Okay, I finally posted.
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“Cold.”
“Is it?” Sadao said, looking sidelong at the man who’d spoken. Members of the local Sheriff department and animal control hustled and bustled around the tiny, rundown shack of a house. They carted out carcasses of dogs, cats, birds, ferrets, rabbits- anything that could be a pet, or had been, anyhow. The Animal Control member beside him sighed and let his breath smoke out on the cold, cold air. Sadao’s breath went nowhere these days, least of all inside any lungs of his. How long had it been now? More than twenty, that’s for sure. Another animal control officer thrust a thumb over his shoulder.
“Where do these ones go?” He asked, tone more like a bored clerk than a bleeding heart animal control officer hellbent on bringing animal abusers to justice.
“In the fuckin’ truck, Dave.” The officer beside Sadao said. Sadao supposed it happens, though, the gradual wearing down of one’s ability to care the more honest the world gets about how cruel it is. Those dogs will find loving homes, and he was glad for that. The whole day wasn’t lost. On another metal pole similar to the ones some of the dogs had to be kept on, a sickly pale woman was brought kicking and screaming over the threshold of her front door. Almost no one reacted, leaving the woman’s screams and gurgles to echo out into the thick forest beyond. “Hard to believe, huh?”
He would’ve said yes if he was human still, shielded from the world so close, yet so far. A world filled with monsters and black magic. Some days, he did feel that way, still coming to terms with waking up on that beach, stared at by painted faces and dark-skinned women dancing around his stone bed, tits flopping, bundles of sticks smoking on the air, clutched in the hands of grim-faced, warbling priests. And the fear of it. And the swimming, months of swimming, losing chunks of himself all along the way. He turned to the man, “No.” He shook his head.
“I guess this is just a normal morning for you boys in the Paranormal Police, huh?” The officer chuckled. “We don’t get much calls like this, I tell ya.”
“Investigations.” Sadao muttered.
“Huh?” The man turned to him and sniffled.
“Paranormal Investigations. We’re not police. More like…” Sadao eyes would’ve looked up as he thought, he crossed his arms, “Exterminators? We take care of the things you’d shit yourself at.”
“That so, huh?” The officer crossed his own arms and shrugged, nodding appreciatively, “You done much pants shitting, then?”
“Not for a while.” He tugged off a glove from his boney-bare hand and wriggled the long, white fingers so they clacked together in front of the man’s face before removing his sunglasses, revealing the pale blue lights in his eyesockets, “Have to be able to eat to be able to shit, friend!”
“What the fuck!” The man stumbled back and clutched at his chest like his heart was going to give at any moment. He sat, huffing and puffing big clouds of breath into the air. “What the fuck?”
“I get that a lot.” He looked back to the screeching woman and the sound of a sigh came from his skull’s smile, still hiding behind the black scarf around his face. He replaced his glasses, that was enough fun for the morning, he guessed. Hardly seemed an appropriate time for any kind of fun. The case he’d been working was missing pets. At first, they only suspected coyotes, or maybe bears or mountain lions. They lived in the middle of the forest, after all. But no bears or any kind of animal had been sighted by hunters or other locals. PHPI took it, gave it to him, and Sadao thought it was a chupacabra, or maybe a wendigo. They’d dealt with one a while ago, so it was unlikely another had moved in, especially after they cleansed the area with that ritual. Finally, he got an inkling it was one of his reanimated brethren. After all, wasn’t much of a leap to think some of the zombiefolk liked their food wriggling and fresh, as disgusting as it was. Trouble was, people are apt to miss a dog more than they will a buck licking at a stream. A sad fact.
In a couple strides, he took the woman’s face between his surprisingly strong hands. Blame black magic. She had no choice but to turn her head his way, where he wanted it. The dead, glassy eyes stared at him and he stared back. Had he ever been so barbaric? So ghastly? So terrible? No. He’d had a long memory, and some barbaric, ghastly, terrible ones at that. But he’d never hurt another who didn’t deserve it. “You give us a bad name. Should send you to the chopping block, or a wood-chipper. I hope you died bad the first time.” He let go of her face after pushing her away from him none too gently. He should’ve felt sorry, maybe, some people handled being reanimated differently. But all he wanted to do was plug her with a few slugs. "Either way, I hope you die bad again." He threw over his shoulder.
He walked over to his car, opened the door and slammed it shut once he was in. “What a morning.”
And he was off down the road, back to the offices. He wished he could still drink.
“Is it?” Sadao said, looking sidelong at the man who’d spoken. Members of the local Sheriff department and animal control hustled and bustled around the tiny, rundown shack of a house. They carted out carcasses of dogs, cats, birds, ferrets, rabbits- anything that could be a pet, or had been, anyhow. The Animal Control member beside him sighed and let his breath smoke out on the cold, cold air. Sadao’s breath went nowhere these days, least of all inside any lungs of his. How long had it been now? More than twenty, that’s for sure. Another animal control officer thrust a thumb over his shoulder.
“Where do these ones go?” He asked, tone more like a bored clerk than a bleeding heart animal control officer hellbent on bringing animal abusers to justice.
“In the fuckin’ truck, Dave.” The officer beside Sadao said. Sadao supposed it happens, though, the gradual wearing down of one’s ability to care the more honest the world gets about how cruel it is. Those dogs will find loving homes, and he was glad for that. The whole day wasn’t lost. On another metal pole similar to the ones some of the dogs had to be kept on, a sickly pale woman was brought kicking and screaming over the threshold of her front door. Almost no one reacted, leaving the woman’s screams and gurgles to echo out into the thick forest beyond. “Hard to believe, huh?”
He would’ve said yes if he was human still, shielded from the world so close, yet so far. A world filled with monsters and black magic. Some days, he did feel that way, still coming to terms with waking up on that beach, stared at by painted faces and dark-skinned women dancing around his stone bed, tits flopping, bundles of sticks smoking on the air, clutched in the hands of grim-faced, warbling priests. And the fear of it. And the swimming, months of swimming, losing chunks of himself all along the way. He turned to the man, “No.” He shook his head.
“I guess this is just a normal morning for you boys in the Paranormal Police, huh?” The officer chuckled. “We don’t get much calls like this, I tell ya.”
“Investigations.” Sadao muttered.
“Huh?” The man turned to him and sniffled.
“Paranormal Investigations. We’re not police. More like…” Sadao eyes would’ve looked up as he thought, he crossed his arms, “Exterminators? We take care of the things you’d shit yourself at.”
“That so, huh?” The officer crossed his own arms and shrugged, nodding appreciatively, “You done much pants shitting, then?”
“Not for a while.” He tugged off a glove from his boney-bare hand and wriggled the long, white fingers so they clacked together in front of the man’s face before removing his sunglasses, revealing the pale blue lights in his eyesockets, “Have to be able to eat to be able to shit, friend!”
“What the fuck!” The man stumbled back and clutched at his chest like his heart was going to give at any moment. He sat, huffing and puffing big clouds of breath into the air. “What the fuck?”
“I get that a lot.” He looked back to the screeching woman and the sound of a sigh came from his skull’s smile, still hiding behind the black scarf around his face. He replaced his glasses, that was enough fun for the morning, he guessed. Hardly seemed an appropriate time for any kind of fun. The case he’d been working was missing pets. At first, they only suspected coyotes, or maybe bears or mountain lions. They lived in the middle of the forest, after all. But no bears or any kind of animal had been sighted by hunters or other locals. PHPI took it, gave it to him, and Sadao thought it was a chupacabra, or maybe a wendigo. They’d dealt with one a while ago, so it was unlikely another had moved in, especially after they cleansed the area with that ritual. Finally, he got an inkling it was one of his reanimated brethren. After all, wasn’t much of a leap to think some of the zombiefolk liked their food wriggling and fresh, as disgusting as it was. Trouble was, people are apt to miss a dog more than they will a buck licking at a stream. A sad fact.
In a couple strides, he took the woman’s face between his surprisingly strong hands. Blame black magic. She had no choice but to turn her head his way, where he wanted it. The dead, glassy eyes stared at him and he stared back. Had he ever been so barbaric? So ghastly? So terrible? No. He’d had a long memory, and some barbaric, ghastly, terrible ones at that. But he’d never hurt another who didn’t deserve it. “You give us a bad name. Should send you to the chopping block, or a wood-chipper. I hope you died bad the first time.” He let go of her face after pushing her away from him none too gently. He should’ve felt sorry, maybe, some people handled being reanimated differently. But all he wanted to do was plug her with a few slugs. "Either way, I hope you die bad again." He threw over his shoulder.
He walked over to his car, opened the door and slammed it shut once he was in. “What a morning.”
And he was off down the road, back to the offices. He wished he could still drink.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@gcold I hope we didn't lose too many Bothans this time around.
I'll try to get something up the next day or two when I've caught up a bit in sleep; I am still in the hospital and I swear every 2-3 hours around the clock somebody is coming around to talk to me/ poke me with needles/ take my vitals. Even 3 and 4 in the morning have been for the past week, without fail, wake the Derv to steal his lifeforce time.
But I love this giant thing; the past couple posts have been quite exciting reads! Gotta figure out how to make Do'Karth useful here without turning him into kitty paste from a Dark Souls reject.
Hard to think up a way to take down something bigger than Jorwen with a staff, ain't it? Put him up with the archers. Alternatively, Solveig and Cleftjaw are acting as bodyguards to Jorwen's wife. Maybe he should help there after Jorwen asks, seeing as Do'Karth is unarmored and holding a stick.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I think it's safe to say we'll be falling back behind the walls. I can't see a scenario where we'll be pushing back these armored giants.
That being said, I posted.
That being said, I posted.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Pier Four...
“Metal ships.” White-Eye spoke with a face screwed up with hate and spat, “Devil-make.”
Jorwen said nothing, only watched. The ships that went out to meet the invaders were quick work for them and he had a hard time feeling anything for them. There was a fine line between heroism and stupidity and the sailors may have crossed it. They’d have done better to not bother with the ships at all and sailed west with haste. Of course, Jorwen wasn’t their captain, so any strategy was lost on them. They all stood in a mass of loosely defined formation on the docks, thirty-some of Ashav’s men. Him and White-Eye among them. He cast a glance to the gates and curled his lips in a heavy frown that he wasn’t inside with Solveig and Cleftjaw, protecting his wife with them. When the ships made port in varying degrees of splintered wood and grinding metal-on-stone, his wishes were doubled and his veins grew cold. His knuckles were white and his skin creaked across the leather as his grip tightened on his sword.
For a few minutes, made hours by the tension in the air as thick as the smell of sweat and fear, the ships did nothing. It was quiet, save for the smacking of waves on the piers and the beaches. The wind came and tickled at Jorwen’s hair and he closed his eyes. For a few moments, Jorwen was a man of peace. And then he heard them, the pounding footsteps of moving glaciers. Arrows came down and killed one in a cloud of mist and stinging ice shards. The other one was brought down by swords and axes, seeing only one man dead. There was another lull too short for Jorwen to enjoy as the guardsmen loosed arrows that either stuck in wood or pinged off metal. When the bastards finally disembarked, it seemed they were fighting giants. It was a feat to baffle Jorwen with the size of another, but they did it. They came on, silent save for their beating feet. “We’ll be giant-slayers today if you hold with me, you bloody killers!” Jorwen hadn’t even meant to say it, but the men around him all let loose their warcries at the words, high keening, ghostly screams mingled with deep, guttural yells as they beat their shields.
They came on like rogue waves. Three men were put on their backs as one charged straight into their line and blades glanced off metal. Jorwen’s section was the next, his line smashed apart with a terrifying swing of a maul. The giant butted him and he was sent stumbling back, whooping. Without thinking, he sprang off of his lead foot and felt the air and the pleasure of an arc of a weapon that had missed its mark. The battle seemed to have stopped around them, Jorwen’s ears deaf to it. The lads at his back clung to each other and had their shields raised more like children behind their blankets than warriors behind their shields. He looked around, and it was just him and the giant. He swallowed sand, it felt like, and he stretched his mind’s hands down as far as it would go to the bottom of his barrel, searching for that mad fucker from years ago. The dagger-eyed prick that would bleed Skyrim dry for a hard name and do the blackest deeds for two pieces of gold to rub together. That would kill a man for a wrong word or a hard stare.
But the searching was cut short by the giant’s arm, coming at him and hitting him like a log. It lifted him off his feet and sent him tumbling against shields and it was the damnedest thing that he was pushed back. So it was the circle all over again, a duel, and to the death. No time to list his pedigree though, as the giant came on again, this time with his huge-headed maul. He stepped to the side and swung his sword with a grunt and it thudded against the giant’s armor on his midsection. To his credit, it gave the giant pause and he thought he heard a grunt of its own. He’d no time to dance a merry jig as the giant smashed the haft of his maul into his forehead. He saw a burst of white and suddenly was too heavy for his legs to carry as he stumbled sideways into another. He shook his head to see another man come screaming out of the mass of terror-gripped cowards’ shields and swing his axe with a wild-eyed and throaty roar. The axe found its mark at the crook of the giant’s leg and put it on its knee, still able to see almost eye-to-eye with the man. It took longer than he expected, but Jorwen recognized the man as White-Eye.
It almost seemed as if White-Eye was going to kill the thing. He ducked under a boulder of a fist and his axe panged off the thing’s helmet hard enough to send it reeling. It sat on all fours and White-Eye raised his axe and let loose a roar and brought it down. The giant simply reached up and grabbed it by the haft like a thing foreseen, halting its advance. It stood and wrenched the axe from White-Eye’s hands but the old man was having none of it. Quick as an eel through water, he ducked and planted his hands behind its knees and tackled it to the ground, bringing out a knife in a white-knuckle fist as he clambered to mount the giant’s chest but the thing palmed him in the gut hard enough to send him to the ground a few feet away. Jorwen got himself on his freshly-steady legs and hefted his sword, but not quick enough to stop the giant from bringing down a fist like a god’s anger. When the giant’s arm was lifted again, there was red beneath in White-Eye’s mail and cloth. White-Eye yelled and lanced out an arm with a knife in his hand but it only glanced off the giant’s helmet. Another boulder of a fist made a dull thud and White-Eye’s one good eye went glassy.
And Jorwen cold all over.
He let loose an ear-shattering roar and charged forward as soon as the thing stood. The giant had enough time to turn to look at him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the big blade from pounding into his leg like a mammoth’s trunk. He heard something pop and the giant faltered, turned and roared as he swung his tree-trunk arm over Jorwen’s head as he ducked. Quick as lightning and with the sound of thunder following, Jorwen reared back and hard as he could, brought his big blade down on the giant’s helmet. The giant faltered again, letting go a groan. Jorwen saw his chance. He planted his shoulder in the giant’s gut as he sprang, sending them both toppling to the ground. Jorwen unsheathed his big knife and shoved it into the slit of the giant’s helmet, but it still rose after as if the knife was a splinter. Jorwen moved to the side and the giant’s arm scraped along his mail’d shoulder. Jorwen rolled away and grabbed the closest thing to him, a hammer. He hid it behind his back as the giant came on, screaming its warcry. Once it got close, Jorwen swung and the beak of the hammer opened the slit of its helmet with the scraping of metal and the giant toppled over like an old oak to the ground.
Jorwen left the hammer in the giant’s helmet and ripped out his knife to put it back in its sheath. He grasped up his big sword as the lines were reforming. There was still work to be done, always more work. He’d killed only one of those things and he felt like he’d fought ten men. He stood with the men at his shoulder and they looked at him with resolve or awe. He looked to one of the men and his eyes shot away from Jorwen. It shamed him to say he enjoyed that, seeing the same fear and respect. By the time another of the giants came, the men met it with a little more bravery now that they knew it could be killed. It seemed the old battle-lust was snaking its fingers over his and making his heart beat like a smith’s hammer on the anvil. Maybe he didn’t have to search far for that mad fucker, he’d bleed these giants dry and they’d whisper of him around their fires by days end.
“Metal ships.” White-Eye spoke with a face screwed up with hate and spat, “Devil-make.”
Jorwen said nothing, only watched. The ships that went out to meet the invaders were quick work for them and he had a hard time feeling anything for them. There was a fine line between heroism and stupidity and the sailors may have crossed it. They’d have done better to not bother with the ships at all and sailed west with haste. Of course, Jorwen wasn’t their captain, so any strategy was lost on them. They all stood in a mass of loosely defined formation on the docks, thirty-some of Ashav’s men. Him and White-Eye among them. He cast a glance to the gates and curled his lips in a heavy frown that he wasn’t inside with Solveig and Cleftjaw, protecting his wife with them. When the ships made port in varying degrees of splintered wood and grinding metal-on-stone, his wishes were doubled and his veins grew cold. His knuckles were white and his skin creaked across the leather as his grip tightened on his sword.
For a few minutes, made hours by the tension in the air as thick as the smell of sweat and fear, the ships did nothing. It was quiet, save for the smacking of waves on the piers and the beaches. The wind came and tickled at Jorwen’s hair and he closed his eyes. For a few moments, Jorwen was a man of peace. And then he heard them, the pounding footsteps of moving glaciers. Arrows came down and killed one in a cloud of mist and stinging ice shards. The other one was brought down by swords and axes, seeing only one man dead. There was another lull too short for Jorwen to enjoy as the guardsmen loosed arrows that either stuck in wood or pinged off metal. When the bastards finally disembarked, it seemed they were fighting giants. It was a feat to baffle Jorwen with the size of another, but they did it. They came on, silent save for their beating feet. “We’ll be giant-slayers today if you hold with me, you bloody killers!” Jorwen hadn’t even meant to say it, but the men around him all let loose their warcries at the words, high keening, ghostly screams mingled with deep, guttural yells as they beat their shields.
They came on like rogue waves. Three men were put on their backs as one charged straight into their line and blades glanced off metal. Jorwen’s section was the next, his line smashed apart with a terrifying swing of a maul. The giant butted him and he was sent stumbling back, whooping. Without thinking, he sprang off of his lead foot and felt the air and the pleasure of an arc of a weapon that had missed its mark. The battle seemed to have stopped around them, Jorwen’s ears deaf to it. The lads at his back clung to each other and had their shields raised more like children behind their blankets than warriors behind their shields. He looked around, and it was just him and the giant. He swallowed sand, it felt like, and he stretched his mind’s hands down as far as it would go to the bottom of his barrel, searching for that mad fucker from years ago. The dagger-eyed prick that would bleed Skyrim dry for a hard name and do the blackest deeds for two pieces of gold to rub together. That would kill a man for a wrong word or a hard stare.
But the searching was cut short by the giant’s arm, coming at him and hitting him like a log. It lifted him off his feet and sent him tumbling against shields and it was the damnedest thing that he was pushed back. So it was the circle all over again, a duel, and to the death. No time to list his pedigree though, as the giant came on again, this time with his huge-headed maul. He stepped to the side and swung his sword with a grunt and it thudded against the giant’s armor on his midsection. To his credit, it gave the giant pause and he thought he heard a grunt of its own. He’d no time to dance a merry jig as the giant smashed the haft of his maul into his forehead. He saw a burst of white and suddenly was too heavy for his legs to carry as he stumbled sideways into another. He shook his head to see another man come screaming out of the mass of terror-gripped cowards’ shields and swing his axe with a wild-eyed and throaty roar. The axe found its mark at the crook of the giant’s leg and put it on its knee, still able to see almost eye-to-eye with the man. It took longer than he expected, but Jorwen recognized the man as White-Eye.
It almost seemed as if White-Eye was going to kill the thing. He ducked under a boulder of a fist and his axe panged off the thing’s helmet hard enough to send it reeling. It sat on all fours and White-Eye raised his axe and let loose a roar and brought it down. The giant simply reached up and grabbed it by the haft like a thing foreseen, halting its advance. It stood and wrenched the axe from White-Eye’s hands but the old man was having none of it. Quick as an eel through water, he ducked and planted his hands behind its knees and tackled it to the ground, bringing out a knife in a white-knuckle fist as he clambered to mount the giant’s chest but the thing palmed him in the gut hard enough to send him to the ground a few feet away. Jorwen got himself on his freshly-steady legs and hefted his sword, but not quick enough to stop the giant from bringing down a fist like a god’s anger. When the giant’s arm was lifted again, there was red beneath in White-Eye’s mail and cloth. White-Eye yelled and lanced out an arm with a knife in his hand but it only glanced off the giant’s helmet. Another boulder of a fist made a dull thud and White-Eye’s one good eye went glassy.
And Jorwen cold all over.
He let loose an ear-shattering roar and charged forward as soon as the thing stood. The giant had enough time to turn to look at him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the big blade from pounding into his leg like a mammoth’s trunk. He heard something pop and the giant faltered, turned and roared as he swung his tree-trunk arm over Jorwen’s head as he ducked. Quick as lightning and with the sound of thunder following, Jorwen reared back and hard as he could, brought his big blade down on the giant’s helmet. The giant faltered again, letting go a groan. Jorwen saw his chance. He planted his shoulder in the giant’s gut as he sprang, sending them both toppling to the ground. Jorwen unsheathed his big knife and shoved it into the slit of the giant’s helmet, but it still rose after as if the knife was a splinter. Jorwen moved to the side and the giant’s arm scraped along his mail’d shoulder. Jorwen rolled away and grabbed the closest thing to him, a hammer. He hid it behind his back as the giant came on, screaming its warcry. Once it got close, Jorwen swung and the beak of the hammer opened the slit of its helmet with the scraping of metal and the giant toppled over like an old oak to the ground.
Jorwen left the hammer in the giant’s helmet and ripped out his knife to put it back in its sheath. He grasped up his big sword as the lines were reforming. There was still work to be done, always more work. He’d killed only one of those things and he felt like he’d fought ten men. He stood with the men at his shoulder and they looked at him with resolve or awe. He looked to one of the men and his eyes shot away from Jorwen. It shamed him to say he enjoyed that, seeing the same fear and respect. By the time another of the giants came, the men met it with a little more bravery now that they knew it could be killed. It seemed the old battle-lust was snaking its fingers over his and making his heart beat like a smith’s hammer on the anvil. Maybe he didn’t have to search far for that mad fucker, he’d bleed these giants dry and they’d whisper of him around their fires by days end.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Are the warehouses and offices behind the walls?
Haven't lost me, at least. Just slow in getting a post up.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
DEFINITELY today though.
Sure...
I'm going to be making a revamp of Sadao's character sheet. Since I haven't made my first post yet, I figure nothing's set in stone, and looking back, I'm not quite satisfied as to where I left it.
Edit: Done with that. Feel free to look over it, but I don't think you'll find anything particularly glaring there. I did my best for there not to be anyways. I'll start working on my first post, but I do have one question- are all of us assigned to cleanup duty or no? Can some of us be working other cases?
Edit: Done with that. Feel free to look over it, but I don't think you'll find anything particularly glaring there. I did my best for there not to be anyways. I'll start working on my first post, but I do have one question- are all of us assigned to cleanup duty or no? Can some of us be working other cases?
Oh, yea, I might have to adjust Sadao's age depending. This still in the eighties?
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