Avatar of Hawlin
  • Last Seen: 4 mos ago
  • Old Guild Username: Hawlin
  • Joined: 10 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1780 (0.48 / day)
  • VMs: 1
  • Username history
    1. Hawlin 10 yrs ago
  • Latest 10 profile visitors:

Status

Recent Statuses

10 mos ago
Current Still waiting for Godot...
1 like
6 yrs ago
Waiting for Godot...
1 like
7 yrs ago
A priest and a rabbi walk into a bar. The bartender looks between the two and it finally sets in how his life is a joke.
8 likes
7 yrs ago
I honestly don't care what people think of me as long as a mutual respect can be reached to the extent of having fun with RP. :3
9 likes
7 yrs ago
Happy newyears! God save the Queen.
4 likes

Bio

Nothing to see, here.

I mostly find interest in...
- Fantasy/medieval
- SciFi/Futuristic
- (post)Apocalypse scenarios (rarely)
- Most combinations of anything on this list

Not a fan of...
- Free rp
- Most Anime Fandoms/historical/arena/slice-of-life/school

Curious regarding...
- Steampunk/nation

Dead RPs I was in
Children of Plunder
Iron Rose Adventurers
Welcome to Wonderland
The Marauders
The Hole: 1940's magic/noir/anthro
The Far Away Land
Tales From The Hole
The Endless Halls dark fantasy
Some non-fantasy space thread?
Witch Hunter - Aldergard
Transcendent: Darkness Rising (A Sci-Fi Roleplay)
The Bloody Embrace: An institution for young killers
Swords And Sorcery: The 5th Province
Forest of Secrets
Demons & Dragons - Act 2
Defenders of Lesavvo's Tomb
And those are the ones I bothered to keep track of.




Most Recent Posts

Nvm back to being dead
Their hands folded then readjusted to instead lace their fingers, trying to seem as 'upstanding' as the situation would allow, though as the moments passed Jasper's enthusiasm finally began to wane. A disappointedly perplexed frown became of the cheer that had tugged at his expression, and it was just about the moment when he took a breath to try to call out to the walls for an explanation...that the lights snapped off.
In all of his time, here, never once had the lights gone out. Here, out in the void, without even a glint of illumination from under the door, the darkness was an unwelcome absolute.
Without their sight, the world fell away, leaving Jasper in a sea of silent eyes; tiny lights in the distance as his fleeting mind played tricks on him. It might have taken more time for him to snap, the distant sounds gaining a more personal edge to them as they were all he could focus on, but the gentle hiss of the door's locks disengaging as they lost power was the final chill up his spine, sinking nails into his skull from an imagination left to fear the voices the silence would soon bring, being left at their mercy.

Jasper knew the dimensions of the room, and a single step brought him to the door, practically colliding with it in his haste to palm and press it in any direction he could evoke the contraption to yield, his breathing quickly becoming frantic.

Purchase.
Others had a head start, The Draught having backed up their advance in light of the swiftly deteriorating conditions since their door-to-door executions had become a full-blown riot. Two prisoners with bloody, dripping hands clutched fragments of a metal tray, using the torn metal as grizzly shivs on a third body that laid slumped against the wall. Judging by the mess, it had been a quick and vicious scrap, rage having claimed their senses as they were merely desecrating a corpse at this point.
One had the sense to turn towards the sound of sliding metal...and the wafting scent of copper and ozone that leaked from the room. Flashing red lights briefly illuminated the figure, within, in all of their stacked countenance, a raspy dry yet hauntingly feminine voice croaked in seeming greeting, "Gentlemen...~"

The man tapped their accomplice on the shoulder, earning a shove and a maddened bark of "WHAT!? WHAT THE...f-fuck..." as they followed the gestures to the emerging occupant. The three engaged in a gawking stare-down for what felt like minutes but had likely been maybe a handful of seconds. Flashing red lights, the brief moments of darkness, the distant mournful roar of what other monsters were contained down here, poor decisions were hastily made.
With a flash, the two moved, comraderie lost as one bolted down the hall and the other leapt for the figure. Another moment of light...it all ran red as the knife repeatedly came down. In the darkness, the two were gone, back into the cell that echoed choking wails of desperation and agony, accompanied by forked-tongue whispers hissed with promise...and a few sobbing apologies to accent sounds of tearing fabric.

Stepping out of the cell, once more, Jasper finished pulling the shiv from their clavicle, tossing it to the side and flexing with a restored vigor as the youth and potential of the criminal's essence was used to sculpt the once-druid back into their preferred form. The cuts and stab wounds swiftly sealed as simply as how Jasper used a torn section of cloth to wipe off the trickles of thick black ichor that had become of his dehydrated blood. For good measure and decency, they slipped on the tattered shirt the man had been wearing. Better than nothing, even though it was a size too small.
With the welcoming party having not shown, and the stand-ins being a bit less than accommodating, Jasper was left lost in a hall they'd only seen once before. With a dismissive sniff, looking over the mess, once more, hands on their hips and contently nodding on a job well done, they started off down the hall in the direction of where they thought the roar from before had come from. Jasper hoped there would be proper light and maybe a shower somewhere nearby, as both sounded equally suitable to ease the headache the flashing lights were causing.
With a huff, Jasper lowered himself onto the bed after some time fruitlessly willing the ship to crash or something with all of the floor-shoving. Sitting, arms resting on their knees as his head hung, he stared into the floor and then his hands, turning the palms up. This was a lonely haunt; all the threat of what reminders were scribbled on the clipboard hung beside the sliding door outside. In truth, he couldn't tell if was even still there...and the darkness of their thoughts began to sink back in with that single spark to reawaken old demons and fresh wounds.

What if they all know? Lock the box and throw away the key, forget about the door and its contents, weld the door shut and nothing in his smooth metal tomb would change...for centuries.

The worry made his throat tighten up once more, choking back the emotions that had once been released years ago as tireless screams of vocal cords that would re-knit themselves fresh with every breath.

Forgotten~
Newspaper footnotes to be gawked over and then discarded~

"...How appalling! How Horrifying! Have you heard the news? Murders...murderers a-and..." Jasper looked up, thinking he heard something like a voice so clear he could have sworn it was right beside him. A palpable moment of stillness came and passed, waiting with a racing heart before lifting his hands to his face. Deep calming breaths dragged the seconds by, but the ghosts would not go so quietly.
All the lies~
Imagine the spin they put on it, even~!
Faces; expressions aghast with slacked jaws as they watched you do it, saint~
The trees are gone, now. You cut them down. You cut them all down with your own hands and drank their sap to spite their memories.


It was then just a brief flicker of a woman's face, contorted in a dislocated yet silent scream. Their skin a pale grey, pulled taught over the bones and sinew, beneath, sunken and sallow like the hollow, accusing eyes.

He was on his feet, retching and spasming even as he stretched to the tips of his toes, fingers twisting as they pressed into his face almost as if trying to crush his own skull. A soft gargle of a shivering inhale reluctantly hissed between his chattering teeth, the promise his ghosts demanded being made as his lips twisted into horror.
Yet...before his anguish could break the silence in another fit of screams, another sound made the walls gently chime. Distant thumps and pops accompanied by the screams of others from beyond the walls. Audible rushes of air being devoured by flame and the snaps of doors sliding open, only for the voices and noise to continue anew, refreshed by the next victim. This tangible stimuli was a sickening comfort...that the hollow void of space would house fates as awful as his own waking nightmares.

Jasper sank to his knees, arms swinging to the sides and dragging across the floor as his expression relaxed into an empty stare. If there were tears left in him, he would have been a mess at this point, but the bloodshot thousand-yard stare held a chilling reflection in the door of a repeatedly broken animal who came out the other end with an anticipatory realization.
These sounds were not stopping...these ones were quite real...and they were getting closer.

Standing once more, he swept up to the door, pressing his ear against the metal to listen to the sound of change. The world was once again alive with death; he was certain something was happening, and this singular detail teased the outline of a manic grin on the corners of his lips. The sounds were coming his way! The doors would be opened and...and whatever happened after...who knew?
The unknown variables set alight his senses as if shaken awake, his heart fluttering with a desperation to join the sound...to make more of it. The elation spurred a brief maddened laugh as he looked around his room and then down to himself. Any other circumstance, the promise of entertaining guests would send him to and fro to make himself presentable and prepare hors d'oeuvres. Unfortunately, his state would have to suffice...and the guests would have to be the ones providing the snacks.
Jasper shook the sudden pangs of hunger at the thought, easily distracting himself with equally unsound processes of contemplation. His mind swam with what his words would be, squirming and stumbling, indecisively, through a few terrible jokes as he failed to grasp the danger behind the noises.
Lanes...


Rising, Jasper's arms flexed chords of sinew and muscle under their taught flesh, a push-up in the exertion which the repetition had stolen all meaning from the act, the count left irrelevant. This has become his life, his meditation, respiration and methodical pace in the flexing and flow of blood to meet the demands of hungry musculature. Perhaps it was another layer of spite, the top torn from their prison jumpsuit to leave them with only the legs and the fabric from the seams of the former top in order to sinch it into place with a messy temporary knot. Glazed and rippling, their muscles rolled through their back with every repetition while their eyes remained locked on the door of his cell.
Today may not be the day, nor was yesterday or the weeks before it, and any promises of the tomorrows' whispered from yesterdays past would fall to a grace found only in the marks next to the untouched bed.

'Untouched' was an inaccurate description, the impression on the thin sheetless pad that served as a mattress hinted to a frequented kneeling-spot for the saint...or...at least that was how Jasper would see himself. A martyr, even, having moved the pieces for the check to be called, some time by those whose presence would leave more of an impact than the old footprints in an overgrown grove, once upon a time.
Easing themselves to kneel, he ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back and resting his palms on his thighs. It felt like ages since the door had been opened in earnest, the meager slot and the shelf upon it for which goods and nutrients had ceased falling to the floor, as none of the staff retained the stomach to come in and clean the mess that was left.

No brave souls.

A single overturned plate sitting atop a putrid black mass of what had been freeze-dried meatloaf, a year ago. Reheated and unfurled, sallow after the first week and disgusting litter within days of it having spilled haphazardly by the door. In return, the door's edges had accumulated rust from algae and lichens pushing waste liquids against it for years, a blatant defiance that threatened to melt down the very metal, given a few decades of such aggressive rot. The receiving port which such goods had been delivered through had since been welded shut from the outside to contain the maladies; festering molds still managing to creep around and past the seals. From the outside, the door to the cell was a horrific warning, appearing almost ancient in comparison to the rest of the block.

With all hope, the door would bind, the rust would expand, and the door would open, no more.

Cells.
Within cells, interlinked.
This cancer was the last and finest of my works, a threat to any who would pity and question the reason of containment.


"What's behind that door?" I would hear a naive voice, long ago, and a haggard voice simply replied, "Doom."
I only knew they spoke of my fate with the light yet hollow rapping on the door with the knuckle of a finger. It felt like an eternity ago, but that single act of contact renewed my soul. Meek and disjointed as it may have been, the simple acknowledgement was enough to pull me from my trance. No words were heard, since.

For a moment, I was alive, once more.
Then it was gone...countless repetitions ago...


Holding themselves up during their recollection, Jasper then sighed and lowered themselves, again, to continue their endless push-ups...a song teasing across their lips. To him, every time, it was a symphony of voices.



______________________________________________

The outside of Jasper's cell was marked with a collection of 'X's drawn by sharpies where the mold hadn't leeched through the seams, and under places were the fetor consumed. The window had long since been painted over and it was anyone's guess what transpired, within.
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