Setting up.
Let's get on with it.
I'm .
ALWAYS A PLEASURE TO BE 'ERE, LOVE.
So we should be ready now then. But first just some ground rules and stuff.
Keep posts in third person, but tense is up to you as long as its consistent (I use present tense).
At the bottom of your post box there's a "How to format your text" thing.
"Use bold for dialogue."
Italics use is up to you, I guess. For anything that isn't normal text.
So, in this game, I'm doing some experimenting. Which means sometimes things won't go as expected, so sorry lol.
Don't get TOO attached to the characters you've envisioned right now. Being this close to hell changes a person... so don't be afraid to have your character evolve throughout (and also, maybe lose a few limbs). Also, remember that as much as you are allies, you're not necessarily friends (yet, at least). That means you're allowed to keep secrets from each other, as long as there's no outright pvp things are gucci.
Anyway, if you have any questions, just ask me.
Also, I don't expect anyone to post every single day or anything. However, I do expect you to keep yourselves up to date. I don't want to have to be reminding everyone that they're playing a game. Best thing to do is just save this page as a bookmark and check it when you get home, even if you're not gonna post that day.
***
As each of you comes to, a sense of intense discomfort and wrongness settles into your bones. Something isn't right, and it has nothing to do with the blistering headaches.
Glancing around, the first problem becomes apparent; you've awoken in a cell. It isn't any normal gaol cell either - the walls, roof and floor are made of what could only be described as meat. Pulsing, bleeding, squelching meat - like the insides of animal. The bars of the cell are similarly organic - multiple thick, off-white bones, like those from a rib cage, keep the party trapped inside.
An elf, a human, a goblin and an ifrit - each a complete stranger to the other and yet, despite this, somehow utterly familiar. How could you be so intimate with someone so alien to you? And thus, the final startling realization sets in - you've forgotten almost everything.
Though you still cling dearly to memories of your early lives, the memory of recent events are completely unattainable to you - anywhere from the past few months to even a year or two. Of course this means you've no recollection of where you are or, indeed, why you came to be here. Even worse, you soon notice that each of you bears some vicious wound; "Clarice" with a wicked scar from temple to jaw, Mahd with a wound covering his heart, Melfoil with a slice starting at the bottom of his neck that extends down to the center of his back, and Leon with dark, purple bruising all around his neck.
The silence that envelopes the dimly lit room quickly becomes unpleasant.
Waking up in a cell feels natural to Leon - he is well accustomed to the feeling of imprisonment. However, he had never found himself in a gaol quite as horrific as this one, at least he couldn’t recall ever having been.
With a begrudging grunt, he rises to his feet rubbing his neck as he does, unsure of why it feels so sore. The large, brutish-looking man begins to walk the perimeter of the unsettling cell trying to get a sense of it. He presses his palm hard into the fleshy walls trying to determine what exactly it’s made of and how thick it is. Well this is disgusting. Examining the bars of bone in a similar way, Gadran smiles to himself. This is so stupid, but screw it.
Walking back to where his fellow inmates snore away Gadran proceeds to wake them; a slap on the cheek to the Elf, a gentle nudge with the tip of his boot to the Ifrit’s chest, and a kick to the Goblin’s gut. “Wake up you lazy sods!” Gadran bellows. “I like having witnesses to my lunacy!” He laughs.
Turning to face the cell bars, Gadran begins to rotate his shoulders and stretch his arms and legs. Preparing his body for what comes next. With a roar of “OHHH YEAHHHH!” Gadran charges at the cell bars with reckless abandon.
With a swift kick to her gut, Clarice woke up with a loud "BLERGH" . Eyes bulged open "WHAT THE FU---" she exclaimed before quickly reminding herself of her own manners. She collected herself, stood straight, dusted off any debris and dirt from her fine, intricately made dress, and combed her white stringy hair with her refined and painted claws.
With a huff, she looked around and flinches as the large human runs past her, screaming, and somewhat attempts to dismantle the disgusting bone prison. "WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" She exclaimed angrily towards the mad brute.
She glances towards the other two, "Oh! Where are my manners?" She giggled, her hands covering her mouth as if trying to look modest. She smiled wryly towards the ifrit and the elf, her face almost as hideous as the prison's facade. She clumsily curtsied as she introduces herself. "My name is Clarice, I'm humbled to be with your company. Her voice is crude, and her tone, a failed attempt to sound sophisticated and posh.
Though Leon's charge was quite intimidating, it seemed to have no effect on the prison "bars". Thanks to the bruise that was no doubt forming on his shoulder at just this moment, Leon soon surmised that perhaps this problem could not be solved by strength alone.
“Yep, that’s how I thought that would go.” coughs out Gadran. He turns to put his back to the ‘bars’ and slides down it to sit on the meaty floor with a disturbing squelch. Wanting to distract himself from the throbbing pain in his shoulder, Gadran turns his attention to the strange goblinoid.
“Um, Clarice?” Gadran says, trying to mimic the strange affectation to the Goblin’s voice. “What the hell is wrong with your voice?" he laughs.
Ouch. Okay, so hurts a little to laugh.
Leon's slap rouses Melfoil, who groggily hoists himself onto one knee. His mind moves like molasses as the hulking human and diminutive goblin play out their pantomime. He didn't remember concussions causing such lucid nightmares...or, come to think of it, this much blood on the walls. He licks his upper lip searchingly and tastes iron; that blood he remember though. Leon's aggressive petting had set Melfoil's glass nose running. The taste is queerly reassuring and a smile eases onto Melfoil's face. His eyes and mind sharpen to focus on the scene before him.
"Ahem," Melfoil props himself against the wall, unsheathes his rapier, and points it to the bone 'bars' "If I may interject. In my experience, I find that most creatures can tolerate it when you manipulate purposely exposed bone."
Melfoil swiftly moves the rapier to the fleshy wall he leans on, "However, they do protest ever so much when you excise exposed flesh. Allow me to demonstrate."
“Gods, Knife-Ears, that was a lot of words. How bouts we keep to single syllables until my brain turns right way round?” Gadran says, rising to his feet and nursing the back of his head. “Though I think…” he continues, watching the Elf begin to cut into the meat-wall. “I get your point.”
“Cut away, Elf. I like the idea of pissing off whoever threw us in here. Speaking of which. Who d’ya think likes us so much they’d put us up in such nice digs?” Posing the question, Gadran then turned to look out through the bars of which he is now so fondly acquainted with. Where the hell are we?
Melfoil, with the grace and precision of a surgeon, inserts his digit into the meat and wiggles it. The flesh, however, has other ideas. Despite his peculiarly sharp nails, Melfoil can hardly slide in more than an inch or two. The harder he presses, the harder the flesh seems to resist him, until at one point the wall gives a horrible, room-shaking shudder.
In a reversal of roles, Leon decides to use his noggin for more than merely a weapon. Glancing out between the bars he can see a small hallway that stretches on either way until it becomes shrouded by darkness. The area is lit by a single brazier on the far wall, though it is impossible to tell how long it may have been lit for. Focused as he is, Leon manages to snatch the sound of moaning from down the way - the hopeless, pitiful kind, of course.
Melfoil removes his now gore-slick finger from the meat wall and pauses to reflect.
"Fascinating."
And by fascinating, Melfoil meant that he had gleaned absolutely nothing of use. He joins Leon at the bars.
"I'm not sure why we're here, I honestly can't remember much of anything before this very moment. Whoever did put us here, though, has questionable taste in interior design."
Melfoil offers a limp and pale hand to Leon, while shooting a measured smile to Clarice.
"I'm Melfoil, by the way. I'm a, uh...I'm a Researcher."
Leon attempts a smile as he takes Melfoil’s hand, shaking it firmly; though it looks like more of an upbeat scowl. This better not be the hand he just used to violate that wall.
“Researcher huh?" examining the fragile Elf, Gadran nods to himself. "Yeah, I'd believe that." He laughs. "Got a bit of a memory problem myself.” Continuing on, as he absent-mindedly rubs his aching neck. “Though I do remember; the name’s Leon Gadran. And I’m pretty sure I was a bad man.” Releasing Melfoil's hand, Gadran then claps his meaty paw on the frail Elf's shoulder. "Though, since you two are here, you mustn't be much better. Researcher or not." Gadran laughs again.
Turning away from the Elf, Gadran's attention once more falls to the Goblin, "Clarice". "Clarice dear," The tower of a man lumbers towards the strangely well-dressed Goblin, arms outstretched. "Be a team player and let me shove you through these bars!"
Clarice watched in a somewhat confused state as both Melfoil and Gadran played around in their jail cell. For the walls, what she sees is flesh, for the bars she sees is bones. But for some reason with all the commotion of being woken up with a swift kick to the stomach, and being surrounded by such strange people that her brain didn't really process the surrounding area properly.
And finally, it wasnt until now that Clarice finally was fully aware of the horrible area she is in. Her face twisted as she realizes her predicament
"aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. She screamed in panic. Her eyes bulged and her hands to her face in panic, as she looked around at the pulsing fleshy walls.
She jumped as Leon called for her, she turned to him "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" COUGH HURK COUGH BLERGH COUGH COUGH GAAAAASP "AAAAAAAAaaaaaaa...." her voice trailed off as she looked at him, the bags under her eyes somewhat swelled from stress. She nodded and proceeds to go over to the bars, and with a twisted disgusted face, she starts gnawing on the bone prison.
The horrific screaming that Clarice elicits stops Leon in his tracks.
He stares dumbfounded at the Goblin woman as she passes him going to the bone bars.
“She’s insane…” He whispers, rubbing his temples with scarred, callused fingers. "If she's real."
As she begins gnawing at the bone bars Leon shakes his head and moves up behind her.
Silently he kneels placing his hands on the back of her head, wincing at the feel of her greasy mop of hair,
and begins to push her head-first through the bars.
While attempting a jailbreak with Clarice’s assistance, Leon looks to Melfoil and furrows his pronounced brow. “Knife-ears, where do you think we are?"
Clarice slowy feels a force at the back of her head. "What the deuce----HERHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN" Her watermellon-like head is too big to go through the bars, the side of her cheeks pressed against the bone bars as her face stretched out of the bone prison. Her eyes and her mouth stretched wide, making her unable to see or speak properly. With a fair bit amount of struggle she pushes herself back enough to talk "FFWAT A-ARE YOU DOING... S-STOP EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET" She flails her hands backwards trying to grab hold of Leon, her claws making a snapping like motion.
"By the Gods, stop your screeching little Goblin woman." Roars Leon, pulling his hands away from Clarice.
"The bastard that concocted you as part of this torture is truly an artist. Though his artistic vision seems to have slipped when it came to forging that ridiculous melon of yours."
Throwing his head back Gadran bellows out a raucous, almost hysterical laugh that goes on for an awkward amount of time.
Slowly Leon regains his composure though looking noticeably deflated. Looking to the little Goblin and the Elf 'Researcher', his brow furrows.
"Me and my mania will be over there waiting for the next round of trickery. Don't keep me waiting too long." And with that Leon goes into a corner of the cell,
puts his back to fleshy interior that elicits disgusting squelching sounds as he slides down it.
Clarice looked at Leon, offended at his remarks, "Wot!-- 'Bastard who... concocted me?' What in the blazes are you talking about, you big bumbling oaf! I'm ABSOLUTELY real and I am ABSOLUTELY frightened of this place!" She stood up, her hands on her hips as if shes lecturing a small child, her words fast paced and volatile.
" 'Stop screeching'?!' Excuse me for being the only sane one here to actually react to this place normally. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PLACE!? I mean the walls are pulsing for gods sake! PULSING!!! And here you all are just casually and calmly looking around as if this is a normal thing in your life!!!" She abruptly stops her long winded speech, deep in thought.
"Wait a minute... Is it? Are you all part of this whole thing..." Her eyes widened once more suddenly wary of the people surrounding her. "S-stay away from me! You keep to your corner there!, and I'll stay on mine!" She slowly backed into a corner of the room, her eyes did not leave anyone out of her sight. With a huff, she sat down, and started braiding her hair.
As "Clarice"'s back touches the wall, it elicits an almost imperceptible -giggle-. Only she can hear it.
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Freedom at all cost... free will... mercy... the words were still reverberating in Maldrek's mind when he woke up muttering "Justice..."
Before opening his eyes, the tiefling tried to quickly roll into a more defensive position only to be stopped by what appeared to be eons in the same position. As his muscles screamed for calm, Maldrek inspected the room he was in with his "blessed" eyes.
"Where... where am I?" he said mostly to himself, still unsure who were the figures around him or if they were alive... or even real.
"By the Lord's throne, who the Hell are you?" he asked the figures as he reclined into a more comfortable position when he discovered his weapons and belongings weren't around and therefore he only had his guile and wits to protect himself.
"EYAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!!" Clarice leaped forward as she hears the eerie giggle. She tumbles and trips over something as she tries to run away, "BLERGH!" and her face violently kisses the floor. She looks up, a small tinge of blood drooping from her temporarily flattened nose.... It seemed that she tripped over a body that she hadn't noticed before...
A Tiefling? Has he always been here? He suddenly started muttering random words and Clarice jumped off clumsily, wary of him. She takes a good look at him, her bulging eyes studied his face, as her badly braided hair undoes itself, blood still drooping from her nose. She quickly wipes off the blood with the cuff of her sleeves, and grins widely as she tries to comb her hair, a somewhat ugly shade of rose plastered across her pale green cheeks. Somehow seeing him made her forget all about the weird creepy giggle...
"GREETINGS CLARICE!" She shrieked "I MEAN, I'm Clarice, that's my name-- not yours obviously! haha..ha. I-I mean you could be, I wouldn't know!" her words and brain failed her, she blushes, smiled even wider, her sharp teeth looking as frightening as ever.
“So the demons finally show themselves!” Leon rises to his feet and in an instant, is next to the newly awakened creature.
“Don’t play these games, Demon. We both know exactly where we are. And I’ll tell you now, I hope you have more planned than just this to torment us with.”
Leon throws his arms out wide as he looks around the cell of flesh and bone and then points to the fawning ‘Clarice’.
“Though credit where it is due. I commend you on crafting that horror.” A sneer spreads across his face as he looks at the Goblin creature.
Leon gives the demon a look over and crouches down to his eye level. "Can I just ask, why would they send you in to play?
All the big boy demons and girl demons have something better to do? Or did you volunteer? Either way I'm very offended." He says, a clear look of hurt on his face.
|
|
Maldrek rises his head to look at Leon in the eye, a sardonic smile on his face "Easy there, big guy. First thing, I descend from devils, not demons. That is a offense I am willing to pass because you can't trust humans to differentiate between their toes and fingers but it would be akin to suggest your ancestors were ugly, chaotic prone monkeys."
The tiefling stands up to be on equal ground with the human. While lithe, Maldrek is tall and fit. "Next thing on the list: My name is Maldrek, and I don't know "where" is here or why I am in this place, but I agree that if this is some hellish cell, they like to torture and confuse their prisoners minds...
but sending a tiefling? That would be pretty obvious. A human who poses as a confused prisoner? That's their style." the smile on his face widens.
"I am obviously joking. But it seems thatwe are all in this together, so suspicions aside did you figure anything out before I woke up?"
Maldrek starts walking through the room, inspecting the walls as he makes his way towards the goblin. Once he is only a step or two from her, the tiefling crouches and remains squatting, analyzing the goblin's face and demeanour before speaking "I don't think you are a hellish trick. Pleased to meet you, Clarice. You seem more level-headed than Huge McHugeson there or the silent elf there."
"Have you find anything of interest? Maybe I am not scared of this room, but I prefer not being here." he adds speaking her native tongue with another smile.
As the Tiefling speaks, Leon can’t help but grin. “Ugly, chaotic monkeys? Sounds about right for my ancestors.”
When Maldrek stands, Leon stands with him a little surprised that the Tiefling rivals his height though without the intimidating muscle that Leon prides himself on.
Pondering Maldrek’s words, Leon begins to regain his senses. Speaking with somebody that isn’t reluctant to reply and doesn’t shriek at him seems to have bestowed Leon with some much-needed sanity.
I didn't think I'd lose myself that easily. The big man thinks to himself, hanging his head and holding his face in his calloused palm. Gadran had felt many tiers of pain, but the shame of needing to be talked down by a devil-man fell near the top.
When the newcomer begins to talk to Clarice in an unknown tongue, Leon strides over to them. "If it is as you say Maldrek, that we are all in this together, should we not speak openly so as for all to understand?"
Walking past the pair to the wall behind them, Leon continues "As for what we know, there is one interesting thing..." Leon cuts himself off as he brings his arm back, the taught muscle becoming visible through tears in the simple white tunic he wears.
HYAAA! With a shout the hulking man releases his swing sinking his brick like hand into the fleshy wall, not stopping until the room rages at him to stop.
|
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Maldrek laughs at the man's action as he turns his attention to Leon again and bows his head "You are right, I will speak openly." he says as he stands up again and leans closer to the man, continuing in a hussed whisper "But I do think goblins, as my kin, tend to distrust strangers on the grounds of usually being met with drawn weapons and torches. If I speak to her in her tongue it's only so she isn't as jumpy as she seems when you speak." his tone being that of a weary individual who knows not everyone understands his struggle.
An idea crosses his mind as he says out loud the last words, and Maldrek couchs to catch everyone's attention. "Don't freak out, I am trying something." he explains before he rises his voice.
"Are you alive, cell? Where are we?"
After the explanation and his infernal speech, the tiefling walks to the bone made bars and inspects them to see if any of them seems different from the others.
Leon, in a display of furious might, sinks his fist wrist-deep in the flesh of the wall.
The living flesh releases a shuddering moan, much as it did when fiddled with by Melfoil. However, as the wall buckles beneath his mighty blow, unable to resist as easily as it had prior it instead employs a different tactic. With his hand somewhat stuck, Leon can do little but watch as a fleshy face and arm emerge from the wall around face-height. The "mouth" of the face appears to be muttering something, but all Leon can hear is a muted gurgling as it spits out mouthfuls of fresh blood. (Judging by its lips, Leon could assume it was something such as, "Oh, a wise guy, eh?")
The hand reaches up and slaps poor Leon in the face before retreating into the wall like lightning, leaving him wondering if there was anything there in the first place.
***
Maldrek appears to address thin air and - much to everyones expectations - receives nothing in return. At least until, that is, a somewhat distant voice coming from down the hall responds.
For a lingering moment, Leon Gadran stands stunned, his mind trying to parse what exactly just happened.
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT!!!” he roars. Anger starts to swallow him, blind him, claw its way out of him but he fights it back. For the most part.
“SHOW YOURSELF YOU GLORIFIED MEATBALL!” Leon hurls hit after hit at the wall. His hands trying to sink in as deep as they can, searching for the impossible creature that assaulted him.
As he bashes himself against the wall in search of his prey, Leon yells over his shoulder “OI you lot. There’s something living in this goddamn wall!”
He punctuates every word with rage-fueled strikes to the wall of flesh. “Come ‘ere and help me kill it!”
Should anyone look over to where Leon is pummeling the wall of meat, they see... Leon pummeling a wall of meat. That is all.
Melfoil had been flat against the wall, splayed like a spider caught by candlelight. Between Clarice's shrill screeching, Leon's violent exploration of the cell's flesh, and Maldrek's unanticipated arrival and guttural prose, the whole scene had become rather overwhelming. However, Madrek's last speech in the infernal tongue snapped Melfoil back to attention. Turning to the Tiefling, Melfoil's eyes widen as he speaks.
"That...what you said. I know that language. Well, I know of it. That's how you people interact."
Melfoil considers the stature and spikiness of Madrek. "I don't mean you people per se. I just mean you...uh, you should try that again? That speech you made, that is. The one that felt like nails scraping against my eardrums. The darkness seemed to respond to it somewhat."
Melfoil shifts uncomfortably on his feet in the immediate seconds following his request. "Or maybe there's another tongue they may respond more favorably to. Ahem..."
Melfoil sings out to the darkness beyond the bone bars with a honey-sweet voice.
The darkness responds:
The voices trail off into a fruitless discussion, having forgotten the voice that prompted them in the first place. They seem to ignore any further cries for attention.
The madness of the cell continues on for however long such madness normally does (how long? Well, that's on you.) Though time is impossible to measure, trapped down here so far from the light of the sun, an astute mind might have realized that at least a day had passed.
At the end of this day, each and every one of you is suddenly overcome by an intense, burning agony. This burning is localized to a single spot on each of your bodies, and upon further study, it is revealed to be some sort of tattoo magically etching itself into your flesh. Leon's appears on his upper chest, Melfoil's in the center of his forehead, Maldrek's in the palm of his right hand, and "Clarice"'s, unfortunately, on the left cheek of her buttocks. Each tattoo is the same - a single stroke, around six centimeters long, like one might use to detail the passing of days, or the score in a game of Goblin Polo.
On the second night, and then the third, the ritual repeats itself, however the following marks are much smaller (and thus less painful) and less noticeable than the first, and appear to begin to encircle the original marking.
On the dawn (well, what one might assume as the dawn) of the fourth day, as stomachs are becoming uncontrollable in their grumbling, and the need for water is becoming ever more noticeable (and "Clarice"'s screeching has accelerated the descent towards cabin fever), something finally happens.
It begins with a clink. The soft tinkling of some far off chains being disturbed. The sound grows louder and louder until it seems to stop in the cell next to yours, just to the right.
Silence.
A scream.
And then the source takes its last few steps, into the light, into view.
"Ah, and at last I come to you - my latest charges. My... apologies for keeping you waiting."
Before you stands an intimidating creature - a man seven foot tall, with dead, blue skin and draped all over in thick chains which seemed to hold together his torn and ruined flesh. He was pierced from chin to skull by what appeared to be an immaculately kept spike. Perhaps most frightening was the six foot long executioner's axe that was kept chained to his left forearm.
"I am the Chained Warden, come to let you know that you should dash the last of your hopes upon the impervious bars of this cell. It is easier that way. You chained souls have caused me troubles in the past..." he looks away, spits on the floor, and continues, "and so I'll be having no funny business. Not this time. And, since you lot are always so clueless when you arrive, I'll be glad to inform you that death is NOT an escape. Every time you die down here, your soul takes one huge leap towards its inevitable fate in hell. And trust me, it is much, much worse down there. You'll come to remember your time here fondly! Give them their food, you idiot. Quickly now."
Another creature stumbles forward, though this one was much less intimidating. Standing at a mere two feet tall, the creature could only be described as some kind of fuzzy little spherical gremlin-monkey. It's right arm gruesomely extends a solid four feet long, though it keeps it folded and unnoticeable most of the time, and its left arm is simply a short protrusion of bone - a short protrusion on which dangles from its end a bone-carved key. Hanging around its neck is a small necklace, laced with varying body parts - an ear here, a finger there, a toe over there.
The creature snuffles and snorts as it lays down a banquet of somewhat infested bread and cheese, and a large bowl of relatively clean water. The gremlin pays the party little mind - that is, of course, until it spies Melfoil. He stares and stares, and stares some more, utterly enthralled by something about the elf or a thing he possesses. He becomes lost in his gaze until he is eventually bowled over by a solid kick from the Chained Warden.
"Get moving you fool." The creature gives one last piteous look at Melfoil before it scurries along behind its master. "Enjoy your stay!" you hear, accompanied by an awful, rasping laughter as you are once more left alone to the darkness.
***
The following days continue much as they already have, with the little creature coming to deliver food and water once every now and then. However, no longer under the disapproving gaze of its master, he takes his time to stare, without a word, unerringly at Melfoil. Sometimes, he grasps at the cage bars, so he can stick his little furry head inside and get a closer look.
When unable to find the strange creature that dishonoured him Leon resigns himself to his usual prison behaviour. Situating himself in a corner of the cell Leon sits, his feet flat on the cell floor and his arms resting on his knees.
Not long after he drifts off into a restless sleep, dreaming of strange goblins and meat men dancing around him laughing and shrieking.
When the burning begins in his chest the big man is almost glad to be awakened. Hearing the scream of pain that slips from his lips, the gratitude evaporates. Quickly regaining his composure Leon grits his teeth and sticks his thumb into his palm in a vain attempt to distract himself.
Once the pain fades Leon tears his shirt open, having no attachment to the garment, finding the tattoo that rests among a gallery of other scars and mutilations that pock his flesh. Looking around to his fellow inmates he sees they’ve had similar experiences. Maybe they didn’t hear me. The fragile giant hopes, for his ego’s sake.
In the following days, the additional markings are nothing more than bug bites compared to the first. Able to grit and bear those, Clarice’s shrieking causes Leon more harm.
If this were a usual gaol Leon has no doubt he would’ve punted this creature through the bars with no regard to her unusually shaped noggin. The others might not appreciate that. And if I’m to get out of here I’ll need their help. He thinks in a half-hearted attempt to convince himself.
Hearing the clinking of chains, Leon’s gaze is pulled to the cell door. The nearby scream sets Leon on edge. He rotates his broad shoulders and cracks his knuckles, each giving a satisfying a pop, and shifts into a crouch, trying to psyche himself up for whatever is to happen next.
It’s for nought as the sight of this ‘Thing’ throws Leon completely. Shaken is he that he doesn’t even think to roll his eyes or throw up an offensive hand sign as it recites its bombastic speech. Trying to get a grip, the warrior’s eyes fall on the magnificent axe the creature wields and his goals all fall into place. Immediately a grin creeps out from Leon’s lips as he says “I’ll be having that soon enough.” Accompanied with the rude hand sign of course.
***
After days of watching the monkey creature deliver its scraps showing no interest in any of them but Melfoil, Leon has had enough. When it comes by to gape at the Elf through the bars Leon lashes out with a quick kick aimed at its disgusting little mug. “Bugger off!”
Clarice's face twitched as Maldrek started speaking in her native language. The language that she had not heard or used for a very long time.
She responds, her face twisted in disgust.
Clarice almost gagged as she spoke in her native tongue.
"Eurkhgg. Sorry love, its been a while since I've spoken in that.... language... If you can even call it that." She straightens up and smooths her hair back. "It has been a while since I've even heard it to be quite honest with you. Well, from what I can remember anyway. I do try to avoid it. I mean, the language is quite... guttural, innit? It's completely unlady like! She says as she tries to sound posh and royal but ending up sounding like a mixture of an old drunken tavern maid cross with a dying dog.
"And as you can see... She dusts off her dress and twirls... clumsily.... her waxy hair swooping in the wind, whacking Maldrek along the way. "I'm a properly lady!" She ends her gesture with a poor man's curtsy.
"Its comforting to see you try though." She smiled. After a short pause she pats Maldrek on the stomach as a form of thanks and looks over to Leon who's evidently trying to pick a fight with the wall. She sighs "I suppose its up to me to try and break us out. Now, I'll get back to whatever I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted" Clarice walks back to the bone bars and resumes to gnaw it.
*****************************
A few hours has past and Clarice has barely made a dent on the cell bars, her face welling up with tears as she continued on gnawing. As she finally decided to stop and clean her teeth, she suddenly feels a sharp pain across her buttocks and she shrieks. This continued on and on every night, and her voice slowly broke from the constant cries of agony. To ease the pain she rarely sat or lied down. She even tried doing handstands the front part of her body leaning towards the wall when she slept, her dress flowed down covering her face and revealing her knickers. It was surprisingly comfortable.
Until finally the pain stopped. At this point her face hollow and expressionless, the face of someone who has lost all hope. She wasn't even phased when the large and frightening Chain Warden finally arrived and introduced himself. Lying down on her chest, motionless, she continued to stare at the large creature.
Until she sees the gremlin-monkey. Her eyes lit up as she recognises it and she jumps up "COUSIN RETT??!?!" She walks up to the small gremlin before she stops "Wait-- no m-my mistake he-he She stuttered You're not him, you just look like him. Apologies. Ugly bugger he was." She freezes N-NOT THAT YOU ARE! YOU'RE PROBABLY QUITE HANDSOME FOR A GREMLIN..... I THINK? She freezes for a second finally coming to her senses as she looked up at the warden. She shuffled back quickly and grabbed on to Leon's arm. She hissed.
******************************
Days past by and Clarice masters the art of using her head as a support instead of doing handstand... Her feet up leaning towards the wall, her knickers still in the air, her hands in a prayer position as she hums to herself in a mantra, trying to keep the pain away.
She didn't mind the food either. Though the food might either be infested or rotten, it not something she wasn't used to. It was quite nostalgic of her childhood days before she became a "lady". She also noticed that the gremlin seemed to focus on Melfoil every time it visited.
"I think it has a crush on you, Melfoil." She snickered. Match made in heaven I say! She teased him as she shoved a loaf of bread down down her throat "or I should say,' Match made in HELL' BAHAHAHAHA"! Thinking what she said was clever, she laughed which slowly descended into a depressing sob.
Leon's lashing out at the gremlin stirs Melfoil, who was languidly picking at the putrid cheese platter.
"Be still Leon, let me deal with this monster child."
Over the past few days, he had developed a fondness for the gremlin. Melfoil was intrigued by the intricate flesh-crafting that had been performed on its globular frame. Its asymmetrical features and tasteful matching of bone with bone-key excited Melfoil in ways he would never feel comfortable disclosing to his peers. Of course, he had noticed the gremlin's staring, and was sure it had some interest in him as well. But, like two awkward teenagers in a tavern hall, the pair had only exchanged wordless glances until now.
Melfoil crawls to the cell bars to make eye contact with the gremlin.
"This creature doesn't need a foot, Leon, it needs a hand."
Tenderly, Melfoil reaches out past the bars, gesturing an open palm to the gremlin to coax it closer. Close enough to pat the miserable wretch.
"Come little one, come to Melfoil."
"kuzin ret? no. no no no. me g'rk. g'rk."
***
Leon's foot plants its self solidly in the center of the G'rk's face. So solidly, in fact, that it appears to embed itself into the gremlin's faceflesh. G'rk doesn't seem to mind all that much - it's something he was likely used to - but perhaps it might have worried Leon, who no longer had any autonomy over his foot and where it belonged.
G'rk gave an irritated hiss, and popped Leon's boot free from his pudgy, caved-in face. His skin wobbled, little nose and mouth unclenched, and his face was back to its prior 'perfection'.
"no. no boot. me want that. that!" He points his hideously long finger straight at Melfoil, then at his necklace, then back at Melfoil. "please, me wants its. so pretties. so bootifuls. please, give g'rk."
G'rk sidles on up to Melfoil's outstretched hand and stares at it in utter adoration. There was something much akin to love in those tiny, black eyes as he presses his lumpy, greasy face up against the elf's palm.
"gives one to g'rk? just one? what pretty thing want? tradesies?"
"Oh my..."
Melfoil slides his hand over G'rk's face, probing his long fingers softly around G'rk's various lumps and crevices, edging uncomfortably around his nostrils and mouth.
"You are quite the specimen, G'rk." Melfoil's hand tracks down further, to Grk's necklace, where he curiously fingers the dismembered miscellanea. While moving a toe between his thumb and forefinger, Melfoil gradually comes to understand G'rk's request. G'rk didn't want all of Melfoil, just a part of him.
"You want my-" Melfoil is cut off by a sudden rush of vomit to the back of his mouth which, having eaten nothing but spoiled cheese, is particularly pungent and thick. Melfoil shudders and quickly moves his hand back inside the cell. He didn't like this development, but it was admittedly the best chance he had of getting out of here. Perhaps he could outsmart G'rk and walk out whole.
Melfoil stands up tall in front of G'rk, swallowing rancid phlegm and attempting to regain his composure.
"Well, G'rk, I'll give you anything your beady little eyes fancy. I would only need something as trifling as that itty bitty bone key of yours. But first, why don't you come inside the cell and help me give you what you want?"
Melfoil smiles weakly. His nose starts bleeding profusely.
G'rk nods at every word the elf speaks, even at the elf's suggestion. However, perhaps the quick, "no," was not the answer Melfoil was looking for.
With eyes as wide as a doll's button, G'rk explains, "g'rk no need do that. just stick finger. g'rk bite. g'rk get in big trubbles if let prisoners escapes again. at least g'rk get pretty thing out of it."
It was worth a shot.
Melfoil looks at his hand wistfully. A montage of finger-related activities come rushing to him: images of Melfoil holding things, touching things, picking things up; rubbing his hand in G'rk's face. All some of his favourite past-times. Looking around the cell, though, Melfoil can see his cellmates' expectation. Everyone wants to get out of this hell-hole, including Melfoil. He runs some quick arithmetic in his head.
"I suppose I'll still have nine more..."
So, not wanting to lose face in front of his cellmates, Melfoil gets on all fours, outstretches his hand, and gives G'rk the finger. He watches G'rk approach with big, watery eyes.
"Please, take care of it. For me."
"g'rk take best care. pretty thing precious to g'rk; worth kick in face."
And with that G'rk takes Melfoil's finger (his left ring finger - ostensibly for Melfoil's convenience) and chomps it clean off. Sure there's a bit of blood, maybe a small protrusion of bone, but all in all it isn't -that- much of an affair.
As Melfoil presumably collapses and clutches at his ruined stump, G'rk swiftly strings his new trinket onto his necklace and yips with glee. His happiness is almost palpable to the cage-dwellers, and perhaps in some small way it helps to heal the hurt. Not Melfoil's hurt, no, but the pain that is life. It's an existential thing. Probably.
"g'rk never get pretty thing so easily. pretty want out of cell? g'rk give outies."
Showing no hesitation, G'rk sticks two spindly fingers into his right eye and plucks it free. He plops the still-twitching beady eye on the floor of the cell and skips away, trilling and whistling as he went.
Once ready, the group finds a small, round indent on the other side of the center bar - just the right size for a gremlin eye.
Leon watches in astonishment as the little creature popped his heavy boot from its face and proceeded to ignore him in favour of his ‘Pretty’. Seeing Melfoil negotiate with this g’rk, Leon heeds the Elf’s advice and backs off. When g’rk makes its proposal a sneer spreads across Leon’s lips. Gods I wish I could get my hands on this little creep. The big man stands his ground though instead watching Melfoil and waiting to follow his fellow inmate's lead.
Leon raises a big bushy eyebrow when the Elf holds out his hand out to g’rk like a liver treat to a slobbering guard dog. As the gremlin detaches Melfoil’s finger with glee every instinct Leon has tells him to lunge and take this monster by the throat and shake it free of its half-life. But it’s too late. Melfoil has made his sacrifice and falls back in pain. Leon is beside him in an instant. Tearing a strip of cloth from his tunic he proceeds to bandage the bloody stump.
“Your a strange one Knife-Ears but good work. Very good work. I hope Researchers don't require ten fingers.” What is supposed to be a reassuring smile is anything but as he looks upon the Elf with a wide toothy grin. Melfoil wouldn’t be wrong in thinking this was the last thing many men, friend or foe, saw as they took a final breath in Gadran’s arms. “Next time we see that freak, it will be my honour to kill it for you.”
the last thing many men, friend or foe, saw as they took a final breath in Gadran’s arms.
Clammy, pale, and limp; Melfoil lies in Leon's arms like a damp bedsheet, taking Leon's jests in all the good humour that a bedsheet does. Leon's toothy grin floats dreamlike above Melfoil, cutting through the shock and Melfoil's slipping consciousness to bring him back to grim reality. Melfoil's vision sharpens and then blurs again as the tears well up. He cries out in Elven:
Still, The brute had shown surprising tenderness in tending to Melfoil's wound, dexterously maneuvering his squat finger-sausages around Melfoil's hand to make a bandage. Melfoil was amused, but not ungrateful, with Leon's crude medical work. Hoisting himself back onto his feet, Melfoil affectionately smears a bloody hand over Leon's shoulder.
"Thank you, dearest Leon.
Melfoil spies Grk's eye staring at him from the floor and turns to "Clarice" and Maldrek.
I really would prefer to bleed to death outside. Shall we make our grand escape?"
Maldrek, after picking up the little, twitching eye from the floor (for Melfoil somehow couldn't quite grasp it himself) wiggles it into place on the other side of the cell. There is a low, sharp squeal, a click, and then freedom. The key is consumed in the process.
The group's first steps out of their cell are tentative yet... uneventful. The floor of the area is meat just like everywhere else, yet it is harder; more suitable for walking. Given a choice between one endless march to the left, and one endless march the right, it doesn't matter much which direction you choose!
Every hundred metres or so, in the wall is sconced an old, yet well maintained torch. Its meager light is enough to see the poor souls trapped within. Unlike yourselves, these wretches look almost nothing like what they once must have been. Here, a writhing pile of tumorous meat, molded into the wall of his cage, is identifiable as an elf only because of a single, thing ear that remains only partially effected. There, an ogre or troll, huge and barbaric, and slit from toes to fingers so that he is hanging from the ceiling by his skin, a lip-less mouth stuck wide-open in an eternal scream. Though some still have the capacity for thought and speech, after the first few attempts at conversation it is quickly decided that it is a rare gift accompanied always by madness.
Hours pass, and as hope begins to dwindle the scenery changes. The group is suddenly spat out into a spacious, domed room. At the opposite end of the room are six hallways, each leading off into the darkness. The tunnel that you've emerged from is alone. In the center of the room is a number of podiums, each marked with their own number ("I","II", etc,), as well as the continuation of some kind of elvish script. Behind these podiums hangs the top half of a woman, bound by her hands to the ceiling. On the floor, rests a pile of guts and organs, along with her lower jaw.
Clarice looks both at Melfoil and Leon, as she squints her eyes she started 'shipping' them in her mind.
A LADY MUST NOT THINK OF SUCH THINGS. she thought and shook it off.
***********
"I wonder what all these podiums are for.... Hey Melfoil, would you be able to translate these elvish scripts for us?
Clarice walked along the podiums, fascinated by them, not noticing the grotesque woman behind it.... until it was too late. Clarice steps on something squishy and wet, and with an "EEK!" she jumps back and sees the hanging woman. She covered her mouth just before she could scream loudly, cautious that they might get caught.
Out of panic she tried to talk to it. "H-he-HELLO. Uh um uhh. As Clarice curtsied she notices a piece of jaw on the floor. Still in a state of shock, she mindlessly picked it up and somewhat tries to hand it to the woman.... As if thats going to do something... "Y-y-y-you seemed to have d-d-d-d-d-dropped s-s-som-so-something"
Curiously, the corpse remains unresponsive despite "Clarice"'s courtesy. Rude.
Sheepishly, Clarice continues to hold the jaw up waiting for something to happen... It wouldn't be the weirdest thing shes seen in this place.