Topic: Darkest Roleplay [WEALD 2]

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This topic contains 713 replies, has 9 voices, and was last updated by relishness oblivion relishness oblivion 2 years, 1 month ago.

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  • #260512
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    The enormous man would be dragged slow, spittles of blood seemed to lay in his wake as he was dragged away from Jean by his fellow companion Taas. His sensory parts of his body such as his eyes and ears, especially his hearing, were immensely dulled and blinded. But what seemed to remain however, was the sensation of the metal inside him, the foreign component of warfare blending at his muscles, from which blood seemed to ooze from the wounds… as if slowly biting a jammy donut. He growled louder, eventually seeming to howl in pain, which made it even worse,

    “Li-… bastar-..”
    Villon shrieked in his baritome voice, the tone of his voice clouded with a vivid sensation of pain… along with Death clouding the edges of his vision, a blackened swirl, that seemed terrifying… yet a sense of calm seemed apparent in the hue of such a daunting concept. With Taas’s tugging, the sharpnel seemed to squirm and bite at his muscles, tearing slow… with mindless malice.

    There was a muffled thud as he was set down on her thigh, yet he didn’t know where he even ended up, so he lay there… tormented by the vicious pain that stabbed at him. But what seemed rather calming, despite his wounds, was the fact that his facial expression connoted he was withstanding the pain to an extent. To not scream or bawl, he simply gritted his teeth and growled low. Of course, there were many other things that may upset the weak-willed: His body was riddled with shivers, an uncontrolable movement that he could not contain nor suppress. Blood seemed to dribble from his mouth, and push through the gaps of his teeth, the red ooze dripping slow onto the floor. Both hands seemed to twitch, and flex, mainly out of shock and pain-riddled agony that he suppressed.

    The dabbing of the disinfected burlap absorbed blood with every connection it made with the worst of his wounds, soon enough being a big wet piece of bloody fabric.

    “-I-…sorry…”
    Villon sputtered apologetically and quietly, almost like a whisper as he felt the corners of an unconcious state tickling at his mind, making his eyes flutter, but the pain and adrenaline seemed to be what kept him about.

    Anguish was all he could feel… guilt… and sadness seemed to wash over him. In his mind, he sat down at a small stool, staring directly at the door that Death seemed to knock on patiently. He seemed fine in his mind, no signs of blood or dreadful wounds marring his flesh. He seemed at ease, in the pitch black darkness of the interior of a small wooden cabin, with moonlight shining dimly on the door. With what he felt, emotionally, with what tore him down… he looked down silently, his large hand opening up to reveal a large keyring… with a dusty, iron key on its lonesome; dangling from the iron loop.

    “-L-leav… m-… n-t wor-th..”
    Villon blundered in anguish as his head lolled from side to side upon her thigh, his breath shaky and cold, yet the fire seemed to burn brightly still… even if in the center of the flame, it was cold.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #260536
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /Taas/

    Her head flicked upwards, looking to Nasuada and Mithra, then Tony with some contempt; though Parley had been made, she still felt violence in her blood and fingertips.

    Taas paused her idle cleaning to take a few breaths, her joints sore already, adrenaline draining at the sight of mild peacetime.

    “What a joke…” She muttered to herself as she tossed aside the wet rag, she flexed her fingers, feeling them struggle to open and close; she scooted to the side and loosened the clasp about her quilted shoulderpad: rolling it up into a bundle, she set it under Villon’s head after she removed the dagger within. She held the bandages in her free-hand.

    With some uncouthness, she collected Villon’s hands and set them about the handle of it; going so far as to point the blade between the man’s ribs. She stooped over him, kneeling, close to his face with severe intensity burning in her single eye;
    “… Thas up to you t’decide.” She rasped as she backed away, and pushed herself up; going after her ax to pick it back up with a decrepit hunch.

    //

    /The Ambusher’s Path/

    The rain was slowly subsiding, and only the severe runoff from the leaves in the canopy of the Weald made the illusion of downpour. The droplets were heavy and thick, no doubt rife with sap and residue from leaves and branches alike.

    Jean still lay in pained silence, while Tony tried to crawl against the receding tendrils towards the chest.

    Villon’s wound was only just cleaned, but barely worth the mention; Taas had left him with little more than a choice as she seemed to focus on Mithra and Nasuada as she acquired her ax.

    The fungal corpses were writhing rather pointedly; eagerly, almost rapturously in their rooted position. All in silence.

    Nasuada’s attempts to remove the bullet proved, thankfully, successful. The solid musket ball was about the size of two thumbs, three centimeters by her best guess.
    However, Nasuada’s motions had disturbed the wound; her unclean hands no doubt guranteeing infection, and the ball had been, more or less, sealing the worst of the bleeding; with it removed, it burbled out like a brook around a bend, free from some blocking boulder, before settling to a soft, stream-like flow.

    //

    /Jean/

    [INCAPACITATED]

    //

    /Tony/

    He gave no answer as he clutched his rifle to his chest and swiftly swept to Jean’s aid, kneeling in the wet mud, he pilfered Jean’s coat for the dagger the man had procured, before putting it to Tony’s own jack sleeve and sliced the thick material off, revealing the simple buttoned undershirt beneath.

    //

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #260541
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    He looked upon the dagger confused, the soft grip of leather and the tint of the blade upon the gloomy sky. He squinted, and eventually furrowed his brow through the wheezes and growls of pain. With a growing numbness fluxing at his fingers, he meagrely nudged the dagger off his chest, and into the mud beside.

    “N-nt… a… coward…”
    Villon rasped, sputtering up and letting out a violent cough, which made his insides curl and the pain soar. He twitched and shook, the sensation was tormenting him. He shuddered, gripping the dirt tight with his hands as they fell to the tainted earth, paralysed by pain, barely stifling a cry for help. His beard was mottled with his own blood and he shut his eyes tight, the adrenaline fading… leaving only pure willpower to see him through.

    “-Ngh… h-hel… help m-me… st-stand… w-wee… basta-rd..”
    Villon mumbled loud enough for Taas to hear, a grim chuckle whispering through those bloodied lips of his as he twitched and shivered blood dripping onto the dirt floor, each drop adding to a small puddle forming just below the wound. It was obvious he was doing his best to remain stable, especially remaining conscious.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #260547

    “Toss the bandages come on, we don’t have the time.” Nasuada said sternly, turning to Taas so she could catch the bandages if she threw them. Her eyes were darting back and forth though, between where Taas was and where the other two was.
    ——
    Mithra looked down, bloood steadily pouring out of her stomach, wondering what was happening as she regained feeling.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

    #261453
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /Taas/

    She’d just picked up her ax as she heard Villon cough and sputter, though her burning wulfenite hued eye was set on Tony and Jean as the former tended the latter. Her fingers tensed about the pole of the ax; one swing could fell them both in that instant, and she licked her lips as noise pounded in her head. It would be easy, and bloody…

    Her fingers flexed about the pole of the weapon one last time as her shoulders tensed, then relaxed as Nasuada called out for aid; the white haired mercenary looked to the similarly snow haired shadow weaver with sudden realization.
    Taas huffed, and held out the bandages to Nasuada; so she might see it, her brow raising before she tossed them underhanded towards Nasuada.

    She shifted and turned, making to walk back to Villon as he set aside her dagger: her long and cruel face was split by a pleased grin. Signaturely toothy, and markedly relieved as she opened up the rucksack to procure one of the remaining two rolls of bandages.

    //

    /The Ambusher’s Path/

    The clearing slowly misted, the dampness coalescing with the heat of the pained bodies collected within. The dark that surrounded it loomed and echoed with the sounds of wildlife.

    Whether it was paranoia, perhaps the mind rolling in panic to the wounds, or worse yet: reality; the noises that began to stir behind the dark alcoves of the Weald seemed to be more oppressive than anything.

    A shifting of branches and twigs to the left, or a wheezing fungal breath to the right.
    The Darkest Estate’s monstrosities were looming closer to the noise, the blood…

    //

    /Jean/

    [INCAPACITATED]

    //

    /Tony/

    His mind was awash with countless drills and practices; he knew what to do… It was a matter of doing it right, and quickly. Though, he couldn’t deny the flutter in his heart at all the blood. At one point, it was nigh fetishal in arousal; yet on the other, his friend lay dying before him.

    Tony’s hand brushed through the blonde hair of his comrade and huffed, shaking his head, as he saw to cleaning away the worst of the blood, before he removed a flask of what could only be alcohol and poured it over the wound, scoring a pained whimper from Jean, before the Deserter saw to the basics of treating the wound…

    //

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #261455

    Nasuada caught them, her mind racing despite her body being slow and sluggish. She started to dress the wound now, wrapping it around Mithra’s waist in a melodic rhythm.

    Her fingers were nimble, and in a few minutes finished. It wasn’t her best work but it would hold until they reached a doctor in the Hamlet. She sighed, which turned into a cough as swiftly as the ambience had.

    Her throat felt dry and she tasted blood, she felt sick yet she did not know how. She merely guessed it as her overuse of magic, and left those thoughts alone.
    ——-
    Mithra felt her waist tighten, she felt fingers gliding over her skin, she felt pain once more and it burned through her body like a plague. Her muscles tensed, and she felt the fire of life.

    She moaned in pain as she tried to move, and successfully pushed herself upright. It was torment but she could move, and would continue to until her body shut down.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

    #261472
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    Villon lolled his head up, his mind clouding with pain, but a stalwart, iron bar lay deep in his heart even still. His fingers dug into the earth, leaving behinds trails of dirt to be dug out as he dragged his fingers across the dirt; fighting the pain. He stared blankly at Taas, his skin colour began to fade back into a grim pale, his veins practically bulging out of his skin, visible upon his neck and hands. Sweat dripped down from his brow, he stiffled cries but his expression maintained a sense of fortitude and endurance, one to be admired indeed.

    “T-the-y hav-hav-e… boo-boze in t-h-at… do-doct… sh-shite… place..?”
    Villon coughed and winced yet again, seething sharply as he jolted again as he felt the sharpnel bite down at him. He let his head fall back, rasping quietly as he stared out into the vast darkness of the weald beyond the area that they were at the moment. Although he was determined to survive, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of horror strike at him as he gazed outward. An etheral shade of black, oozing, malforming and bringing about horrific thoughts that made him shiver, and the pain worsen.

    “-F-.. n-nee-need… fuc-kin’ w-wraps!”
    Villon hissed, his face going red from both anger caused by the pain, and adrenaline.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    #262512
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Bloodtrailkiller
    Participant

    /Taas/

    She nodded, taking a knee next to Villon with the bandages in hand; she looked over the damage with a look of concentration and determination. It was clear she’d had to do something of the sort enough to get a system of treatment down, as she freed up her hands and stretched out the gauze: holding the roll in one hand, while wrapping a thin layer around the fingers of the other.

    “Shut y’mewling, t’s only a bitty of a blast–”
    Taas began to dab at the places where shrapnel had sunk through his hide tunic and into his skin. Making the wounds cleaner and more apparent, while also brushing away lingering scrap. In the end, there were only six, admittedly gnarly, shards plugged into his torso.
    “–C’mon, c’mon stop it, ey? Quit squirming; gonna make things worse that way.”
    She grumbled, looking sternly at the older man before huffing, and going back to cleaning the wounds.

    Once that was finished, she tore off the bloody gauze and set it on her leg.
    “Alright, gonna need you t’get upright for me, yeah? Here, my arms: your arms.”
    She made vague circular motions for him to grab onto her, as she stooped a bit closer to his chest: her arms already starting to wrap around his and onto his back, ready to help him up.
    Whether he wanted to do so with or without assistance, her position would force him to move against, or with her.

    //

    /The Ambusher’s Path/

    The infected corpses began to sway a bit more vehemently; going so far as to make noise from their overgrown and molded maws.

    There was more rustling in the bushes, as well as snarls and chanting echoed across the boughs and trunks of the Weald. Some sounded just beyond the brush, others sounded miles away…

    [Nasuada/Mithra]

    The bandaging process was good enough to staunch the overflow of blood, but would come a little late; the bandage would soak almost immediately, requiring the practically the whole bandage, leaving her old wounds yet untouched.

    Mithra would suffer now from low blood levels; her head would be swimming, everything would feel cold and, indeed, sluggish. The most prominent sensation would be the heat pulsing from her old wounds with the Carrion Fiends.

    //

    /Jean/

    Through grit, sweat, and tears, he finally managed to come to actual and tangible reality. His suffering was appeased only by the alleviation of Death looming over his danger-close detonation.
    He looked about himself, to find regimented bandaging and field treatment of his wounds, signature to Tony who looked unnaturally fretful over him.
    Jean offered a little and wounded laugh, as he reached out and patted Tony’s cheek.
    “Ah, I am fine, my friend. Merci.”
    With that, he rested his head in the mud.

    //

    /Tony/

    With a sigh of relief, he let himself a moment of relaxation and rejuvination: a smile spreading over his plain features as his last comrade patted his cheek. Though, as he noted the infested’s rising activity, his face grew blank and stern once again.
    He looked up to the violent band of Hamlet Mercenaries, and huffed, as he looked down to Jean.
    Grunting, he slipped his hands underneath his comrade and carefully lifted the man up in his arms, mud and blood dripping from the body; the man’s silence was unnerving, but Tony had faith, as he looked over the group: hoping they realized his plight, before moving and standing beside the exit of the clearing. Hardly noticeable, but for the slightly trampled sticks and roots.

    //

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    -Vanitypirate
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

    #262535

    Nasuada slowly stood up, ushering Mithra to do the same. Exhaustion and a sickness plagued her, but it would not kill her yet.

    “Is he able to walk?” She asked Taas, but not focusing on her. She was focused on Tony with a worn expression, one that had an understanding vibe to it.
    ——
    Mithra tried to rise, failing once… Twice… Until the third time she finally got up. She clutched her glaive and stared at the fungal corpses with fear, the noises of the Weald adding to it. She just wanted to leave, to heal and maybe even leave this place.

    Press Start To Begin!- DAGames
    Life is the hardest game, what will you do to win?
    "You just gotta fist the boss to do more damage!"- GaLm, EtG.

    #262773
    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion
    Participant

    Villon did not speak in the process of his bloodied garments and exposed skin being cleansed. The ringing, the toiling of the bell that called yonder, seemed to fluctuate on occasion, from a high pitch toll… to a toll from the deepest depths of the void, calling out, to reach out and yank him down violently. His vision was still blurred, fighting to remain conscious. He was only a man afterall, no matter the bulk or size, the body had its limits. Altogether, his body was vastly numbed, especially in his legs. Yet, either by sheer willpower, or just through his mind over-exaggerating the numbness (which probably wasn’t the case), Villon managed to stand.

    Slowly, in pained sway and a throw of his arm over Taas’s shoulder; the executioner managed to rise, despite his grevious injuries. Fresh blood seeped from the sharpnel wounds that impaled his chest, along the varying wounds from past times amounting. Faint tremors in his legs, and the paleness in his skin, indicated his body was failing to manage due to blood draining from his system as time went on. Thankfully the bandages seemed to have helped clot the blood, but any intense movements such as running or fighting would lead to the clotted blood to open up the wounds once again.

    “I-I won’t fall, not ye-yet… got a job.. to do, to get you back!”
    Villon coughed weakly, blood speckling his palm as he covered his mouth, then returning to hold his chest after he was done. Yet… the odd, protective aura seemed to flow back into Villon if the lines of his tone were anything to go by, which indicated a sense of pride, and care. A father, even without children, still shelters those he cares for, even if they aren’t offspring to begin with.

    “Death c-can… wait.”

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

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