there was a demon. But he wasn't going to rule out the possibility entirely.

"Can we go? Now?" Michael asked.

---

Dikiyoba.

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Episode 4: Spiderweb ReloadedEpisode 5: Spiderweb Resistance
Posts: 4346 | Registered: Friday, December 23 2005 08:00
Lifecrafter
Member # 7557
Profile #38
Sometimes, the dark man wondered if he had ever truly had a beginning. He was a wanderer by nature, and when not exploring the epic vastness of the multiverse he had time to think. Time to think in that great darkness that separated the universes from the never-ending either that was the energy of pure emptiness.

He felt the taint there. It was pathetic really, a memory of a memory, buried under four thousand years worth of re-entries. Had it really been so long? Did time have any meaning to a being who had exceeded his species’ projected life span by well over three thousand years, and had spent that entire excess period being violently and unwillingly bounced between universes where the laws of physics had the same survivability rating as a one-legged hedgehog on an eight-lane motorway?

Someone really should come up with that bloody theory of everything already.

“Destruction is my way” he said aloud, then felt rather stupid. He was alone, a few miles from the village, without water or much food, and the ancient laws dictated that his power was void upon entering a new dimension for the first time.

“What an end to this tale” he said, consuming himself in the monolog “Three thousand years, and it ends on the spears of these peasants”

He remembered everything of his life, from the day of his birth to the day when the…abomination first came forth from the mists of the void to destroy his race, and then afterwards there lay before him the endless worlds he had travelled in hopes of escaping that dread creature, and his last encounter with it, all was neatly arrayed on shelves of woven neurons in a brain not meant for corporeal existence.

Then, inevitably, he remembered her. Over his immeasurable existence, Jeran had possessed many lovers, even a few wives. He was in no way physically unattractive, and womanizing and drink had proven to be rather effective ways to get the universe to ignore him, no-one cared for a drunkard lout looking for his next sob-story. But there had been one woman, one much like himself in many ways. An outcast, a stray, one cast aside from civilisation, a pawn of beings she had hated. The tale was long, and Jeran never quite managed to remember it all before the black shadow descended across his mind. The taint, the memory returning as strong as ever, wallowing in the shallow pools of total hatred the thought elicited.

Disgusted, he turned away from the tangle his thoughts had become and stared out at the slowly setting sun, his life slowly drifting in front of his eyes.

Maybe it was better if he just lay down and died…

Hey, now that is way not the attitude I expected from you.

Jeran groaned again. Ah yes, the universal law must finally be releasing its grip, the voices had come back.

All this depression, must be bad for the completion.

Which one are you?
Redhead, black took a holiday for a while, says he can’t stand seeing through your wine-readened eyeballs anymore. A shambler eh? I used to summon those allll the time you know.

Would the both of you please just go away Jeran thought furiously. The voice faded with an unpleasantly human-sounding giggle. He sagged again.

Wait a moment! he thought suddenly, almost jumping off the ground as the thought struck him. Whoever said there was only one of those creatures! Yes! That’s it!

Jeran leapt in the air, the idea of fighting something that couldn’t spout repeated clichéd monologs at him was one of the few things he truly enjoyed. He looked down at his travelling cloak, it had been severely torn by the devouring mass, and the scabs would still take days to heal fully. It was a perfect plan. Jeran stood for a moment, taking in the sheer potential of it all, then practically ran towards the village.

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*Eyes potential targets*
Posts: 942 | Registered: Sunday, October 8 2006 07:00
Law Bringer
Member # 6785
Profile #39
Al looked down at Michael. The midget had a good idea.

"Let's go. We aren't going to get there if we stay here listening to every story."
Posts: 4643 | Registered: Friday, February 10 2006 08:00
Law Bringer
Member # 4153
Profile Homepage #40
Demarkus nodded, then looked up at the sun. "Yes, it's about time we get going. We should try to get as far as we can before nightfall."

He gathered up his belongings and slung the pack onto his shoulders. It would be difficult to carry, but not impossible.

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Gamble with Gaea, and she eats your dice.
Posts: 4130 | Registered: Friday, March 26 2004 08:00
Lifecrafter
Member # 7252
Profile #41
Hooooweeee! This just gets better and better. Old women getting drunk and seeing demons! HAH! There is a stash somewhere! But...

Davion stretched out an arm on his belly. Food is nice too.

Davion was behind the group. He wanted it that way. He looked up at his fellows who were getting ready to leave. But due to current events happening, it won't be likely that we eat.

Davion sighed.

"Sure, let's get it on. The sooner we'll find everyone's stupidity our goals." Davion said.

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But after revenge is taken, nothing remains but a painful scar...
You ain't evil until you hear this!
Looking for group to slaughter the world..
Posts: 732 | Registered: Saturday, June 24 2006 07:00

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