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Author Topic: They told me I could be anything...  (Read 51987 times)

Silleh Boy

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They told me I could be anything...
« on: June 24, 2010, 04:23:27 pm »

So I became a God.


Before you stands an army, a thousand men outfitted in armour of varying qualities. From the officers in shining steel, atop their war horses at the back of each regiment to the foot soldiers, in armour in iron and leather in varying states of disrepair. Archer, Footman and Mounted soldiers alike nervously fidget as they gaze upon you, the lone man standing at the outskirts of a recent battlefield. Soldiers litter the the plains behind you, standards once bright sullied with blood and broken.

You are unstoppable, and they know it.

You are the worst thing to have ever happened to this continent, the silent killer of armies. Many have fled the scene of battle over time, to report on your atrocities, from razing villages to slaughtering innocents. Diplomats have attempted to meet with you, time and time again. Like all men, they fall to your sword, never a word uttered as the last thing they experience, is to die at the hands of the perfect warrior.

Some have even sought you out to die by your hand, their expression one betraying that through the pain they feel as their fleeting last moments on this mortal coil come to an end, that they are honoured to have died to a greater warrior than them. Such men and women you feel a fluttering sense of envy toward, knowing that they have sought a warriors death. Death. Something you yourself are unable to experience.

Yet death, you still seek. You seek to die on the battle field, to finally be at rest, to escape the long centuries in what you have perpetuated this cycle, coming and going as you provoke war, as you seek to bring armies to stop you.

The army before you stand frozen, waiting for you to make the first move as they nervously shuffle, some of them knowing of the legends about you well enough to have the officers, while out of earshot, clearly yelling at them, barking orders to keep them in line, from fleeing the battlefield. Entire armies have fled before engaging you in the past, too afraid to fight an immortal and face certain death. The nations that have fielded those armies you have made to pay dearly for denying you what may have been your one last battle, your release from this world.

A step forward as you ready your sword and shield has the officers turn to the archers, yelling at them to ready themselves, prompting four hundred men to immediately assume a stance ready to fire from. Footfall after footfall follows, as you approach as you have over the centuries, heading straight for their forward line. No tactical approach is possible for a single man such as yourself, there is no way to carry out a pincer attack, or to strike their flank with the element of suprise.

A volley of arrows is loosed from one of the units of archers, falling short of you by a hundred feet as they panic, but order is quickly restored through the ranks of the army. They know they cannot possibly afford to panic, not when the safety of their homeland depends on it. If they fall in battle, history has said that you will spare them. If they flee, history has said that the consequences will be dire.

Footfall after footfall.

Nothing but the sound of your ever steady breathing and the rattle of your ancient armour in your ears.

As you draw ever closer, one of the officers screams the command for the archers to fire, his short sword waved forward in a bold guesture, the sound of hundreds of bowstrings and the whistle of arrows filling the air. You stop, almost disinterestedly looking up at the cloud of arrows as it arcs towards you, raising your shield above your head as you continue onwards with arrows clattering off that heavy shield. Volley after volley of arrows ineffectually rains down upon you, before the archers discard their bows, drawing sword and shield as they move behind the ranks of the infantry, soldiers with heavy shields forming the front of their line, men with pikes behind them.

In what appears to be a desperate gambit, the armies commander sends their small cavalry out first, determined to surround you with them. Horses ride fifty feet either side of you, but you do not slow. You have no reason to. You have been surrounded, attacked from all sides more times than you can count, this manouver is one that will cost them the lives of the men they sent out first.

All at once the cavalry converge, riding by in rapid succession, striking out at you as they attempt to catch you with a blow that will leave its mark. Each man's attack is parried with your blade or blocked with your shield as you effortlessly defend yourself against this attack, yet every time they make a pass like this a few of them are not so lucky. bodies, both of man and horse fall about you as you thin their numbers, staining the green grass red.

As man and horse tumble to the ground, there is pain. Sudden, unexpected pain. No blow has slipped past your guard and yet you feel pain. As this intense pain floods your being you stagger, the commander of the army running out from the ranks, motioning for her shocked troops to hold their ground as she sprints across the field. Sunlight gleams brilliantly off her polished bronze breastplate, sandal clad feet easily covering the flat expanse of the plain that lays between you both, while the simple white clothing and skirt beneath that sparse armour flutters.

"No!" comes her voice, a voice tinged with emotion as she rushes over, as you sink to one knee, your face feeling swollen beneath your helmet, blood running from your nose, from your lips as they split as if you had been struck violently. Sword and shield are cast off as the woman reaches your side. "It isn't supposed to end like this, you must ho.." comes her words, frantic and screaming as she shakes you, as your ears fill with the sound of ringing and your heartbeat, drowning out all other sound.

Your eyes slowly close as the woman, nameless as she is shakes you, tears streaming over her cheeks as you surrender to the darkness behind closed eyes and pain, unable to bear to keep your eyes open any longer. "I will call you... Love... For none has ever..." you whisper, yet your sentence is never completed as you topple backwards.

Falling...

For what seems like an eternity...

Only to stop abruptly as the pain you feel becomes all the more intense, your mouth filling with a coppery taste as you roll over and spit out blood.

Sharp pain courses through your body as you feel the sensation of a boot clad foot making contact with your ribs, your eyes opening, vision blurred as a hand grabs you by the collar, a fist connecting with your face as your assailant bring you face to face, your vision blurred as he yells at you...

"I asked you what your name was, and I expect an answer!"


Spoiler: "Game Info" (click to show/hide)

Armok

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #1 on: June 24, 2010, 04:47:22 pm »

Your name is Eurochkoles. Setting... Who am I kidding, it'll end up steampunk anyway.
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So says Armok, God of blood.
Sszsszssoo...
Sszsszssaaayysss...
III...

Strife26

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #2 on: June 24, 2010, 06:23:42 pm »

"Many names . . . guises . . ."

The hero coughs mightily, coming to his senses.

"Always me . . ."

Look at all the pretty dots swimming in sight.

"Roland."

He spits out a mouthful of blood and looks at his assailant.


((I'm not sure what tech level we should use.))
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This post likely did not make me any happier, tougher, smarter, or richer. Probably not a good usage of limited time and effort.

Diablous

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #3 on: June 24, 2010, 06:29:17 pm »

Name: Seth

Setting: Steampunk!
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Quote from: Solifuge
A catgirl, whom oft it would please
To dine on a pizza, with cheese,
Thought it was quite fine
To be partly feline,
Excepting the hairballs and fleas.

Silleh Boy

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #4 on: June 24, 2010, 06:42:19 pm »

You go to speak, but your words are drowned out by the sudden groaning and clanking of pipes, the hiss of steam and dripping dripping of water accompanying them. Taking a deep breath, you wait for the rattling to subside, giving way to the soft buzzing of an electrical light behind you, bathing you in an almost sickly yellow light. "I am... Eurochkoles." you state, managing to sound proud, defiant, your voice resolute despite how the pain gripping your body spoke volumes about the abuse you had recently endured.

"That 'aint your real name, nobody around these parts has a name like that." snorted the man as he hauled you to upward, before pushing you backward against a chair. Rough fibers belonging to ropes dangled from the back of the chair, ropes you felt you had been well aquainted with recently, ropes that had bitten into your wrists as you endured abuse, beatings, torture. "As yer' finally speakin' though, I'll give you a chance to come clean, tell us what yer doin'. Are you here to spy on the queen, the lords, the gentry?"

The man stands above you, overweight and balding, doing his best to look intimidating, yet there's something about this portly thug that prompts you to merely smile as he cracks his knuckles, steadying yourself as you know just what's coming. As his fists strike your face you reel, falling from the chair, spitting blood out as you fall facedown into one of the puddles about this dingy cell. As you slip one arm under your face, promping it up to keep your face out of the water the sound of rusted metal hinges opening fills the air, boots on concrete following as somebody who had been just outside the cell, outside of your field of vision steps in.

"That's enough Mister Charleston, it's a wonder that the prisoner's able to speak, let alone conscious given the thrashing you have been giving him." Comes a voice, one tinged with concern, one that you can feel compassion in, one that though you still find yourself unable to focus as you turn your attention towards it, you can see is associated with a tall, wirey man, one who's clearly intimidated by the thug who has been giving you a recent beating.

"Yer soft, an' I have a job to be doin' Mister Cooper, so get out of my face, go on, scram!" comes the other mans voice, prompting a sigh, of a man resigning to defeat. For a long moment the portly thug stands there, watching as his companion leaves, the door of the cell left open behind him. As the footfalls of the departing man fade into silence, the thug turns his attention to you again, sneering as he adjusts his belt, a grimy, blood stained shirt tucked into grubby black trousers by it.

"Now, yer goin' to talk, or i'm goin' to beat the answers out of yer hide. Some of the guys here are soft, they'd give you a canin', but not me. I like it down here, where nobody can hear yer screamin' as i hold yer face against the heatin' pipes." the man steps toward you, menacingly as he continues to speak. "Of course, if yet not goin' to speak, I might just have to have you hung, like all the other enemies of the queen, god bless her soul. Nobody has a clue who yer workin' for, so I bet nobody's going to be comin' for you. Nobody ever comes for a spy."

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the haze that fogs your mind currently as the man continues to speak. "So who're you workin' for, the technomancers guild, the clockworkers, who?" comes his voice, yet you know by the tone of it he doesn't really want, or care for your answer. He's enjoying this, enjoying beating you, breaking you, no doubt after praise when he makes you confess to the crimes that will get him recognition, get him decorated.

Your mind races, you know you can't stay here, but can you afford to risk escape in the state you're in right now?

Strife26

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #5 on: June 24, 2010, 06:45:29 pm »

Cough up more blood.

"Don't . . . remember"
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This post likely did not make me any happier, tougher, smarter, or richer. Probably not a good usage of limited time and effort.

Silleh Boy

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #6 on: June 24, 2010, 08:02:43 pm »

"I don't remember." You state calmly, grimacing as you try to get the taste of blood out of your mouth. The bully before you watches enraged as you sit there swishing saliva about your mouth, before spitting the bloodied mixture into one of the nearby puddles. His rage is impotent, he doesn't scare you, you don't fear the pain that he will no doubt bring upon you, and he knows it. He can see the calm conviction in your eyes, the absence of worry. You do not fear this man, for he is little more than an insect to you.

Prone as you are, you're helpless to stop him from moving over you. Helpless, you lay there as he lays into you, fists striking you again and again as he screams in anger, yelling at you to confess to whatever nefarious purpose you have for being in these lands.

And yet...

You merely smile at him as you drift out of consciousness, as he shakes you by the collar, face red from anger as he screams at you.

And suddenly you feel yourself falling...

Falling...

And awaking with a start, sitting upright as that brief respite from the pain came to its end, as the sharp, stinging pain and the constant and almost overpowering ache from your torture gives you that unwelcome greeting that tells you that you're once awake, that you're in the world of the living. "My goodness!" comes a muffled cry of suprise from a familiar voice, the clattering of a wooden tray meeting with the hard surface, the sound of something hard shattering and something damp slapping against the ground.

"Well, I've cleaned you up as best I am able in the circumstances, but you've just broken the bowl and dirtied the cloth." came the voice, familiar, compassionate, belonging to that thin, wirey man that you had seen briefly earlier. "I have no idea what you're doing provoking that... that... barbarian of a man, but I do not like seeing the warden treat a man with such disrespect. Especially not when a man is incapable of answering him due to that abuse he dishes out."

The man stood, twirling a finger in his thin moustache, before he nudged a pair of round glasses up to set them straight. "I am not supposed to do this..." he started, glancing behind himself to make sure that nobody was there to listen in. "But... You look like you could do with a meal, It is little comfort I know, but I hate to see what could very well be an innocent man suffer this treatment." He paused, reaching down to put one hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

"Would you like me to see what I can scrounge up from the kitchens for you?"

maxicaxi

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #7 on: June 24, 2010, 11:29:23 pm »

potato soup and a cookie
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I have absolutely no idea what's going on in this fort any more. Migrants arrive, they die for some reason, the fort is flooded for another reason, then dwarves go mad, more dwarves die and I'm just laughing in my distress.
you cannot defeat the potato.

Phantom

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #8 on: June 24, 2010, 11:33:44 pm »

potato soup and a cookie
Sorry sir, but that seems a bit too childish.

"Sure, but I shall not request too much. Some bread and water would be enough."
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maxicaxi

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #9 on: June 25, 2010, 12:01:27 am »

well potato soup then
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I have absolutely no idea what's going on in this fort any more. Migrants arrive, they die for some reason, the fort is flooded for another reason, then dwarves go mad, more dwarves die and I'm just laughing in my distress.
you cannot defeat the potato.

Phantom

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #10 on: June 25, 2010, 12:02:05 am »

well potato soup then
Silence, you.
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maxicaxi

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #11 on: June 25, 2010, 12:08:11 am »

Logged
I have absolutely no idea what's going on in this fort any more. Migrants arrive, they die for some reason, the fort is flooded for another reason, then dwarves go mad, more dwarves die and I'm just laughing in my distress.
you cannot defeat the potato.

Digital Hellhound

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #12 on: June 25, 2010, 02:41:40 am »

No, silence, both of you.

Bread and soup.
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Russia is simply taking an anti-Fascist stance against European Nazi products, they should be applauded. íNo parmesan!

Acanthus117

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #13 on: June 25, 2010, 02:47:17 am »

No, silence, both of you.

Bread and soup.
Make sure it's potato soup. And ask for water as well, if it en't too much.

(That stuff is good, seriously)
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Is apparently a Lizardman. ಠ_ಠ
YOU DOUBLE PENIS
"The pessimist is either always right or pleasantly surprised; he cherishes that which is good because he knows it cannot last."

Silleh Boy

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Re: They told me I could be anything...
« Reply #14 on: June 25, 2010, 08:20:51 am »

Your hand goes to your face as you wiggle, then rub at your jaw, cautiously weighing up not if it would be wise to ask for a meal, but if it would be too painful for you to enjoy even such simple fare as this man may be able to offer you at this moment. The pain your body feels is nothing you tell yourself, compared to the effects of slow starvation. A meal definately sounds good, especially if you're going to find the energy to survive or escape this ordeal.

You nod slightly, realising that the man is looking at you expectantly, prompting a reassuring smile as he waits to see if you have any specific requests. Laborious concentration must be written all over your face you realise, as thinking with your mind fogged as it is, is quite the experience. It isn't that you feel mentally less able than you should be, it is that you feel mentally sluggish. It is like waking to find that you have overslept greatly, only with the abuse of some cowardly thug attempting to beat something out of you that you cannot possibly hope to offer.

You find yourself craving something sweet and crumbly, biscuits made with honey and oats. You can almost smell them, taste them, the damp air of the cell and the stench of humanity that you hadn't realised you had long since tuned out for a moment replaced with that sweet aroma, one that you have no doubt experienced many times in your youth. Whenever that was. Reluctantly you let go of the idea of asking for such food of comfort, deciding that something simple but good for you would be the ideal thing to request. Something that there are good odds that would be made in what you assume now to be a prison.

"Bread, water... I feel I am well aquainted with those, but I would..."  you pause, swallowing, the word seems awkward to you at first, but you can think of no better way to express your desire for something so simple at this moment than... "...Love..." you continue, akwardly lowering your hand from your face to rub at one of your shoulder. "Soup... Especially if it is made with potato." You finish, prompting the compassionate man to nod as he straightened his waistcoat out, picking up the tray, the cloth and the broken bowl as he spoke.

"I will do my best for you, friend. Get a little rest, as I will need to wait for that barbarian to drink himself into a stupor. The others that work here will turn a blind eye if they see me bringing you food, but him.... Good lord, I sometimes wonder how they could leave a man more crooked than any man in this here facility in charge."

With those words and a sigh, he leaves, closing the door to your cell. You're know that even though he hasn't visibly locked the door behind himself, that the door is indeed locked. None of the people here carry a key, yet the cell doors open and close for them almost like... magic. But, you tell yourself, that's absurd. Magic would be wasted on something as simple as the locks of a cell, for keeping those that society does not care about in a place that they can be conveniently forgotten.

You lay back on your bed, turning your gaze upwards as you reflect upon the fact that you hadn't truely noticed the stench of the prison, of blood, sweat and desperation. How long must you have been here, if you had tuned out such a thing?

You look up at the sickly yellow light that bathes your cell with its pale glow, a tube of glass with a heating element in it, with wires encased in rusted metal pipes, feeding it electricity... Unlike the sun, the brilliant and beautiful sun...

The light flickers, growing brighter for a brief moment...

And then the light is gone, as you feel yourself falling...

Falling through the darkness...

Only to open your eyes to the field of battle from earlier, to the sight of the commander of the army you had came to destroy, an army that there was no sign of now. No bodies on the grass, no foot and hoofprints tearing up the turf, no scents betraying it. Nothing, but you and her in a sea of green, a vast expanse of grass that stretches as far as the eye can see.

"I was worried... That we had lost you this time..." Comes her words in a soft whisper, the short sleeve of her pristine white top used to wipe away her tears as she smiled, as she reached down for the sword that lay at her side, offering it to you cautiously. "Are you ready to continue what you have started, great destroyer, ready to slay me and seek out the next kingdom that you must wage war against?"
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