Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Nov 15, 2023 8:23:18 GMT 9
 The barren district is falling into the soft black-golds of twilight. This part of Ostella is quiet, still and calm- save for a solitary trainer, responding to a late-night message, summoned to the dark sand and darker sky.
Some of the messages are personal-
Saint - Let me show you what I’ve found.
Alistair - I need your help in the new region.
Some are not.
I think I’ve found a secret in the Dust District- will you help me look?
Please help me- there’s a strong creature here and I’m cornered.
All messages come with a map pin- and, upon arriving to the spot, you are alone. The shadows of the nearby ruins stretch impossibly long in the evening wan light, the air silent save for the scrape of sand.
Whoever sent the messages- they aren’t here now. To be alone in the desert- even a virtual one- is a death sentence. Thankfully, you’re a trainer. Standing there, on the threshold before the black desert, where golden sands meld to grey- this is your last chance to choose a guardian.
What pokemon do you summon? What is your bond?
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Alistair
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Player Character
Posts: 74
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Alistair Alearnith
OOC Username: Sunstrider
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Post by Alistair on Nov 20, 2023 11:26:02 GMT 9
Alistair- I need your help in the new region.
Alistair frowned at the message, then the glittering sands that stretched out before him, vast. What was surely barren by day was rendered artful by night; a reflection of the starry sky glittered on the dunes. The whole world was made of starlight. The silver-blue moonlight glittered off of everything, enrapturing in its realism. Sarthor's message was worrying, but the vision of the world ahead was too stunning to not appreciate. He had grown up among the woods and the trees; verdant rolling hills and spreading branches. Dappled sunlight and nights full of stars. But never like this- and having moved to Baltimore... lights made it difficult to see even the brightest of constellations. After being in the city for so long, at some point, he'd stopped looking. Now... now he couldn't look away.
In Unovr some latent curiosity that had gotten too worn down in him began to kindle anew. Each thing felt as real as when he was awake; no difference between the pen in hand at work, nor in the game. But in Unovr he wasn't locked into his sprawling and historic city; walls of grey and brick only punctuated by greenspace. There was nothing wild left about Baltimore. Nor was it the perfectly manicured building and space that Sarthor curated. If there was green or nature, it was safely enclosed behind glass doors.
Here, the soft, fine sand shifted underfoot, sifting up between his toes. Now, he took it all in. The exact shade of sapphire; the watercolor spread of the Milky Way, twisting like a long road before him. His mother had called it once the "pathway of the birds"- had said that the long trail of stars was the road that birds took to find summertime again in the long winters. Were these truly the same stars; or was it nostalgia? Or perhaps, some reflection of the strange, throbbing power that ached in the back of his skull since he'd come here.
He paused on the fringes of this wild place. He was taken in by the beauty, but not totally distracted by it. All day in far more placid regions, he had seen the signs and movements of other wild Pokemon. To him, new as he was, even those were dangerous. And despite the breathtaking beauty, there was something... not right here. The darkness was too deep, the stars too bright- winking like a thousand eyes. With the amount of shimmer and mist over the blue-grey dunes, it might be impossible to discern the glow of real Pokemon's eyes from all the rest of the shimmering landscape.
He released his only Pokemon, and they skittered out into the midnight sand for a moment, a few steps away, not minding Alistair at all, "Falas," He called softly, "Tread carefully." They were still learning their name, but they turned to look at him regardless. He had gotten the impression that he was as alien to Falas, as the little chameleon-like creature was to him. Every gesture, every syllable had been responded to with fear or skepticism- or blankeness. He was never quite sure if they understood anything he told them. And, unlike other Pokemon, whom he understood, Falas hadn't seen fit to respond back to him in kind. But everything came in due time. Some things you couldn't rush.
Unless, maybe, you were Sarthor, he mused quietly- and with a little amusement. What Sarthor expected him to do with a singular starter and no shoes was beyond him. But he was never one to turn down a cry for help- much less from someone he cared for.
He turned his gaze back to the dark horizon, pursing his lips. So far, there were only the silhouettes of trees and cacti and stone against the sea of stars and sand. "It's pretty, but I think this is a bit beyond us, aye?" He said finally after a moment of considering what to tell the sobble. They blinked at him- one weeping eye and then the other- then turned away. But at least they seemed more cautious now- darting forward from scrubby cover to flat stone, stretching their neck, and watching out for any sign of Alistair's mentioned danger. Normally, he would dismiss it all but he had tried to message and text Sarthor back after his cryptic request and received no answer. What if something had happened out here? Sarthor had a knack for getting in over his head- and not even realizing it. While the game wasn't real, the pain was, and that alone had driven him here.
"Let's keep going a bit; maybe Sarthor went up ahead." He told the Pokemon- this time, it didn't turn back to acknowledge him- merely continued forward, into the moonlight, leaving shadows of minuscule steps in the soft terrain, which he dutifully stepped after.
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Big Bee
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Bandana Guy
Round 2
Posts: 686
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Bryan Nautilus
OOC Username: Ladybug
Arena Points: 49
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Post by Big Bee on Dec 1, 2023 10:16:24 GMT 9
Big Bee loved getting mail. Be it snail, junk, or even e it was all good! He loved the feeling of opening up an unsolicited message to see what was inside. It was half of the reason why his work computer was absolutely filthy with viruses. Did you know that if you searched online you can find mailing lists that will send you more spam? It was never as good as the personalized stuff, or the classic phishing scams, but it was better than nothing! I tell you there is nothing like sitting at home after a long day at the office, cracking open a cold watermelon La Croix, and just browsing through like 400 completely garbage emails. Truly a unique experience.
So when the messages pinged in his UI from Lacrimosa he was on them faster than a horde of Gen Zs on a TikTok lip sync challenge. Big Bee did not know who Lacrimosa was, nor did he ever get a reply. But he did make his way through the desert with a single friend at his side: Dune the Sandygast.
“We don’t talk much, do we?” Big Bee asked, trudging down the side of a tremendous dune. The sands underneath him shifted as if he were sliding down the back of some great, grainy beast.
“Not particularly, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t!”
“Oh yeah, of course! That’s what I’m saying. I feel like I haven’t gotten a chance to meet you, you know what I’m saying?”
“I get that. I get that.” Sandygast bobbed up and down, as if it was nodding its head in agreement.
“So, uh, tell me a bit about yourself!”
“Well I’m from Beta Island originally, and there was a huge colony of us out near the headland. We liked to play this game where a bunch of us would group together and make a BIG wave of sand and then surge along the beach catching the others and adding them to the wave until we covered the whole beach!”
“Oh a bit like tag!”
“I guess. We called it ‘sand attack’.”
“Ha! I get it.”
“What?”
“Oh. Uh, nevermind.”
“Well anyway, until I met you I’d never even seen a trainer!”
“Beta Island doesn’t get a ton of foot traffic these days.” Bee said, and the pair travelled on in silence as the dunes shifted below them.
The sand beneath their feet was the brilliant gold of harvest grain, but as they headed North the hue shifted, transforming like the sheen on spilled oil. Gold became the dull red of hematic iron, and then the sickly green of oxidized copper, before shifting back to the creamy, crunchy white of a beach made from crushed seashells.
With each change of color in their surroundings, Dune shifted as well. They sucked up the new, differently colored sand and blended almost perfectly into the shifting shades of the waves and gulleys. The only thing that gave them away was the existence was a bright red sand shovel sticking out of their head.
“I didn’t know you could change color,” Bee said, hauling himself up a green dune.
Dune zipped up the side, moving like a wave through a lagoon. “Only temporarily. It’s a camouflage thing, like with Kecleon! If we find ourselves on a new beach it doesn’t make sense to stand out like a sore thumb, does it? You need to blend in, you need to be neither seen nor heard.” Dune flattened themselves, and tilted their head so that the shovel was hidden within the sands. “See? Invisible!”
And they were! Big Bee couldn’t figure out where they’d gone. “That’s really impressive! And can you use it for hunting too?”
There was no answer.
“Dune?”
No answer. He was alone with the shifting dunes and the stirring of the wind.
“Dune? Buddy? You there?”
The sand behind him erupted and thick limbs of sand pulled him to the ground. Big Bee shouted out in alarm as the sand shuddered around him, shaking as the creature fed him into its waiting jaws!
Only it didn’t do that at all. The limbs were just a surprising hug, and waiting jaws were the hollow of the sandy form, and the shaking was a surprised and self-satisfied little giggle.
“You scared me!”
“Pretty quiet, wasn’t I?” Dune said smugly. “Can I use it for hunting? Pfft. We’re ambush predators. That’s what we do! Or I suppose you could say amdune.”
As they neared the edge of the Corruption Zone the sand changed back to gold, only now it was shot through with veins of magnetite black. This desert was just full of mineral deposits! There was plenty of metal in these dunes.
“This should be the spot,” Bee said, looking around for his rendezvous. “The message said to meet them right here…” He looked around at the empty, shifting landscape. Had they been too slow? |
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Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 1, 2023 18:50:57 GMT 9
It’s Sunday. Angelo sat at the edge of his bed, hair a crow’s nest after another sleepless night and hands clammy around his phone as he waits for it to ring. He barely lets it.
“Anak?” She sounded tired. He can imagine her dragging her feet through the door, kicking off her heels. They never land on the rack. Whoever came home next would have to pick them up. She would collapse on the dusty couch still in uniform, taking her phone from a purse creased with how tightly she clutched it while riding the LRT.
“Hi, mom.” It’s still Sunday. He finished half the work required for the week, the remaining half he spends an hour stressing over before recognizing the limits of his brain and calling a quits. Without schoolwork on the table, and without Finn to badger, he had the rest of the day to do whatever he wants.
He booted up the game.
The first thing that greets him once the world loads is the horn of a 16-wheeler.
HOOOONK! Gumball leaped off the ground into his arms, peppering him with his version of kisses: Smashing his little bike horn nose on his cheek and bombarding him with a flurry of honkhonkhonkhonkhonks.
“I missed you too.” Saint smiled, giving his starter an affectionate squeeze. The world was meant to freeze for their Pokémon when they logged out, but Gumball always acts as if it’s some grand reunion whenever he sees his trainer, even if they’ve only been separated for a second.
Saint paused in his attempt to peel Gumball off him, seeing a message pop into the corner of his sight. “Kumusta? Kumain ka na ba? Hindi ka natulog, no?” The barrage of questions was expected. He moved through the motions, reading the script:
“I slept. I’ll cook breakfast after this call. I’m fine.”
“Gelo...”
“Ma, I’m fine. Promise. How are you? How is everyone?”
She’s his mother. When she sighed into the phone, he knows she didn’t buy it, but she recognized the eagerness in his voice; how badly he wants his own questions answered.
“Marami na ang nangyari, anak.”
His stomach dropped as he thought of what could have transpired for his mother to say a lot has happened. They followed the map marker. He had Gumball’s flipper in his hand, the popplio waddling on his backflippers like a toddler. It had worried Saint at first; surely that couldn’t be comfortable, but he was made to eat his words after Gumball spent several whole sessions just walking around like this. Many unfortunate wildlife were T-posed into submission.
He squeezed the flipper in his hand, Gumball skidding over the sand as they stopped at the threshold of the barren desert. Gumball gave a curious honk?, looking up to see his trainer eyeing the dunes warily. Papers and textbooks spilled off the bed as he bolts to his feet.
“HE’S SICK?”
“Gelo—”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?! Not even a text— I— how bad is it? What’s the diagnosis? Are you guys—!”
“GELO!”
He froze in the middle of hastily pulling out his luggage bag from the closet like someone fleeing to Montana after catching their spouse cheating.
“Diyos ko, huminga ka muna.” Which was rich, because she’s acting as if flying into panic mode isn’t warranted despite it being her husband in the hospital.
But Angelo took a moment to breathe, as instructed. “Okay… okay.”
Once he composed himself, his mother began to explain. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Even here, he could feel his hairs stand. A crawling atmosphere reminiscent of what he experienced around Mistra, except it was so much quieter. He didn’t feel watched. It didn’t feel like there was a soul around. He bent down to pick up Gumball, only to receive a gentle smack on his cheek.
Gumball shook his head and wiggled in place. While he enjoyed being carried, he wasn’t wet behind the ears when it comes to danger. He fought Duraludons! He rode wings of lightning and faced off a giant flaming turkey! If he was going to be battle-ready, he had to be on the field.
Saint frowned. “Come on, this isn’t the time for this. We’re in a desert.”
Gumball shook his head, pulling out a water balloon and smashing it on his own face. He waved his flippers as if to say Tadah! as he dripped on the sand.
It only made Saint scowl harder. “No. We don’t know what’s out there. I have to carry you.” He reached for him again.
Gumball honked his nose defiantly, trying to slap away his trainer’s hands—but the little popplio was easily bundled and plucked off the ground, still soundlessly whining and smacking his trainer with a squeaking toy hammer.
“Just—hold—still—Gumball!” Saint winced as he stepped into the desert, keeping a firm grip on his thrashing starter as they ventured under the darkened sky. “So Mia and AJ are working?”
“Oo.”
“And between the three of you, and the money I’ve been sending back, you’ve been able to cover dad’s bills?”
“Oo.”
Angelo collapsed back down on the floor, running his hand through the tangles in his hair. “What about the house? Electric, water, groceries… Louie is still in elementary, isn’t he? The tuition—”
“Gelo, kaya namin ito. We will be okay.”
He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, fear still thrumming in his chest. The urge to doubt, even as his mother continues, her voice bright with hope.
“And! And anak, you know, Mia will study medicine soon!”
Wait, what? “She will?”
“Yes, she was accepted. With scholarship! So tuition—okay.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Gelo, your sister will become a doctor too.”
Mia. His little sister, second eldest—the Mia who was always at his heels in every game, who cleared the prizes at Timezone, who was quick to take charge after their dad got sick.
“That’s great. Tell her congrats for me.”
“I will, anak. She will be very happy to hear that from her idol.”
Angelo willed himself not to die right then—or perhaps to die faster, as his mother continued to speak.
“So! So… will you come home? For Christmas…”
He had pulled his knees to his chest, sitting on the floor of his dorm with his phone pressed to his ear. He thought of packing his luggage, of boarding a plane, of driving through familiar streets decked with lights and festival streamers, of his home with its blinking streams of colorful lights, the old but beautiful parol his mother always hung by their door.
“I can’t. Not yet.”
He thought of opening the door and telling his family the truth.
“I’m sorry.” They walked until the blinking map marker disappeared under the player marker. Gumball lost steam for his tantrum a while ago, and was now sulking about it by burrowing his face in the crook of Saint’s arm and refusing conversation—still adorable, unfortunately.
Saint stood, turning his head this way and that, and finding no one else. No new messages, either.
He turned his gaze skyward, observing the sea of stars twinkling like Christmas lights. He had all manner of excuses ready, he had braced himself for a fight—
“Okay, anak.”
But that was all his mother said, as if she had already made her gamble and found her numbers coming up short once more. The resignation in her voice shattered his heart.
“That is okay. We will wait. Do your best, study hard.”
And he would never get used to this part.
“We love you.” |
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Laguna
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World Traveler
Mythstar
Posts: 514
Trainer Class: 
Player Name: Abigaelle Gauthier
OOC Username: Magnere
Arena Points: 0
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Post by Laguna on Dec 2, 2023 1:10:17 GMT 9
Laguna once again could not sleep.
It was said that the night was young, but in truth nothing could be further from the truth. The night was ancient beyond all understanding. It was always here, always waiting to return, shining with the lights of ages millennia past. Even when the light of the sun drowned out the rest of the universe, the night was still there.
Normally during these late night sleepless sessions she would find something to distract herself from that fact, something to drain her energy until she would pass out. Diving through the depths of the poorly explored Drowned Harbor, doing some urban exploration in the Forgotten Nexus, or sliding down dunes in the Dune District like she was riding a wave. It was easy to zone out, to forget her problems. But tonight, it wasn't so easy.
She just laid there in the sand, staring up at the night sky and watching the stars twinkle to life as the sun set over the infinite horizon. Her eyes slowly scanning across star after star, just lost in her thoughts. Did Hydance program each and every star of the night? Did they make it resemble the true night sky? Or was this a custom creation? Just how wild was it to think that some people had a hand in shaping something as grand as the very night sky itself. She would have given so much to be able to place the stars in the sky with her own very hands.
Eventually, she was pulled from her thoughts as she felt a gentle pressure against her side.
"Mama?" Glacia suddenly spoke, the little Bergmite placing its forelegs against her side and giving a gentle push. "I thought we were gonna go skating when you summoned me. Is something wrong?"
Laguna slowly sat up, looking down at the worried expression on her Pokémon's face. She never could say no to them, not after everything. "Just... doing a lot of thinking, hon."
"What you thinking about?"
"About the stars," Laguna began, slowly moving to sit properly, crossing her legs as her Bergmite casually climbed into her lap. "There's so many of them. Do you want to go skating, dear?"
"Well," Glacia spoke up softly, as if suddenly taking on a shy tone to their voice. "I like spending time with you mama. The little things. We so often go and explore big things, or fight big things. I like the little things. Whether we just cuddle, or skate, or just exist, I like it all."
She couldn't help but sigh softly, nodding and giving the Bergmite a warm hug in her embrace. "You really know the words to make my heart melt, don't you?"
Glacia couldn't help but smile, giggling quietly to themselves. "I don't mean to mama. I just speak my mind!"
"And don't you ever stop."
Before the two of them could continue on in their late-night bonding session, or return back to gazing across the endless night sky, a message gets Laguna's attention. A strong creature and a map pin. Someone needed help.
It was pure instinct that her her standing up to her feet, readying to go. "Just got a message, my dear. Someone needs our help, think you're ready for it?"
"Ready as ever!" The Bergmite immediately high jumped out of her arms, twirling on the ground and shaking the lazy energy away. "Where we going?"
Laguna would view the map pin, only to stumble almost immediately. Her tone dropped drastically, as fear and trepidation entered in. "... Into the Corruption."
"Oh."
It went unsaid that she was more than a bit worried about this, but they both knew that they couldn't turn down the chance to help someone. If someone had wandered into the zone without knowing what they were getting into, it was her duty to help them.
She didn't help quell the corruption in Asper and free the very spirit of battle from its clutches to not help the average person. If Moltres stood no chance without support against the ever flowing tide of insidious, corrupting influence, how would just one person fare?
She didn't want to find out.
Laguna's wand twirled and with a freezing cold tailwind forming behind them, she began to move. "Let's go, Glacia. I know we just talked about the little things, but this big thing can't wait. Ready yourself for trouble, just in case." Her Bergmite nodded at her trainers words and the duo kicked off into the night.
Snowflakes and flames trailed behind her feet as she ran with incredible boosted speed, gliding across the sands with an ease most would never find. Using her legs were one hell of an adrenaline rush, almost like a drug, something she craved more than anything else in the real world.
She wasn't sure she could ever give it up, either.
With her thoughts wandering, only too aware of her exposed legs clad fairly nicely in a pair of Cool Jorts, the duo would eventually roll up on the location at hand. Nobody was here.
There was no sign of a confrontation, no sign of a struggle. Just the ruins looming in the distance, giving her an uncomfortable vibe that felt something fierce. They were gonna have to go in there, weren't they? Laguna glanced down at Glacia, the two understanding fairly quickly. There was no need for words right now, not when speaking might attract whatever threats dwelled in the area. With intense caution, the pair began to look around, searching for any sign of life, movement, or anything to reveal what could have required their presence. |
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orioncayge
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Bandana Guy
Round 2
Posts: 770
Trainer Class: 
Arena Points: 20
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Post by orioncayge on Dec 2, 2023 2:32:18 GMT 9
Everything hurt as Orion muscled his way though the rickety aluminum door of his not quite a trailer but not quite an apartment that he called home. The sun had long since fucked off below the horizon leaving an inky black sky stained with the hustle and bustle of the city that never slept in the distance. Inside he was greeted by the familiar sight of his father passed out in his chair, beer bottle nestled between his gut and chest like how a baby might fall asleep mid drink. The TV, arguably the nicest appliance in their entire home (thank you fat tax refund), had the news playing low and slow.
"We are fast approaching the seventeenth anniversary of the Black Valentine Riots..."
Stepping out of his shoes, the fighter padded quietly across the stained shag carpet into the "kitchen" which was just a small corner of the living room walled off with tacky faux granite counters and delineated with shitty linoleum. It mostly consisted of a shitty two burner stove (one of which did not work), a microwave that stank of burnt tilapia, and a fridge that wasn't quite full sized but wasn't quite small enough to be called mini. The latter of which was his goal as he squatted low, grimacing as his post workout thighs threatened to cramp, and began to rummage through its contents looking for something to eat.
"It's hard to believe it's already been seventeen years Bob, I for one remember it like it was yesterday."
Of course his father had fallen asleep listening to the fucking Public Inquirers, a local "news" station that mostly covered sensationalist stories and conspiracy theories that were so moronic it transcended the typical bipartisan punditry that mainstream media had fallen into and kickflipped its way into borderline schizophrenic rants that no normal person could possibly believe. Papa Troy insisted that he thought it was funny, but more and more Orion was beginning to grow concerned that his father was starting to believe that drivel.
"For those of you not in the know, or are perhaps in need of a refresher, we are of course talking about the week long riots that were instigated on valentines day almost seventeen years ago. Official sources state that the unrest was a result of the embezzlement of the Edge of Eden suburban expansion plan. Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people lined the streets to protest the corruption in local government as many found themselves victims of fraud, having bought into a plan that was supposed to create a lush suburban environment around the city of Las Vegas, said to turn the city of sin into a veritable Eden in the desert."
Orion managed to find a couple of slices of Pizza that didn't seem too terribly old and pilfered a Miller High Life from his fathers stash.
"We of course, know the real reason."
Oh boy, here we go. Orion stood up and sighed, eyes darting across the messy nest his father had constructed over the year or two they'd spent in this apartment glued to the TV looking for the remote.
"The riots were in fact a coverup for local gang activity. It is no secret that during the Black Valentine Riots countless gang members were brutally executed during a vicious war to seize control over the surrounding slums. Major perpetrators include the Northern Lions, The Dragons of the East, The Westside greasers, and of course the infamous Southside crew."
Scowling he redoubled his efforts to look for this remote, going as far as to set his food down on the counter to free both hands to sift through discarded beer bottles and pizza boxes.
"While it is still unclear what the exact inciting incident of the violence was, we do in fact know that members of Southside went on a rampage, brutally butchering opposing gang members and politicians indiscriminately. The actual death tolls remain unclear to this day, what we do know is that in the bloody wake of this brutal massacre a new regime rose to power within the city government helmed by the same bloody butchers who tore it down. City Councilman Thaddeus Cayge continues to categorically deny these accusations citing the unjust theft of the future from many as the cause for the unrest and claims the numerous accounts of his son Troy Cayge brutally beating a man to death in the streets with his bare hands as-"
Click.
Orion managed to find the remote and turn that drivel off before it could insult his family any further, the cheap plastic threatening to crack and shatter under his white knuckle grip. Suddenly he wasn't very hungry anymore as he snatched his beer off the counter and stormed into his room, cracking the bottle cap off with his teeth.
"Fucking scumbags don't know shit about what fucking happened." he growled, guzzling down amber ambrosia in a vain attempt to quell the fire starting to burn in his chest. To be fair, he didn't know the truth either. The events of that week were a taboo topic for his family, or in all of southside in general. People who didn't know better might whisper about it behind closed doors, but despite how very public it had all been nobody had answers.
Or at least, nobody had answers for him.
Groaning, Orion added his now empty bottle next to the growing collection of them on his nightstand and plopped onto his bed. He was agonizingly sore, but he could escape the pain and the frustration of the day in UNOVR. He would play a little bit to calm down, then log off and get some real food in his system. Yeah, that was the plan. He would fumbled in the dark for his bootleg headset, an old as fuck model from when the tech was still pretty fresh that a cousin of his had hooked him up with as thanks for hooking him up with a total babe. It had, of course, been retrofitted with tons of safety features that kept it from frying his noggin but it wasn't without the odd bug or two.
Just like him.
He would get as comfy as his aching muscles would let him and slide the headset over his face, letting himself descend into an induced slumber.
...
The setting sun greeted Orion as his vision came into focus, as if the game itself was slightly lagging from the real world. All around him was empty space and sand, lots of fucking sand. It took him a moment to recall where he was and what he had been doing last time he'd been online, still unused to the notion of logging on and finding himself places rather than tucked away in his coffin in the Misty Timberlands. On one hand, it was convenient not having to fast travel back to wherever he'd last been trolling around looking for adventure. On the other hand, his coffin cocoon had been one of the sole things rendering him nigh immortal to the numerous threats UNOVR had to offer. He didn't need to watch his health, if it hit zero he'd get shitty flute music blasted in his ears and he could just keep going. Out here?
He was vulnerable.
Relishing in the fresh feeling of not being sore from hours of grueling strength training at the direction of his Latin family members, Orion took a few lumbering steps up a sandy hill, cresting it and taking in the majesty of the digital world around him. Whoever had created this region really fucking knew deserts and had captured the majesty of the vast openness and somber melancholy that oft accompanied it. It was as he was glancing over this landscape he heard a small ping, and in the corner of his eye a notification was pulsing. He quickly opened his UI and found a message waiting for him from a...Lacrimosa? Did he know them? The name rang a bell, but he wasn't quite sure they'd ever exchanged words, or if they had they hadn't been particularly memorable, but what did catch his attention was the contents.
It was an SOS, and they were in deep shit.
"FUCK!"
The swear leapt from his lips as he took a step forward and skidded down the dune in the direction of the enclosed coordinates. Without even thinking he summoned Achilles the Incineroar, his starter pokemon, his right hand man, the one champ who never went down without a fight. The mon hit the ground running, seemingly sensing the urgency in his calling through some preternatural bond man and mon shared.
"Where's the fire boss?" The cat hissed, elongating his stride to keep up with the quick pace of his taller master.
"Someone's in trouble out this way, we gotta help em!" Orion quipped back, smashing out a quick message telling this player that he was coming to the rescue and to hang tight. Growing up in Nevada Orion knew the danger that lurked in the desert firsthand, especially at night. In fact, there was a saying among his family.
Members of Southside don't die, they go for a walk in the desert.
While a cute euphemism to memorialize the fallen, it held a very real truth within it, and while this was just a game, the trauma from this sort of thing was very real, and Orion could only hope that he wouldn't be too late. |
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The Captain
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 151
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Remy Andersen
OOC Username: Stells
Arena Points: 60
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Post by The Captain on Dec 2, 2023 6:38:38 GMT 9
That bright smile that's worn so readily in his day-to-day life is gone now, joie de vivre and love for life missing and replaced by a furrowed brow. Concern and disquiet mark eyes that are often filled with the sun's warmth, in its place now being the cold glint of gold. The intrepid Captain is as uneasy as can be, for before him extends a sea that is as dry as it is coarse and rough...
...And irritating and it gets everywhere.
"Ugh, I like sand better when it's at the beach." Yet, in the cold and dark of the desert night, this dry and coarse sea of dunes looks akin to those he knows and loves, and if he really focuses, he's almost sure that he can smell the scent of the brine in the air coming from the Drowned Harbor. That in itself is a small comfort, and those dog ears that had been lowered and pinned down prick up once more.
<'...To-to...'> A Totodile whines, clinging to a black leather boot. It's easy to know what he means without even understanding his speech, because The Captain feels it too: it's cold.
Until no less than thirty two minutes ago, Remy had been enjoying a pleasant Autumn early morning off the coast of the Azores, having decided to lie down on the sailboat's deck and put on his WorldScreen after a nice breakfast of tuna piccata on toast. Now, with no Neri online and having received a request for help in place of her usual messages, The Captain finds himself at a vast desert where the breeze is full of dust and the nighttime temperatures drop steadily. The coast of the Azores is significantly better, doubtlessly. But, if that's the case, why is he still here, then?
"Doesn't look like there's anyone here, huh, Roger?"
In his own words, Remy Andersen has always been a selfish man; always choosing his happiness above that of everyone else. He does what he loves, he lives a life of excitement sailing across the seas, and yet in doing so he doesn't get to spend nearly as much time as he'd like with the son and daughter who are too young to understand why their parents aren't together and why their dad only visits them occasionally. They're both so different, but in many ways, they're both the same: they both seem to think of him as some hero of legends that always shows up to regale them with stories of his adventures and souvenirs that they cherish. When they understand the truth, they'll be so fucking disappointed. No, he's not the man his sweet kids see their dad as, and yet...
Isn't The Captain supposed to be everything Neri thinks of him?
"Man, it's cold... Maybe we should just come back later. I bet that guy's fine if he isn't here, must've managed to get away from the monsters or whatever."
Apparently, the key in that is 'supposed to be'.
<'T-toto!'> Refusal is spoken by a little blue crocodile that's clearly much more heroic than his captain, looking up at him with fire in his eyes despite the way he clings to the boot and his incessant shivering. The Captain meets his gaze there and then, and after a second of startled silence, he laughs, reaching down to pick up the little creature that is oh so light in his arms. Careful not to get pricked by the spines on Roger's back, he tucks the Totodile in his heavy coat, hoping to provide him with some warmth.
"You're right, you're right, 'course. Let's keep looking."
And so, they walk.
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Navarre
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Weekend Warrior
Player Character
Posts: 24
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Darcy Masters
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 60
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Post by Navarre on Dec 2, 2023 11:40:51 GMT 9
TW: depictions of poverty, implied home invasion, implied parental death
What you're looking for is out here.
Oh, undoubtedly.
But Darcy moved forward regardless. At this point, he had to take any lead presented to him, even if it involved a 20 minute long cutscene detailing what'd happened, and a snippy pop up from the code-thing that he might want to consider upgrades before progressing.
The issue was Darcy was not a gamer. He did not play pokemon. He had no correlation between the fat penguin at his side, and the battles he would face. In his mind, if he came across a problem, he'd simply solve it himself.
So, Navarre stalked forwards, through the ruined cityscape, past decaying office buildings and crumbling apartments. It wasn't that time had ruined everything- it was a lack of attention. Places fell into disrepair all the time.
Slowly, slowly, the familiar landscape faded away. Oppressive buildings fell away to many, to some, to few. Dirt gave way to sand, cold and sharp underfoot. The pokemon toddled along at his side, eyes bright as they regarded the landscape around them.
Navarre looked down at the creature- Aside from the strange color, it seemed a normal enough animal. Only vaguely like a real animal, but not ridiculously so. There were other creatures- ones he'd seen in the settlement- that were vastly more unrealistic. Stranger colors, sparking flames. He didn't understand it- the design, the appeal- but this one seemed fine enough, eyes fixed forward as they plodded forwards, unerringly at Navarre's side.
Darcy frowned. He didn't know anything, really, about the- the piplup. What an odd name. He knew that it was obedient, and followed him everywhere. And… not much else. "..."
What was there even to ask, to say? Why are you following me? Because it had to. Did it like being out here? Irrelevant.
"Notice anything?" He asked, voice low, under the snap of the wind. The pokemon looked up at him, blinking- and spoke.
<Nothing… I've not seen another pokemon since Zapdos brought us over.> Her voice, too, was cold, dry, methodical. He wasn't sure what he expected. Play-toy honking and whistling, maybe.
"Is that odd?"
<Does it feel normal?>
Navarre gave a half shrug. Point taken. There was a pervasive air, something that clung to his spine. Not a feeling of being watched, per se, but- something. It felt like-
Navarre kept his eyes open, on edge. He had no weapon here, in this place- Hell, he didn't even have shoes- but his fingers twitched against his hip regardless, desperate for the ghost of a grip.
He glanced up, at the map, and stopped. This was the supposed place- Where the mark was, or someone who knew something- But there wasn't anyone around. Just sand and stars, and silence.
The little penguin chuffed, a bit. <There's no way to tell where they went… the wind's even swept away our tracks.>
Navarre hummed softly, low in his throat. "The answer's here somewhere. Or it's a trap and we're going to die. But let's look for a sign of life, first." His certainty in this "Lacrimosa" was currently at rock bottom, but who knew- He'd gotten good intel from sketchier sources before. The penguin nodded, and began scuttling about, peering at sand and half-buried concrete.
Now- was he looking for an informant, a threat, or a corpse?
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Lacrimosa
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Player Character
Posts: 136
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Sarthor Caldwell
OOC Username: spibe
Arena Points: 50
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Post by Lacrimosa on Dec 2, 2023 12:18:12 GMT 9
Stepping across the virtual threshold- there is a spark of light, and silence. Your pokemon is gone. Your UI, too, has vanished, unresponsive to spoken word or gesture. The desert spills out in every direction, any trail you might have left obscured.
You are, well and truly, alone.
The shadows of night and corruption swirl around your feet, like affectionate cats, before the darkness truly descends, Corruption feasting upon your soul, your essence, to draw its shape and form.
What do you fear? What do you see?
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orioncayge
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Bandana Guy
Round 2
Posts: 770
Trainer Class:
Arena Points: 20
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Post by orioncayge on Dec 5, 2023 11:35:51 GMT 9
Oh god damnit, not this shit again.
If Orion had a dollar for every time he'd wound up in this sort of situation in which his UI was being messed with, or his cat was snatched, he'd have like five dollars. Which isn't a lot of money in this fucking economy honestly, like you could afford maybe a Mchicken and a medium drink at McDonalds, depending on your state's sales tax and whatnot. Orion needed to eat like three Mchickens to feel full at least, heaven forbid he'd have just worked out.
Needless to say, he was starting to regret skipping the pizza before logging in.
He instinctually kicked at the shadows licking at his feet like a hungry piranha. He and this corruption were no friends and he certainly didn't want to be particularly welcoming of it. He saw what it did to people, what it did to Mystra, and knew the level of power required to properly banish it. If gods had to lay their lives down to clean it in mass the last thing he wanted to do was welcome that shit into his home and set it a place at the table. Such foul darkness probably made for a lousy houseguest that chewed with its mouth open and put it's feet on the furniture while loudly talking about politics. Shit probably had some whack ass opinions about women's rights and used more slurs than a twelve year old on Xbox Live.
No thanks.
Orion let his fighting spirit ignite, letting his kindle and blackbelt class features mingle to turn him into a discount human torch and burn away at the darkness, allowing his anger and frustration somewhere to vent. Turning his seething into shining, and finding a constructive outlet for his frustration, and boy howdy did he have frustration in abundance to fuel this fire. Between the bullshit on the news, the bullshit stealing his cat, and bullshit inflation killing the dollar menu-
Yeah I'm still on that, fucking sue me.
He had plenty of that superficial frustration that plagued his everyday life to spare. Furthermore, it wasn't like he was really short on things to be actually made about. Like the fact that his family had been forced to carve out a life on the edge of prosperity because of crooked politicians and corporations. That striking back at that foul and nasty machine that polluted the world with their bullshit had earned them the label of terrorists. That despite everything he and his clan had lost they still lived day to day. Like the death of his friends and family hadn't quite covered the fucking tab.
His flame grew brighter, and the crackle grew even louder.
How much fucking suffering did the world fucking need? How many innocents had to lay sacrificed at the altar of capitalism before the wealthy were satisfied with the veritable dragons horde they sat upon. How many forests needed to be cut down, how many rivers needed to be poisoned? When was enough going to be fucking enough? Orion's teeth gnashed indignantly as he forged his way forward. So much suffering, and for what? An imaginary number to go up? For some sick fuck to sit in a mansion made of ivory filled with gallery's of art fingerpainted with the blood of child laborers? Would this disease continue into space? Would humanity spread like locusts into the starts above to rip riches from the heavens just so some fuckface could say he owned nebulas? He was grateful for this anger, as fucked up as that sounded, because this fire ate away at his panic. It was fight or flight, and honestly at this moment he wished a motherfucker would try him.
He could go for working out all of these emotions on a digital punching bag. It was like a rage room, just some good ole consequence free ass kickings that came with a side of taking a moral high ground. Seemingly consequence free catharsis, something he fucking loved about this world. Yet that also made him all the more indignant about this malignant poison that infected these beautiful ones and zeroes. He'd burn it up, rip it out root and stem and howl in indignation or die over and over again trying. He would let his fighting spirit burn him to fucking cinders if it meant having some semblance of control over protecting something he loved. After all, it wasn't like he could throw himself over and over at dealing with problems in the real world, he only had one life and his family would kill him if he died.
Thus Martyrdom was reserved for online.
"So." He called out into the darkness. "Are you fuckers gonna come out and play or am I just gonna sit in this desert with my dick in my hands all fucking night." |
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Alistair
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Player Character
Posts: 74
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Alistair Alearnith
OOC Username: Sunstrider
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Post by Alistair on Dec 19, 2023 0:51:54 GMT 9
Alistair did not know the corruption- yet. All he knew of it was from Sarthor's own recollections- many- and if his moody superior had so many times descended into it, Alistair thought it could not truly be so terrible or unnerving. Sarthor had yet to share his data points, so how was Alistair to understand how fraught it was? How was he to know the quiet terror that followed it like crows before the storm?
There was a flicker and a flash- for a moment Alistair thought maybe that someone else nearby had released their pokemon, so he turned, searching- was it Sarthor? But nothing stretched out before him, only a terrible quietude that had descended. You only need fear the woods when it is quiet,- his mother's hushed voice. The woods of his childhood home were not the same as his parents' youth- the dangers here were muted- but the fear in his mother's voice had been pulled from deeper dangers than habituated bears or coyotes. The desert too, seemed too quiet now. Alistair turned back to tell Falas to stay near- and the sobble was gone.
For a moment it did not worry him. He was a sobble, and the desert suddenly seemed to loom around them- the darkness of the sky too vast, the stars too bright, the air dead and still where a moment ago it had fluttered fabric and frill alike. But the tears didn't come, His eyes remained dry. Had Falas somehow dismissed himself? Had something snagged the Pokemon unseen? He made to pull up his UI and check the status of his little friend. His fingers gestured in the air, and nothing followed. He tried again, coldness starting to creep up his spine- and again, nothing happened. The world was utterly inert.
And just as before, as the stars had flashed too bright, they began to dim, darkness like smoke curling over the edges of his vision, coiling around his feet, brushing against his fingertips. Alistair actually jerked, taking a step back, as though by stepping back over that invisible threshold, he might forestall or escape whatever terrible thing was unfurling before him. But it did nothing- there was never any going back, was there? Or maybe, this time, there was.
The shadows snuffed out the stars like candles, plunging the world into darkness so absolute it was nearly tangible. While he began locked in terror- the total sensory deprivation of it, slowly his heart rate decreased, his breaths calmed. And for long terrible heartbeats- minutes, hours- that's all it was, this darkness. Impenetrable and absolute, almost familiar. But where would he have felt it before? There's no going back, only forward, Said his father, and the shadows responded to that thought almost viscerally, tightening like cords, practically thrumming with tension. Something shifts all around him, restless, unsatisfied. There is the sense of something momentous moving, glacial and unfathomable in size and scope. If Alistair cannot go back, then-
Slowly but surely, it began to brighten in patches and flashes, like light shining through stained glass or thin paper, indistinct images- vermillion woods, mantled in red leaves of familiar shades, high-reaching mountains, a shining city. Blackened trunks the same shade as the pitch darkness, grey ash, crimson fire also the very color of his hair. Sometimes it whisks by him -leaves as red as fire, embers the color of maple- a breeze more clear than anything he has breathed before, a breath of ash so thick he chokes on it. These are not his memories- they are something else carried with him. Beside him, around him- the shape of who he is at least a little defined by it- by its absence. He is stepping back, away from the heat and the unfamiliar sights and sounds- the game has been glitching quite terribly now. Virtual Reality it might be, but it should not be able to reach so far into who he is- who his family is- what molded them- things he doesn't consciously know. Things that are now being shown to him. There is real fear pressign around him now, tightening like so many coils of dry scale- he can almost hear it... He can hear it.
Heat behind him again, a blast of ash and summer, fire and dust, flickers of gold light amidst the all-encompassing darkness, breaking through it was sheer force and ferocity alone. He turns his head, fear seizing him- now the linear gleam in the darkness resolves itself into the jagged shape of teeth, lit by fire from within, and the blaze of sun-drenched gold from slitted cat's eyes- familiar, unfamiliar. It shifts its heft and bulk, and here and there behind pitch-dark scales, light resolves itself into memories, his own now- if he will bar it from the reaching past, then why bother? If it is denied that, it will take this- he is almost there, in those memories- he is the one being pushed and shoved. He is the one leaping, fists first, over his brother, all tooth and fire and fury- he is the one shoving that black anger down in meetings and conferences, letting cutting words and actions deflect off of impenetrable armor of dismissal and disinterest- I don't want to see this He tells himself, whipping around to directly face his fanged fear-
And he is in his apartment, jerking up from his chaise, breathing hard and shaking, the VR clumsy and heavy against the tops of his cheekbones, and it is so dreadfully silent.
Lacrimosa |
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Big Bee
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Bandana Guy
Round 2
Posts: 686
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Bryan Nautilus
OOC Username: Ladybug
Arena Points: 49
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Post by Big Bee on Jan 3, 2024 20:19:00 GMT 9
Can't use B, I, G, or E
Sand and sky. No ally, no word from man from past, pallor man. How can a man not try to swap words to UX man? “Why no pop of sound?”
UX man walk a foot. A foot. A foot. Do you know how far a man must walk to work out a cramp?
"Sandy?" A call from UX man.
No word from a low, warm ally. Only hot dust. Only a lack of a happy duo.
UX man looks past lumps of sand. Looks for any marks. Any dots or rounds or sand tools lost from ally. “No. Ally was not on a path past my foot. Not around my world.”
"Yo!" UX man shout. "No jumps or spooks! Okay?" UX man has no want for horror. Not a fan of horror. No want to follow on a dark path of crawl and claw and tooth and drum whacks on torso. UX man’s torso sways from hot and worry. “Sandy?”
UX man stands for hours. No word. No ‘okay’ from sandy lump. UX man stop to stand and watch and try to spot sandy ally on far curl of unknown land.
No jump. No spook. No sound or word from mouth, known or unknown.
UX man was solo. Uno man from world of duos.
“Lost. Damn. Shoot stars of luck to a lost souls who walk out past spots at far part of map. My own luck duos a lost man of no sword or food or way to nap. Solo? Unlucky. And no ally can show flashy ‘food’ mark to scary horrors out so far. Now a mark of ‘food’ lays on UX man’s solo form.
What to do? Touch wall of aqua marks and swap to a part not sandy? Could swap to sunny coast. Wash off dust and parts of hot, dusty past? Could swap to old, lost town. Walk down sharp, rocky paths and soak sun and plant colors?
Or forward. Past sand and on, foot and foot past a wall of dark."
Oh? To what? To sandy ally. Or to word from past man. Was past man from a dark world? Was word from a past man a prank and now UX man out too far from any world of fun and warm hands?
“UX man must try forward. Must pass my warmth to world of dark and to hold sandy ally. Must try to mark man from past. Try to do a pro act and knock away a horror that found my task man.”
Foot past foot, UX man walk to dark. On sand, a mark of no cross. A mark to warn all. Do not scry. Do not pry. Do not cross. Do not try.
Now horror.
A world of dark and sun-lost sky. A flat tundra of cold claw and stuck, aqua sky. No clouds. No stars or aurora. No foot marks or crush of snow.
“What now? Forward?” Low words from UX man. “To wash my hands of dark and snow. Hmmm. To start, a lump of sand must push up and pry past a crust of cold. At what spot? At my foot? No.” UX man look out upon tundra. On far sky, a mount pass and sulfur sparks of fury from cracks of sky attack a dumpy track. At “Oh. That must mark my X.”
Four days of trod on snow. Four days of frost on your mouth and stuck to your scalp as you try to pull naps from a dry spot of a storm.
Four days. And who can say.
No truths walk past a dark and sad door. A sun cannot pass truths. A sun can only cast roars of a char of cosmos down to a lost man. Snow, cold ash of no warmth, wrap around UX man. A scarf of volcano pulp from an old, dormant mouth. A far past hour, ash was all of sky and land. A swarm around a world. Now, lost. A part of snow.
UX man walks, foot and foot. A frosty torso put to work. Words from a royal spark from soul told to walk to storm. And why?
On mount pass, lost upon snow and frost and rusty rock. UX man only solo. No ally. No words from or to lost half.
“Sandy!” UX man calls. A crash as storm slaps words. Words fall up and crack upon a outcrop of sky.
Dark world can snatch and hold a soul. Word and ally and past do not stand up to a mount of royal storm. Who can sprout and, hand upon hand, pull a crust of frost and horror from a cold sun?
A UX man stands, lost and solo.
Solo as a rusty road, wound past a stormy mount and down to an X spot. A spot of no loot or ally. A spot of cold comfort far from warmth.
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Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 10, 2024 23:48:33 GMT 9
#s://c~l3n~co/i/4ZwJ6b~png He had closed his eyes for only a second, but by the time they’re open the world had already shifted, ever so slightly. The desert stretched infinitely before him. So silent he could hear the scratch of his shoes against a thousand sand particles. His arms cradled nothing.
“Gumball?” He raised his voice, but it couldn’t surface the wide expanse of space that choked the air. His eyes searched frantically the space around his ankles and the horizon, trying to find the familiar silhouette of a little seal in a frilly collar waddling away to trouble. But the sand was as still as lake water; the only prints were his own.
It was then he realized what had shifted: indeed, his world had changed, becoming bigger, lonelier—quieter. All traces of his UI were gone, shattering the boundary between reality and virtual. The feeling that seized him lay tucked beneath the folds of his skin, beginning its nauseating ascent from his diaphragm and threatening to spill as a scream from his mouth.
He swallowed, feeling it plummet like gravel back down into his gut. Awful as this feeling was, its familiarity anchored him. This was not the first time he bore the brunt of this pressure. This was not a terror that would drive him to flight.
He stepped on without a second glance, knowing his answers lay forward, as they always have.
And Saint walked,
farther and
farther
in.
Until at last, he saw
the unyielding line of the
dunes finally broken by what
looked to be at first, a jagged pillar.
A cliffside; perhaps a ruin abandoned.
But he drew closer, eyes trained skyward,
feeling only the brush of the sand underfoot,
he came to realize the desolate monument
bore a face.
It was not a solid, stout shape as he thought,
but instead a collection of gangly limbs the length of
highways, tightly condensed as if entombed.
It wrapped around itself, grotesquely hunched, as if
awaiting a harsh beating from a higher being—a flea
trying to preserve any and all traces of itself
by being as small as it can, taking up no space
as it waits and waits for the perfect moment
to fall upon fresh blood, and finally feast.
And despite what looked to be an excruciating
position, a sacrifice that packaged it to a single
miniscule space in the world, cursed so long
that moss had grown over its emaciated form,
it still remained massive, imposing, and impossible to ignore.
And Saint stood, staring in horror and revulsion of the thing, too scared to draw closer but unwilling to turn around. Unwilling to stop parsing this monstrosity, trying to piece its biology into a comprehensible 3D shape. He didn’t have a clear view of its face.
There came a horrible creak, like the sound of a house’s foundations slowly coming undone, and the dread finally came crashing down upon him, a force slamming against the backs of his knees. The sands were pulling him forward.
“Shit!” Saint twisted, trying to run, but the shifting sands drew an extreme current, and the farther he was carried, the deeper it grew to be. From the soles of his feet, the sand opened its maw to swallow his ankles, his knees, his waist, his chest—until he found himself choking, sputtering grit as his fingers claw through fine sand for any anchor.
He was weightless, eyes pressed closed, the current biting the skin of his face. He wondered if this would be how he dies again: suffocating, turned into a human hourglass.
His back crashed, pain jolting up his spine and his dwindling consciousness. He grabbed, found his grip, and yanked himself, resurfacing with a gasp.
The air tasted of rot.
Saint recoiled, pressing harder against his handhold. What he felt in his palms was a thick clump of lichen. It wrapped around a massive plinth of ancient alabaster, the color a dulled, multi-layer amber interwoven with cracks.
With his head above sand, Saint could now see where the desert was coalescing. From the center of the whirlpool was a tower that stretched to the heavens, composed of raw gold that glittered faintly as it moved. It crawled through the dunes in large, methodical circles the size of lakes, stirring the desert as if it were one giant pot of soup.
And holding this was two equally gargantuan, skeletal hands, which were attached to the arms that seconds ago he’d been watching in morbid fascination.
The tower came to creaking halt in the center of the sandy vortex. The sands, too, stopped and settled, the desert’s roar silenced.
Saint paled as he heard that creaking once more, grabbing tighter on his lifeline.
His heart stopped entirely as he felt a shadow wash over him, head tilting up to see the skeletal face of a beast staring down at him. It had no eyes. It had no mouth. It needed neither.
From his head came a voice he had never heard before, saying:
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Laguna
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World Traveler
Mythstar
Posts: 514
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Abigaelle Gauthier
OOC Username: Magnere
Arena Points: 0
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Post by Laguna on Jan 12, 2024 16:27:03 GMT 9
Empty. The desert is empty.The sweet ice tyke, her voice, her spirit, her form, removed. Ice forms with ire, form prepped. "Where-?" Voices the Mother, expressed misery with her cry.
She presses forth with hope, the keys to this mess viewed with time. She hopes. The Mother seeks her kid, her frosty tot, provokes the rot of this deserted district
Time becomes mystery. Feet step, step, step, eyes wide. Sky devoid of shimmer, zero remote torches over the cosmos. However, the Mother moves forth despite. Horror seizes her, yet her devoted mite be discovered with misery.
Tick. Tock.
Step. Step.
Tick. Tock.
Step. Step.
"I'm tired..." The Mother whispered to the empty.
The Empty spoke of this forever.
The Empty spoke of her worries.
The Empty spoke of this crime.
The Empty spoke of her woes.
Her psyche, victimized. Before the Mother, stood series of two.
Two streets.
Two tires.
Two bodies.
Two wrecks.
The Mother wept, sobbed. She dropped, broke. "Yet here?" Her eyes red, dripped wet. Yet the Mother stood some more. "How rich, this horror is poor, dim, if it deems this distress to stop me."
Discomfort pierced their spirit, despite the Mother's decree. Where were the others? Who posted the text? Where is her kid? The wreck terrified her, but the horror with the bitter bite to petrify her is yet there to see.
Silence.
Fear.
Trauma.
Alone.
Loss.
Hurt.
Anger.
Desperation.
Abandoned.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Acceptance.
Ugly.
Disfigured.
Useless.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
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The Captain
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 151
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Remy Andersen
OOC Username: Stells
Arena Points: 60
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Post by The Captain on Jan 12, 2024 23:46:33 GMT 9
“M█yb█ ██’s k██d█ l█k█ ████ o██ ██m█ my r█d█o s█o███d work██g…”
<'█o█o?'>
“O█, █ ██v██’█ █old you ████ s█ory? ██ w█s █ b██ █r█zy… Mos█ b█gg█r bo██s ██v█ ███s█ r█d█os ████ █r█ us█d for m█r███ █r█ff██ █o██rol, █o ██ll ██rbours, ██v, █sk for r█s█u█, ██d █ll ████, y███? █r███y d█m█ █m█or████. So, l█k█… ███s o██ ██m█ █’m o█ ███s lo█g █r██ — o███ s██s, █o████g bu█ w███r █ll █rou█d — ██d jus█ w███ █’m █bou█ █o ███ u█ my r█d█o █o ████k som█ ██v█g███o█ s█uff ‘██us█ █’m █ry██g █o █vo█d ███s █ro████l s█orm, █ r██l█s█ ██’s █o█ work██g. Jus█ l█k█ ████! Ou█ of ███ blu█! D█d█’█ look l█k█ ██y████g w█s wro█g w███ ██ ██d █o████g █ █r██d █o do █o f█x ██ work█d. ██ll, █ █v██ w███ u█ o█ ███ m█s█ █o ████k o█ ███ ███████ ██d █—…”
███r█ ██d b███ █ █o███ █o ███s s█ory. ███ █o███ o█ █ow m█yb█, jus█ m█yb█, ████ ██rso█’s ████ fu████o█ w█s █o lo█g█r work██g (for w████v█r r██so█, █s gods k█ow our █████y ███████ do█s█’█ ██v█ ███ sl█g███s█ █lu█ █ow U█OVR log██ works… ██d █o██s█ly, w█o ███u█lly do█s? W█ ██v█ █ r█l███bl█ k██g ██r█) ██d ████ █v██ ██oug█ ████r ████ m█y █o█ ██v█ b███ work██g, ███y m█y ██v█ █lso b███ ██rf███ly f███. █o ██rm do██! ██d, y█s, ██ ██d ██d ████ █o███, bu█ █s ██ w█lk█d ov█r du██s ██d █old ██s l███l█ ██l█, ███ ███████ fou█d ██ms█lf gr█du█lly dr█w██g █w█y from ██s ow█ words, b███us█ r██l█s███o█ b█gu█ █o ███ ██m ████ Rog█r ██d go██ u████r████r█s████lly s██ll █g███s█ ██s ███s█, ██d ████…
████ ██ w█s █s █f Rog█r w█s█’█ ███r█ ██ █ll.
“…Rog█r?”
S█l████.
███ ███████ █s █o█ █ m██ w█o’s us█d █o s█l████.
You would ████k ████ ██ would b█, w███ █ll ███ ██m█ R█my’s ██s s████ ██ s██ w███ █o o██ bu█ ██s dog █s █om███y, bu█ ███ ████g █s ████ ███ s██s █r█ ██v█r █ruly s█l███. █v██ w███ █ours █r█ s████ w███ou█ s███k██g █ word, █v██ w███ ██ wo█’█ bo███r w███ mus██ or ██y████g of ███ sor█, ██d █v██ w███ D█vy █s█’█ f██l██g ██r███ul█rly vo██l, g█v██g █o b█rks or w████s or ██y████g of ███ sor█, s█l████ █s ██v█r █o b█ fou█d ██ ███ D█w█ S██r. W█v█s m█████g ███ s██lbo██’s █ull ██ v█r██d d█gr██s of for██, s██ s█r█y, r███, w██ds ██d ███ flu███r██g of r██s█d s██ls, o███r s███s, ███ sof█ █l███r██ █um of ███l█████s, ███ b█rds w███ ████r squ█wk██g ████ █s mu██ mor█ █rom█████ ███ █los█r ███ bo██ g██s █o ███ s█or█, so m██y o███r █y██s of m█r███ w█ldl█f█ ██d ███ sou█ds ███y █ll m█k█, ██d so o█ ██d so for██. Sou█d █s █v█r-█r█s███ ██ R█my’s world.
███ ███████’s world, ██oug█? ███s world? U█OVR? ███s d█s█r█? R█g██ ██r█ ██d █ow? ███r█ █s█’█ █ s██gl█ sou█d ██ █ll. Rog█r g█v█s █o r██ly ██d ██’s █ow██r█ w███ R█my █ur█s █o look █rou█d. ██ █r██d █o ██ll █o ██m █g███, bu█ ███s ██m█, █v██ ██oug█ ███ qu█s██o███g ██oug██ █s ███r█, █o sou█d █om█s — █s █f som█ om███o████ █r███ur█ ██d █r█ss█d █ mu██ bu██o█ o█ ███ ███████ ██ms█lf. ██d, ██’s █o█ jus█ ███ ███████. ███ world ██s█lf ██d b███ mu██d. ███r█’s █o rus█l██g of f█br██ w███ ██ █ur█s ██d mov█s █rou█d, ███r█’s █o █our██g of s██d █s ██ s██f█s b██████ ██s f███ w███ █v█ry mo██o█ of ██s. █o w██d. █o s██d blow██g ov█r du██s. █o vo███s. █o sou█d of l█v██g b███gs. █o████g ██ █ll.
…W███ ███ fu█k?
██ █r██s █o o███ ██s U█ █o ████k █f Rog█r ██d r██ur██d █o ██s █ok█b█ll for w████v█r r██so█, bu█ ███s █oo █s go██. ██d ██ go████ ███ g█s█ur█ wro█g? █o, █o… ██ ██d ██k██ █ w██l█ for ███ ███████ █o f█gur█ ou█ █ll ██os█ g█m█ m███████s, so ██’s █r███y d█m█ sur█ ██ ██d go████ ██ r█g██. So, w█y █s ██ █o█ work██g █ow? █s ██ ███ s█m█ █s ████ r█d█o ████do██ ████ ██ ██d b███ ██ll██g Rog█r █o ██s█ ██s worr██s ██d ██lm ██m dow█?
██ ██s █o b█… r█g██?
█v█ry████g w█ll b█ jus█ f███.
███ s██u███o█ █s █o███r███g, sur█, bu█ ██’s f█r from ███ wors█ R█my ██s d██l█ w███ █ll o█ ██s ow█. █l██oug█… w███ █ fu█k██g m██u██… █f ██s U█ █s go██ ██ ███’█ log off, ██d █f ██ ███’█ log off, w█o w█ll f██d D█vy, look █f██r ███ bo██, ██d █lso k███ ██M f█d?! ██ ███ds food ██d w███r █o l█v█! Sur█, ███ D█w█ S██r █s ██ ███ █o█s█ r█g██ █ow, so ███ s██u███o█ █s█’█ ███rly █s █o███r███g █s ██ would b█ █f ██ w█r█ ██ s██, bu█ s██ll! ██d, m██, ██s k█ds w█ll g██ so worr██d █f ██ do█s█’█ █o█████ ███m for █ w██l█… ██r█ w█ll g██ so m█d…
M██…
███s r██lly █s█’█ good, █s█’█ ██?
██ s███ds ███r█, s█l███; █rms █ross█d █s ██ █o█s█d█rs ██s ██w ██r█ums█████s. █o, ███s █s █o█ good, bu█ w███ ███ ██ do █o g██ ████gs b██k █o ███ w█y ███y w█r█? M█yb█ ██ jus█ ███ds █o w███ for ███s w██rd gl████ █o ██ss (or w███ ██ █ssum█s mus█ b█ █ w██rd gl████, ██ l██s█) ██d ██ w█ll █ll b█ jus█ f███, bu█ w█o k█ows █ow lo█g ████ w█ll ██k█? D█vy █s █rob█bly █u█gry by █ow. M█yb█ █f ██ w█lks ou█ of ███ d█s█r█ ███ █robl█m w█ll f█x ██s█lf, Rog█r w█ll r██ur█, ██d ██’ll b█ █bl█ █o log off for █ w██l█? Y███! ████’s ██, r█g██? █v█ry████g ██d s██r██d █o go██ s█d█w█ys ███ mom███ ██ s█████d ███o ███s d█s█r█. Fu█k d█s█r█s!
W███ ██wfou█d r█solv█, our ███████ s███s forw█rd, █v██ sm█rk██g █o ██ms█lf, bu█ ████ sm█rk █s o██ ████ soo█ b█g██s █o f█d█: d█s████ b███g █o sou█d, ███r█’s som█████g mov██g ██ ███ s██d. █ll █rou█d ██m, low █o ███ grou█d, d█rk██ss s█r██ds, █l█v█.
████ sur█ do█s█’█ look l█k█ █ good s█g█.
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