So it's been two months with no activity... the game just on hiatus or officially dead?
Search Posts
The poppet has a great number of voices in it but they all pretend to be that of his daughter.
Since we're declaring builds... I have to figure out how to turn Oswald into a lich. A witch-lich. Yesssh. :P
Cool. I think I'll have to go with fire for immunity since Oswald hates Mitra and his religion so much and most of Mitra's forms are fire-aspected (i.e. the Shining Lord, the Beneficent Sun and the Fire Undying.) "Burn me at the stake! I dare you! Mwhahaha."
This could be going on a completely random system and if it is that is fine, but for fun, it looks like I rolled for the Lawful Good card in the Charisma suite of the Harrow deck, The Empty Throne. A noble title and 15,000 gp. All ashes in the wind for Oswald as those don't bring back a dead family!
Oswald appears lost in Irin's words of the possibilities of this simple deck of cards. But they weren't so simple as the audible whining of power seeped from the box containing them. His eyes drift down to the box, the cards as he starts to reach for the strange woman's offer of everything, including death. "The power to change a mistake... yes, turn back time on the misfortune that fate has burdened me with." His eyes seem lost in a dream as Oswald suddenly snaps out of his daze and clenches the fingers of his outstretched hand. He look Irin straight in the eyes as he opens his hand once more, "Let us see what reparations fate is willing to pay for it's crimes. I shall draw."
Oswald watches the readings with rapt attention. When the interested party are finally finished with their visions of the past, present, and future, the mad doctor clears his throat to catch Irin's attention, "Now, I won't need a reading, m'dear, as I know enough from my own sources, however, there was talk of access to a powerful magical artifact that you are the supposed caretaker of at this moment. May I examine said item and make what use of it that I might?"
Oswald listens to the woman go on about wine choices as he taps his lips with one finger in beat with her tone while he mutters under his breath, "No, definitely not human. More primal. Raw with power, or power that raws. Yes, forces in opposition." His eyes flick around the room at the mention of something of power hidden within the place. He catalogues each minor node of energy until his gaze falls on the cards arrayed before Irin while at the same time he leans close to Mikhail again to whisper, "What if the truth is a li..."
Stopping in mid-sentence, the mad doctor's eyes glaze over while a string of drool begins its slow inevitable descent toward the floor below. A few moments later, Oswald comes out of his trance, rubbing the burnt rectangular images out of his vision with one hand while the other removes the saliva from his chin. "What were we saying? Oh yes, the wine. I always find a nice white is relaxing after a long day of grueling toil."
Immediately, the opulence of the room in the midst of this maze of dank tunnels and un-tended fungal growth sends off warning explosions in Oswald's mind. The word dangerous from the sign before the room keeps playing in his mind as the mad doctor starts pacing around the room, carefully examining it for any falsehoods hidden behind the wealth. He seems completely oblivious to the woman as he mutters arcane words beneath his breath as he runs a finger over a tapestry.
Oswald's examination makes its way to the table as he bends over to tap on the narghili's beaker before standing erect once more and finally noticing the card shuffling woman dominating the center of the room, "Oh, hello there, Miss... I'm sorry, I must have missed your name. Oswald Turrill. A pleasure. Yes, a pleasure I'm sure." The doctor examines the woman with his eyes as he nods, "Yes, a very healthy specimen. You must come from good stock."
Abruptly, Oswald steps back a few steps to be closer to Mikhail and leans in to whisper, "There seems to be a strange woman guarding this room. She is probably dangerous like the sign said."
Still about and waiting on things to start up again.
Good luck tomorrow, Robert! I voted for your Superstar adventure.
While the others call out directions to Barnabas, Oswald peers into the black abyss, his eyes faintly glowing with a blue light as the fabric of magic itself becomes as light to his vision.
Here and ready to rock some tentacles!
Good luck with the trip! And no worries. Hope everyone has had a good start to the New Year.
Oswald rubs his chin in thought as the rest stumble out of the darkness, all but Barnabas. The bleeding on Walker's leg interests the mad doctor for a moment before he goes back to examining the dark shrouded room. He mutters a spell under his breath, magic coming to life before his eyes.
Merry Christmas to all!
Oswald whips his head around in the darkness, eyes straining fruitlessly for some sign of anything but inky nothingness. He starts feeling his way back toward the doorway with his feet, pulling the hands he holds along with him, "I see nothing. Nothing like the corpse sees in the coffin. What is it, Drisella?"
For some reason, I'm imagining this challenge is all about snuffing out a candle that sheds darkness (kind of like a candle of silence I remember from one of the first AD&D adventures I ever played.)
Oswald stops prodding with his shovel as he turns to the others, "Yes, as Barnabas said, a bit of rope might do us good in here. Barring that, I suppose we can hold to one another so no-one is lost as we proceed. As it stands, we can't gleam enough about this challenge by staying here at the door, so garter your loins." The doctor reaches out for either rope or someones hand as he starts creeping toward the darkness.
Oswald brings forth his shovel, reaching out into the darkness to tap the floor plates within reach in front of the door frame, "I doubt stealth will be an issue with this challenge, Kergh. We'll be literally in the dark. No doubt something flammable within will prove the bane to this inky blackness, we will have to survive until we can find it." The doctor continues his probing until the sound of Barnabas' bolt clinks against the metallic ground. He tilts his head toward the room, "Opposite wall, you think?"
Oswald examines the darkness as if it were a living creature, even going so far as to remove his scalpel from a pocket and try to slice a piece of its essence from the whole. The doctor shakes his head as he examines it, "No spells to dispel it, no. Maybe something to help though we shall have to see if it has any effect. Maybe it is as Kaynen states and what lies before us is but a reflection of came before. If so, then we should be prepared to fight creatures big and small or to walk a proscribed path without the benefit of our sight to read the runes upon the floor. I suppose if they are enscribed, we might be able to feel them. Hrmm." As he contemplates the possiblities, Oswald utters a few quick words and waves his fingers about like they were dancing flames. In the air surrounding the doctor, four floating lights bearing the faint resemblance to lanterns coalesce into being. They shed their light all around the door way before floating forward past the veil of darkness at Oswald's wordless bidding.
Oswald collects Rosaline from where she continues to dance in the air by Drisella's minor spell, giving the poppet a close examination before carefully placing it back in his coat pocket. The doctor sighs with some relief as he acknowledges Mikhail's words, "I'm sure we'll each risk something valuable, probably our lives, before our path comes to its end. Now let us see what the golem was hiding behind the curtain." As he says it, Oswald starts over to alcove behind the curtain, coming to a halt before crossing its threshold. He waits for Barnabas or Kaynen to come check it before touching anything but still looks around for any obvious features.
Oswald holds forth Rosaline, the ragdoll limp in his palm, toward Drisella. He hesitates a moment, fingers clutching his poppet tight against her magical pull, "Please be careful with her. She may not be what I once thought but there is still importance in her existence." With a deep sigh, the doctor releases his hold on Rosaline, allowing Drisella's magic to pluck it aloft. He remains close by to the girl, watching and waiting to rescue his poppet from the horde of scarabs if need be.
Oswald tilts his head upward, tracking every putrid inch of the towering monstrosity and all its many non-matching components, "Oh, wonderful. It would seem I need to revise my previous statement. The dwarf has out done himself. Stray into its reach at your own peril, friends." As the creature starts twitching to life, the doctor heads toward the exit door back to the other room, calling out behind him as he goes, "As the Lord said, our benefactors supply us with the solution to this little problem. Its flesh looks rotted enough and the animating spirit is providing little revitalizing life force that our black shelled friends in the other room would have a feast to be thankful for in the body. Let us put them to use." Oswald hastens his step, pulling out Rosaline as he goes. He looks at his poppet, whispering under his breath, "Be brave for me, my dear."
As Oswald finishes his magical surveying of the room, he takes a place near Drisella to see what the cord actually does, "There is no lingering magic hiding surprises, at least to my eyes. I suppose this puzzle will have to do with the dead based on the smell. If any of them happen to still be walking about they will not be of any great threat to us, I'm sure."
Oswald inhales the aroma deep into his nasal passages before his whole body shakes with a little pleasurable shudder. An odd smile plays across his lips for a few brief moments as he turns to look at Barnabas and answer his inquiry, "Yes, a smell I know well. My father's funeral home smelled much the same way, underneath the stench of burning incense and sage to mask the odor. The cemetery where I spent many a lost year smelled very much like this. Barnabas, my comrade, it is the scent of death itself. Flesh rotting and turning into fertilizer. And with a hint of... ah yes, formaldehyde and methanol or as you might know it in layman's terms, embalming fluid. Most likely employed in forestalling previously stated rot." The doctor steps up beside Barnabas, examining the lichen, the alcove and it's drapery, and finally the hanging cord, "By the chamber's words, this is another puzzle where the strength of our minds must be used over the strength of our arms. To pull the cord, to not pull the cord. To open the curtain, to not open the curtain. A quandary." As he speaks, Oswald waves his fingers over his eyes, peeling back the layers of reality until magic glows before his vision.
Oswald grinds his foot into the pile of ichor that was once a scarab as he checks the seams on Rosaline. Luckily, the damage was minimal. Nothing a few minutes with a needle and thread couldn't solve. The mad doctor watches as Drisella attempts a solution by leading the bugs away, "My dear Drisella, if this does not work as you intend then we might try using your cantrip to float my doll through the wolf's room above its head and to the other door with our friend Kergh grabbing it there. Then I should be free to crawl amongst the carrion feeders with immunity."
Oswald continues his study of the beetle as he suddenly erupts in a soft chuckle, "Very interesting. The beetles along one branch of the offered choices are in fact completely harmless. To be exact, they are a subspecies of the carrion scarab or 'necromancer's friend' as they are commonly known. Like the maggot, they have appetites solely sated by dead flesh and find the taste of the living unpalatable. While it might be uncomfortable, they should pose us no threat if we choose their path. I cannot say if something else awaits within, hidden amidst the crawling chaos, but there is that."
I made one in anticipation that one would be required on my last post after Barnabas scolded Oswald for touching the door before it was checked out completely. The Knowledge (nature) check was a 21.
Oswald is startled out of his contemplation as Barnabas scolds him at tampering with the door before they were first checked, "My apologies, Barnabas. Common sense often fails me when I'm deep in thought. By all means, examine away." Afterward, the doctor goes back to his study of the beetles and the wolf.
Oswald joins the others in pondering the riddle of the two choices. A vicious wolf or a carpet of snapping mandibles. One was an obvious hazard while the other was an unknown. The doctor paces back and forth in front of each room, "Pointless conflict. To traverse either room is to court danger. Perhaps if we could feed one to the other, the path would be clear. Turn our foes upon one another as it were." Oswald stops beside the beetle doorway before crouching down to examine their shiny carapaces at a closer distance. From his coat pocket, amidst his requested medical supplies, the mad doctor pulls forth some metallic tweezers. Carefully as to not disturb the whole swarm, he attempts to reach in and procure one of their vast number for testing purposes. First there were tests to see its level of agression, tests to see if it was well fed or hungered for any flesh placed before it, and finally tests to see if the insects made suitable cuisine for the canine in the other room. Perhaps a bribe could open the way.
Oswald steps carefully beside Barnabas while he looks down at the markings the man has found. A lone finger taps his lips as he translates each tile in his head, a delicate web of probability weaving itself across his mindscape. After a few moments, his voice slips free from its cage behind his lips, "Each tile bears a different letter in Infernal. Their order appears happenstance at firt glance but perhaps a pattern emerges. The key to this puzzle is bound in the script by the door as we entered. In it was a warning that self-deception equates death while before us a series of the tiles spell out that very word." The mad doctor gestures toward his right then sweeps his hand toward the left before moving it back right again, obviously pointing at a specific order of the tiles before them. He paces back and forth on the small island of safe floor space in thought as he continues, "Is there truth to the warning or, like all things spoken in Infernal, is it merely itself a deception to hide the real path? I know not."
Seventy-seven days. One hundred and ten thousand eight hundred eighty minutes. Six million six hundred fifty two thousand eight hundred ways that Tiadora had orchestrated their deaths. The hordes of ravenous rodents were mere annoyances, the poisons simple to counteract, even the knives in the night could be counted on to be predictable in their own unpredictable way. It was the illusions that struck the deepest wounds. The first time Oswald was assaulted by demonic versions of his own children nearly broke his fragile new-found sanity. By the end of that week, he had been attacked by dopplegangers of every member of the Knot at least twice and slain his own family sixteen times in self defense. With each death, part of the man that Oswald once was died as well. Reality and fantasy went to war with one another until the brutality of reality won out. In reality, those that died were gone forever more unless by his will they were ripped from death's bony fingers. It became clearer and clearer with each day filled with danger and death that the only solution was to bring them all back. All those slain by the unjust wrath of their realm and its pitiless god. A tide of spirits and the damned to wash away the old and bring in a new age of acceptance and peace. When the knot was called to the Cardinal's study for the instructions on their final test to be administered, Oswald paced the back of the room, his mind in a frezy of thought as he quietly talks outloud, "Nine rooms, each a deathtrap no doubt. A silver and sapphire pendant hidden amongst the peril. Deadline of one day's time. A simple task in all appearances though few things are ever so easy. I suppose I should bring some anesthetic as surely someone will end up losing a limb."
Aye! Or was it eye? *throws Blackerly's eye into the ring*
Oswald stalks in complete silence down the halls of the manor behind the rest of the Ninth Knot. A change had come upon the man since the previous night; gone were the clouded eyes, the nervous ticks, and the constant stream of babble escaping his lips. Instead, the doctor stands straight, unbowed by the invisible burdens he struggled with before, while his eyes simmer clear and hot with barely contained anger. His poppet, the convenient proxy for his lost daughter, hangs half-forgotten from one of the large pockets of his pristine white and pressed coat. He clutches a strange shovel of dark wood in his left hand. At the gathering of the Knot before their keeper, Lady Tiadora, Oswald stands back as the others receive their circlets and view their altered forms. He studies each face and form thoroughly as he commits the alterations to memory. While most seem to be pleased with their disguises, the anger radiating from Drisella heats the air around her. Oswald examines the young woman with a neutral expression before offering his own critique, ”A word of advice, dear, best to control your quivering fury or you’re sure to start riots in the streets involving every man within sight of your new additions. On the bright side, most won’t have the faculties to care about anything else going on around them when you are present. An adequate distraction, I suppose.” He flicks a gaze at the ‘Bovine in Darkness’ and slips into its sharp tongue, ”A perfect disguise, as no one shall expect to have their throat ripped out by a simple, docile cattle.” Oswald takes his circlet finally, his fingers running along its metallic surface as he studies the craftsmanship wrought into its unadorned surface. With a final huff of air, the doctor places the circlet upon his brow as his form begins to shimmer and change. A brief moment passes before a different man stands now in Oswald’s place. Immediately, it is evident that Oswald’s altered form is his senior by a number of years. The toll of years has stolen all color from the man’s receding hairline, instead leaving thinning patches of snow white atop his crown while a bushy but trimmed beard of a similar hue dominates his chin. A web of wrinkles spread from the corner of his eyes across cheeks still full of life. Oswald’s new face seems to default to a comforting smile which invokes the image of someone’s grandfather or favorite great-uncle when they view it at first. The doctor’s clothing has changed with his form, taking on the appearance of a finely crafted but oft-worn suit that could be expected of a professional or businessman that has to interact with clients on a regular basis. Likewise, his shovel has transformed into a gentleman’s walking cane which appears to be more for decoration than function as the years have not yet bent Oswald’s new form under their weight. The doctor holds his hands out in front of him as he stares at them with intensity, ”I have heard that time is merely an illusion that all mortal men must believe. Tis fitting that we put a measure of truth to that hypothesis. My new name shall be Tomas Bennett for all the wasted potential that they took away.” A stray thought crosses Oswald’s mind as he reaches into his pocket and pulls forth Rosaline. The poppet is gone though in its place is a new doll woven of unsullied fabric with a face of cross-stitches and sewn on buttons for eyes. It appears as a doll that would be given to a young girl who could not yet be trusted with one of a finer make. His fingers tighten around the doll as his head bows.
I got the window pulled up and half-written at the moment. Pesky work and impromptu meetings keep getting in the way. Should be up soon.
The night grew late by the time dinner and pleasantries were done. The day had been a swirl of contracts, introductions, examinations, and exploration that seemed to drag on forever. Oswald shooed the last of the servants from his room with mild irritation as it was long past Rosaline’s bedtime. ”Come, my little dove, it is time for little girls to dream of rainbows and unicorns. Soon daddy will be very busy with the others learning how to bring the mean ol’ Mitrans down and you’ll need all your energy to cheer me on… Yes, my dear, I’ll sing you a lullaby so you can sleep,” the mad doctor tells his daughter as he gently lays her down on the large bed, tucking her in under the covers. He sits on the bed next to his poppet as a hoarse song slips forth from Oswald’s lips, ”Tick tock goes the clock,
Tick tock goes the clock
Lost in his own thoughts and the words of his song, Oswald does not notice the air of the room growing cooler. Frost begins to collect on the large vanity mirror on the room’s dresser, swirls like icy leaves forming on its reflective surface. A faint tink-tink-tink noise joins Oswald’s lyrics and it isn’t until the third iteration of the sound that the doctor’s lullaby trails off into silence. Tink-tink-tink. Oswald turns his head to look about the room for the source of the strange noise. He picks up his well-used prison billy-club and gets down on his knees and checks under the bed. Nothing but dust awaits him. As the doctor stands, he catches a faint glow coming from the frost-coated mirror. When he draws close, the glow clarifies into an ethereal figure floating in the reflection of his room. Oswald turns to glance over his shoulder but only sees the empty room. The figure places its hand on the other side of the mirror, sweeping away frost as her face draws closer and into full view. The sound of a wooden club hitting ground and rolling away fills the air as Oswald struggles to find his voice. Words, as if pulled from some deep vault long buried, finally come in crackling wonderment, ”Penelope? Is that you, my dear?” A bitter smile plays across Penelope’s face as she nods in acknowledgement. As if speaking from the bottom of a deep well, her voice echoes forth from the mirror, ”It is I, husband. Have you missed me after all these years?” ”Years? But it has only been a few days, dear wife. Years! Surely you jest with me. We were eating supper only a week past at our home. That is before the guards came and took you and the little ones from me. I was able to find and save Rosaline, you see?” Oswald motions toward the bed behind him, ”I should wake her. She will be thrilled to know you are alright. Then we can find Tomas and be a family again. Oh, that will be grand. We can find a quiet little house somewhere to live in peace, far from the machinations of hypocrites and charlatans. Don’t you-“ With a loud thump of her ghostly fist against the mirror that sends tremors radiating out into the wall behind it, Penelope cuts Oswald’s rambling off with a furrowed brow and anger in her voice, ”HUSBAND! Gather your wits about you and listen. I have little time these days to waste on mortal trivialities. Tomas is dead. I am dead. We did not survive the fever. But it was not the disease that killed us. The Mitrans murdered us. The priests of Mitra saw into the darkest crevasse of my soul and found the shackles that I willingly bore for the Master. As punishment for that perceived heresy, they withheld the healing touch of their god.” ”You are not dead. No, no, you and the little ones pulled through the fever. I saw it with my own eyes. It bankrupted me to find a suitable treatment but you survived! We lived happily next to the stone gardens, remember?” ”Enough, Oswald! You must stop living buried in the past. We are gone but not gone. The Master has loaned my contract to Thorn and with it my soul. I shall be here to watch and guide you as I am able. Death is not the end, husband, of all people you should know this. You are not alone; never alone. I will be with you for a long time. You owe me many vengeances upon this kingdom. We’ll have to plan something especially nasty for L’Trass. For now, sleep and remember that you live in the present, not the past.” Oswald slumps to the floor in a quivering mess as he gazes at his wife’s face, ”No, not dead. No one died. We live a simple happy life. The children laugh and play while you cook dinner. I wash the dirt of a hard day off my hands. Happy, alive! Not dead!” The sound of cracking ice fills the room as Penelope reaches one ethereal hand through the glass of the mirror, sending a spider web of cracks racing across it. Her glowing blue-white hand reaches down to touch Oswald on the forehead as her voice fills the room, ”REMEMBER!” An explosion of images and feelings pour into Oswald. All the hate and anger of his wife’s spirit floods across his mindscape. He feels adrift in a dark sea. The waves crash down over his head, pushing him deep into the black abyss before consciousness slips from him.
I'm working out Oswald's encounter with his wife's ghost. Also a heads up that I'm heading to Gencon on Wednesday night/Thursday wee hours of the morning. I'll be back on late Sunday or Monday.
As the group enters the strange dwarf's lab, Oswald grows excited at all the bubbling fluids and the body laid out in dissection. He immediately moves over by the corpse and starts inspecting the rotting remains, "Yes, my dove, see the cuts here and here... yes, yes, the ones right above the pancreas. You can see what kind of person the deceased is by cutting there. The liver, the stomach, the kidneys, and even the heart, tell you so many wonderful things." While the doctor speaks to Rosaline, Zargo finishes up his examination with Ethaniel. Oswald reaches inside the cadaver, searching for its gall bladder to show his poppet when he is yanked back away from the body by the coarse hand of the dwarven alchemist, who with an angry grumble berates the doctor, "Stop poking around where your fingers don't belong. I swear, you new bodies have been in my lab for all of five minutes and already you're acting like you run the place!" The mad doctor's face erupts in an odd grin as he extends his hand, the same that was deep in the corpse's innards moments ago, toward Zargo, "My apologizes, sir. I am quite taken with your décor and was excited to show my daughter what a dissection looks like in person. I've had to operate on my fair share of patients in the past and would be glad to show you some interesting techniques I've learned in regards to keeping the patient alive while opening them up. You can learn so much more from living tissue." Zargo gives Oswald and his 'daughter' a strange look as he shakes his head and readies three vials for samples, "Fine. Techniques. Maybe another time, now I need hair, saliva, and blood. You going to cooperate or make me work for them?" With that, Oswald opens his mouth wide while plucking a few hairs from his scalp with one hand and holding the other out for the bloodletting. The dwarf grumbles under his breath as he prods a swab into the doctor's inner cheeks and collects the other samples in his vials. Oswald smacks his lips together afterward, "You'll be wanting my daughter's vitals as well, I'm sure." He picks up his doll from the table next to him as he holds her out toward Zargo. The dwarf shakes his head in a mixture of disgust and pity for the mad man while he collects the rest of his tools for his examination of Oswald, "Your daughter, right... 'she' ain't got what I need right now, you do. So for now, shut up, sit up straight and don't wiggle. This should only take a moment."
Witch (Gravewalker) 1 -> Witch (Gravewalker) 2 Saves: +1 Will
Spells Prepared: Cantrips - +1; 1st - +1
Awaking from a deep, dream-filled sleep, Oswald prepares for the day by falling into his normal routine. By the time he emerges fully washed and dressed with his poppet, the others have already been milling about for a bit. They are soon herded into another room with a pencil-pusher and his books. Oswald whispers to Rosaline, cradled in his arms as normal, while standing near the back with Kaynen. The others are called forth one by one, listing personal effects they wish commissioned or retrieved. Kaynen leans close and tells the mad doctor about schoolchildren and text books. Oswald glances at his daugher and nods, "My Rosaline should be attending school right now but the teachers are scared her cough will spread to the other children. So she gets to spend her days with her father until she gets better, isn't that right, my dove?.. Yes, yes, we'll get some sweets on the way home but first daddy has to order some new supplies with the inventory clerk, my dove." He fondly strokes his poppet's tangled locks of hair. When it is Oswald's turn with Mr. Pilkington, he steps forward and clears his throat before starting on a large list of required medical supplies and drugs. Near the end of his long list he starts on the more personal items, "And with all that medical equipment, Mr. Pilkington, I'll need a good and sturdy shovel and one mithral sewing needle. The shovel should be able to withstand heavy digging, yes, very heavy digging. Never know when you'll need to dig a mass grave for all those dead souls. A shame... yes, yes, my dove, we'll make sure to pile all the Mitrans in one deep hole and never let them out again. Oh, and Mr. Pilkington, the needle needs to be sterile."
Oswald slipped into his new clothes, the fabric like silk against his newly cleansed skin. No more the rubbing irritation of coarse material grinding into him, the good doctor ran a brush through his shortened hair before collecting Rosaline and moving out of the room to join the others. Oswald appears a nearly different man without the layers of filth and grime covering his flesh and the mop of wild hair atop his head and face sheared back to managable levels of decency. In what followed from the introduction of Cardinal Thorn, their mysterious benefactor, to the revelation of Mikhail's true name and lienage, Oswald kept to the rear of the group while he whispered with his poppet, "Yes, yes, I know my dear. A very dangerous man. Best not to upset dangerous men.... I know the wording is funny, it wouldn't be a contract without it doing that... yes, yes, my dove, I'll mention it to the fellow." One of the last to sign the document, Oswald steps forward but stops by Mikhail. The doctor gives a poorly executed bow, having never really dealt with much nobility in his life before, and makes his doll give a curtsey to the would-be king, "Your Majesty. We did not know we journeyed in such company. No, no, we did not know. My dear sweet child wishes you many happy years of rule and many plump babies with your bride." With the formalities taken care of with their 'king', Oswald steps up before the contract swelling with its names of blood. He runs his finger over the material of the contract as he holds Rosaline close to read the wording once more. He turns to look at the Cardinal as he picks up the dagger in preparation for adding his own signature to the mix, "Your Unholyship, my daughter thinks I would be remiss if I didn't mention before signing some questioning with the wording 'he shall reward the Bound as they deserve for their deeds' on the document. Does that encompass such things as if we complete all tasks asked of us to a satisfactory conclusion but you think we deserve having live bees sewn in under our skin then we'd just learn to enjoy the honey? I don't think I'd much like having bees sewn under my skin nor does my daughter, honey or not. Why the faithful of the Prince of the Nine Hells would keep bees is beyond me..." The mad doctor rambles on for a bit before shaking his head in confusion and looking around, "Where was I? Or right, signing an employment contract. Yes, yes, the Mitran plague must be quarantined and systemically erraticated. I'm familiar with such diseases and would be glad to add my expertise to your hospital's staff, sir." Lost in another place in another time, Oswald runs the dagger across his finger tip and writes his name with his bleeding fingertip in looping cursive nearly eligible to non-doctors.
The long night of murder and escape coupled the surgery and journey across the moor left Oswald exhausted as they were welcomed so warmly into the manor. As the others examined the surroundings, the mad doctor held Rosaline and whispered softly to his doll, “Finally… we are free, my dove. Never again will we let those damned Mitrans tear us apart. Never, never, never!” He continues to rant to himself while the rest get lead to rooms to freshen up, his own slave guide waiting with a dull look in its eyes nearby. Oswald jumps for a moment when he finally does notice the slave waiting next to him, “Oh, yes… I suppose we could use a bath, Rosaline. Your mother will kill me if I let you stay covered in dirt and blood.” He follows the slave toward his room, lost in catching up with his daughter. Inside the private room, Oswald shucks his borrowed guard outfit and prison rags underneath, throwing them into the slave’s arms as he gingerly slides into the steaming tub of water. He hisses as the water stings his wounds, slowly lowering himself until he is sitting almost fully submerged. The soothing nature of the water’s warmth works knots out of his muscles that had been with him since the bastards had come to their home and taken himself, his wife, and his children away in chains. He slams a fist down into the water, sending waves splashing out of the tub as he growls, “Never again, my dove. Never again. We’ll find your mother and brother. Then we’ll make them all pay… I’m sorry, little one; daddy didn’t mean to scare you.” Oswald runs a wet hand over his poppet’s grisly collection of hair and skin stitched right into its scalp, working at the filth that has accrued there, “Are you hungry, Rosaline? I don’t think they fed us a thing in that horrible tomb. Trying to starve us to death because they lacked the courage to do the deed themselves, I’m sure.” He turns to look at the slave waiting nearby for his directions, “Um… do you think we can get some food. Something mild as my little Rosaline has a delicate stomach. And some medical supplies. I have a few burns that need ointment and proper bandaging. That will be all.” The doctor goes back to scrubbing Rosaline until she is a damp, wretched-looking doll instead of a dry, wretched-looking doll. When he is done, he sets her down nearby and ducks his own head fully under the bath water. Years of dirt, bugs, and crusted blood turn the tub into a murky pool before he finally stands up and walks naked over to the razor and mirror. Oswald runs his finger across the razor edge, just sigh of enough pressure to part skin while still noting its sharpness. He glances back toward Rosaline, “Do you think daddy needs a haircut, my dove?… Yes, I suppose I do look like a wild man right now. They never paid me much mind when I looked the part of the digger of graves. Until they paid too much mind… Yes, you are right, my dove, it is time for a change. Like your mother always says, ‘Put on a fresh face to greet each new day.’” The razor attacks his mop of wet hair, hacking chunks of it away until a pile the size of a large melon is laying on the floor at his feet. Oswald sets the razor down, turning back to Rosaline as he turns his asymmetrical hairdo this way and that for his daughter’s benefit, “How does it look, Rosaline? I take too much off?… Yes, I suppose it will do. Now time for us to get dressed and eat dinner. You’ll need to make sure you eat all your vegetables this time, my dove… No, you can’t let your brother eat them like normal. He’s already a big, strong boy while you need to regain your strength… No arguing, young lady. What would your mother say?”
It'll be a bit for me. I'm in Security+ training classes all this week all day and was busy last night. Typing this on a break actually right now. Just DMPC me if you have to move on right now but I'll try to get someting up later tonight.
Yep. And his was pretty cool, for a healer character 'Oh, let me heal all these wounds for you... then release all the absorbed damage as one giant attack!'
So I have my own zanpakutō now? Awesome. Now to train hard to unlock its bankai.
Funny enough, anything to do with the eye is about the only bit of gore/violence that can turn my stomach. I have to look away in horror movies if a victim is about to have their eyes gouged out. /shudder
Oswald takes the offered dagger delicately with his right hand, examining the edge of the blade before shaking his head, "It should be sharper but I suppose it will have to do. Now, Mr. Blackerly, you seem to be suffering from muscle spasms that are proving somewhat of an inconvenience to your current condition. Let me help you with those first." The doctor sets Rosaline down on a rock nearby with a good view of the operation before gripping the dagger firmly in one hand while grabbing one of Blackerly's arms with the other.
Despite the weak struggles of the wounded man, Oswald slices deep into the flesh in several small, precise incisions meant to completely sever Blackerly's tendons. As the muscles curl and bunch from being disconnected from the bone, the agony radiating up Blackerly's still functioning nerves are enough to cause the strongest man to scream in pain. Oswald holds the index finger of his left hand in front of his lips as he makes sshing noises, "Now, now, Mr Blackerly, please do try to keep your discomfort to yourself. You're disturbing the other patients." The mad doctor hums a wordless nursery song to himself as he moves to each of the remaining three limbs and does the same to them. His initial surgery complete, Oswald takes a moment to check Blackerly's pulse and vitals before holding the bloody point of the dagger an inch from the sergeant's eye, "We move on to the more difficult part. There might be some disorientation, Mr. Blackerly, but it should pass with time. I do hope you have a strong stomach for vertigo." His free hand holding down the man's head, Oswald leans in close with the dagger.
As flesh parts easily under the steel edge of the dagger, Oswald carefully cuts away the connective tissue and muscle from around Blackerly's remaining eye. Blood runs like tears down the man's face while the doctor hums his merry-sounding tune. The last muscle severed, the mad doctor sets down his dagger and tenderly reaches in with his filthy hand and pops the sergeant's orb from its socket. Still connected via bloody tendrils of blood vessels and nerves to the brain, the eye can only be moved a short distance from its prior home. Oswald motions at Barnabas and beckons him over, "Mr. Barnabas, if you'll hold our patient's ocular sphere for a moment, I need to stem the bleeding in the socket before we lose our patient to blood loss. Just keep dabbing it with a few drops of water ever minute to help it stay moist. A dry eye is quite irritating." While he waits for Barnabas to comply, the doctor starts ripping strips of Blackerly's tunis off to use as makeshift bandages to stuff in his bleeding socket.
Okay, this bloody sucks. Had my post all written up and ready to go and our network goes out. Now I've lost it and having to post this through my phone. Well, Oswald was going to cut the tendons in all Blackerly's limbs first then cut the eye out without actually removing the nerve bundle attached to his brain. So pretend that happened until our network is back up and I can try to reconstruct my post. EDIT: Yay, I was able to recover most of it when we got connectivity back up.
Oswald shuffles closer to the impromptu torture session, holding Rosaline in a sitting position across one of his forearms as they both watch the show. The doctor leans in to listen to his poppet for a moment while whispering something back into the place her ear should be if she was actually a living creature. He nods as he shares a snicker with her, "Yes, yes, that would be most fun to watch." Oswald comes to stand behind Blackerly and Barnabas as he tsks at the man's lack of artistry in the medical arts, "For the next one, I recommend cutting here, here, and here," he points out several spots around the eye but not actually through it. "You'll be able to sever the muscles holding the eye in the socket and then you can slowly pull it out while letting him keep the nerve cluster intact. You can carve him like a gourd and let him see your handiwork firsthand. I find removing one of the senses, while might intensify the sensitivity of the rest, also runs the risk of sending the patient into shock were they cannot experience the rest of the procedure with as must enthusiasm," the doctor lectures before stepping back to watch more of Barnabas' work. |