Virgil — Roleplayer Guild

                                                                           Prologue: Belly Of The Tormented Beast

~~Renovated Slum~~
	Half-While Post A Bad Decision:                                                                                                                                                                                  
The sun must've had a boorish afternoon, given how long it'd sat staring, idle in prolonged anticipation as to the outcome of the aged building's renovations; At the very least, it's collapse allowed for a better view of the stark stillness -- a state of inactivity made all the more apparent by the background ambiance of the odd screams or --further still-- the occasional explosion followed by the heavy crumbling of yet another mount-crag. For a moment, it even seemed that that hazy heavenly being grew weary of the assumed tease, allowing its attention to drift elsewhere with the present interruption of a migratory group of clouds...

A brief rustle stirred whatever stones could be, and with steady effort, the rest of a small, less burdened pile eventually jostled upwards. The remaining resistance crumbled and fell back, giving way to the secondary star of the scene -- that oblique, hairy, crooked-toothed visage which one would only ever find one's-self staring at out of perplexed curiosity --or absolute horror-- and which, assuredly, had since birth remained ungraced by any semblance of love or affection. The oval eye that'd previously been browsing elsewhere for entertainment now found its attention drawn back to the spot...however, it's dimmed rays marked an air of disappointment at the unremarkable --and certainly quite dusty-- display. In response to this, the troll-kin brute grunted, stretching its muscles briefly before delving back into its pit. The delay was momentary, but as for the reception...?

Out rumbled the hairy monstrosity, dragging upwards with it the star attraction of the scenario. The great blue above burst out in a momentary weeping fit, showering the limp Kobold and his significantly less dashing chauffeur with pitter-pattering tears. The sun now shined its full attention on this sudden drama, illuminating the pair in a dazzlingly scintillating aura. With the audience properly garnered, and the stage set, Actor Two barfed out its lines with phenomenal power for something that'd just been buried under a couple stories of rubble. "YOU'RE coming with ME..." There was absolutely no vocal reply from the limp Kobold...but, if one looked closely enough, one could clearly discern that raw, renegade response of body-language. "...AND I'LL HAVE THAT ANSWER YET!" The sun went bright, another showering display of emotion pelted the actors in their poses -- PHENOMENAL, TRULY PHENOMENAL!!!

Looking quite satisfied with that masterful use of brevity, the beast proceeded to slump the rag-doll over its bulky shoulder, before --hoisting itself out of that muddy patch of earth and dust, wood and stone-- thudding off to greater spoils. It might not have gained the answer it'd so despairingly been seeking earlier (yet), but it seemed as the old adage went: "Waste not, want not...and honestly, who wouldn't mind a temporary flail made from the broken body of your loathsome foe?" 

The beast wondered briefly whether or not there were any repercussions for such a course of action...but it was best not to think of such trivial things. Instead, it really was best to "Grab life by the shoulder-straps and give it a good whirl." Another good adage, that one.

~~Troubled Slum~~
	Tune's-Worth Prior Lunch-Break:                                                                                                                                                                                               
As the fluttering of a bird's wings did upon breaking from the nest, or that of a prey-animal lunging forth with all the muscular confidence of a great Shrieker giving chase -- would he GLADLY give up any of his newfound 'comrades' for a chance to B R E A T H; The rapid acceleration of his heart clawing its way out of his chest at every other foot-beat cast a constant threat of exhaustion, but he couldn't afford to stop now -- NOT...NOW! Tearing out of the narrow alley, the Kobold only barely managed to latch onto the corner-stones with his finger-tips, arcing his path around the acute bend with a furious scattering of dirt and dust from atop the paved street. His momentum seemed unwavered by his strategy, however, and continued onwards despite all efforts on the contrary, bludgeoning the wall with Sul's shoulder...to the delighted hiss and crude, layman's prayers to all that was unholy. Something felt heavy in his near-limp left, and --quite to the midget's surprise-- he looked down to find his long-knife *still clutched tightly within the unresponsive ball of his four-fingered hand*. It seemed an almost uncanny coincidence that he'd only just *now* remembered it was there...but come to think of it, where even was he? A quick glance around confirmed the injured auxiliary's suspicions that he was, indeed, quite lost...for both breath AND sense, at that. But hush, but wait...the snorting, sniffing, growling sounds accompanying the shadows of the alley didn't have to do much to gain their audience's attention; With creeping, heavy, measured steps, the beast's snarls drew ever louder, ever closer, paralyzing the Kobold in a trembling fit. If he hadn't gotten the chance to drink earlier...well...he didn't know a soul in this world that wouldn't have forgiven him for what came next...

...obviously it had nothing to do with hygiene, that'd just be ridiculous.

Raising his arm to his mouth, Sul muffled a harrowing, guttural peep with his forearm, suckling the saltine sweat in nervous anticipation of what would seem to be the dawning hour of his misfortune. That whore, Lady Luck -- and where was SHE, now that he most needed her?!? Off caressing some other ungrateful sod, no doubt...although now that he thought about it, Father Time wasn't exactly doing him any favors either. How in their absence did they torment him so!

But now, the trembling in his staggered and bleeding left seemed dissatisfied with its host's winging, and in complete defiance of the little master's desperate attempts to avoid drawing the attention of their pursuer, it *dropped* the long-knife to the cobblestones below...with all the clamor of a factory at full volume. 

The period of time following this tremendously unfortunate incident flew by faster than...well...the moments leading up to it. Still, before he knew what was happening, the rat found himself flattened onto his ass by the *wall itself*...or rather, the bricks maintaining the structure of the wall; All the same, the fanged terror lurched out from behind the debris it'd just sent flying, grabbing hold of its prey with two, beefy mittens of fur and claws. It raaaaiiised the winded rag-doll up to standing position, and peering close enough to trigger several dazed flinches from the Kobold, opened its gaping, jagged-toothed mouth to scream: "WHERE IS IT, WHERE IS IT!?! GIVE IT BACK, YOU SNIVELING VERMIN -- YOU WRETCH, YOU PUSILLANIMOUS, RED-HANDED BASTARD OF THE BROKEN-FLAG!" A solid "WHUMP" of frail lamellar and flesh and bone momentarily roused the rat, if only long enough to allow his eyes to wander down to the obsidian edge lying stiff on the stones adjacent them. How they pleaded with the inanimate object for some measure of salvation, some impossible relief of miracles...and how silent was the response they were given. Cold, apathetic, isolated silence. Another solid crash of his bruised back against the ruined hearth-stones sufficed to divert the sock-puppet's attention back towards his loosely allied aggressor. Eyes WIDE with greed and fury stared back at him with merciless conviction...the tang of blood lingered on Sul's tongue as he lowered his jaw in reply...

...He gulped, swallowing the tangy iron down his aching throat; the first attempt to speak had gone far below measure, and so too did the second...and the third, leaving the battered grey corpse only to mouth empty pleas. Suffice to say, this answer wasn't taken well by the furry, troll-kin brute. With another slamming of that limp, weary form against the giving stones, he attempted to beat the response out of the small-one; Again and again, he screamed and raved in hoarse frustration, constantly pummeling his victim into the wall in an unyielding rage: "THE ANSWER, THE ANSWER -- GIVE ME THE ANSWER!!!"

Were it not for this raw exercise in futility, that oppressor might've considered the force of his raw strength in the matter, as well as the fact that this particular ruin happened to be two stories tall...and already unstable of footing.
Virgil Member

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
