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Thread: canyons // (Esperanza)

  1. #1
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    Default canyons // (Esperanza)

    Spoiler:


    @Origamidragons;

    woohoo! thanks for testing this with me! hope you have fun - and if you have any questions, please let me know!

    Medium Mission:
    This mission requires at least one (?!) player, not including the NPC, with at least 15 IC posts from each character.
    Prize Package:
    • IC: P1,500, on top of normal money that would be received from posting
    • OOC: a Medium Pokemon of your choosing + 1 TM





    #1 // wc: 941

    “D-damn.” A voice, deep baritone, its spirit still fighting for life in a broken array of gasps and incredulous belief. It creaks out of the crevice of smoky darkness as Orhun’s eyes lazily drift over to the source of the noisome burning wafting up towards him. His sensors of pain seem erased. They should be working overtime at this moment, screaming to him of the need to escape the situation before the calamity of smoke and fire inch out just a little bit further to claim his own life. Yet these have short-fired on him. Perhaps they screamed and broke their vocal cords, too. He senses, in a vague sense that is not entirely his, the warm liquid dripping down his neckbone, seeping onto the lines of his exposed chest. A gashed up neck: goodbye to his voice that has already vociferated its end. There must be cuts and bruises there too. Everything will be bruised from here on out, and perhaps belief enough will never heal it all. That much he knows right now, even if the pain has disconnected from the rest of his body. What was he thinking of, again?... “Yuh really hate to see that one happening,” he chokes out in a half-defeated murmur.

    When he speaks in a sarcastic tone, he refers to the burning map left on the remnants of the dashboard. Right before his blurred vision, he watches the ancient black markings on the map disperse into the smoke that curls and dies miles above him. “There’s where I came from, too,” he half-consciously muses, looking up towards the sky and unable to stop the burning of the map. “I messed up, big. That map was my only way out.” The thoughts are strong and self-resentful, unlike the tenuous strength leftover in his body. This loathing will continue for what must be the next fifteen minutes. It began when he first gathered consciousness and cannot be disrupted by the reality of the situation. He hurts in his heart at what the realization of the burned map means: there is nothing more for him! He came all of this way, bulleting across half of the universe in order to just die here. Orhun’s charred fingers scrape against the up-turned remainder of a blown up seat. He does not scream. Only his hatred moves him in this state.

    The story of the past day plummets into his mind in broken pieces and parts. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been defending the map from a horde of rowdy pirates that were neither Pokémon nor human. Twelve hours ago, he had reached the ozone of the EarthWorld, his ship nearly burning with the impact of an entirely new atmosphere. Eight hours ago, he had barely escaped his fight with a wild horde of Hydreigon, foolishly realizing that he had hovered in not only the wrong area of the Wild but perhaps the worst. Six, four, two, and now one hour ago… the numbers drift into a dull spot in his mind, settling painfully as he tries to free himself against the prison of steel that is now his ship. It was once a great symbol of freedom for him, Orhun, the mighty bandit from the other bend of the galaxy. But now he screams as he rises from the sepulcher of steel, pushing with all of his might against that which entraps him.

    Really, the worst part was that no one did him in except for himself. Feral Pokémon: check, he can fight. Pirates and other marauders, whether they be human or PokeSoul: check, he can fight. Flying through the raging thunderstorm that shot out heavenly bolts of lightning to finish off what was left of EarthWorld itself? Uncheck him a billion times, sign him up for waging a war against a god themselves. He remembers, briefly now, flashes of lightning and pain and the downfall of this rustbucket of a ship that had carried him through the universe for his boyhood, his childhood, his adolescence up until today. The beloved ship now lies strewn across the cold mountain peaks in scraps of metal that reveal the shadowed age of the great vessel. Orhun can’t believe it. He pushes the final piece of metal away from himself using what must be strength borrowed from a god. Half-alive. Half-dazed. All dead inside. Underneath the metal monstrosity is the crumpled form of a young man, lithe in form, his broken breaths puncturing the piece of what would be a thoughtful day on this mountaintop.

    Orhun scans a grey skyline pierced through with unending mountain peaks, cursing the static and heavy air smothering him. He has no idea where he is. He cannot feel anything, but looks down to soak up the vision of his smashed-up body: the gash tearing its way into his tender ribcage, the twisted left foot, the blood pooling gently all across his arms and legs. The dark green leather vest blurring into pants that hid the sheathe of his knife all feel like a joke now. Trembling uncontrollably, the young man scoots away from the nothing immersing him, further onto the cold slate of rock he crashed into. Bangs of matted black hair obscure the nothingness. This may be the end and he has never in his life felt so hopeless before yet he hears his mission beating into his heart. He’ll get there somehow. He must. If he can live through this to see the light of another day - ! Which comes in the explosion of some part or another of his ship. “Well then… “ he scoffs, sinking into a sea of unconscious.

    MISTRAL IMMORTAL

  2. #2
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    Spoiler:
    @Smiles; Ahhhhh I'm so excited this is gonna be so much fun! And hey, no problem about helping you test this out! Let me know if I mess up! ^.^

    (word count: 740)


    The wild is burning.

    She has seen this before, she knows. Years and years ago, she saw flaming wreckage tumble from the sky, shrapnel sharp as knives embedding itself deep into mountain stone, trailing smoke and blood behind it. She saw the body of the ship crumpling like a tin can under its own weight, steel rending and screeching and screaming.

    The first time she saw this, she was strapped into an airplane seat, terminal velocity down towards sharp stones, impact in five...

    The second time was last night. She woke up with blood and steel behind her eyes and thought it was a memory, something that had happened instead of something yet to happen, and she curses herself for not realizing, for not stopping this, as she follows the trail of destruction.

    Then she stops, because she is cursed enough already.

    The scattered shards of metal grow in size and number as she pushes on, and in places fires still smolder in the underbrush. The air is thick with smoke and death, and it makes dark red eyes water. She scrubs at her eyes with the heel of one hand and presses on. There are people (person?) inside, or there were, she felt them burn and scream as they fell.

    She knows the chances are low, knows exactly how rare it is for someone (or for a human at least) to survive a crash like that, but. She has to try. She has to try.

    She tries not to think of the possibilities, of how things might have been different if someone had been near when her plane crashed, and fails. She pulls her ruined arm in a little closer to her chest and tightens her cloak around her shoulders as though it could block out the thoughts.

    Espiritu helps her, pushing the bad things she doesn't want to think about away from her conscious mind, offering little comments and observations to distract her from the unpleasant flashbacks itching at her memory.

    'the sky is so blue,' Espiritu murmurs. 'pretty, yes? the clouds are like snowdrifts in the sky.'

    Esperanza looks up and a smile tugs at the edges of her lips as she sees the thick, fluffy clouds against the backdrop of sunny sky blue. On the day her plane plummeted from the sky, it was thick with fog and snow. She breathes a little easier. This is not that day. That was twelve years ago, in another age, before the meteor came and before the world came apart on the seams.

    She crests a hill and sees what must be the main body of the plane. The pressure in her chest eases a bit more- this is bulky and alien, unlike the sleek white ship she'd flown on.

    Then she sees the body, and even though she's used to this by now, one of her hands comes to her mouth. It's laid out on a slab of stone like a sacrifice, trails of blood marking where it must have dragged itself from the wreckage.

    She thinks it used to be a human, but it's so mangled that it's difficult to tell. She sidles forward hesitantly, knowing that even though there's no way a human could look like that and yet live, she should still check.

    The stink of blood and burned flesh is almost overwhelming as she draws nearer.

    Something explodes deep in the ship and she flinches backwards, but doesn't flee. She bends over the body and expertly checks pulse and breath (she's done this too many times) and oh-

    Still alive.

    Another explosion rocks the ship, closer this time, too close for comfort. A plume of ash and acrid smoke rises into the sky and she jumps, every animal instinct screaming to flee. She doesn't want to move him. He clings to life by a thread, and any motion could kill him. But it can't be safe to stay here either.

    She slips her arms under the ruined wreck of a body, hooking them under his(?) armpits and dragging him back, across the stone and bare ground. There's a cave, close enough that she can get him there and far enough that they should be safe from the explosions.

    Then... then she can decide how to proceed. She'll need to bandage his wounds, assuming he still hasn't died by then, and make a fire to warm him.

    Maybe she'll be able to save this one.
    Last edited by Origamidragons; 12-28-16 at 06:05 PM.

  3. #3
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    Spoiler:

    @Origamidragons;

    fab! <3

    Esperanza: Post 1

    Medium Mission:
    This mission requires at least one (?!) player, not including the NPC, with at least 15 IC posts from each character.
    Prize Package:
    • IC: P1,500, on top of normal money that would be received from posting
    • OOC: a Medium Pokemon of your choosing + 1 TM






    #2 // wc: 532

    Something lifts him. He thinks this might be the end and treasures the last vestiges of sensation he can feel before he knows all will be erased. Upward… upward he goes, disconnectedly feeling the top half of his body somehow leave the body remaining what was on once a cold ground. In this dazed state of consciousness, he imagines an angel slicing down the center of his waist, mischievous like mankind, taking and leaving only what it wants. The bloody entrails drag behind, seeping down the crevices of the mountain to drip down to an unforgiving ravine below. There and here, the cold air clutches him a state of forever freezing. His remains are doomed to be displayed, a demonstration of his own foolishness. Well, if he would be a supernormal being like he hopes to be once this mess of a mortal life is over, that’s what he would do, anyway.

    Sensation filters into the broken pores of his perception. “Wait a minute,” he realizes belatedly, “this is nothing like that!” His mission kicks into him from somewhere off his consciousness, and all he can remember is the map: where is it?! What happened to it? How could he have been so foolish to arrive in a situation like this?! “Wh-why you, I will fight you to the death if you come any closer!” he barely squeaks out. He belatedly lifts up a hand, cursing as he discovers the charred bits lining his fingers. The ghastly image catches him way off guard, and he swoons down, the tiny bit of energy he used to speak stolen from him. “I-I’ll get you yet.” His voice is barely more than a whisper. “I have to protect… this thing.” His eyes close as the mysterious young girl drags him along. In all honestly, he hadn’t even seen the full form of the one moving him, saving him, trying to protect him against this pandemonium he inflicted upon himself; everything is a haze in this world of smoke and burning. Gently, he passes out again, his breath pained and punctured.

    He’s stood on death’s doorstep many times before this. Orhun craves adventure, volunteering himself for the most inane journeys he can muster. The first of his journeys across the universe came apart as just that: the dares of childhood in a lonely and impoverished world. In a moment that seems to reveal his whole life to him, he thinks, on some conscious level, about the sheer number of quixotic suicide missions he’d put himself up to: and came back alive from! The young boy who’s long legs drag out before him remembers this, and a muscle briefly spasms up his calf in response. Yet… this is nothing like before. He cannot promise his own life here, but he’s too stubborn to accept that maybe he’s lost this one time. The sparse selection of decisions before him oscillate in his mind, heavy like a thick pendulum coming undone from its hanger. In a surprising display of energy, a single hand lurches upwards to grasp, half-heartedly but with full intention, the wrist of whoever carries him. His eyes are still closed. “I will not lose to you…”

    MISTRAL IMMORTAL

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    ​(word count: 370)

    She almost loses her grip when the broken body moves, and makes a small, animal noise of surprise, pausing in her movement to bend down and check on him. He’s muttering incoherently, and she gives up trying to understand after a second or too. She can only pick up a few words in his broken, whispery voice: death, closer, protest. She can ask later what he’s saying, where he comes from. First she needs to ensure that there is a later, that he won’t bleed out on the snow he’s painting red. She checks his pulse again after his eyes (panicking, searching, lost) slide closed again, but he still lives.


    “Shhh,” she whispers, even though he’s already slipped back into unconsciousness. Her voice is rough and hoarse from disuse and she coughs, tries again, and the words come a little easier this time. “Rest. Be okay.”

    She can’t remember the last time she spoke to another human (is she a human? she can’t remember that, either). But then, she’s not sure if this boy is a human, either. It’s very hard to tell even when people aren’t falling apart at the seams, these days.

    Her arms are slick with blood, and it’s getting harder for her to hold on, her earlier burst of panicked adrenaline fading and replaced with the reality that she can’t hold him much longer. She could set him down and take a break, but explosions still rock the hulking shell of the ship, and as she watches snowflakes begin to spiral down from a thick, grey sky. Some paranoid thought whispers that she has to hold on tight or his soul will fly away, like a bird, and there will be no saving him then.

    All of a sudden a hand snatched onto her wrist tightly and she startles, badly, losing her grip and shrieking. His words are thick, like he’s choking on them, but still so soft that she can barely hear them: “I will not lose to you…”

    “Let go!” she snaps, a desperate growl edging into her voice, batting at his vice grip with her free hand. “Not fighting. Trying to help. Have to help, have to help someone. Let me help you.”

  5. #5
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    Spoiler:

    @Origamidragons;

    <3

    Esperanza: Post 2

    Medium Mission:
    This mission requires at least one (?!) player, not including the NPC, with at least 15 IC posts from each character.
    Prize Package:
    • IC: P1,500, on top of normal money that would be received from posting
    • OOC: a Medium Pokemon of your choosing + 1 TM






    #3 // wc: 470

    A voice anchors him. The tone is taught as words unused come spilling out. Somewhere, even while Orhun drowns to the bottom of consciousness, he knows this: for he treasures the tender unfamiliarity of tone, the loneliness in a voice that is not so often used. It reminds him of something similar in his own life of chosen loneliness. Has this soul chosen its own doom as well?... This strange voice keeps singing to him, shushing him and then repeating one word that settles dimly within him: help. His iron grip comes undone slowly, the veins at his wrist lightening up alongside the grey pallor descending over his body. “I’m sorry,” the words make it out from somewhere within him. “I… I don’t deserve your help. The people of the new continent, they’re the ones who deserved everything that could have been given to them, that I could have offered if only I hadn’t-!”

    He coughed, sending his body in a wild series of spasms. The feeling jolted him awake! He looked up, for the first time, at the face of the one saving him: the still silhouette of white hair and an appealing face saw back at him. “Maybe there’s still time… m-maybe you could be the one,” he murmurs, finding immense hope in the young girl pulling him with the arms coated in his own blood. He measures her animal sounds of grunts and growls against his own heart: is she a human or a PokeSoul? What capabilities does she carry to qualify as a hero? “D-don’t waste time on me,” he spills out, feeling each second desperately split away from the meager time left. “T-there.” With a slack arm, he points towards the part of the ship he pried himself from. He has few words left to explain that there lies the compartment in which both the burning map and medical kit are found.

    The hazy remnants of his mind snag onto something she says. “Why help? Why someone? Why me?...” Simultaneously, the prison of ice and grey mountains are torn away from his mind. In lieu of it lies a dark world with people who have been punished for generations, a world invisible to all who have not been enlightened to the ways of a shared sphere of Pokémon and man. Orhun can’t communicate the feeling of dread as darkness descends over their stolen sunshine or the feeling of helplessness as those of evil hearts invaded this world. He doesn’t even know how he would begin explaining this world to the one saving him… and he cannot yet explain to her how he needed to stop on the EarthWorld for something and failed, but hopes with every last struggling beat of his heart that she will understand and accept him for his sins against the world.

    MISTRAL IMMORTAL

  6. #6
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    (word count: 573)

    The grip loosens, but Esperanza doesn’t pull her wrist away. She’s distracted by his words, bending over to hear them as well as she can. She knows now the importance of listening to the words of the dying- so many people, now, have asked her to carry their last words. Apologies and farewells to friends and families likely long dead, weighing her down. It’s a weight she has to bear and she does so willingly, her penance for every life she saw and failed to save. She always watches for them, the people she carries messages for, even though she wouldn’t know them if she saw them. She has to keep looking.


    She hears his whispers. He has unfinished business. Something is keeping him here, a man (if indeed he is a man) who should be dead clinging to life so fulfill some quest. With energy she didn’t think he still possessed, he forces an arm to point at the burning hulk of the ship. Something inside her quails at the thought of approaching it as another explosion rocks the steel mass, something small and pathetic remembering being trapped inside an airplane as it burned, but she stands nonetheless.

    She’s about to do it when she hears a few more hazy words force themselves past his lips and pauses, thoughtful for a moment. Why? Why help? She turns them over in her head. “Didn’t help before,” she murmurs after a moment, unsure if he can even hear her, little bodies screaming and burning behind her eyes. “I failed. Penance. Fixing something inside that broke,” she explains, touching her chest for a second. She looks back at the ship.

    Penance.

    “I’ll be back,” she says, hoping it’s true, and breaks into a run, body hunched low to the ground as she’s learned to do. There’s a gap in the twisted, melted metal near the stone where she dragged him from, where his hand pointed weakly and desperately, a few plates of steel that look like they were forcibly shifted aside. She dives into the cramped, smoky and overheated space and claustrophobia almost overwhelms her for a second, memories she never wanted to remember swimming back to the forefront of her mind. She forces them down, the terror and the memories both. The smoke makes her eyes water and scrapes brutally at her throat when she breathes. She casts her eyes around frantically, seeing only steel and rubble and the ruined dashboard, before they settle almost by accident on a scrap of half-burned paper.

    It’s the only thing even somewhat intact, so she grabs it and shoves her way back through the smoke to the exit and tumbles out, praying she got the right thing. She shoves a hand into the snow, letting it wet her skin, before batting the still-flickering fire out and stopping it from consuming any more of the paper. She gently folds it into quarters, holding it tightly, and races back to the body, checking his pulse and breathing again. Weak, even weaker than before, and his eyes are open but unseeing. She doesn’t know where his mind has gone, but it’s gone someplace far away that she can’t reach.

    “I have it,” she whispers, ripping strips of cloth from her shirt and wrapping his wounds even though she knows it will most likely be too little, too late, the spreading red puddle around him serving as evidence. “Your quest. The map. Safe.”

  7. #7
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    @Origamidragons;

    <3

    Esperanza: Post 3

    Medium Mission:
    This mission requires at least one (?!) player, not including the NPC, with at least 15 IC posts from each character.
    Prize Package:
    • IC: P1,500, on top of normal money that would be received from posting
    • OOC: a Medium Pokemon of your choosing + 1 TM






    #4 // wc: 642

    Perception and sensation are a series of butchered satellites. He receives her words from somewhere, his life opening up just a little to the light that she brings to him. He wants, desperately, to hear of her tale of penance for that which broke. What is it from “before” that she aspires to fix, and what is the current state of “after”? All these questions spiral into Orhun faster and faster than he can ever answer, and he now feels the crippling dread of even the thought of nonexistence washing over him. “Don’t leave me,” he murmurs like a child when he feels her leave his side. Quiet delirium gently descends over his whole being. This time, he knows intimately of the listlessness of his body, the paralysis of perception. He can look forward. To turn his head would be too much energy. Yet in this state, eyes in the back of his head roll back, measuring her every step, hoping she’ll be okay among the fire and wreckage -

    The moment seems to span on for eternity. She returns, bearing him the map, pressing cloth into his body, reassuring him that his quest is simply on queue now. A wish from his heart wafts upwards to the sky and summons lightning that cracks the sky in two with its sound. Simultaneously, a similar light has swaddled Orhun’s soul.

    “Thank you,” he cries out.

    All lies still.

    Where Orhun’s pure soul and adventure ends is where another begins. As thunder follows the immense lightning, rumbling across the land, the heavy clouds bearing snow split apart. An ancient hulk crests through the clouds. A ghostly sheen lines the ship, whose whole body burns with gaping holes. From those holes, one can see the spirits of men and women, ghostly captives of the ship, peering down and praying for any below that might have saved them in a different life. Above, an enormous flag billows out, rife with scars and tears from war throughout centuries. The first ship in the fleet passes, heading straight towards the duo on the ground below; in a moment that proceeds impossibly fast, another ship from the ghost fleet swallows the wreckage of Orhun’s ship whole.

    “Aye, anothur ship fer us!” an orotund voice booms, a striking contrast to the natural rumble and tumble of the weather above! “N’ yer souls shall soon belong to us, too!” The ghostly second mate appears, mounds of rotting flesh help up by the broken spiritual force suspending its body. A pirate hat looms over his face, covering the exposed cornea and pupils that are anything but natural. Evil incarnate seeks not only the souls of the duo below, but also the map, the great map of the bandit Orhun who shipwrecked here! The pirate’s lazy and lolling eye lands on Esperanza, sizing the young lady up, hoping to seize her. “She’s the one, yuh scoundrels,” he proclaims, “the one with the map!”

    … But they are not yet as evil as the soul which sweeps into Orhun’s body. Shadows unseeable to the human eye, to protect their own souls from despair, shoot out from all sides of the boy. What emerges from the boy is not human. Unnaturally, the body steadily rises, the ankles spreading outwards in their broken form. Orhun’s black hair darkens a shade, his body lengthening before him. “I’ve waited ten years for this moment,” a deep voice rolls out. The body turns towards Esperanza, insidious in its intent. “Girl, give me the map before the pirates approach and I’ll help you escape alive.” The eyes finally pop open, revealing the deep crimson shade that soaks up pupil and cornea. Slight veins pop out near the eyes as the Pokémon within sharpens the senses of the boy, wincing as it adapts to the broken and still severely wounded form.

    MISTRAL IMMORTAL

  8. #8
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    (word count: 579)

    “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, her hands ceasing their frantic, desperate movement, pulling back to her sides. There’s nothing else she can do for him now, and she places a dirty hand over his as his soul flutters away. She can feel the moment when all the life goes out of him, the second of transition where he goes from being there to being someplace else, someplace she doesn’t know.


    For all that Esperanza knows about death, she does not know where souls go, but she hopes it is someplace where the sun is always shining and the birds are singing and there is no endless death and fighting. She hopes it is someplace better than here. Someplace where he can be at peace.

    Then a crack of lightning shatters the sky and the silence, and Esperanza’s head jerks up, and rolling thunder echoes off the mountains, and with one hand she slips the map into a safe pouch tucked among her furs as she rises to her feet. The map was his quest, and now he’s given it to her to fulfill, so she will. She’ll carry on.

    The hair prickles up on the back of her neck.

    danger, Espiritu snarls in her mind, hackles raised, danger run you are not safe here

    Then the ship appears half a second later and Esperanza’s feet are rooted to the spot, staring up with wide red eyes that have seen the impossible a hundred times before and yet cannot quite believe this. The map is warm in her pocket, and she forces herself to move, staggering back a few steps. She glares up at the ship, eyes narrowing, and her hands curl into fists, a growl ringing from her throat. She knows these mountains, knows them well. They’re her home, as much as any place can be for her.

    A shudder rolls across her shoulders despite her determination when the lolling eye lands on her, sizing her up like she’s food to be eaten, and she can’t even say she’s surprised that they’re after the map. It is important enough that a dying man would use his last words to ensure its safety, that he would be ready to let go knowing that it was safe. She needs to see the map, to get someplace safe and learn where it leads.

    First, though, she needs to escape. Right now they’re in the middle of a warren of canyons, and she knows them in a way she doubts anyone else does, even the dead. She can escape this.

    Then the body lurches to life, and she has to bring a hand to her mouth to keep from vomiting at the wrongness of it. It (it’s not a he anymore, it’s an it, a thing, an awful horrible thing that makes her skin crawl at the sight of it) forces itself to its stolen feet like a marionette handled by someone who doesn’t quite know how. She swallows the bile and fear rising in her throat and takes a step back, away from the monster.

    “No,” she says, and hates how her voice shakes, painfully aware of her own weakness and the pirates approaching fast. “No,” she repeats again. “Not mine to give away. Not your body to play with,” she snarls, lips edging apart to reveal teeth just a little too sharp to be human, and her voice isn’t entirely her own when she speaks the next words. “You don’t belong here.”

  9. #9
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    @Origamidragons;

    <3

    Esperanza: Post 4

    Medium Mission:
    This mission requires at least one (?!) player, not including the NPC, with at least 15 IC posts from each character.
    Prize Package:
    • IC: P1,500, on top of normal money that would be received from posting
    • OOC: a Medium Pokemon of your choosing + 1 TM






    #5 // wc: 722

    “You foolish child,” he snarls, “you know nothing of the power that map contains!” A slight shudder ripples through the newly-modified body of the once-boy as the spirit reacts to the teeth of the being before him. Knives sharpened on the shared consciousness of man and Pokémon. An odd sense of familiarity lies between the spirit and this lady, an abyss of meaning in this life as a Pokémon haunting a human’s body. A disturbing smile warps the face of the boy. Purple fangs jut out of its jaw, shaped crookedly in a twisted smile. He knows her kind.

    Before the being can further react, ghostly orbs of blazing fire plummet across the sky from the ship to their little outpost. The body of Orhun lurches outward like a doll tipping over, spreading the boy’s arms wide as if ready to fly. What emerges from the point in-between the tips of his fingers is liquid night, a tangible darkness so bright it covers the fire orbs whole. The energy collides with the ball of pirate-fire, easily the size of a human car, before expanding and sucking the energy away to a tiny point. “You say I don’t belong here,” the voice squeezes out in its hollow, insidious tone as it pulls on the strings of Orhun’s strained vocal cords, “but who are you yourself? I don’t think you gave that child, Orhun, the answer to your identity he was looking for. That poor, sad, dead fool.” The spirit waves Orhun’s hands like a wand, the point dancing in the spaces of his outspread fingers. The next moment, the spirit throws the broken arm in the direction of the approaching ships overhead. Blood shoots out of the wounded limb as the point volleys back towards its creators, a swirling vortex that sets the hulk of their ship afire with demonic fire and death.

    To face Esperanza, the spirit turns impossibly quickly. The weakened body almost cannot keep up as half the body above the waist lags behind to make the complete turn. “Are we not all playing with other bodies, my dear? Are you not the same?” A maniacal mind pulls harder on the remnants of the body, straining Orhun’s naturally gentle, open voice to become something that it could have never been in his real life. The broken arms shoot upwards, gesturing to Esperanza like their world is a stage and humans are simply the actors. “We control everything. Let the real you come out, you beast. Else I will fight off your human side for that map.” The voice is a whisper of the wind of a chaotic death wish.

    Overhead, the tiny point makes devastating contact with the hull, entering a hole of the ship to implode in a conflagration of colors. Everything is a fire, a nothing fire which erases and seeks less and less of the world to exist. Thick smoke billows out of the folds of the ghost ship, curtains that are drawn as beasts of legend emerge. Angry and anxious, the giant chains placed over writhing necks are drawn loose. Scar marks left behind on the necks, each the width of an ancient oak, pulse with the caked blood left behind as a marker of human destruction and cruelty. A roar splits the sky apart, blending in with the storm of thunder, lightning, hail, and rain above. The creatures are pushed to the edge of the bow, dragged to their breaking point by slavery mechanisms. Two sets of turquoise wings unfurl, batting heavily in preparation to drag the masses of their muscled bodies across a black sky and claim the lives of the one harboring the map. The ghost pirates cackle overhead, safe on their side of the ship, as they prepare to release disaster in three, two, one…

    “If you give me the map, I’ll make this all go away,” the spirit booms, almost amused with this display. The creature within fears no death. It has harbored in the vessel of the boy for ten years, waiting for its moment to inflict its agony upon the people of the new continent, to defeat everything the boy has built his life for in values of love and salvation. “Whoever you are, you silly creature,” it murmurs as the wings above begin to descent, straight towards them!

    MISTRAL IMMORTAL

  10. #10
    Origamidragons's Avatar
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    Spoiler:
    Time for a dramatic speech :o


    (word count: 427)


    “Maybe not,” Esperanza says softly, sliding back a few steps, red eyes narrowed into slits. When she sees the monster inside of the stolen body of the dead and selfless boy mutate the wrecked skin further, pushing fangs out of bloody gums, she almost averts her gaze, but forces herself to not falter. “Know it’s not yours.”

    Warm maroon eyes meet fiery blank ones, and do not look away.

    She does not look up when the sky explodes into ghostly fire, following it in her peripheral vision only. The monstrous pirates are not the priority right now. This possessing thing puppeteering a stolen body, standing only feet away from her, is. It’s a Pokemon, she realizes all of a sudden, and a shudder runs down her spine when she tries to compare Espiritu’s kind and almost motherly wisdom with this monstrosity.

    What is it? she asks Espiritu.

    i do not know,the Absol responds, and Esperanza can hear frustration in her tone.

    The monster asks her who she is, and she has to take a second to think. It is a harder question to answer than she would have liked. Her hands curl into angry, stubborn fists, long claw-like fingernails digging into her palms. Fury keeps her rooted in place, anger at this monster desecrating the dead, and when she speaks she is almost yelling, a snarl in her voice.

    “I am Esperanza Morales,” she says (and it has been a long, long time since she said that name aloud), before she takes a step back, handing the reins to Espiritu,and i am espiritu. I am hope,and i am disaster. You hurt peopleand we help them. I will never give you a single thing you want even if it means i die.”

    And you,” they say together, one voice mingling with itself in harmony, “are the beast here, and you will never get this map.

    The wings are descending behind the monster’s back, and she cannot be sure if the monster has seen them but a pull in her gut tells her it has not. In a moment she makes a choice.

    She jumps.

    She hoists herself onto a rock beside her, crawling to the top of it and then beyond, onto the snow-covered stone of the mountain, scrambling upwards on all fours and trying to get free of the danger zone as the dragons descend. The map is warm in the pocket against her heart, and she needs to get someplace safe, to read it, to learn what quest she needs to finish.

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