I have at last set up a possible scene for a more heroic soul to intervene in this little engagement between my character and that of a non-player character. If anyone would like to step in and save a man from seemingly preparing to jump off a rail bridge over a busy highway at night, by all means do, as otherwise it is just going to be more dialogue and my character finding someone to intervene with in return.
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 4 yrs ago- Last Seen: 3 yrs ago
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4 yrs ago
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Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
5 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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5 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
5 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
6 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Most Recent Posts
Moreland
Approximately 2115 Hours
Mountain City
The sound of hurtling cars down the freeway was not quite the same as that of the overpass earlier. Instead these engines thrummed with the sound of acceleration as their wheels sung on the pavement. That was all the man heard at first in this void, an absolute nothingness. His eyes soon recovered however, as did his other senses, except that it all felt distant and almost dream-like. A bad nightmare or trance he could not stir from and as he came to, he realized why. Someone, rather something, held him by the chest with his back pinned to the grated surface of chain link fence. James was suspended, but his worn-in, filthy sneakers held him still on the railing where he could look down to certain doom of the cars traveling through the night. If the force keeping him back so much as gave at all, he would fall.
"You always wanted to go on a spirit journey, James."
The voice returned, as soon did the ghostly silhouette that reached out before him; a limb that was almost as wide as a tree's trunk, ending in huge, clawed digits that ignored the flesh and dug into the surface of the soul. He blinked and tried to swallow, finding himself still paralyzed. The invisible lips parted again as the speaker continued, its immaterial form standing with concerning ease upon nothing at all before him.
"Now, either I take what you have to know bit by bit and you take that journey early, or you tell me what you have seen." The grip tightened as a searing inner pain tore at him, one beyond sight from his seemingly impending demise.
"I... have seen a few people... they aren't just people, but there's a lot now... gathering here." James struggled although he could not even voice himself and not a word came from him, not that it could be heard from the noise of the traffic below. All he could do was flick his eyes between his captor and the world beneath him, watching his shoe strings dangle off the rounded bar, just as helpless as he was.
"And which one did your sight seem the most problematic?"
"W-what?"
The hold upon him simultaneously loosened in the physical world and grew worse in the body outside body. He cried out inside himself and struggled to open his eyes again, each one damp as he struggled for control; his shoes now centered on the bar and precariously holding him up. Any further errors or delays would likely be met with worse, perhaps the vagrant man's life. James could not be for certain and in many ways, he really did not want to be. He wanted this to all be a bad trip, something that would sober him up, put him back on the right track after falling off the wagon so many times. Yet all he could do was cringe and whimper to himself, accosted by something no sane person would believe.
"Which ones, James?" The snarl that accompanied the words emphasized just how insistent this otherworldly thing was, how its faintly luminescent eyes grew more intense in James' vision. And like two dim white embers stoked by returned air, they burned into him with terrible intensity and a certain casualness.
Approximately 2115 Hours
Mountain City
The sound of hurtling cars down the freeway was not quite the same as that of the overpass earlier. Instead these engines thrummed with the sound of acceleration as their wheels sung on the pavement. That was all the man heard at first in this void, an absolute nothingness. His eyes soon recovered however, as did his other senses, except that it all felt distant and almost dream-like. A bad nightmare or trance he could not stir from and as he came to, he realized why. Someone, rather something, held him by the chest with his back pinned to the grated surface of chain link fence. James was suspended, but his worn-in, filthy sneakers held him still on the railing where he could look down to certain doom of the cars traveling through the night. If the force keeping him back so much as gave at all, he would fall.
"You always wanted to go on a spirit journey, James."
The voice returned, as soon did the ghostly silhouette that reached out before him; a limb that was almost as wide as a tree's trunk, ending in huge, clawed digits that ignored the flesh and dug into the surface of the soul. He blinked and tried to swallow, finding himself still paralyzed. The invisible lips parted again as the speaker continued, its immaterial form standing with concerning ease upon nothing at all before him.
"Now, either I take what you have to know bit by bit and you take that journey early, or you tell me what you have seen." The grip tightened as a searing inner pain tore at him, one beyond sight from his seemingly impending demise.
"I... have seen a few people... they aren't just people, but there's a lot now... gathering here." James struggled although he could not even voice himself and not a word came from him, not that it could be heard from the noise of the traffic below. All he could do was flick his eyes between his captor and the world beneath him, watching his shoe strings dangle off the rounded bar, just as helpless as he was.
"And which one did your sight seem the most problematic?"
"W-what?"
The hold upon him simultaneously loosened in the physical world and grew worse in the body outside body. He cried out inside himself and struggled to open his eyes again, each one damp as he struggled for control; his shoes now centered on the bar and precariously holding him up. Any further errors or delays would likely be met with worse, perhaps the vagrant man's life. James could not be for certain and in many ways, he really did not want to be. He wanted this to all be a bad trip, something that would sober him up, put him back on the right track after falling off the wagon so many times. Yet all he could do was cringe and whimper to himself, accosted by something no sane person would believe.
"Which ones, James?" The snarl that accompanied the words emphasized just how insistent this otherworldly thing was, how its faintly luminescent eyes grew more intense in James' vision. And like two dim white embers stoked by returned air, they burned into him with terrible intensity and a certain casualness.
A great time ago, many, many years now, I was more fascinated with science, technology, and machinery than I am now. I am not certain what turned me away from it but I believe it may well be that I came to see it as more a source of problem than solution.
The slowly rusting iron gave only slightly within the holes it was pinned within at the shaking, making more racket than anything of progress worthy merit. They seemed unbreakable, at least in this moment and this place due to the drab, dreary nature that the prions's collection all found themselves in. For de Bray in particular, the sentiment of hopelessness perhaps clung to him more now as his attempt failed miserably; if he wished to even dream of escape from this, not just his collective sum of worries, he would need strength beyond strength to do so. Strength he, as a mere man, did not have. By no fault of his own in any sense, de Bray was trapped and as trapped as it came, only having the immediate company of Beaumont.
Once the noise of rattling the wrought iron bars settled, the prison was back to its uncomfortable silence. The occasional voice that spoke out and back seemed interrupted by the effort but not truly swamped. After all, who would not test the bonds and bounds of their prison? It was only fitting that another of them did in desperation. They were trapped and cornered with little option but to await their fate or try something else, de Bray being no different.
@TyrannosaursRex
Once the noise of rattling the wrought iron bars settled, the prison was back to its uncomfortable silence. The occasional voice that spoke out and back seemed interrupted by the effort but not truly swamped. After all, who would not test the bonds and bounds of their prison? It was only fitting that another of them did in desperation. They were trapped and cornered with little option but to await their fate or try something else, de Bray being no different.
@TyrannosaursRex
One of the ceremonies I have practiced is the burning of sage bundles for the sake of purification and it was one of the most pleasant experiences I have had, a simple joy.
A something is more than a nothing and given it will not likely agitate the creature, assuming it does not act before Brannor, I am hopeful the kobolds are more a nuisance than an actual threat.
That I understand but is Brannor permitted to choose what he is escaping, @Hekazu? For example, choosing to break the restraining effect imposed by the kobolds without attempting to break the holding creature? He has not real quarrel with the monster they are speaking with. Is it random? Is it a choice? Does it go from the most recent effect working back to the oldest?
For all the searching the vibrant eyes of the towering woman did, they found no obvious sign of where the voice originated from. Her ears, however proved keen enough. The man's voice, questioning and beckoning with its curiosity, was from down the hall near the entrance; the goliath had passed him at some point it seemed but it was reasonable she did not notice her fellow prisoner. After all, a band of men playing as soldiers had their weapons trained on her and she was burdened with many shackles and chains, or at least as much as they could spare, her mind simply must not have been there in that moment. Instead, across from her, all the seemingly painted woman would find was a lone cell, a mirror of her own.
From the cracks between the old stone, some pools of water had formed and a green film had now covered the seeping mess, the entire room across from hers bearing little of remark beyond a puddle upon the floor. However, as she stirred closer and with greater lucidity from her meditation, it became evident that someone's silhouette was cast from the central cell. It bore the lone window into the block and now, with twilight settling in, the last glimpses of sunlight. There were torches lit beyond, that much had been clear when the guardsmen left, but it did little to make the dank confines their whole sorry lot found themselves feel much better. It was not as though the monsters outside would dare bother such a place as theirs as it were - far too much effort to contend with rusting iron and blocks of aged stone.
@Hellion
From the cracks between the old stone, some pools of water had formed and a green film had now covered the seeping mess, the entire room across from hers bearing little of remark beyond a puddle upon the floor. However, as she stirred closer and with greater lucidity from her meditation, it became evident that someone's silhouette was cast from the central cell. It bore the lone window into the block and now, with twilight settling in, the last glimpses of sunlight. There were torches lit beyond, that much had been clear when the guardsmen left, but it did little to make the dank confines their whole sorry lot found themselves feel much better. It was not as though the monsters outside would dare bother such a place as theirs as it were - far too much effort to contend with rusting iron and blocks of aged stone.
@Hellion
Is it possible to break that effect without it being considered a challenge to the other restraint, @Hekazu?
One of the rules when rationing yet water is plentiful is that, generally when one is hungry, drink water instead. Unless coming close to a gallon of water per day this is a better option than eating and satiates similarly. However, this is obviously not a long term solution and was mostly a "field solution" to hunger, @Hellion. One of those survival principals that is very loosely based and it does indeed work, at least in my experience.
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