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+--- Thread: The Secondary Saga (/showthread.php?tid=2274)
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Reunion - Yu Kanda - 09-04-2015
Klaud slowly dragged her boots through the mud as the mist around her slowly started to disappear. The calmer state of mind she had earlier faded away as time had passed. The feelings in her heart weren't some magic trick from a swamp, nor was it sorcery, they were her own fears finding their way to the solid outer surface Klaud spent years to create. Even though she was still alive and walking, she felt defeated. Her ever vigilant walls crumbled down and exposed her heart and soul for everyone to see, if there was anyone around to see it. She was still alone out here. The emotional wreck that she was she was clinging on the one thing that gave her hope, Jan's military tag. Within her balled fist the trinket never left her touch.
After a walk that felt like it was taking hours her boot bumped into solid land and woke Klaud from her state, something that could only be described as a undead zombie walk. Her empty eyes moved up and saw she reached land, actual solid dirt, grass and trees could be seen close by. She turned her head twice to double-check, there was a swamp behind her and the start of a forest in front of her. Was it true ? did she really make it ? With a strong pull she got her boots out of the mud from the swamp and finally felt solid ground underneath her. It felt as if an enormous burden slipped from her weary shoulders. She took a couple of deep breaths before moving on. The swamp was behind her but she was still on her own, the others would've made it as well, Jan would have made it. With that in mind she regained her posture and marched forward.
Through the dense forest she was creating a path, leaves, branches, bushes, everything got in her way and made sure she was anything but a stealthy traveler. The light from the sun blinded her when she moved a branch filled with large green leaves to her side. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight, the dark swamp was not kind enough to share sunlight with its victims. When her eyes finally adjusted and focused the worn out exorcist was staring down the barrel of a gun making her freeze in her spot.
"Klaud?" A hesitant, vaguely familiar voice spoke up. As the barrel lowered Klaud saw two teary eyes appear before revealing the entire face. It was Christa, she made it. It took Klaud only a second to lose control over her emotions as she stepped in closer to hold her friend. Both Christa and Klaud held the other tight, holding on to each other as if they wanted to be sure it was really true and not another illusion. The intensity of Christa's hug felt as a warm blanket covering Klaud's wounded heart with faith and hope. Relief and joy were taking its course as the tears were flowing. Klaud even started to shiver, never before has she experienced emotions like this.
"Are you alright?" Christa asked before quickly turning her attention towards the sound of a broken twig coming from the darker corners from the forest. Klaud didn't respond to Christa's question but instead took position next to her, whatever it was, whatever this cursed land would throw their way, Klaud would not let it separate them again.
The bushes started to shake as more and more sounds were being made. The leaves were shaking and more twigs were snapping. Christa had her hand on her gun, Klaud had her eyes focused on the bushes as the noises grew louder and closer. In a swift movement the exorcist wiped the remaining tears from her face and took a strong stance once more. The bush got moved aside and the tears started to emerge once more, from behind the green leaves Lyra's surprised expression emerged. It took her a few seconds to realize what was going on before she rushed over towards her two comrades. The joy of seeing both Klaud and Christa was exploding from her face. Both of the women took Lyra in and held her tight. The girl has been through so much and here she was, back again where she belonged, with the people that cared for her. Lyra slowly let go as she turned around towards the bush. "You can come out, you don't need to hide."
From the same bush a second person appeared, he stayed back as he slowly revealed himself. Grobdum hesitantly stepped forward from his cover, not speaking a word, just looking at the scene unfolding in front of him, clearly unsure of how to act after everything that happened within the camp and swamp.
Klaud offered a warm and genuine smile with tears still lingering on her cheeks. " There is no need for that, friend. You are one of us, we are glad you made it back. " Her heart spoke truth as her sincere feelings were connected to each word spoken. Her gesture invited him to come closer.
Seeing both Lyra and Grobdum safe made Klaud feel hope. Jan shouldn't be far behind, he will be here shortly telling her not to worry so much, she's sure of it. For now, enjoy the moment that was given to her.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Proto Man - 09-04-2015
The swamp was thick around Top Man. With each step he took, the moist earth let out a squelch as he peeled his boots up and away. Behind the machine, his camera floated silently, its panoramic lens letting out soft whirs as it tried to soak in the view for the audience. Unlike the norm, Top Man said nothing as he trudged through the dank, poorly illuminated swamp. In the event that things went south, he intended to kill the feed… at least until he made it out of the Swamp of Sorrows.
If…
With a frown, the top-themed machine went forward, his eyes occasionally glancing to his peripherals. How far behind the rest of the group was he?
Better yet, was he even traveling in the right direction?
A glimpse to the top-center of his internal display revealed a compass spinning around in slow circles with every step the machine took. Even his map app was constantly buffering, unable to provide him with even an efficient rendering of the land within eyesight. Top Man wouldn’t have thought it weird if it weren’t for the fact that his live stream was functioning without any latency or connectivity issues. The crowd had become extra riled up as of late, so he knew they’d start bitching and screaming the moment anything went wrong.
Since he had little else to do, Top man trudged onward through the muck and the detritus-laden slop of the swamp. He managed to make it another fifteen minutes or so before he realized that he recognized every single tree around him from five minutes earlier. “Circles?” The robot spoke out loud, wondering how precisely he’d managed to walk in a circular fashion. Was something interfering that much with his calibration hardware?
“The swamp will do that to you,” the voice sounded almost hollow, but despite that, Top Man recognized the tone.
With a scrunched-up look on his face, Top Man slowly turned around and looked down at the head and shoulders of Snake Man. The dead Robot Master’s body had the appearance of a metal ‘corpse’ left to rot in the elements for a few months. The various shades of green that once colored the machine’s body were peeling or faded. Patches where the polymer paint had completely eroded revealed that rust had also taken its toll on the talking corpse, with a few missing chunks of skull revealing what lay inside that hooded cranium.
“Hello, Snake Man,” Top Man muttered as the snake-themed robot rose up out of the muck. The rest of the Robot Master’s body matched his head—‘decayed’ and ravaged by sitting in a wet, partially acidic environment for far too long. Had Snake Man died out here in the Swamp of Sorrows? Top Man knew that his reptilian ‘brother’ was dead, but beyond that, he didn’t know the details... only the Prodigal would be privy to that information.
When no response came from the corpse that was now drawing closer to him, Top Man retreated a few paces and tried a different method. “What’s up? You come here often, Snake Man? I thought you were in another verse saving all the innocents.”
“Join me.” The husk replied, lifting a hand that lacked two of its five fingers. Of the three that remained, one of them was broken and bubbling out black liquid. “You know in your heart of hearts that you’ll never find yourself a purpose. Give up and join the emptiness. You belong.”
“I’ll pass,” Top Man muttered as he shifted backwards through the goopy terrain of the swamp. “I think I have places to be right about now, if yo—” Before he could finish his rambling remark, Top Man’s leg smacked against an up-root, and he lost his balance. The robot vanished briefly beneath the knee-high liquid, but a beat later, he nearly erupted back into sight with wide eyes and heavy breaths. Although drenched in stinky water and dotted with pieces of decaying plant life, his focus immediately went to the empty space a few feet in front of him.
He’s gone.
Perhaps just as unsettling as a foul-smelling, rusted robot wraith was the fact that no one had seen it on the live feed. Instead of remarks about a shambling version of his death brother raised from the black lagoon, people were just laughing at Top Man for hyperventilating and tripping over a root. Had the feed malfunctioned?
Feeling about as close to a robot could get to nervous, Top Man continued his trudge through the water of the swamp. Every few steps, he’d feel something brush by his boot, but he willed himself forward. After all, there was a lot of life in this water, even if it was a nasty swamp. It wasn’t until something brushed his foot and promptly grabbed ahold that he once more lost his calm composure. With an audible ‘oof,’ Top Man’s boot was wrenched back, and he went falling once more into the sludgy black morass.
Catching himself as quickly as he could, the normally nimble machine shoved himself up out of the water. He steeled himself as he turned to confront the decayed remains of Wood Man. Much like any dead tree left to rot on the forest floor, the sylvan Robot Master was crumbling and infested with maggots. “Look at me, Top Man.” The other android wheezed, holding out his arms to reveal a look through his rotten exterior to the twisted heap of rusted metal components and wiring that lay inside his shell. “I’m decaying away, and I’ve still found more purpose than you have.”
The top-themed machine scowled. “Shut up,” he replied, prompting a few random remarks in the comments section. “I have a great purpose.”
“Doing what?” Wood Man inquired. “You know you’ve done everything that you’ve done just so you can glide through whatever hell we call existence in the Omniverse. You know you have no purpose here. Nothing of any substance.” Top Man shook his head and clenched his fists as the other machine continued toward him, its soft labored tones seeming to almost glide over the wind. “You exist only a thing of ridicule. You belittle yourself to make money. Do you understand that you are a whore?”
“Fuck you!” Top Man screamed as he held up his hand and fired a rapid series of buster shots. The rounds traveled right through Wood Man, breaking him apart like a pile of dust struck by a gust of wind. Without missing a beat, the orange-black robot master turned around and glared into the camera. “Shut your mouths,” he rasped as he tried to walk forward. Despite his best efforts, he barely made it three paces before his boots refused to free themselves from the muck.
“Son of a bitch,” Top Man seethed as he reached down to try and tear at the mud caked around his feet. It didn’t take him long to realize that he had sunk about five inches into the ground beneath the foul liquid, and a check of the surrounding soil showed it was loose and filled with silt. If anything, he should have been able to leisurely stroll through it without a care in the world.
Instead, he found himself trapped.
From somewhere a few feet away, he heard a laugh that would have made his blood run cold.
Turning to his left, Top Man found himself staring straight at the man who had defined his very existence prior to the Omniverse…
Dr. Albert Wily.
“You can’t be here,” the robot barked, sounding more like an angry child than anything else. “There’s not a single person who would ever want to summon you here.”
The scientist sneered at the robot. “You were always one of the more useless Robot Masters from your generation. Who the hell needs a robot designed for space exploration when the government is too busy spying on its own citizens? I don’t understand what worth Thomas saw in you… such a waste of good parts.”
Top Man tried to bring his buster arm to bear on the scientist, but he found his arm impossible to lift. It was almost as if someone had strapped a few tons worth of deadweight to both his limbs. “You’re bullshit.” The robot spat as he looked down and saw that his waist had vanished into the swamp.
At that, Dr. Wily threw his head back and cackled. When he was through, he set a hand on his chest and continued to talk to the robot as if he was an amused parent addressing a rampaging toddler. “You’re bullshit, Top Man. You failed your purpose when you let a child destroy you in a lair I built especially for you, protected by a horde of other robots. Then what do you do with a second lease on life? Nothing. You were better off dead or in a junkyard. At least then, you could have been recycled into something useful for society.”
The robot tried to move, but his abdomen was gone. With it, his hands had slipped under the murky surface. “N-no…” he offered, although the conviction in his voice was already beginning to falter.
“Face it,” Wily spat. “This and every other world will be better off without you in it. Once your gone, people will be free to forget you ever existed, and trust me, they’ll be better off because of that.”
The water splashed against Top Man’s neck as his head lolled to the side. His eyes moved to the little camera now whirring and hovering just a few inches above him. The little lens moved in and out as it tried to automatically adjust its zoom and focus settings. Above the lens, a small green light flickered gently as the stream continued to upload to the Dataverse. Somewhere on his internal display, dozens of lights were flashing up in the corner.
Don’t lose!
What is this bullshit?
Save yourself!
He really taking this like a little bitch?
You can do it! It’s in your head!
He gets killed by mud? Where’s my refund?
Don’t stop fighting!
Lolfag can’t beat water
You can do it… (you pussy! <3)
“I…” Top Man rasped as water flooded into his mouth. He spewed it out as his eyes settled on the image of his creator. “I have a fucking purpose!” With another grunt, Top Man wrenched at his knee, and even though a small part of him feared it would just snap, he felt the ground start to lose its grip on him. “I may not change the fucking world… I might not cure cancer, Blights, or who the fuck know what else,” He paused again to rip out his other leg. “But you know what, you prick? I’m fucking Top Man. People love me, and it’s not the most selfless or philanthropic thing to do, but I’m here to entertain people.” With some effort, he found his footing and rose up out of the water as the image of Dr. Wily started to retreat. “I’m here to ease the miserable existence of a handful of bored or possibly curious people and also a vast number of assholes with shit-eating grins on their faces as they toil away at an existence they loathe. I’m not going to win a Pulitzer or a Noble Prize, but fuck you, I’m god damned loved!"
In a flash of blue light, the image of Dr. Wily dissipated into the winds. Top Man’s buster arm dropped to his side as he glanced up at the camera. “Stay hydrated, you assholes.”
After blowing a kiss to the viewing audience, Top Man limped forward. Although he was free from the swamp, his body felt as if he’d nearly been crushed into a cube like an old car.
Fortunately for Top Man, he spotted what seemed to be the light of a clearing up ahead, so the Robot Master limped toward a hoped-for salvation. When he broke through into the open area, he saw a few of the other members from their shanty village. His loud, damp footsteps drew the attention to him the moment he stumbled and nearly fell over onto his face. In front of him was just a selection of the group—a few faces he recognized only by name and a handful he knew on a more personal level.
“Where are Pinocchio and the Pony?” Top Man mumbled as he slipped down onto his knees.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Zack Fair - 09-05-2015
Months ago, Abner had stumbled out of the woods and into a new life. A lot had changed since then. He'd become a bit more open to his allies, valuing their friendship and input a little more every day. Some of them he had grown especially close to. He had begun to find a purpose in his life, as well. No longer did he exist to clock in and out at the end of the day, and no longer was his only goal to live long enough to take that white stormtrooper armor off at the end of each day. This journey had changed him and helped him grow. Through all that change, however, Abner was still Abner.
This was apparent to him and all the others as he tripped on a root and came stumbling out of the bushes with all the grace and poise he was known for. His loud cursing the placement of that damned tree and it's anchors broke through the eerie silence. It took a few quick steps for him to reclaim his balance and prevent himself from faceplanting in the mud. He managed to contain and compose himself, though, and stood upright while looking at the crowd.
"Glad to see y'all made it," Abner said with a forced smile, pulling a can of tobacco dip from a pocket as he spoke. He acted like he hadn't just entered in the most embarrassing way possible.
His smile faded as he hit it a few times to pack it together, before opening it and putting a pinch in his mouth. As he put the tin away he looked through the group. It was smaller than before, but there was no telling, yet, if anyone had been lost to the swamp, or if they would even end up at this spot had they not. The small gathering made it seem likely, though.
He scanned the group, instinctively holding his breath as he did. He went from person to person until his eyes locked on Christa and suddenly he could breathe again. She, too, seemed to be letting out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure what to do, or say, because the fact was he was really glad to see she'd made it through the swamp. More than he'd realized he would be. She paused for a moment, then gave a simple nod of acknowledgement in his direction. In return, Abner let the corner of his lip rise into a small grin. They broke eye contact, and a few more relieved nods of acknowledgement were given from the group and from him. He may not have known them all closely, but he sure was happy to see some familiar faces after that hellish journey.
"Is this everyone?" Abner broke the silence, spitting to the side as he did.
"No," Klaud was the first to answer, and she was quick to do so.
Abner nodded his head, slowly looking through the small crowd to see who had made it thus far. He wasn't exactly thrilled to see that goblin standing amongst them. Every night his arm still hurt from the axe that nearly tore it off, and he placed the blame for that solely on the creature that stood there, now. He glared at Grobdum briefly, but put his annoyances aside. This wasn't the time or the place. Instead, he redirected his attention to Klaud, specifically looking to the dog tag she gripped tightly.
His eyes shifted to Christa, and she looked back as well. The two former community leaders had a small conversation in total silence, with only the use of their facial expressions. It was a skill they'd honed in several meetings and planning sessions, back when they were running the settlement, and it came naturally to them anyway. Abner looked back to Klaud again. He wasn't known for being terribly compassionate, but he could read between the lines. So he simply uttered the only words she wanted him to say.
"Then we'll wait."
Just a Recap, Dudes~ - Gildarts - 09-06-2015
Earnest eyes held on him.
Abner. He had survived the trial. Among the rest, while they all were battered, beaten, and their expressions told of sick nightmares they had endured. Among it all, his presence alone was enough to reassure Christa that the future was still obtainable.
The Swamp of Sadness certainly had taken its toll on those who had survived so far. Gathered here, were only about half of the number they had started with. Christa hadn’t even known some of there names - not that it mattered to her whether some of them lived or died. However, it was worth it to note that they had all began in the same place. Battling the same battles, bewildered at the very first chapter of their story together.
Then there were the orcs, howling, hankering, and oh, that giant fucking spider she had slain. No one seemed to remember that, but it happened. Grobdum was even here now, his sword wielded for their side, but in her opinion, it was too easily swayed.
What else had they endured? The epics that unraveled with time reminded her of the same lightless night that had shrouded them in the temple did the same here. The night the pair met. Abner’s identifiable cigarette now drifted to Christa’s nose as she recalled all those booby-traps and the endless tumbling of rock and clay until the entire temple became a tomb for those who had not run quick enough to escape.
Then there was those zombies, speaking of which, where was that one guy from the beginning? A frown subtly creased her lips as she assumed the worst. She would miss that familiar yet undead face. As well as a few others who had been loyal to the cause. Her fingers felt the cold grips of her pistol. Metal, unyielding, and solid; all composing the perfect means for her to achieve her goal. The others had gathered round, close in the night, distant from the shadows that drowned the trees in the ever-shaking breeze.
The group had endured a lot after so much time had passed and so many friggin’ days, their last test had taken the highest toll. Even Christa could have told Abner that the odds of anyone else returning from the swamp were low to none. Hell, it was a miracle to see that a handful of them had managed to survive.
Christa, had she been guessing, would have put her money on the underdog, the pegasi. As unrealistic as a talking horse may have seemed in her world, they were now in the Omniverse, and Raw Onion had hidden skill that the woman couldn’t help but to admire. The pony also had wings...
A jagged breath released from the girl’s nose as her eyes touched over Lyra, Clayton, and a few other familiar faces. Abner had suggested they stay. Waiting. But for how long? An itchy finger hung on the edge of her trigger. Those who waited were little more than prey.
Christa leaned an inclined chin over to Isaac, who had stumbled not far from her. She was back to business, it seemed, as everyone only began to recover from the horrors of war and haunted sadness, Christa spoke something in Isaac’s ear. "How much water do you have left, old man?" Her words said one thing, however Isaac knew what she spoke to mean another. Because her audience would be listening. Waiting is pointless. Her eyes told him. We’re sitting ducks, even in the darkness. Rattled and shaken, no one was in any condition to rest, even Christa seemed as though she feared falling asleep, even if there was that faint notion that the worst was behind them. As far as she was concerned, the only thing they had going for them, was that their scents had been covered by the sloppy mud, but even that would soon wipe off with time and a little perspiration.
The warrior readied her pistol, close-ranged and chasing the chill her senses were picking up on coming from the treeline. What could she detect? Not a damn thing.
Hell, Christa had no idea what sort of creatures inhabited in this forest. It was a wasteland, full of only trees and shrub. A pesky green. Each chlorophyll life-form could have been magically cursed for all they knew. All she knew was that she was on solid ground.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Guu - 09-06-2015
Raw soared above the swamp, her heart beating strong an fierce, her joy endless. The murky water below couldn’t take her now as she finally had a purpose. She had a true reason to see Omni. However, it was more important now to survive the trip out of the swamp and find Lyra. She takes priority in this situation.
The mud that would eventually pelt her body would leave long streaks against her figure as she flew. Some of it would blow off with the air current, while some dried hard and encrusted against her armor and thin layered coat. She endured some pain from the high flung mud, but it was nothing she hadn’t handled before. Pain was but a little price now.
Eventually, she saw a return of the the grassy patches. What were only tiny hoof sized spots were growing into slivers and eventually large patches. Eventually, the land would grow bigger and bigger beneath her until the swamp was the minority in the equation. Her heart would pound harder and harder as the the horrible waters began to fade.
But what would really make her heart skip a beat was the familiar silhouettes ahead. Beside a goblin, who was obviously Grobdum, was a young woman with pointy ears, back facing the pony.
“Lyra!” Yelled Raw, overjoyed.
The young one could barely turn around before tackled into a hug.
“Onion, you made it!” Cried out the young elf as she reciprocated the hug.
“I’m so sorry we got separated. I should have done a better job in protecting-”
“Please, it wasn’t your fault!” Lyra said, her eyes wet with tears but her mile wide smile indicated it was from something other than sadness. “I’m just so glad you made it through as well!”
The two hugged for a solid five seconds before parting with an embrace. Raw kept herself at eye level with the flaps of her wings.
“Let’s see the end to this together!” The pony declared. The elf nodded in agreement.
“Ahem.”
Raw looked over to the source and noticed they had a lot of company. The voice was coming from Pinocchio.
“Get a room guys.” He said, almost sarcastically.
“Woody!” She said, she flew in gave him a little fist bump of sorts, as he she bumped his fist against the flat end of her hoof. “I’d figured the swamp would be no problem for you. You’d float after all!”
“Uh, yeah…” Said the puppet, taken aback by her awkward phrasing. The pony turned towards Grobdum.
“Oh man and Broccoli too! You’re one tough green man, dude!” She said, smiling at the goblin. She looked over and saw Top Man.
“Toppy! You’re streaming tendencies saved my oats out there. Thank you!”
“Oh! You’re welcome!” He said in surprise, not fully sure what he was being thanked for.
Suddenly, as she was swiveling her vision around to assess the rest of the survivors, she made contact with Klaud, who was standing across from them. With a big doofy smile on her face, she threw her hoof up in a salute, one returned respectfully by the general.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Strazio Rockwell - 09-06-2015
Quote:In the Swamp
[spoiler]Isaac trudged slowly forward through the thick mud and muck of the swamp. An all-consuming mist obscured his vision. The only sound that filled the putrid air was the sloshing of his boots through the grimy sludge. His aged body felt heavy and every movement was strained. How long had it been since he had seen his allies? How long had he been in this swamp?
Minutes?
Hours?
Days?
No, it didn’t matter how long he had been there he had to keep moving. He wasn’t going to come this far just to die in a damned swamp. No he had a small spark of purpose, a simple wish that was kindled into the roaring flame of desire. The Bloodlance had to reach Omni and resurrect his wife, there was no other option. However, the swamp did not see is this way. The swamp bore down upon him the entire weight of his existence. He pushed against the entire weight of his failures.
“Hello Carter...” a slick voice groaned from the mist. A chill crawled through Isaac’s body, he recognized that voice.
With a momentary pause Isaac responded “Romearo?”
A pair of piercingly bright yellow eyes cut through the mist. Their owner stepped forward slowly, he was a man of Isaac’s age, but time had treated him better. Romearo’s face showed no signs of age and neither did his body. He stood tall and proud with a grin full of fangs. Tactical armor covered his body, he was dressed as a soldier of the empire.
“How very perceptive of you Carter, or should I say Bloodlance?” he chuckled.
Small whips of blood tore free from Isaac’s skin, instinctively moving to defend against the perceived threat. They formed a loose-knit shield around Isaac, protecting him from any sudden strikes.
“I killed you.”
“Perhaps in our world you did...” Romearo flicked his wrist and from a small hole in his palm a crackling whip of bright yellow energy erupted forth. The cable of energy cracked high in the air sending a deafening note across the swamp. The whip coiled itself around Isaac’s shield of blood and threatened to crush him.
Romearo called out “but I’ve been brought back from the dead, just to hunt you down!”
“Why!? Why can’t you just leave me alone!?”
“Why?” Romearo started walking towards Isaac, reeling in the energized cable with every step “because Isaac there can only be one survivor of Sector 8, it’s destiny! You killed me before, but now... Now you won’t be so lucky!”
The cable of lightning sparked and flared to life, burning into the shell of blood. Isaac could feel his defense cracking and crumbling. He struggled to keep the shield up, pumping blood into the sphere as fast as it seared away.
“This doesn’t have to happen!” Isaac yelled, his voice faltering under the pressure.
“This is Destiny!”
“No!” Isaac barked back, falling to his knees in the muck. His strength of will was failing him, as was his reserve of blood. If he didn’t strike Romearo would soon pierce his safeguard.
I can’t die...
“Come on Carter! Fight back! You’re still not holding onto that promise you made to that bitch are you!? Even after you killed her!?”
“Wait... What promise?!”
Romearo laughed “your high and mighty self righteous promise to never kill!”
At that Isaac began to laugh, slow and soft at first but it eventually cascaded into cackling unbelievable laugh. Romearo growled and tightened his whip, pulling the sphere tighter around Isaac.
“What are you laughing about?!”
“This isn’t real, begone” Isaac spoke in a low and even tone.
“What are you talking about!?”
“No one except Karin and me know about that promise so begone!” a spear of blood bore a hole into Isaac’s shoulder. He gripped onto the pain, holding it tightly against the despair. The pain sharpened his mind and pulled him back to his senses. Romearo was nowhere to be found.
All that remained were bitter memories and a bleeding wound.[/spoiler]
From the swamp emerged an armless battered old man. He clutched at his fresh chest wound, the pain was the only thing keeping him lucid within the swamp. The wound did not bleed very much, his morbid power keeping the red liquid suspended in his body. This however simple was indeed taxing, his strength was fading and he wouldn’t be able to stop the wound from bleeding for much longer. The Bloodlance cursed himself for stabbing so deeply, but in the heat of the moment he got carried away.
His darkened face brightened slightly upon seeing the meager remainder of the group. Klaud had made it as did Abner and Christa, he breathed a sigh of relieve upon seeing his friends.
“You sure took your time, age getting the better of you?” Christa teased him, welcoming him into the group.
Klaud took notice of his wound and asked “what happened?”
He bit his lip and turned from her “I’d... I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.”
Yes these were his allies, but he did not hold any notions of commonality among them. Only Christa and Urg would know of his past, the former only because she carried a similar burden and the latter because he could not tell another soul. But he even held knowledge of Sector 8 from the two. No, he would carry the guilt of slaying his friends and allies to the grave. He was the final survivor of Sector 8’s bloody legacy and their secret would die with him.
Christa set to work helping him patch up his wound and he sat in silence. His kind demeanor had shifted and now his body was tense with worry and fear. The two sat away from the rest of the group, Isaac said he needed some breathing room and Christa followed.
“What’s wrong?” Christa finally asked after several minutes of awkward silence.
Isaac raised his eyebrows and asked sheepishly “nothing, why do you ask?”
“Bullshit, if there’s one thing I know how to do it’s how to spot a liar.”
The Bloodlance stayed silent and glared off into the forest. Christa continued her line of concerned questioning.
“What happened out there in that swamp Isaac?”
“Nothing...” he responded curtly.
“Come on old man” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
Isaac finally snapped, weeks and months of stress came pouring forth from his mouth “nothing alright?! For God’s sake I told Klaud I didn’t want to talk about it, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it with you!”
“With me!? What do you mean with me!?” Christa spiked back, her fury matching his.
Isaac responded in kind, his temper flaring for the first time in years “look! I just don’t want to talk about it! Now please fucking leave me alone!”
“Fine you can get bent asshole!” she shouted and stormed off. Immediately Isaac felt regret for his words, wishing he could shove them back down his throat. He held his head low and sighed deeply. This trip was getting to him and he took it out on the first real friend he had in years. Isaac cursed under his breath and glared off into the darkened forest.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Mickey Mouse - 09-06-2015
The trials of the Swamp of Sadness shrunk the group of secondaries dramatically. They’d lost people before, true—but as the surviving members of the party dwelled just beyond the borders of the mist, it became clear that these losses greatly outnumbered any that had come before.
One by one, the survivors stalked out of the fog. Some of them had sweat dripping from their faces, exhausted by the confrontation with their inner demons. Others broke into a sprint upon seeing familiar, friendly faces, sharing in warm embraces. Still others acknowledged their friends less enthusiastically, peripherally aware of the dangers that still awaited them as they finally reached what must’ve been the final legs of their journey to Omni.
Mr. Clayton emerged from the fog brimming with bloodlust.
In his scuffle with the imaginary apes, his clothes had been ripped and torn, but he had suffered no further wounds. After all, the creatures had been figments of his imagination brought to life by the intoxicating air within the Swamp, and Clayton had been quick to recognize their triviality. They had underestimated him, plain and simple. They had expected him to break upon seeing images of his battered sister once more. They had expected him to collapse under the weight of his failure to bring her murderer to hell. They had been very, very wrong, though, because all the images had done was lit a fire inside the hunter.
When he appeared once more upon the group’s ranks, he very clearly looked nothing like the gentleman the other secondaries had come to know during the past few months. No, on the contrary, he had adopted a very rugged appearance, no longer caring for meaningless gestures like the state of his formerly-perfect hair, or if his buttons were all perfectly aligned. Dark circles ringed his eyes, spawned from the strain of never looking away from his goal. No longer did peripheral issues matter; he focused forward, on the goal.
Kill that pearly son of a bitch.
Everyone else looked as changed as he. He observed their faces with a certain glee lying just beneath his features—stepping stones on his staircase to greatness.
General Klaud Nine. The woman who buzzed in the back of his mind like an annoying bumblebee had, unfortunately, survived the fog’s debilitating effects. He supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised—despite being a constant source of irritation, the general certainly had managed to hold her own in this journey. Not much longer, though, if Clayton had his way.
Across the circle, another little group had a heartfelt reunion. Top Man, Lyra, Raw Onion, and Pinocchio huddled together, exuding genuine relief that the others had survived. Clayton would admit their presence caught him a bit off-guard; they had never seemed the sturdy types.
One of them acknowledged the big elephant in the room: Grobdum, who had left their party so unceremoniously after his tribe had their asses handed to them by the motley crew of secondaries, had reappeared. A match of opportunity lit in Mr. Clayton’s brain. His eyes narrowed, catching the glance of the orc for just a moment. Renewed by his newfound confidence and the overwhelming sensation of victory already washing over his shoulders, the hunter offered the orc a smirk.
In Mr. Clayton’s mind, he had already won this game.
Few others populated the circle of survivors. The doctor—Richtoffen—and the pirate Crow were amongst the survivors, along with Abner, who Clayton knew a little bit better thanks to their countless patrols during the preceding months. Making eye contact with the man, he offered him a curt head nod, an acknowledgement that he was, as it were, “happy to see him.” A false gesture, of course—Clayton would not be happy until they all lied in bloody heaps in front of Omni’s throne, the false god’s own glowing white form amongst the pile. He extended the same false courtesy to Isaac, who he would admit he liked; perhaps in another time and another place, he would have made a friend of the soldier and the old man. As it were, though, they had met him on the wrong day, and simply become pawns in the greatest plan he would ever execute.
Still, he felt a slight twinge of relief when he saw that Christa, too, had made it out of the fog alive. Certainly their last few hours together had been tense, but the Swamp of Sadness had made the hunter very singularly focused; all that awful mess behind them, the girl still would be the key to getting to the god. And then, perhaps, when they had finally made it to Omni’s realm, he’d give her the last death. Let her keep her dignity.
For now, though, the group remained huddled in one spot, mingling around with each other while they waited to see if anyone else’s mangled form might, by chance, limp out of the mist. Occasionally, someone would step away, collecting their own thoughts. Isaac and Christa separated for a moment, and then she returned alone; meanwhile, the hunter did not let the group out of his sights, fingers still tightly around the grip of his shotgun.
After a while of sitting by himself on the ground, leaned up against a rather large boulder, a feminine hand touched the top of his weapon’s barrel and pushed it aside.
“Careful where you point that thing,” Klaud warned him, her tone as biting and distrustful as usual. Clayton’s lips curled into a deadly smile.
“General,” he replied with a not-very-convincing faux enthusiasm. He stood, meeting her glance. His finger remained on the trigger of his weapon. “Glad to see you made it out of the scary swamp,” he hissed, “I’ll admit I was worried.” Klaud’s cheeks flushed red with frustration. The hunter brushed past her, approaching the spot where most of the group had congregated.
“We’ve waited long enough,” he said to them all, glancing over at Abner and giving him a sorrowful frown, “I completely agreed with Abner that we should see who we’ve got, but at this point if they’re not here, I’m afraid they won’t be here at all.”
His eyes met Christa’s. She agreed, but would not speak up yet.
So Clayton continued. “We must go,” the hunter urged. “Danger already lurks within our very ranks, so I’d rather not invite it in from out there.”
Across the clearing, Grobdum’s demeanor visibly changed, but Clayton paid him no mind and instead prepared to launch further into his diatribe. Ruining his fun as always, Klaud stepped in and interrupted him. “Too few of us have returned so far,” she countered, “There must be others. We can’t just leave them here.”
“But we can’t remain sitting ducks forever,” Christa piped up, finally speaking.
“I’m right, you’re wrong, General,” the hunter shrugged, turning to face Klaud Nine. “You’ve already allowed this little traitor asylum in our troupe—” he gestured off-handedly at the orc “—and I won’t allow you to lead us all to death by being stupid.”
Klaud scowled once again. “But… Jan isn’t back yet,” she stammered, betraying her underlying motivations, “Or Grave. Or IRIS. Or any of those people.”
“Then perhaps they’ve fallen victim to the swamp’s terrible machinations,” Clayton bit back. “I’m sorry, General—your friend’s dead, probably. Best to accept it and move on unless you’d like us all to die here, when we’ve come so far. Is that what you’d like? You’d rather all of us sit here and get slaughter by the perils of the forest while you hold on to hope that maybe your friend might come skulking out of that fog? Give it up, General. He’s dead.”
“Clayton…” the sound of Isaac’s voice breaking through the air halted his speech. The old man had returned from his little excursion sometime during Clayton’s plea. The hunter looked around at the group. His fingers itched on the trigger of his weapon, but he knew that he had to play the friend a little while longer. He met the old man’s gaze.
“I’m trying to keep us alive, Isaac,” he muttered, desperation filling his features.
Inside, though, he laughed. Keep you alive long enough so that I can kill you myself.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Ruby Rose - 09-07-2015
Quote:Writing Grave's death post, but Alice shall be taking on an adventure of her own! It's been fun writing with all of you talented people!
Alice's eyes creaked open, her long lashes blackening her view. The tendrils began to separate, and she was still gazing down the barrel of a hellfire-powered rifle. The vampire turned her head slowly and carefully, and her gaze rested upon a scorched tear across her dress. The apparel began to peel down, revealing a crimson marking; not a wound, but a symbol, one that the woman made no attempt to hide from the nephilim before her. Grave's eyes were grey; not the shimmering silver they once were, but clouded, like a storm of thoughts, emotions and memories.
* * *
"José, my man, sweet job on your marriage!" A gravelly, masculine voice sounded by my ear. My vision turned... but I wasn't in control. I wasn't experiencing something in the present - I was reliving a past event... But I never remember it, at least not as far as I know. The setting surrounding me was that of a large mansion; a polished marble floor, flights of stairs populating the room, clean stone pillars keeping the mahogany ceiling from crashing into the... party, I guess. What was off, though... was the golden glow tainting every nook and cranny.
Before I could finish gawking at my surroundings, a diminutive tapping on my shoulder caught my - no, José's attention. A pair of arms took hold of me, and I noticed the scent of perfume in the woman's snow white hair. "I'm so proud of my little brother!" She cried into the tuxedo enveloping my chest, and my thin hand laid upon the shimmering blanket upon her back.
"Yeah, and you have yet to get yourself a man, Ania." I taunted, and my apparent sister stepped back, pouting at me, her hands balled into fists on her skinny hips. "José, don't tease me like that... I'm not fit for any of the men in this world..." She cried, strolling up to my side, before lowering her tone and grinning. "Especially being a nephilim and all. José, I don't understand why you made the horrible decision to marry a mortal woman, but I hope you regret it. Your child will have no chance of being immortal like us. I don't get why you can't get that into your thick skull." She hissed, acid smoldering on every syllable of her sharp tone. I felt flames burst into life into my eyes, and I was about to turn and grab her, but I was swiftly stopped by a pair of dainty hands wrapping around his wrist.
"José, is your sister being a bitch again?" I heard another female voice whisper into my ear - it was Alice's... But what was Alice doing in my memories? She can't have been part of my life before I arrived in the Omniverse...
"She's going on about the impurity of our marriage again, Alice." I snapped... But I was baffled. Alice? Marriage? Finally it clicked; I found out where I knew Alice from. Memories began flooding my vision; a blond girl crying in an alley, wearing nothing but a blanket... an elderly man belting me in front of the girl... Ania threatening the girl with a crimson dagger... a head of snowy hair storming off and leaving the girl in my embrace...
The ceiling of the mansion began to crash down on top of the party, snapping me out of my thoughts. The pillars began to fall and turn dozens of guests into a scarlet mess, chunks of wood plummeting from the ceiling and crushing more. I was quick to grab Alice's wrist and bolt with her up the largest flight of stairs in sight, and down past a plethora of doors. The doorframes split and cracked from the imploding building and the slabs of wood sitting inside them sliced through the air like giant discs. I executed a sharp turn and shoulder rammed the door, leading to a large bedroom, fit for a prince to sleep in - obviously where José and Alice slept... Where me and Alice slept.
I dashed to the bed and proceeded to tear the sheets off, sending fabric flying like pieces of ash... or more like I was turning them to ash. The pieces I tore away began igniting at every touch, until nothing was left but a large, steel case; and I thought I knew exactly what was hidden within. I popped it open and drew out two familiar weapons; my own Infernum and Caelum. My view spun around and Alice fell into my chest. I had the weapons placed either side of the woman, trained on the cloaked figure standing in the doorway. The trigger of Caelum clicked and the silhouette evaporated as light seared a hole in its chest.
The amount of shadows began to multiply, increasing with each one that I eradicated. Before long, the room was pitch black, receiving only moments of illumination from the brief flashes spewed from either weapon. Sweat was forming on my brow, and Alice was quivering on my chest, her screaming audible over the otherworldly gunfire. I could only keep shooting, never leaving a moment where I wasn't pulling a trigger...
The continuous fire halted as a spear of fire pierced my spine and broke through my chest, barely missing Alice's golden locks. I felt the flames within my eyes die, as my life was absorbed into the hellish weapon drawing the liquid that was keeping me alive. I wasn't supposed to die... I was meant to be immortal...
My body hit the ground and the flaming rod dispersed into nothing, the shadows retreating, leaving the glittering night sky above my dying being, through a shattered roof. Golden blood dribbled from my lips, and Alice's face loomed over me, her features gradually blurring as her tears splashed over my eyes. Little lights, contained within watery globes, began to slip from the corners of my eyes, mixing with the blond girl's tears. I could barely hear her screaming as my life faded away; "JOSÉ! DON'T LEAVE ME!"
My shaking hand raised up to her face and cupped her jaw, as I spoke my passing words to her. "I won't ever leave you... I swore on my grave, remember?"
'Grave'... That word means the world to me now...
* * *
I dropped the unearthly weapons within my grasp, the blades sinking into the mucky earth. My eyes settled on the emblem printed upon the vampire's back; a demon wing and an angel wing, finished with a blade through the middle. The Thrip family emblem. I'd never looked in the mirror at my own back, but I knew that the same would be found on mine. I embraced Alice from behind, my silver hair tangling with hers as I took a knee. Tears containing sparks of light dripped from my silver eyes, mixing with Alice's own tears.
"Alice... I-I know who y-you are to me n-now..." I told her, and she exhaled an ostensibly long-held breath. "I kn-know you did, José... Y-your eyes told a s-story while you were standing there..." She assured me, and our sobs entwined, like our hearts once were. Something felt off, though...
My eyes zoned in on the rapidly rising muck, threatening to devour the two of us. That was the power of the Swamp; it drowned people in their own sadness... I knew I wasn't going to make it, but I knew that I had to try anyway... for Alice's sake... But my body wouldn't move. The tendrils of sorrow latched onto my legs like ethereal shackles, holding me in place. The vampire began to spring into action, and I could hear her cries. "José, come on! We have to get out of here! Never mind Omni, we can make a new life here!" She screamed at me, her tears wetting the already soggy dirt.
"I... I can't, Alice, m-my body won't budge!" I sobbed loudly, doing everything in my power to shift any of my muscles... but I just couldn't! Alice tugged on my bare arm, attempting to pull me from my chains, but I stayed immobile. The swamp rose, higher and higher, until it began sucking at my knees. My heart pounded, racing like some kind of cheetah on steroids. My head pulsed with fear, and anger at myself. "I can't move! Help me Alice!" I cried, and the vampire continued to tug at my body.
"José! I d-don't want to l-lose you a second time!" She cried back, her voice roaring over the sound of the impending doom. If anyone was going to survive, it was going to be Alice. "Alice! You can at least fly out! I can't escape at this rate!" I shouted at her, more light-filled tears mixing with the murky liquid. The vampire stood stock still, before finally gathering her bearings. She took a knee in front of me and placed her scarlet lips to mine, tears dripping around the tender point of contact. She stood her lean figure back up and wiped the tears from her crimson eyes.
"I will get you back, José, I swear on my grave." She sobbed my own saying back to me, and I replied, doing the same. "I will see you again, Alice, I swear on my grave." I sobbed back, a sorrowful smile across my lips. The girl executed a graceful flourish, as if making a final display for my last moments. Glittering tears flew through the air and sparkling, scarlet energy was expelled from her pitch black skirt. Her figure began to shrink; all this happened in slow motion in my eyes. Finally the transformation was complete, and a shimmering, black bat flew off into the moonlight, her figure illuminated by the luminescent globe above.
* * *
If I can't survive, I can at least prolong my life... if only to hold onto these memories that had been lost forever... I think to myself. I feel my shoulder blades slowly and gently open, feathery wings sprouting from within. The moonlight shines upon the snow white appendages, emitting a godly glow as they begin to wrap around my curled body, shifting the muck aside and enveloping me in a cocoon of shimmering energy.
The swamp keeps rising, until I feel it cover the entire shell of feathers. My feet are torn from the dirt and my shielded body tumbles under the surface, gently swimming through the sludge. A soft smile grows along my lips. If my own wings are going to be my final resting place, so be it.
I was going to keep strong, for Alice's sake.
Even if it meant going past the grave.
Even if it meant going past the grave.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Yu Kanda - 09-07-2015
After her reunion with Christa, lyra and Grobdum, Klaud took a seat on a nearby rock. She was exhausted and needed a place to regain some of her strength. It seemed her condition was having a slight effect on her after al. Now all she had to do is wait for Jan to find his way back to her, no , to them. She smiled as she rested one hand on her lower abdomen.
A few more of the group they started off this adventure with arrived at the location where Klaud found Christa. Yet many were still absent including Jan. There was a mixed atmosphere of both relief and sadness. She was started to get worried about Jan, he should've been here by now. Her eyes were scanning the forest and her ears were picking up every sound around her, yet no sign of him.
To Klaud's great displeasure she even had the misfortune of seeing Clayton finding his way back to the group. Oh how she could've gone the rest of her life without having to lay eyes on this disgusting excuse for a human being again. Klaud's mind was filling with every single negative thought imaginable regarding the hunter as her eyes were locked onto him. She observed him from a distance but she did not go unnoticed by the silver tongued man. He approached her and started spewed his usual toxic words. The words were obviously annoying Klaud, anyone who paid attention to the conversation would see her obvious emotions during this time. When Clayton went on his way to tend to his own business, Isaac came to Klaud to sit next to her.
"Are you alright ? "
"Yes, somewhat. That man just keeps infuriating me. It seems he takes joy in it, something he will regret eventually" Klaud hissed in a low tone for Isaac to hear.
"Just don't do anything rash General, remember where we are and what our mission is. The journey is dangerous as it is without quarreling and fighting amongst ourselves. Try and stay calm and we will figure this situation with Clayton out once we need to." The old man's words made sense, she should stay calm and remain in control of her own.
"Thank you Isaac, you are a true friend. I could use a moment though, if you don't mind? " Klaud's voice indicated she calmed down. Isaac respected her wishes and left her to sit on her stone. Time slowly passed as people waited for more survivors to come walking out of the forest, but nothing happened, no one else was coming out of the forest. Klaud started to become seriously worried about him.
Waiting seemed to take forever, her eyes started to sway towards the others. She saw that Top-man, Raw union and Pinocchio were grouped up together, they were talking and sharing experiences. Their innocence and joy was a pleasure to see. Klaud enjoyed the presence of the three strange creatures, they reminded her that this place was special and anything can happen, even the impossible. A bit further on she saw Lyra together with Christa, they didn't seem to talk much, but then again who could blame them after everything that happened recently. Both of them got close to Klaud these past few months and Klaud was relieved both of them made it out of the dangerous swamp alive. These people were the closest thing Klaud had to a family and she wasn't going to give up on them. On any of them. She smiled softly whilst observing the two women, yet the smile was not allowed to stay, within her field of vision she saw the barrel of a gun lower then she'd like it to be. It was dangerous and reckless, something she couldn't stand for, especially because it was -him-. Klaud got up and quietly moved behind the hunter, moving in closer to push the barrel slowly aside towards a less harmless aim sight. Several words were shared before the hunter got up, walked passed a now agitated exorcist and started talking towards the rest of the group about how it was time to move on.
"But...Jan isn't back yet" Klaud spoke, interrupting the hunter's speech. Her tone of voice betrayed her, she was desperate, scared of what might follow. Scared of what truth she might face.
Quote: “Then perhaps they’ve fallen victim to the swamp’s terrible machinations,” Clayton bit back. “I’m sorry, General—your friend’s dead, probably. Best to accept it and move on unless you’d like us all to die here, when we’ve come so far. Is that what you’d like? You’d rather all of us sit here and get slaughter by the perils of the forest while you hold on to hope that maybe your friend might come skulking out of that fog? Give it up, General. He’s dead.”
Give up ? Accept it ? He's Dead ? The words the hunter spoke made Klaud tremble. Even Christa was suggesting the same thing. Leave here, move on and leave them behind ? Leave Jan behind ? The thought alone was allot to comprehend. She could see Clayton speaking but she did not hear a word he said. Her thoughts were so loud she couldn't year anything else. Somewhere deep down she knew, her heart knew something was wrong. But she did not want to accept it, she couldn't accept it. This man's manipulative tongue must be stopped. With that final thought Klaud stepped up and interrupted the Hunter's speech. "Clayton!... I have had enough of your manipulative mind games. This has to stop this instant." Her voice was loud and fierce filled with dedication, her body spoke a different language and said she was emotional and desperate.
" I understand that waiting here is not an option and that eventually we will have to cut our losses and move on to finish this cursed journey, but i will not have you talk about our comrades like that, i will not let you speak about Jan as if he was some pawn to be used. "
For a brief moment the hunter was surprised that the General acted out like this yet he remained calm and engaged her in conversation." Comrades ? We are strangers heading in the same direction helping each other to reach the final and ultimate goal, Omni. We all knew the risks. We all knew it was going to be a hard journey. Not everyone was strong enough to finish it. We can't all be man enough to survive these trials."
Klaud's face was getting red as her anger was taking over, her left fist was clenched as she was obviously holding herself back from doing something she might regret later. "Jan is twice the man you are Clayton. You will never live up to someone as honorable as him"
" Was, dear. Was twice the man I am." The hunter said quietly as he smiled towards her with a mischievous grin.
At that moment something snapped within Klaud, moving up to the hunter with full intent to take him on. Isaac, Abner and Lyra quickly rushed in to hold the general back, it took all three of them to restrain the general from assaulting Clayton who did not move an inch, his posture remained the same as he saw Klaud just a few feet away struggling to get to him. He seemed to enjoy it.
"Calm down General, this is not the time nor place !" Isaac said to her while holding her.
"Please Klaud, calm down. I know it's difficult, we all loved our friends. But we cannot change that, nor can he" Lyra said in her own soothing tone of voice. Klaud started to calm down as the tears of rage and grief emerged. She calmed down as she fell down to her knees, the three holding her back let her and it was Lyra who sat down with her.
"We must finish this Klaud, we cannot let their deaths be in vain. To honor them we will find Omni" Lyra had a hand on the General's shoulder as she was comforting her.
"You don't understand" Klaud said with a soft tone. " Jan was more than a friend, he is the father of our child" The heavy words left her lips meant for just Lyra, but it seemed the Hunter overheard.
"Father of your child ?! " He spoke with an excessive loud voice in a laughing matter. "Is that why you have us wait here in this dangerous territory ? Because you two decided to play house together ? Do our lives mean nothing to you ?" He looked around, making sure everyone that gathered could hear him. " And now the group is burdened with a pregnant woman. This just keeps getting better and better"
Klaud looked around and made eye contact with the wooden puppet who quickly glanced the other way and started to walk towards Top-man very awkwardly, he did not want to get involved.
"Clayton, enough! One more word out of that mouth and i will shut it forever" Klaud hissed. Her face was burning with rage. Her breathing was loud and heavy, the leather of her whip was cracking by the sheer force she was holding it with.
"And there it is, See here folks, the true colors of your General. Guided by her own emotions instead of rational thought. I think we all know what to do now, we move on, and let the dead rest in piece" Clayton turned around and walked away from Klaud. He got what he wanted, the scales of trust and manipulation were tipping in his favor.
Klaud had no idea what the others would think now. All she knew is that this was not over yet. Lyra helped Klaud up but did not speak. The poor girl probably wouldn't know what to say anyway. Klaud retreated and sat down again. An aerie silent emerged within the group. They all knew what was to happen, what needed to be done, but some took it more difficult than others.
"Jan ...... If you lost yourself in that swamp. Know that I will take care of our child. There will a piece of you within the Omniverse. You will live on" She thought while forcing hersef to calm down. Her grieving process has begun.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Gamzee Makara - 09-07-2015
The endless slog through the swamp had sucked any sort of life right out of me. I find it increasingly hard to breath as I trudge through the ankle deep muck and slime of this accursed, damnedest pit of hell. Noxious bubbles of swamp gas form and coagulate from various corners of my vision, only to burst moments after surfacing. I keep moving.
I have lost track of time. All these trees look the same, and the thought that I may just be walking around in circles is beginning to wear on my patience and resolve. It may have been minutes since my encounter with that apparition, or it may have been hours.
Or days.
Or weeks.
Perhaps not weeks. But it very well may have been twenty-four hours. It would explain the nasty sounds mein bauch is making. Or maybe it wouldn’t.
Or maybe it would.
Or not.
Her voice.
Their voices.
It was so real it was surreal, and I can’t tear my thoughts away from the illusions of this swamp. Every time I close my eyes, every time I blink, her ghostly figure fills my vision. Every time the natural sounds of the swamp dim and I near silence, I hear the shouts. I hear the whispers, and the voices. Stimmen. Die verdammten Stimmen verfolgen mich.
This is one of those moments that the strange fauna of the swamp begin to quiet down.
Sometimes they talk to me, as if I was an old friend. Sometimes they shout, as if angry with who I am. Sometimes they whisper secrets that have not been shared for millennia.
Richtofen Maxis Samantha Girl Apparition Aether Agartha Fool Allies Staffs Death Die Dying Undead Cursed Cycle Edward Help Save Can’t Death Repeat Cycle Again Again Again
Sometimes they make no fucking sense and serve to do nothing but give me un migräne.
The increasing pounding on my skull causes me to stumble in the mud and sink to my knees once more. My vision starts to blur, as I feel myself continuing to seep into this forgotten murk. The swamp wants to swallow me and all that I am. Hungry. Ravenous, even. Yet the mud is soft, the water cool. If maybe I could just lie down for a moment, I could regain my strength...I could continue this journey. This pointless, useless journey. I think perhaps I should just…
“Oi! You all there in your head Quack?”
The head in question swerves in the direction of the voice. In the thick fog, I see a bank of solid ground, real earthy goodness, and a host of shadowy silhouettes standing on that bank.
The secondaries. My companions.
“Herr Captain?” I call out, groaning as I attempt to shake off the collective muck that soaks into my bones.
“Batten down the hatches, Quack. This voyage is far from over yet. Aye?”
Ach Gott why couldn’t he just let me take a nap. A smirk creases my lips, the first time I have smiled in quite some time.
“Aye, Crow. Aye.”
So sei es.
-----
I join my fellow secondaries at the edge of the swamp, at the edge of this existence. This is probably the only bank of solid ground for miles coming from the mire. The first thing I notice is that our numbers have...Dwindled. I approach my fellows. Christa nods at me. The general Klaud and Isaac both acknowledge my existence. Most of the others are preoccupied with reunions, which is fine by me. After those nasty hallucinations, I believe I am deserving of my own reunion.
I approach the stalwart captain, but that is part of the problem. Crow is the only familiar face of our original party that I see
“Crow?”
He stares wistfully into the bog, conflicting emotions swirling around in his irises. The captain does not answer me.
“Crow, where are the others? IRIS, Jan? Grave and his lady freund?”
More silence.
I finally receive un answer from mein suddenly stoisch friend.
“Just us Doc. Just us.”
And then I suddenly realize what kind of effect this must be having on the captain. He was the one that lead us through the perils of the temple, and the one that led us to be reunited with the other secondaries. He was the captain of our little band, and his crew is unaccounted for. Considering the effects the swamp had on my broken mind, I can only imagine what Crow had witnessed in that hölle. And I can only imagine what is going through his mind again, now that he stands without his crew, alone.
This situation is not new to him.
“Crow-”
“Leave it, Quack. Just...Leave it.”
I reluctantly nod. He has a right to be left to his thoughts. Besides our temple squadron, I also notice the absence of my dear kinsmen Roger. I worry for his safety, and curse any ancients that might be in the immediate vicinity. I give Crow the space he needs. Surely it is not too late, surely Christa plans to-
I accidentally bump into General Klaud, and bear witness to a decision being made. A decision being made without me.
“Best to accept it and move on unless you’d like us all to die here, when we’ve come so far. Is that what you’d like?”
I catch the tail end of an argument between Clayton, the hunter that Roger had warned me about, and the good General herself. Clayton continues to give out valid reasons as to why we should not remain on this bank, as to why we should abandon the others.
“...Give it up, General. He’s dead.”
I scowl, and step forth. I have had few dealings with this man, save what Roger told me about the bastard. I don’t see who got left in the swamp and made him leader!
...That was in bad taste.
In any case, as ironic as it is of me to say this, this is not a dictatorship.
I stand approach the group, standing by the General. I refuse to stand idly by while there could be others in the swa-
Internally, I take a moment to think about this.
Do you really care, Richtofen? Do you?
I frown when I realize that perhaps I have a stowaway from Samantha's hallucinations. I do my best to ignore it for now.
That’s the problem. It is rather uncharacteristic of me to care about the well-being of others. Even Nikolai and Takeo.
This is not simple necessity, or the Strength in Numbers rule, I legitimately am worried for Roger, my fellow. IRIS, Jan, Grave, we are not friends, but we are comrades, as my Russian friend would put it. We have a bond, forged by fighting side by side. Abandonment is not an ideal outcome.
Ah, but it would seem...Events have spiraled beyond my control. Before I am able to say anything to Miss Klaud, it is brought to the general group’s attention that for all intents and purposes, she is actually a Mrs.
How quaint.
I rub my temples as Clayton brings this information to light, knowing that this is more or less the final say any of us will have on the matter of staying. Such an opportunist, this hunter. He almost reminds me of myself. My eyes shift to the Captain, and I try to get him to meet my gaze. He will not. Crow remains silent. As do I. I refuse to let this arschloch, Clayton, get away with this injustice. Roger was right. He is nothing more than a manipulator and a dirty schelm. I glance to the mire and murk of the Swamp of Sadness, searching for any sign of movement or life. Nothing. No Jan. No IRIS. No Grave. Gar nichts.
I murmur small words of prayer for my comrades, rather they be alive or dead. I do not believe in Omnipotent beings, but I hold on to this small hope that perhaps my voice was heard, instead of the other way around.
Quote:Translations:
Gar Nichts = Nothing/ Not there
schelm = Scoundrel/ Rascal
arschloch =Asshole
hölle = Hell
stoisch = stoic
bauch = stomach
migräne = migraine
Die verdammten Stimmen verfolgen mich. = The fucking voices haunt me
So sei es. = So be it
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Thaal Sinestro - 09-07-2015
What fear and anger had taken from him, kept from him his entire life, sadness had returned. Life had given to him what could never be stolen.
The greenskin’s dim sight of the future had only carried with it the promise of struggle, the eternal attempt to escape from the suffering of the moment. Living one moment to the next, scrambling to free yourself from the oppression of pain; it devoured his consciousness. Fear and anger were the keystones of survival, both important tools to motivate his every action and they had served him well. However, the price they demanded was a steep one. There had been no time for sorrow, no time to feel anything but the crushing, desperate desire to escape.
And yet, the pain of sadness had cleansed him of that fear, and shifted the focus of his anger. Sorrow had driven a stake into him, every joyful memory yet another hammer blow pushing it further into his chest until it was so deep within him that it could never be removed. Sadness had been a mirror; a looking glass in which he saw reflected the things that now strangled his affections with even more fervor than the hope of survival. This was because his misery, inflicted only by the lamentations of the heart, was a product of his love for those he had thought he had lost forever.
When before he would have run, now the goblin’s tiny heart urged him onward, pushing him to take arms despite the certainty of failure.
Stepping forward, the golden goblin placed himself between his friends and Clayton, a gruesome sneer carving deep grooves into his features. His clawed fingers curled as he steeled himself, wide eyes locked upon the hunter.
“Wot ya tink you doin, eh?” he spat, “You ain’t da Boss ‘ere, and ya ain’t got noffin’ good to say or do fer nobody ‘ere!”
“Excuse me?” Clayton’s expression grew manic as his sweat-soaked hair tumbled in front of his face. “You? Of all people here, you dare tell me that I’m hurting the group? You, the one who attacked us?! What madness has taken ahold of you, you savage little imp? Have you gone fully mad?”
Snarling, Grobdum hissed between his snaggletooth fangs, “I don’ beat ya before, and I’z kin beat ya again! I told ya once a’fore: You ain’t noffin.”
Rage swelled in the hunter’s bosom and he took a step forward, his disheveled appearance only magnifying the look of insanity that pulsed around him as he frantically cocked his blunderbuss. Grobdum’s nimble fingers subtly withdrew the rusty dagger from his sleeve, only the faintest of glints in his eyes to reveal his intentions. The protests of the group seemed little to them now that a confrontation was assured, their voices falling flat as each moved in for the kill.
A gunshot split the air, a flock of birds squawking frantically as they flew in every direction from the peak of the canopy. A pall of silence fell over the squabbling company of freaks and desperados as the rippling sound of the bullet echoed in the distance.
Christa stood at the edge of the clearing, a line of smoke trailing from her pistol. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, her voice nearly dead with exasperation. Grobdum and Clayton stood staring at the woman for a moment, her expression hard and unmoving. “I’m going to tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to put away our knives and guns and swords, and we’re all going to shut the hell up for one goddamn minute.”
Clayton’s lips parted to protest, but Christa firmly snapped, “We didn’t come this far to start digging each other’s graves over petty crap, you got me?” When it became clear that the hunter had no more words for her, she continued, “We are so close. We are SO. CLOSE. So stuff it. Pack it down your throats and save it for after Omni. Got any questions?” she asked snidely, looking over the ever-shrinking crowd of secondaries. When none spoke, she finally lowered her weapon and took a deep breath, “Good.”
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Gildarts - 09-08-2015
Her head turned, Klaud’s pregnant? As momentary thoughts silently grazed the general’s aura that spewed with distress.
Turmoil. Chaos. Division. The group slowly melted from their original cause. Christa wondered why they had become so... Mangled, however she attributed it to the trauma of the swamp, and as eyes of an audience fell on the leader, Klaud attempted to read Christa’s expression. Her pale chin turned a little inward while the leader dismissed some of the group members who still looked exasperated and had targeted their flamboyant expressions at Christa rather than Klaud.
It might have been noticed that Christa almost seemed as though she was smirking in approval... Young love.
As for the altercation, it was to be anticipated between Clayton and Klaud. The tests of this journey never seemed to end, and neither did the distractions..
...
Stoney features of the woman held still between the folds of the night. Christa held up a gentle hand, and readied her revolver, preparing for any ‘play’ that could arise from a few raised voices. If this didn’t draw any predator’s attention near, these were some dumb creatures in this world that went bump in the night.
Her eyes shifted from Grobdum to Clayton as her expression asked, You done? silence was her favorite answer.
“Good.”
Still, her freshly cocked revolver remained agile and her finger nimble on the trigger. Sharpened eyes cut through the sleek darkness of the forest. As though Christa sensed something’s presence before it approached.
A sensation swelled in her chest. Everything distant, once so personal, everything she had amputated that prevented her from her mission now swirled back to her in a pounding, thrashing revolt. Meanwhile..
Chills shuddered through the forest. Weeping winds kissed the leaves of the land as they jingled and rustled swiftly in the night.
Scents carried with the crisp air. Reminiscent of the fast, foreboding of the future, and promising death today.
Isaac, who was a bit astray from the rest and loitered on the edge of the forest, caught his breath with a gently heaved sigh. The veteran was the first to encounter the child whose being flashed transparently in a whisper of fading white.
The ghostly girl appeared and sneered as her head cocked to the side with a sadistic and scornful smile, “Well, I see at least some of you made it.”
A flicker of shadow, and she vanished from Isaac’s sight as the child chose a different prey.
“Hello there.” A voice cackled behind Clayton. “If you’re wondering about the others... Well, it’s safe to say they rest with Omni, now.” The child counted on her fingers, as an imposing lullaby was hummed over the entire spread of the forest rather than from just the ghost girl's lips.
"Ring around the rosies...
Pocket full of posies...
Ashes... Ashes..
They all fall down."
Quote: Hey! I thought I’d give you some time with GG before I reveal her secret identity clark kent. But I will be posting it up tomorrow night or the following morning for progress’s sake.
Feel free to use ghost girl as a device for your character, and ask me questions if you want to involve or hint at some of her past that has yet to be announced!
Thanks everyone!
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Roger Smith - 09-08-2015
It felt like he'd been following this damnable compass for hours now. It had held remarkably steady, given its previous love for spinning out of control, and lead him determinedly on a twisting, turning course that would have all too soon left him completely lost if he'd been trying to follow any sort of predetermined path. Weaving and pivoting every now and then, sometimes pulling nearly a complete turnaround to his prior course, sending him careening in a determined zigzag, around what he could only guess at from the many ominous bubbling, burbling sounds of much deeper, more precarious sludge that would probably have been the end of him if he'd blundered into them.
Assuming this whole blasted swamp wasn't the end of him.
He'd hit his proverbial stride again, the prospect of a solid heading and reuniting with the rest of the merry band he'd grown so attached to these past months reinvigorating him for a while. But all too soon it had set in again. His good spirits and hopeful outlook were slowly, but steadily bogged down, the spring in his step rusting and falling away until he was once again trudging through the swamp muck, which made a determined crawl further and further up his boots, slowing his progress ever more steadily.
He was just about on the verge of writing the whole thing off, the despair of the swamp making its finest effort to take ahold of him again, when he stumbled over something or other submerged in the muck. Staggering drunkenly, he let out a startled snarl, his upset balance sending his compass sailing from his hand and into the fog ahead of him. He cursed mentally at losing his only source of guidance, but after a moment of silence, something dawned on him.
There had been no sound of the navigational tool's landing. No wet plop as it was swallowed by filthy swamp sludge. No distinct thunk as it bounced off some miraculously-placed hunk of detritus, fallen from the forest and floating listlessly in the murky waters. There was every chance his sense were failing him, some other strange and awful effect of the swamp...but there was a chance it meant something much more positive.
Steeling himself, Crow forced his way forward with a surge of his remaining strength, pushing through swamp mud and muck already past his knees, sloshing messily and raggedly forward a dozen paces....and then he felt it. Under all the slime and shifting mud, wet and damp from the waters of the swamp, it was there. Reassuring and wonderful, even if it might very well have been just a small island in the middle of this madness.
.....Solid Ground.
Crow doubted if ever a man of the sea had before been so glad to have been back on terra firma in all his days as the old pirate captain was at that precise moment. Several more hurried steps carried him up and out of the water, though it made a valiant effort to not let him go, the mud sucking insistently at his boots, slimy earth slipping and sliding this way and that under his steps, threatening to send him pitching back under the dark, still waters.
But he was finally out.
Dripping wretched-smelling water, covered in mud both dried and fresh, and who knew what other filth, but he was free of the swamp. Exhausted, and looking more than a little deadened to the world, but he was free, and still standing. He trudged up the dirty, damp ground to get well away from the swamp, before turning back to stare out over the misty expanse. When they'd first set out, he had underestimated the swamp...what it might put him through, and just how dangerous it could really be. He counted himself more than a little lucky that he'd survived at all, and looking back on it...how it seemed just like any other swamp, dreary, dank and full of muck, but not threatening, per se... Well, all he could honestly say was that he was bloody well glad to be done with it all!
He took a deep breath, and simply let it out. He had a hundred insults on his mind he could hurl at nothing and everything...but he was just too damn tired to bother. He needed to get a move on, and see if his luck would hold out long enough to reunite with the rest of the crew that had wandered out into that hellhole...
His luck did indeed hold out, and soon enough he was rewarded with the sight of others ahead in the dim light. Unintentionally announcing his presence with the crunching of twigs and old leaves underfoot, he came to a halt, his breathing sounding uncharacteristically deep and heavy in the gloom and quiet of the forest as he turned his eyes this way and that, peering at the other faces as they came crawling out of the shadow and gloom. Not a one of them looked in truly good spirits, but a good many of them certainly seemed to be at least glad to have met back up with the rest of their number.
------
Being that he was in no mood to take part in the reunion, his mood soured as it was, Crow had settled off to the side, with the professed excuse of trying to rest his jangled nerves, but also so that he could keep an eye out toward the swamp, in hopes of seeing more familiar faces come crawling out of the muck. But soon enough it becomes clear....the ones who have already made it here are the only ones coming. He had already waved off Richtoffen's attempt to speak up about it, and that had only made his mood darker, as it reminded him of a particular choice of words on his part.
“It was a necessity. If I am to die in battle, then someone must carry the torch, so to speak. Think nothing of it.”
“Tch! Belay that talk. You’ll not be dying on my watch. No one will.”
"Should'a kept a better watch..." His words were oddly quiet, subdued, and almost....dead. It didn't help his sour mood that there was, quite literally, nothing he could have done, given the circumstances. It didn't give him any hope to ponder the thought that maybe, just maybe....the ones who hadn't wandered out on this side of the swamp had ended up somewhere else. Safely escaped the swamp maybe back the way they'd come from, and were perfectly fine, in a conventional sense.
He had a sickening feeling of assurance in the pit of his stomach that if they hadn't managed to get here and meet up with the rest of the group yet....they hadn't managed to make it out of the swamp at all.
He turned his head about to peer at the rest of the group as some sort of argument raises a disturbance. The lady general, Klaud, was looking all but ready to tear the gentleman hunter's face off. Were his mood not so sour, Crow might have cracked a grin and raised a riotous laugh, probably making the situation even more awkward and probably defusing it through sheer confusion....but as it was he just shut his eyes, letting out a short, dismissive breath.
They could sort that mess out themselves.
He jerks his head back out to the swamp, grumbling under his breath about something or other that couldn't have been very polite about who or whatever it was directed at. He clapped his hands down over his knees in a gesture of finality, shaking his head, and had just made a move to rise to his feet when a gunshot rent its way through the pointless squabbling of the hunter and the green runt-orc, and it brought Crow swiftly whirling about, the loud sound snapping him out of his daze, one hand going instantly to the handle of his saber, his stance dropping wide and ready to spring, eyes wide and alert, darting about for the source of trouble.
When his gaze finally stopped on Christa, gun in hand, the tension slowly drained away, his posture sagging back to its former state of tiredness, but he remained alert, at the least, and didn't regress back into his pointless staring out at nothing.
"Bleedin' hell...." he finally spoke up in what might have been called an audible tone. Turning back around, he fished about in his numerous pockets before finally coming back out with the flask of proverbial gutrot. He tossed it from one hand to the other, before he unstoppered it, letting the potent scent out into the free air. He took one good drink of it, before he drew his arm back and sent it spinning end over end, spilling its contents in a chaotically-splashing circle, out into the mist and fog of the swamp. "Ain't much....but drinks're on me, lads..." he said quietly.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Gamzee Makara - 09-08-2015
Ach thank Gott Christa still has a shred of sanity left, which is more than I can say for most of the fools left standing here. The trials of this journey are exerting a great stress on the hearts and souls and minds of its participants, that much is clear. I made my presence known during this squabble with intents to take a side, but find myself withdrawing from the group once again.
Bah, I don’t need to embroil myself with such infighting. It will only lead to ruin, and considering my most recent interactions with ruins, I would rather not go back to such a place. I consider making sure Captain Crow isn’t pondering stomping back in the swamp to go recover his crew, but I decide that he’ll do fine on his own. He doesn’t need my help.
As such, I distance myself from the noise and arguments, and find myself standing alone at the edge of more woods.
Woods. More Woods. Forest.
I make a sound of disgust. I’m tired of trees.
“Poor Richtofen… So far, far from home.”
Ach mein Gott, nicht diese Scheiße wieder.
“I do not fear you, apparition.” I was slightly apprehensive about this apparition.
A sense of false courage fills me and I have no idea as to why. A fake smirk plasters on my face once again.
“I know what you are, spirit. I know what game you are playing.” I don’t know what this spirit is or what it wants.
If I could see the damn thing, I am sure its smile would be grander than mine.
“They are dead. You know they are dead.”
“Ruhig! Silence!” I am well aware my companions have been lost to the murk.
Why do you care, Edward? What does it matter to you?
“Quiet you!” I wasn’t talking to the ghost. If I could see it, I’m sure it would be looking at me as if I was crazy.
That is to say, laughing at me.
That’s because you are crazy.
I look up at the sky. “Could you do something about this please? Honestly, it has grown to be tiring.”
The mists from the banks of the mire and the depths of the forest all begin to flow towards a central spot in front of me. They swirl into a vortex of fog, and I shield my eyes because the expanse of white is blinding. When I am able to see clearly again, there she is. The Ghost Girl levitates directly in front of my face, similar to the way Samantha did in my hallucinations.
She doesn’t answer my question.
I stare back at her blankly, unmoving.
“Richtofen, why are you here? Why do you care?”
“Oh you know that’s funny, I was asked that same exact question only moments ago.”
She frowns. I do nothing.
“What do you want with me, spirit?”
She calmly floats down, feet delicately making contact with the soft earth below. She stares at me for a moment, as if she was a curious scientist, studying a botched experiment that might not be so botched after all.
Der ironie.
“Richtofen, as this sad display progresses, you continue to astound me. You do not make bonds or ties, or anything even mildly substantial with any of the other secondaries. At least the others are doing something interesting. They’re making friends and memories. Are these ideas foreign to you? Are they unappealing?”
Up until now, I was holding her dead gaze. My eyes drop to the ground in front of me, and I am hit with a tidal wave of conflicting emotions.
“I do not understand why you care, or why I should even give you the liberty of an answer when you deny all of us the same kindness. But I imagine it is the only way I will get you to leave me in relative peace until the next life threatening occurrence.”
I swallow air, raising my head to meet her otherworldly eyes once again. “I do not care to make friends. My friends, colleagues, companions, or whatever you call them, are all dead or in another Universe, another world. My relationship with these beings is one born of necessity, much like my co-operation with my three allies in the trenches. As you have so graciously pointed out, many of my companions have fallen and I am sure there are more to follow. There is no point in becoming so emotionally attached to things so fragile...”
I shift my head, so that I may look back at the group of secondaries, still squabbling. I spot the witwer Klaud standing away from the others, no doubt choosing to be alone in this time of grief. I point her out.
“...Lest I am forced to endure a pain such as General Klaud’s.”
Even now faced with my freund Roger’s death, I am admittedly bitter and distraught at the loss of my countryman. There is no point in multiplying such terrible feelings via body count.
An exercise in futility, one could say.
The ghost girl stares at me blankly as I explain my logical reasoning. Do ghosts see logic and reasoning? I don’t think it’s registering. Her face isn’t changing. Why isn’t she doing anything?
Because you’re an idiot!
“Tch...What are you staring at? Either rid me of my tormentors, aid in my quest, or begone, demon.”
Saman-
The ghost girl nods, giving me a thoughtful look.
“As you wish, Dr. Richtofen. I cannot help you vanquish your inner demons, but I wish you luck on your journey. I shall remain ever watchful, as always.”
And without a word her form begins to dissipate, mist flowing back into the forest, back into the swamp.
I am alone.
Again.
I’m not really sure how to interpret this exchange.
I don’t know how to feel about her watching me either.
At least you have a dead girl’s luck.
Yes. Quite.
Quote:Translations:
Ach mein Gott, nicht diese Scheiße wieder. = Oh my God, not this shit again
Ruhig = Silence/ Quiet
Ironie = Irony
witwer = widower
freund = friend
Re: Secondary Saga - Phase 5 (SoS) - Jak Mar - 09-09-2015
Survival... Survival of the fittest... there was those who won, and those who...lost..
I refused to be the one who lost... her..
but losing her meant I lost myself...in the process.
My name? Jan Templar. It doesn't matter now...
All you see is a broken solider, a man that was supposed to be a father.
The man who worked to try to save the solar system...
Quote:Sound the bugle now... Sound it just for me
As the seasons change remember how I used to be
Now I can't go on, I can't even start
I got nothing left , just a empty heart
I'm a solider .. wounded so I must give up the fight
Quote:There's nothing more for me,
lead me away from here or leave me lying here
Sound the bugle now.. Tell them I don't care
There's not a road that leads to anywhere
Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark
Lay right down - decide not to go on
Then from on high - somewhere in the distance
There's a voice that calls, "Remember who you are"
If you lose yourself - your courage soon will follow
So be strong tonight - remember who you are
Yeah you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle
To be free once more - yeah, that's worth fighting for
[youtube]P6Qc7eOiqtI[/youtube]- Sound the Bugle for some feelsy music to go along with the post.
I remembered the good and bad times and I noticed them all flashing before my eyes.
Everyone I've met over time.
A fading smoke arrived in front of Jan and he saw his unborn child, the one with klaud he was supposed to be there to support.
Jak/ Luger: Momma, who ya talking about? Why was this guy important to ya? I never saw him before.
He saw Klaud turn away from the child quite angrily
Momma? Why you crying?
You're dad's... gone.
Klaud closed the door leaving the child just standing there, black hair and blue eyes looking at the floor wondering what to feel.
The female dug through various pictures looking for pictures of mom and dad and revealed a picture of a man named Jan... of who he used to be.
A fake picture book told the story of who I was... A picture fell out... one of me and my old crew smiling and laughing together..
My unborn daughter moved her hand and shifted as she looked at Klaud "Momma, who's these people? She bent down and said "These... are daddy's friends.. from a long time ago... Luger, Gregor and Rico and him.
The day before was painful, I stared down at Klaud and my daughter holding each other. They were standing at a sight with a unknown amount of people.
There were a mix of dead and alive folks staring at the ground, I saw the secondaries that liked and who gave a damn standing over me.
I couldn't believe I was staring at my own funeral.
My daughter was a slight to behold, not only did she look exactly like her mom, she had my eyes and both of our strength. She was a beautiful girl. She'd grow up strong like her mother... and her father.. me?
I saw more visions of the future in the mist " I looked down at myself as I found myself sinking a bit more as one small tear fell down my face. Emotions once lost came back.
Senna screamed as Klaud held her back "DADDY!"
Senna said "I want my dad!"
She fell to the ground as tears rolled down her face.
Quote:The Solumn tune of "Sound the Bugle" starts to play again.Klaud held her daughter close, I'm sorry... I'm sorry.
Seeing the two people I knew crying made me shake, only pulling me deeper into the muck.
I shot a flash of gunfire into the air "BOOM!" "MAN DOWN!"
It was strange the past present and the future was all combined
The book blew pages showing present family walking away ones friends
Eventually klaud and my daughter were gone
All was left was a rose
Daddy... i heard one more time.
I had lost my weapon and sunk to the muck below. The soldier once meant to do great things, a hero on Vekta and to others was now a testament to those who didn't make it through the swamp.
Did Jan die in vain? Nobody would know now.
Mortal - Gildarts - 09-09-2015
The ghost hovered and swooped amongst the group. Pickpocketing, prodding, and toying with the others before finally falling before the woman with the readied gun. A playful smile perched on the child’s face, as though she were coyly amused by the mortal’s weapon.
“Ah, fearless Christa. Greetings.” The apparition’s head cocked to the side, “I see you made it out of the swamp in one piece?”
BANG!
The startling sound of a gunshot tore through the air as the bullet slipped through the formless ghost’s head. Another.
BANG.
“Don’t you know that won’t work on me this time? I am a ghost after all.” The words were delivered with a sneer.
“Tch.” Was all Christa could muster and with narrowed eyes, the woman seemed to move her position to protect Klaud. “Get behind me, Klaud.”
“How quaint.” A cast glance to the pregnant mother, “After all, you’re only human.”
“Who are you?” Klaud asked the ghost, who seemed pleased at the tantalizing group, done simply by her mysterious presence. This was power. And the ghost hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet. It would come, and it now made the suspenseful anticipation so much more satisfying. “And what do you want with us?”
“Why don’t you ask your fearless leader?” The child’s head turned back to Christa, and tilted, “Ah yes, you know who I am now. You’ve figured out that much, I wonder just what gave it away... Was it the hair? The birthday dress? Or the endless blood?” Suddenly rivers of crimson flooded from the place where the bullet had passed through in the ghost’s forehead. Painting a scene of horror for anyone who wasn’t used to the gore being shed in such a pronounced way.
Christa froze, her gun in her grip loosened as her body became frigid as ice, her expression wavered into one that only contained horror.
“Ah yes, now I’m sure you remember. I paint a nice picture, don’t I?” The child taunted. It was almost inhumanely cruel, for the terror in Christa’s eyes would have only been identified by one who had lost a child.
“Who is she, Christa?” Klaud demanded, but with a simple step forward, the general was struck by the out-of-place trepidation on their leader’s face.
“Why’d she bring us all together?” Someone else asked, referring to the temple, their quest, and the irreconcilable the deaths that the group had endured were because of this one apparition. How many would be alive had they never gathered here?
“She won’t tell you.” The Ghost Girl responded with a raised eyebrow, “You aren’t important enough to her.” A pause, “You see, I’m the one she wants.”
“You’re not her.” Christa growled through a freshly engraved frown. Clayton’s expression flickered from his place in the audience, he had put two and two together.
“Aren’t I?”
“You CAN’T be.” Christa’s tone broke, the darkness of the forest only made the group’s senses more potent and aware to the very apparent agony their companion was feeling.
“Quit the games.” Klaud commanded to the ghost, seeing how Christa was in a... state. “Tell us why you are here, why you gathered us all together.”
“Toys shouldn’t speak unless they are spoken to.” The ghost’s fury was unleashed as suddenly Klaud was thrown into the air and rammed into Clayton, before they both crashed into a tree, with Clayton breaking the impact for the general.
“No! Stop it!” The leader pleaded as the Ghost Girl raised another hand, this time, toward Abner and Isaac.
“Go ahead, Christa. Tell the others what happens when a Secondary is “recreated.” Or shall I?” The Ghost’s gaze swooped over the group, as though she enjoyed being the focal point of their attention. Lyra had raised her bow and it’s point wielded with a mystical blue color as though the elven girl was going to cast a spell that would harm the ghost. Others had prepared for a battle, yet the troubling question remained, how can you damage something intangible?
“Or perhaps you are afraid to tell them what you did to me?” Skeptical expressions scattered amongst the group. “I’ll tell you a secret.” The ghost vanished and reappeared adjacent to Klaud, who was holding an aching arm. “Christa has known who I was all along.” The child’s next words were spoken with irrefutable consequence. “And she was the one who made me like this.”
The daunting truth silenced the group. No crickets dared to chirp in the darkest part of the forest.
Christa released her grip on the gun in her hand, and her expression broke into one of uncontainable pain.
“I think I’ll tell them now.” The ghost smirked as her ruffled hair tossed back in the direction of Christa, as if only so the woman could see the blood that drooled on the child’s otherwise perfect features. “Story time everyone.” The entire group was suddenly pressed into the ground, forced to listen by gravity, as an extreme measure was taken by the child who ensured that her fans remained aware of the pain that now inflamed their muscles and grated against their bones.
“You’re all here because you want to meet Omni, ask him to grant your wish, or maybe, you’re just sick and want this all on camera.” The ghost winked to Top-Man, but in this comment revealed that the being was nearly all-knowing, or had been traveling with them all along from the invisible veil of the astral plane.
“Some people, when they kill their sister in cold blood, can’t let it go, y’know? So, it isn’t unrealistic to think that as a Secondary, you would seek out a Prime to preform a little necromancy and bring the dead back to life. That’s one of Omnilium’s best uses, after-all. Anyway, when you hang about in the Nexus, you are sure to encounter some strange characters. A little research and you can provide just the right incentive to get a Prime to do you a favor.”
The Ghost Girl looked to Christa, the only one standing and not effected by the gravity, and sadly, the only one not squirming for escape against the residual weight that cracked into their backs and folded the trees of the forest down into the ground.
“However, it is without regard for what the deceased wanted, that those who selfishly seek to fulfill themselves don't account for the resting dead. Do you have any idea how much it hurts when your soul is torn from death and taken to a new place? I promise it hurt more than a thousand bullets you could have fired at me. You should have let me go, Christa. Because now, all your friends here are going to die because of you.” A smile greased the child’s lips. “Again.”
“I’m.. So sorry K-”
“Shush. Don’t spoil the best part, dearest Christa.” The leader stood alone and looked down at a warm sensation, only to see a flesh wound carved into her abdomen. The warrior fell to her knees as the surge of blood pooled in her arms.
“Stop it!” Klaud shouted, she too, realized who the child was, but did not blatantly state it. “Why would you do this to your own-”
“Silence! Know your place, woman.” Klaud’s mouth met the dirt, not painfully enough to steal the fighting determination from her eyes. It was surreal that a child would speak with such authoritative words and the puzzle pieces were coming together with every word the ghost spoke.
“Why would I do this to her? Even if I’m a ghost, why should I want revenge on someone who cared so much for me? Well, Christa didn’t have her priorities straight. I’m not sure she realizes it even now, the only reason she tried to resurrect me, was to right her own wrong and set her conscience free. Do you know what happens when a Prime lacks enough imagination to make a whole person?”
“No.. Stop it.” Blood gurgled in Christa’s mouth, the hot taste of iron stained her lips as the leader strained herself to speak. The effort showed in the life that drained from her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they die before you do.” The ghost’s attention turned to Klaud.
“Katia, don’t you dare.”
“Ah, so now you recognize me as your sister? Didn’t you just say there was no way I could ever be her? To clear up this confusion for you guys who are so close to being pushed into your own graves, let me tell you. I have the body of a child, the mind of an immortal, and I’m trapped here because when the Prime put me together, he put the pieces together wrong. They failed. Got only one essential part- one little piece. It’s amazing how a few lost memories can make your reanimated sister kill you again. And look at her, even now she can’t even face that I’m her own flesh and blood. But, the time for nostalgia is over, but don’t worry, I’ll be merciful when I crush your bones inside your bodies. Except for you, robot.”
Katia, Christa’s sister, otherwise known as the ghost girl, covered the earth around Top-Man in fire that crept closer to him by the minute.
“My sister would never kill these innocent people.” Christa’s speech slurred with the rivers of blood in her mouth.
“Hmm, well, how many of them are really innocent, Sis?”
“Katia, I’m sorry this happened to you, but I can’t let you kill them. And I’ll make it right, not for justice’s sake, not for me, but for you. So you can rest in peace, or choose to come back here and live a better life.”
“You say that, almost like you have a choice not to die right now.” The Ghost Girl’s expression seemed passively curious, “In some ways, it’s probably better that you die tonight. I’m putting you out of your misery. Isn’t that what you told me, when you shot me through the head a second time?”
“I didn’t-” Christa began, interrupted by the fury of an untamed spirit. Suddenly, the ghost’s shape turned into a woman that was a bit older than Christa, yet had similar features, still donned in the child’s mangled and bloodied white dress.
“I WAS YOUR SISTER! I HAD ALL THE MEMORIES SHE HAD AND MORE, PLACED INTO MY HEAD. I WAS BORN. I LIVED. IT WAS REAL. I’M YOUR SISTER! BUT YOU COULDN’T FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO SHOW ANY MERCY FOR SOMEONE THAT WASN’T EXACTLY HOW YOU REMEMBERED HER."
The shouting voice of a tormented ghost spread across the thundering forest before suddenly the earth stopped shaking and a steady resolve stilled in the vacant air. "So you shot me... Same spot as before. So predictable. How could you live with yourself? You killed your own sister- again."
"And now you’ll die because of it.”
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Deadpool - 09-09-2015
Quote:Swamp[spoiler]The crowd rejoiced with a round of rhythmic applause, chanting “dance, dance!” as the marionette’s body twirled and flopped around, in the confines of the glass cage. One child tugged on the blouse of her mother, pointing towards Pinocchio, with a mouth full of jagged, half-grown teeth.
Another kid pressed his face against the glass, and exhaled a circle of fog. Afterwards, he used it as a canvas for his finger art—PUPPET!, he wrote, putting a dot above each end of the U, making it look like a smiley face.
The marionette’s hands moved in swats, and his feet reverberated off of the wooden floor. Coated in shame, his head dropped to his clavicles. His body continued to sway, looping around at times in wide circles. Then without a warning, the strings loosened their control. Pinocchio crashed to the floor like a heap of lumber. His limbs sprawled over his hand and abdomen, stacking on top of them, and into a rough pyramid.
The crowd exploded into hilarity. One sandy-haired girl almost fell off over her daddy’s shoulders, but she gripped her father’s forehead before she could backflip onto her crown. The boy, who had pressed his face against the glass, covered his mouth with one hand and pointed a finger towards Pinocchio with his other; his freckled cheeks seemed to perch high above the top-edge of his hand.
Are you afraid? Are you afraid that this may someday be your life, for eternity?
With eyes wider than apples, Pinocchio stared into the faces of the crowd. One by one, he looked deep into their pupils, and then switched to another; all of them had the same expressions: amusement, pleased, happy, and even wicked. Most of them were there just to pause their own pain, and find solace in degrading another person. Sometimes humans were evil, sinister beings, capable of causing far too much anguish.
“No!” he cried.
You’re lying, the voice replied, giggling behind shut lips.
The marionette’s nose sprouted an inch (the slanted edge of where his leaflet used to sit now seemed so distant from his face). “No it’s not!”
Another inch grew, and the voice continued to giggle. “You’re too entertaining to kill, just yet.”[/spoiler]
The tip of his nose shot out from the water, soon followed by the marionette’s entire face. He never needed air, but sucked it into his open mouth all the same. His mind buzzed with anxiety, still boggled by what just happened.
The voice still haunted him, giggling in the pits of his head, taunting him. He shuttered at the thought of her bringing another one of his past memories into reality again.
It felt so real. The faces of the crowd were the exact same faces from the real event—he remembered the sandy-haired girl for sure, and the boy. The feelings of worthlessness and shame were as if ripped from time and redisplayed. It made him remember the evils of man, and all of their racist, tribal ways. That was one thing Pinocchio did not envy about humans.
He looked around; the fog was gone, and his eyes translated the landscape as good as ever. The marionette was near the edge of the swamp—patches sod and marsh ran forward, until stopped by a mound of mud, which assimilated into grass. He pushed forward, trudging his feet through the remainder of the morass.
As the marionette pulled his last step from the swamp, he collapsed to his hands and knees. He kissed the ground as if it were sacred (hell, it was sacred after hauling the weight of his own body through a half mile of murky abyss), repetitively whispering ‘thank you’, each time his lips smooched the ground. His inner-mechanics geared and pumped, and a feeling of relief rushed out faster than perspiration on a humid day.
He sighed. Still alive. he thought, picking himself off of the ground. He wiped the mud from his kneecaps and set his sights forward.
Ahead was more of the same picture he had seen throughout the entire journey—forest. Trees neighbored closely, and their branches often held hands, meshing the leaves together to block the sky. To the west, vines stretched from one tree to another, sagging down near its center like a jump rope.
Pinocchio could see a path leading under the vines, into the green abyss of shrubbery beyond. With a closer look, he realized the pathway was nothing more than a beaten trail, freshly made by a pair of strong feet; maybe an orc made the trail, or maybe a familiar face. He placed his money on the latter, and veered left, ducking under a couple of drooping vines as he kept his slim frame within the confines of the trail.
Voices filled the air as the marionette walked deeper into the forest. They were near. Eastward maybe? He looked over to his right, and furrowed a brow into his artificial bangs. It did not take Pinocchio long to recognize the voices, and as he did, a smile curled from under his looming nose—camp friends, for sure (an on-queue Grobdum cackle punctuated his declaration).
He broke right from the trail and headed towards the sounds. Grass matted under his feet as he created his own pathway through the forest.
There they were—most of them.
Pinocchio rushed forward into the clearing. A smile grew across his face as he saw Top Man, and Lyra. Grobdum even lived. He congregated with some of the other survivors.
“Hey!” the marionette shouted as he dodged a tree, slowing to a stop as he neared Top Man. A few members of the group looked over at the wooden boy with pleasing looks (at this point, every one of them was happy to see another survivor).
“How’d the swamp treat you?” Top Man asked. His eyes looked the marionette up and down, and while he kept a smile on his face, it was fragile; it curtained a look of worry.
“Well, I’m still alive,” Pinocchio replied. He glanced at his arms—dirt grained the grooves of his wood, and the water discolored it with a green tint. “Got a bad case of waterlog though.”
Top Man nodded, and his smile reinforced itself. “That’s good. I had a little scare in there, but nothing serious.” He paused eye contact with the marionette, and peeped at the other survivors before returning it to Pinocchio; his smile faded. “Some of us weren’t so fortunate; so far, no Raw Onion.”
Pinocchio looked over at Lyra—she sat at the base of a tree, cradling her knees with locked arms. “Is this true?” he asked.
The elf pulled her head from the depths of her bowels, and replied with a nod. Her eyes glistened with the gloss of heavy tears; tracks of moisture ran down her cheeks in stains.
Pinocchio pouted; Raw Onion’s positive attitude never failed to keep their group’s morale high. Even the sound of her voice was enough to uplift the marionette.
“Lyra!” It was Raw Onion.
Top Man’s eyes went upward, and Pinoccio’s followed. The pink color of Onion’s coat came down from above, steadily descending as she maintained her stability.
Lyra’s head whipped to the sky, her eyes darting so far that a couple of tears pelted down her face. She pushed herself up and ran over as the unicorn descended from above. “Onion, you made it!” she exclaimed, hugging the unicorn as she landed.
“And this little mini-story WILL have a happy ending,” Top Man quipped, and threw a thumbs-up towards the metallic eye, hovering over his shoulder.
Worry washed from Pinocchio as he watched Lyra and Onion embraced each other. It was a heartwarming moment, and even though the marionette had no heart, the moment touched him.
As time elapsed more familiar faces found the clearing. Each of them came with the presence of having wandered around for months, deprived of basic necessities. Many of their clothes were now nothing more than soaked rags, outstretched and flabby from the added weight of saturation.
Pinnocio noticed uneasiness begin to take hold of Klaud. She tried to keep a firm visage, but with each person who rejoined the group, her guard peeled farther down. The woman expected a particular person to emerge, but it never happened. As Isaac sat next to her, trying to console her with his words, she simply caressed her belly.
Clayton burst into a roar as he overheard part of Klaud’s conversation: “Father of your child?!”
Everything ceased, and everyone’s eyes shot towards the blond.
“You heard it folks,” Top Man murmured. “We have a pregnant lady amongst us.”
The giggling of the mysterious voice returned to Pinocchio’s mind, stronger than ever. His shoulder quivered as the flashback from the swamp reanimated itself in his head, reshowing him the faces of the sandy-haired girl and freckled boy.
Well, I see some of you still made it. The voice of the girl said.
The marionette’s eyes darted over to Isaac; the voice was no longer in his head, but physically present. It was the same one from the swamp. As the voice materialized into a shadowy figure behind the white-haired man, a chill slithered up the Pinocchio’s back, and massaged his head.
It was the ghost girl—had to be. But as quickly as she appeared, she vanished.
Isaac had an eerie visage displayed—one that was often accompanied by a full diaper. In a tremble, he went to look over his shoulder.
Nothing was there.
“Hello there,” the figure’s whisper echoed; the sounds of the forest went mute as she reappeared behind Clayton. “If you’re worrying about the others,” she giggled, “well, they rest with Omni now.”
A children’s nursery rhyme transmitted over the forest. Pinocchio recognized the rhyme—it was something often paired with a little handholding dance—but it never carried such dread with it.
Klaud let out a strong gasp, and plunged her head into her open palms, covering her face as she wept.
The ghost girl vanished from behind Clayton; everyone looked around with anxiety, trying to spot where she would appear next.
BANG!—Christa’s pistol howled as the ghost girl materialized in front of her. The figure’s head opened to accept the bullet, and then closed back shut. BANG!
The ghost girl giggled as she allowed this round to open a hole in her cranium. A river of dark blood flowed out.
“Who are you?!” Kluad cried.
The ghost girl replied with allusions, and then asked the group to question Christa instead.
Terror painted the group’s del facto leader as the ghost girl spoke.
Pinocchio translated the new information with a mixture of angst and bewilderment. What does this mean? he thought. Was all of this just to get some sort of payback against this lady?
Christa tried talking to the ghost girl, but none of it made sense.
With a sway of her hand, the ghost girl launched Klaud into Claytons chest, sending them both crashing in a pile of tangled limbs.
“Why’d she bring us all together?” he retorted. His teeth gritted into splintered ends. “The temple, the orcs, the swamp, the . . . the everything! Us being here, in general!” He demanded answers; his fear and confusion transformed into unguided rage.
Before the marionette could charge forward, the air itself went dense, and felt like a million pounds crushing his frame. He smashed into the ground face-first, and stayed there as the ghost girl went off into a soliloquy.
All of it was merely a game; just to get revenge.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Dark Link - 09-09-2015
Chaotic and incoherent. That was the nature of the tune that the young Hylian managed to produce, an entirely expected result of attempting to play an instrument without the knowledge and experience to do so. Yet, in spite of this, the melody that came from the ocarina and spread over the misty land still managed to convey her sadness, her grief. It was almost as though the device in her grasp understood what she was trying to convey with her random motions and passed it on to the rest of the world.
That wasn't the only thing the instrument did. As she ceased playing, Lyra's pointy ears managed to perceive something unusual. Instead of going all over, the tune's subsequent echo trailed off into a specific direction....somewhere ahead. The girl wasn't certain, but it was almost as if the ocarina was guiding her, showing her the right way.
Turning her head, she looked once more upon the skeletal remains of the item's previous owner, the head still resting in its original position. Wiping the tears off her face, she uttered: "I....I understand now....Thank you." Facing the direction where her destination lied, the archer took a deep breath. With a newly-found resolve in her heart, she shoved herself from the rock as hard as she could and resumed her journey through the dead waters, her arms holding up the ocarina high.
The mire beneath her remained relentless in its attempts to pull her into it — the water was so high that the teen had to raise her head just to keep it above the surface. Every step she took was slow and heavy, almost as though she was wearing boots of iron. Her body trembled as she felt weak and helpless in the swamp's cold embrace, threatening to crush her at any moment. But the teen pressed on, unwilling to let fear chip away at her resolve and hinder her progress any further. She was determined to not cave in, to not let it end like this....to see the others again.
It took Lyra a moment to realise that she no longer had to hold up her head — the water's level had dropped to her chest. The muck that had been wrapped around her legs so tightly had begun to loosen its grip, making it easier to trudge onward. Bolstered by her progress, the thief continued to relentlessly push on.
Little by little, her wet and soiled body emerged from the dark liquid. Her movement became steadily faster, gradually going from a slow crawl to a speedy walk as the swamp's hold on her lost its effect. Then she finally saw trees emerge from the fog, marking the end of the deadened land she had been traversing. Panting and sweating, she broke into a sprint, covering the last remaining stretch. She almost tripped as she stumbled upon dry and firm land, finally released from her trial. But in spite of her exhaustion, the girl ran into the forest, looking for her comrades.
Quote:**********
For a while, Lyra could not feel anything but sheer, unadulterated joy. Reunited with Grobdum, Raw Onion, Klaud, Captain Crow and the others, she laughed and cried from relief as the thoughts that she would never see them again ceased to weigh down on her mind and heart. But her happiness was silenced all too quickly as it became apparent that not everyone had made it.
The girl sat quietly next to Klaud, acting as her support as the future mother allowed her tears to flow freely. The thief did not know what to say....but in truth, she was aware that it was best to say nothing. Having lost many people dear to her, she knew that words were entirely meaningless. When one was overcome by grief, the best way to help them was to give them a shoulder to cry on, to allow them to let loose and slowly come to terms with the passing of their loved one. Even though she wanted to do many things at that moment — encourage Raw Onion, comfort Captain Crow, confront Clayton about his misdeeds — she opted to remain by the general's side. At that moment, she felt that that was the place she needed to be.
As the soldier next to her continued to weep, the archer stared sadly towards the direction they had come from. Though it was nothing short of a miracle that so many of them managed to get this far, the losses they had suffered already felt like too steep of a price. As she pondered this, her thoughts wandered off to Grave. Even at that moment, she had trouble believing it. The idea that the smiling and confident Nephilim could succumb to the sadness....it was simply unfathomable. The girl felt teardrops running down her cheeks again....deep down, she wondered if poor Alice had made it out or if the dark, merciless waters took her as well.
Quote:**********
The thief was no less helpless as the rest of the group when the ghost girl showed up and pressed most of them into the ground. Hardly able to move, Lyra and the others continued to be the unwilling audience to the tragic tale of the two sisters that had been standing. After the exchange had concluded and 'Katia' vowed to bring about Christa's end, the archer struggled to speak up: "But....but if you kill her, you won't change....anything! It won't give you any happiness...or end.....you'll just be as sad and miserable as you are now!"
The others said nothing and the ghos had chosen to ignore her. Pushing against the gravity that was holding her down, the Hylian reached for her belt and grasped the item that was safely tucked away behind it....the wooden ocarina. After quite a bit of effort, she had somehow managed to bring it close to her lips. "If you really are Katia....if you really are her sister....then you'll help her....you'll show her the right path."
Lyra attempted to play the instrument. She hoped that its sound could help the two sisters the way it helped her....she hoped it would help show them the right way.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Zack Fair - 09-09-2015
When the ghost girl appeared again, Abner could already sense that something was different. He'd been on guard for her ever since the warning that had come to Christa and him what seemed like forever ago now. At this point and in this dark, forgotten corner of the Omniverse one could never be too careful. So as soon as she appeared, Abner's rifle was in his hands, but he did not aim it at the girl just yet.
Of course, Christa didn't wait like he did, something that simply didn't surprise him in the least bit any longer. He was happy to be the second line, though, as it was still in his nature to stay the hell out of the way despite his new sense of conviction. It allowed him to analyze the situation and maybe learn something that could help. For instance, in this case, guns seemed to do little to nothing against this ghostly being.
Christa and Klaud engaged the bleeding girl in conversation, instead, which Abner took as an opportunity to move a bit. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed down the sights, keeping the ghost in the center of it. Sure, he'd just reached a conclusion that this wouldn't help, but it was hard to ignore the only training he had in dealing with a threat of any sort. While he kept his gun leveled at her he slowly side stepped, hoping to get out of her peripheral vision and be able to seize an opportunity if one was presented.
"She looks like my sister."
That was the only hint Abner had been given to the ghost girl's identity, months ago. Christa hadn't talked much about it since then, and he hadn't asked. There had been enough to worry about at the time. He now felt that pushing those thoughts aside had been a mistake, and decided it was time to demand answers from both of them.
And he would have, had he not been telekinetically flung into Isaac like a sack of bricks. Abner's rifle left his hands somewhere between the impact with the one armed warrior and the tree they both collided with. They both groaned from the impact, silently taking note of how of the pain that coursed through their bodies. It hurt, but they would live. It wasn't exactly a new experience for Abner to be hurled like so, as nearly every Stormtrooper in the Omniverse that had been around a little while had at least one story of being tossed around by some supernatural creature. There were some things you just didn't ever get used to, though.
Abner stumbled to his feet, and almost immediately his pistol was in his right hand. He kept himself turned at an angle and helped Issac to his feet with his left arm, and then quickly moved away from their crash site. Isaac, too, appreciated the strength in staying spread out, so he paced the other way, towards Christa and Klaud.
Abner clutched his wound with his free arm, bringing it to his shoulder while he kept the pistol aimed at the ghost. He didn't see his rifle on an immediate scan of the ground, so he'd have to make due without it for now. Just when the frustrated man had had enough, the girl accused Christa of knowing all about this. That stopped Abner in his tracks. He looked to Christa, and saw her drop her gun. Outstanding. This was not a good time for her to go off grid.
Abner snarled, having heard enough. He was tired of these woods, this girl, and this damn quest. He didn't have any reason to believe his gun would have any different results that Christa's attempts, but the hell with standing around and letting this girl toss them about like ragdolls. Unfortunately for him, the girl took that time to slam all of them forcibly into the ground before he could pull the trigger.
With a shout of pain, Abner hit the ground, his pistol landing just in front of him and barely out of reach. It almost taunted him, pointing right at the ghostly attacker. All he had to do was reach it, aim up a bit, and fire. It might not work, but dammit, he had to try. Every muscle in his body screamed as he tried to move his arms. Wounds that he had gotten on the very first day here seemed as fresh as they had been in that moment as the force pushed him downwards. He put all his energy into reaching for that pistol, but it was as if his limbs had never been intended to move in such a way.
He heard the girl explain her purpose and reason. All he could do was grit his teeth and keep fighting. He was a soldier and a Stormtrooper, he'd seen it all. He'd been through it all. This couldn't stop him. Sure, he'd renounced his Imperial affiliation in that damned swamp, but only habits died hard, and nothing could overtake training and instincts in a situation like this. Granted, this one was entirely new even to him. He'd never heard of something as insane as a botched secondary, but the thought of it made him furious. Goddamn Primes and their god complexes. If someone had been a little more responsible they all wouldn't be in this ridiculous predicament.
Yet they were, and that's all the time there was to dwell on it. The girl continued to talk, but Abner could only focus on his weapon. In all of his days, he'd never asked why something happened or someone did what they did. His only concern in his entire life had simply been how to stop it. So here, against this twisted being that was making punching bags out of them all, it was difficult to think of anything else.
The soft sound of an ocarina could be heard. He didn't know if it was Lyra playing the same one he'd heard at the town plenty of times, or if he was simply having a near-death experience. It didn't matter, he pushed that concern aside, too. All that mattered was getting the gun, and getting through this. Whatever it took.
Re: Secondary Saga Phase 6 - A Ghostly Finale - Gildarts - 09-09-2015
Death.
It would be delivered to everyone if Christa didn’t fight. But the ghost before her was undeniably her sister. Even if she had changed completely.
“Katia.” Christa winced as she stood once more, this time, pressing against her sliced abdomen as her body fought against the heavy weight of gravity that crashed on her shoulders. “I won’t let you kill them.”
“Who wants to go first?” The Ghost Girl turned to the elf playing the flute, and then deliberated on the Pegasus. “You... Won’t let me, dearest sister? You’re a big bag of meat right now, and crumbling at the ends. I don’t think you really have a choice in the matter.”
The ghost seemed to smirk as she looked down on the agonizing Christa, who spoke, “The Katia I knew would never do something as cruel as this to random and innocent people. The sister I knew and loved, didn’t get to blow out the candles on her tenth birthday. And she would never, never willingly hurt the ones she loved.”
Persuasion. Too bad such things didn’t work on vengeance-hungry, disturbed ghosts.
“Aww, are you gonna cry? You’re the little sister now, Christa. I’m even taller than you.”
Something so petty. It was almost whimsical, childish even, and in the same simple way, didn’t stir the fury in the ghost’s sister that it was meant to. Christa fought the looming force that applied pounds of pressure on her shoulder. The woman’s eyes softened as she gazed upon her distressed sister, once so young, now older than she, only in a few short years.
The ghost seemed curious at Christa’s strength, or perhaps her willpower, that gave her the power to stand and allowed it before granting the power of gravity on her once more. "You're body is easier to cut than butter."
With a grimace, Christa’s teeth dug into her lip, drawing blood before the veteran fumbled for the pocket of her pants and pulled out a small glowing ball. Like an egg, it was crushed in her hand. And to the humming sound of an ocarina, Christa’s body was engulfed in blue flames.
There was no burning, no smoldering flesh, and no charred hair. The fire seemed to make it easier for Christa to stand, as the wounds that had drawn blood became distant stains on the fabric of her clothing. The leader's expression of pain dissipated and a gentle hand extended out to the ghost’s face.
Katia -who was still frozen with shock- could only gaze upon her sister with a mesmerized expression, as though captivated by the blue flame. As Christa’s flaming blue hand touched her sister’s cheek, the ghost became enveloped in light, before being freed by the binding sensation of anger, resentment, and fear. The apparition did not vanish as though it would return, instead, it drifted away as though melting into the wind.
Quote: Christa used her mystery item -”torch of a leader”...
After dusting themselves off, the group stood and regained their balance. Many questions were left unsaid, mainly because people seemed too freaked out to ask Christa while her appearance remained fluttering with blue fire, and it spewed visibly from everywhere.
Instead, wordlessly, they trudged on after Christa offered Klaud a hand up, and the leader showed the group the way. Grobdum seemed especially keen on the magic and attempted to speak to the woman who once wielded man-made weapons, and now had seemingly changed her attack style to one he was more familiar with. His accent fell on deaf ears, as Christa's determined eyes never wavered from the invisible markers that showed her the path to the Void Gate.
The entrance neared, and Christa saw it just as it had flashed before her eyes the second she had freed the ghost from this world with one touch of holy fire. Hopefully Katia would rest in peace. The experience brought perspective to it all, saving the dead, her hope to return Katia to a living state. In truth, Christa had changed dramatically since she had seen Katia last. And surely, almost symbolically, Christa would be even more unrecognizable than her sister had been twenty-plus years in age.
As they grew closer to the gate, Christa’s light began to dissipate, but the composed expression that remained on her face was far from fleeting. A swift glance to the group affirmed those straggling behind had managed to keep up.
Before them spanned the gate. It was about twelve feet tall, and not quite as wide.
Within it, there was only darkness.
Quote:CONGRATS! You all survived this round *if you posted* however certain things will be taken into account!
Thank you everyone for doing SUCH a wonderful job!
E- awards will be sent via PM.
Also, Good luck in the Void next round. You are going to need it.