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  • Locked thread
sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk


sebmojo posted:

Twisting in the Queef Wind with Djeser Brawl

The flood is coming; what is to be saved and what is to be lost?


Ironic Twist posted:

TWISTA VS. DJ ESCHER FLOOD BRAWL

Antumbra
639 words

We are a dying race, and we accept it. We live with our own death everyday. A lovely and poetically intriguing opener.

Iím standing at the mouth of the tunnel that leads into our sector questionably vague this early. you tend towards teh floaty and pinning that down with clear evocative images early on is probably a good idea, working as a sort of night watchman bland. One good thing the invaders vague did when they came, drove us below the surface of our planet, was help us evolve, become closer to ideal beings. this is a bland and flabby para

I can no longer see, hear, or speak. But I can discern that the mile-long tunnel in front of me contains no exhaled breath, no shifting skin. No threat whatsoever. whereas this is fine because of teh detail

Certainly not the invaders. They only exist in our shared thoughts, fables from generations ago, back when our race was still unafraid. Before we became shadows burnt onto walls. nice phrase

All at once, I feel a creeping dread, some chilling rake GEE WHILLICKERS SHAGGY IT'S A GGGGGHOST across my brain.

My form tightens, and the dread goes away, replaced by a familiar feeling, the feeling laughter would give you if it were something you could touch.

I feel her voice behind me: Anything else crawl up behind you tonight, Ayin?

Donít scare me like that again, Cedilla, I send back.

Fear is my favorite emotion, Cedilla sends, her tones ricocheting through me and in me. It makes me feel human.

I send warmth back to her. This is how we communicate now. I know Cedilla more intimately than any human ever could. We hold each other in beds made of reassurance and comforting thoughts, press each other up against the walls of our own bodies, share sentiments that no imperfect tongue could produce with sound. you're sort of nailing the conversation here it's weird adn touching

Iím only on duty for a little longer, I send to her. I hate being on the outs.

I can find you anywhere, Cedilla sends back. You canít hide fRoM mEó

Something is wrong. Her tones are beginning to waver, scatter.

All around me I can sense something new. My feelings and thoughts seem like theyíre expanding, pressing against the sides of my form. At the far end of the tunnel, something is poking a hole into me, a small, irritating feeling thatís growing greater by the second.

I try to tell myself itís someone I know, but my heart sinks bland, cliche as I know better.

WhATís haPPEnINGósends Cedilla.

Shadows quickly shrink into nothing on the tunnel walls as the light floods towards us. Theyíre a glowing swarm, messily devouring every crumb of darkness from the crevices lining the burrowed earth. I feel the sound of something burning, matter being scorched away into nothingness.

Time slows down as they speed up. I know I only have a few seconds.

Thoughts race through my head like a neverending stream of electric shocks this simile has a degree from teh university of being terrible. Theyíre here again. Finally. Finally here to wipe out the lot of us cliche. I should warn somebody. I should tell Cedilla to run. It wonít do any good, theyíll catch us. Maybe one of us can make it to the Sector and warn everyone. Maybe we have a chance to fight back. What weapons do we even have? How can we even defend ourselves? dunno dude, you're the authoer u tell me

I only have time to leave her with one thought.

CeDillA, gET dOWn, I send with all of my strength.

She hesitates, and I return the heavy dread she sent me. She recoils, hunches down without giving herself time to think.

I throw myself over her, drape my form around hers, and then they are upon us.

Iím staring directly into the sun and being eaten by it, eyes first. Pain washes over me as they advance, yet still I hold steady, shielding Cedilla from their force.

I am disintegrating. My thoughts are bursting out of me, washing over her like blood.

The light is starting to fade, and so am I.

I place the last bit of me against the base of her mind like a goodnight kiss: Tell them not to hide. okay, this last passage is beautiful and pays off the whole thing really well, but there's way too much flab and piffle for the story to work properly. Still, plenty of good words and phrases and the idea is clever.

quote:

Gardens
728 words

Ammur kept a cemetery garden behind his house. The stelae stood scattered but intentional, like the peaks on the horizon. this is a fine bit of Calvinoing, but i don't see how peaks are intentional. A forest grew between and around them, with irises and soft grasses in place of cedar trees. The air was always fresh like the banks of the river, the soil like loam. Each of the stelae told the story of one of Ammurís ancestors and the minor glories that were the world to them. huh? this is like 90% of the way to an awesome opener, just needs some tweaking

The cemetery garden was there in the time of Ammurís grandfather, who showed it to his father prob want a name here to reduce confusion. By the time Ammurís father walked him through the garden as a young boy, the clay was chipped and worn and all that grew were the dry weeds that can thrive without water. His father remembered the stories the clay hadnít kept, and told them to Ammur over and over. over and over is a bit weird tense-wise, which is important since you're telling quite a complicated sort of tale with it

As a boy, Ammur carried pails of water from the river to water the garden. As a young man, he found an apprenticeship with a stonecutter. As a man, he was stonecutter for the cityís king. In his spare time, he crafted new stelae for the cemetery garden, grander than the faded figures, in strong stone instead of clay. He continued to bring the water from the river. He found a wife, and soon, he would have a son.

The edict came from a distant king-of-kings: a dam was being built further down the river. It would bring regular water and an end to harsh floods to all the cities along its banks. The new lake would be named Ashnurrabispal in honor of the king, and it would flood the valley Ammur lived in. The king-of-kings was gracious, and each family in the valley was given one donkey to carry the load. fleet and elegant plotting

Ammur stood before the king-of-kingís official. ďMy family needs two donkeys,Ē he said.

ďDo you have a special need?Ē the official asked. Ammur wanted to lie. It wasnít a sense of honor that held him back, simply a lack of words. haha, this is a great line

ďI have my ancestorsí stelae to carry,Ē he said.

ďThere arenít enough donkeys for everyone to carry the dead,Ē the official told him.

Ammur returned with only one donkey. It was enough for his wife, heavy with his son, and for his tools, and for their beds and blankets and pots in a cart behind it. It was not enough for the stelae. He let his wife leave ahead of him.

Into his spare cart, he hauled the stones, one by one. The village drained as he toiled, pouring into a long stream along the road, away from the banks of the river. Laden with the nineteen stones, leaving behind the flowers and grasses that could be regrown, he took the handles of the cart and began to pull.

The trail of people was shrinking into the distance as Ammur left the town. The wheels of the cart struggled against the ground. With every stone they shook, and every tremor burned his palms. The rising water came gently, but steadily. Muddy waves lapped at the side of the road. Ammur continued, despite the burning in his chest and hands and across his brow.

The thickening river mounted the road. Ammurís feet splashed and sunk into the thirsty ground as it grew wet and thick. His cartís wheels dug deep into the mud. He pulled harder, but the weight of the stones kept the wheels rooted in place. He leaned into the weight and twisted his heels as hard as he could. The axle bent under the strain and snapped. The water lapped at
Ammurís heels as he let go of the cart. He stood in the rising water, looking at the carvings, the memories that had given him peace for so long. He gathered the memories and left the stones behind. that's fairly beautiful

In his new home, off of the banks of the new lake, Ammur saw his son born. And when his son was old enough to listen, he told him the stories of their ancestors and the minor glories that were the world to them. And he told his son of the cemetery garden, with stones like the mountains, scattered and deliberate, and its forest of irises and grasses and soft loam.

Ammurís son began to bring pails of water from the shore of the lake, to soften the soil for planting irises. and you stick the landing. This is a good story, that needs another edit to really sing. The characters are all ciphers so the idea of the memories is a little juiceless; but that's an easy enough thing to fix. Strong work.

Judgment

I read these two and thought they were even, at first, which is an indication of how much I like Twist's turn of phrase and wonkily compelling ideas; but, really, it's a fairly easy win to Djeser for a richly crosshatched metaphor about memory that is full of good words and nails the prompt .

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Ironic Twist
Aug 3, 2008

I'm bokeh, you're bokeh


Thanks, sebmojo.

Congratulations Djeser, well done.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






MERC-BRAWL 8: HITMAN MONKEY



For this week, four brawlers will be tasked to write 1,500 words about a contract killer who is also a monkey. "Waaah, Mercedes has lost his touch! This prompt is boring!" gently caress you! Your Hitman Monkey must have a human sidekick. The genre is wide open to you, but I swear to God if you give me erotica or poetry I will defecate in a dog bowl and smoosh your face in it.

Please take a step into the Prize Vault and have a look around. Instructions are inside. If you sign up to brawl you will be 'd to finish. When you finish your story and post it here, you get a sweet video crit from yours truly.

The due date is Wednesday, January 21st 2359 EST.

Who are my killers?

Fanky Malloons - The Silent Killer
Morning Bell - The Happy Killer
Martello -The Christmas Killer
Tyrannosaurus - The Jurassic Killer
Screaming Idiot - The BLARGAHRAGARAGA Killer
No. 48 - The Bald Killer

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 17:34 on Jan 18, 2015

Fanky Malloons
Aug 21, 2010

Is your social worker inside that horse?


Mercedes posted:


Who are my killers?

Yes. Me. I will do the thing.

Morning Bell
Feb 23, 2006



Illegal Hen

Mercedes posted:

Who are my killers?


I will be your killer

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


monkeys + guns = my life irl

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn't stop to think if they should!

td19


I like to kill.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


in other words: put me in, x-mar

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn't stop to think if they should!

td19


same

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk


Last call for flash rules, going cheap

SadisTech
Jun 26, 2013

Clem.


sebmojo posted:

Last call for flash rules, going cheap

Flash me, flash me hard

asap-salafi
May 5, 2012


Can I can still sign up for this weeks Thunderdome? Generate a title for me please!

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk


SadisTech posted:

Flash me, flash me hard

Flash rule: arithmetical incontinence.

Maugrim
Feb 16, 2011

I eat your face



asap-salafi posted:

Can I can still sign up for this weeks Thunderdome? Generate a title for me please!

You're good. Signups close in 23 hours and 10 minutes.

Your prompt is: Its Fire Torments It (word limit: 910)

Maugrim fucked around with this message at 00:53 on Jan 16, 2015

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

asap-salafi posted:

Can I can still sign up for this weeks Thunderdome? Generate a title for me please!

whoa. living TD legend right here.

The most failingest person to have ever joined TD.

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=asap-salafi

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


Balls, I want to join your brawl Merc, but I was at work while everybody signed up Room for one more? Or do I have to make room?

*opens switchblade*

Benny the Snake fucked around with this message at 02:13 on Jan 16, 2015

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk


Benny the Snake posted:

Balls, I wanted to join your brawl Merc, but I was at work Room for one more? Or do I have to make room?

*opens switchblade*

Flash rule no mention of switchblades ever again this is one of'em rules that follows ya round like the eyes of La Gioconda, you feel me

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


sebmojo posted:

Flash rule no mention of switchblades ever again this is one of'em rules that follows ya round like the eyes of La Gioconda, you feel me
Yes, sir.

Fanky Malloons
Aug 21, 2010

Is your social worker inside that horse?



(Semi) serious anthropological question: When you say monkey, are you including great apes, or only the lesser primates?

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk


Fanky Malloons posted:

(Semi) serious anthropological question: When you say monkey, are you including great apes, or only the lesser primates?

omg you are such a nerd

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


sebmojo posted:

omg you are such a nerd
I think a full-grown ape would be a more badass hitman than a monkey

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003

by Nyc_Tattoo


Benny the Snake posted:

I think a full-grown ape would be a more badass hitman than a monkey

An ape is a kind of monkey, though.

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


newtestleper posted:

An ape is a kind of monkey, though.
Wait, I thought it was one of those "all rectangles are squares, but not all squares are rectangles" thing

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003

by Nyc_Tattoo


Benny the Snake posted:

Wait, I thought it was one of those "all rectangles are squares, but not all squares are rectangles" thing

All rectangles are squares, but contrary to popular belief a square is a fruit not a vegetable. Tell that to your salad!

DreamingofRoses
Jun 27, 2013


Nap Ghost

newtestleper posted:

An ape is a kind of monkey, though.


If it doesn't have a tail, it's not a monkey.

Seriously, though, they're both primates and simians, but apes aren't thought of as monkeys.

DreamingofRoses fucked around with this message at 03:08 on Jan 16, 2015

Ironic Twist
Aug 3, 2008

I'm bokeh, you're bokeh


You say "po-tay-to", I say "stop this pointless tangent of words".

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


Edit:never mind

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003

by Nyc_Tattoo


DreamingofRoses posted:

If it doesn't have a tail, it's not a monkey.


This isn't right. A gorilla is the only kind of monkey that can mate with a human.

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


newtestleper posted:

This isn't right. A gorilla is the only kind of monkey that can mate with a human.
...something you wanna tell us, dude?

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003

by Nyc_Tattoo


Benny the Snake posted:

...something you wanna tell us, dude?

I want to tell you to spend twice as much effort on brawling about aeronautical orphism and this weeks TD entry, and not enter any more brawls simultaneously.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007

Friend to Crows
Lover of Fungi
Queen of Blood


Clapping Larry

Shut Up And Write

Benny the Snake
Apr 10, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES


Okay

Screaming Idiot
Nov 26, 2007

JUST POSTING WHILE JERKIN' MY GHERKIN SITTIN' IN A PERKINS!

BEATS SELLING MERKINS.


Fun Shoe

I would like to write about a hitman monkey.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






1. mon∑key
ˈməNGkē
noun
A small to medium-sized primate that typically has a long tail, most kinds of which live in trees in tropical countries.

2. Benny, you are already in a brawl, buster, AND you're doing this week's prompt. I'm gonna say no because of #3

3. I'll make an exception for Screaming Idiot and I'll let you join the brawl.

Remember: By joining this brawl, you are also 'd to complete it!

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 06:09 on Jan 16, 2015

Idle Amalgam
Mar 7, 2008

Hey, if some hillbilly comes up to me, I'm gonna lash him in the face, that's all.

[Best GM 2013-2015]


Maugrim, I'm a terrible human being with terrible tastes. Will you generate me a metal prompt that kicks me in the nads and washes my palate clean of my previous poor decision?

Maugrim
Feb 16, 2011

I eat your face



Doctor Idle posted:

Maugrim, I'm a terrible human being with terrible tastes. Will you generate me a metal prompt that kicks me in the nads and washes my palate clean of my previous poor decision?

Did you just change your mind and then pre-empt my insulting you for it? Who the gently caress do you think you are ugghhhhh I'm gonna castrate you with a garden rake and feed your gonads to the pigs

I suppose if it will result in a better story you can have:
Glorious Altars Of The Blood-red Insanity


Edit:

Less than six hours till signups close

Also, in an effort to encourage staggered submissions,

I will (at some point) do line crits of any entry submitted more than 24 hours before the final deadline

Maugrim fucked around with this message at 18:23 on Jan 16, 2015

Megazver
Jan 13, 2006


I am IN with Insufferable Commandments Of The Pagan Shrine.

Maugrim
Feb 16, 2011

I eat your face



Signups are now closed.

I can't wait to find out in what creative ways you're all going to fail me.

painted bird
Oct 18, 2013

by Lowtax


Defiling The Dark Corpses
998 words

Anzu Menelik lies on a table under a paraffin lamp, his head resting on a textbook of spirit-binding. He's a page's thickness away from a doze when the basement door slams open, the patter of his twin's tread almost lost in the heavy beat of his master's. A pungent, unfamiliar smell reaches his nostrils and he gags, his face twisting. He's smelled a great many corpses in the past few years, but nothing like this. It surpasses even the revenants his master raises. He hops off the table, the high heels of his boots clacking on the floor.

"Darlings," he says. "What the blazes have you dug up this time?"

Siris, his twin, grins and winks at him. Master Raimut remains impassive. Slung across his atlassian shoulders is a sack too small to contain the human body Anzu had expected. Anzu stares.

"No, ah, really," Anzu says. "What--"

"You'll see," says Siris. Her grin broadens. "It's bloody amazing." Raimut gives her a sharp look and tosses the sack down onto the table. It splits, revealing a slimy, black-furred flank. The corpse smells worse than wet gangrene, with an undertone that bypasses Anzu's nose and twists his stomach. He gags again and turns away to dry-heave. Raimut snorts.

"Really, Anja?" he drawls. "Man up."

Anzu shudders and looks back at the corpse, not touching it. Whatever it had been, it's mangled, missing half its head. Anzu can only tell for sure that it once had four cloven-hoofed legs. There's an air of wrongness about it that's not quite a real aura but not quite his imagination.

"What is it?" he says, weakly. Siris shrugs.

"We think it was a goat," she says. "Not the important bit. It's, er. A former vessel."

"Vessel," Anzu repeats, with numb lips. He steps away from the table and tears off his fur stole and suit jacket, tossing them back over his shoulder. "Vessel! Why didn't you say so, dearest?"

Raimut crosses his arms, watching the twins with hooded eyes.

"I wanted you to figure it out for yourself," he says. "A little ... challenge, as it were."

Anzu barely hears him - he's rolling up his sleeves and hunting for the sharpest scalpel in the metal tray, hands trembling with excitement. He's never been so close to a formerly-possessed animal that was so marvellously intact. He's never even caught a glimpse of one that wasn't a mess of bloody chunks and scraps of fur. The low spirits ride their victims hard.

He pulls the torn sack off the corpse and drops it under the table. Beside him, Siris leans on the table. Her grin has faded, but there's a sharp, hungry look in her eyes.

"All right, dearest," Anzu breathes, turning the goat onto its back. "I've got this, so you just, ah, bear witness, would you? I'll ... I'll examine it and-- and-- see where the spirit dwelt and--" He pauses to compose himself, resting a hand on the goat's chest. Through the whirlwind of excitement, he realises there might be a paper in this and laughs aloud. Let's see the Academy dismiss him as a profane butcher then!

A faint, almost imperceptible pulse shudders under his fingers. Anzu glances down, frowning, and the goat strikes out at his nose with a hoof. He yelps and jerks backwards, almost falling over. He grabs the edge of the table, head craned away from the goat. The goat's legs spasm, kicking at the air. The remains of its head toss, sending blood and flecks of brain flying. A chunk smacks wetly into Anzu's cheek. The goat's body convulses, thumping against the table.

Either the spirit has not entirely fled the vessel or the goat isn't dead yet. Anzu's not sure which is worse.

He reaches out, hand trembling, and clamps down on the goat's neck, squeezing until he can feel its trachea crack. The goat arches its back, jaw grinding, ears flicking. It rocks its torso back and forth, until it wrenches its neck free from Anzu's hand and falls to the stone floor.

It lands at Raimut's feet, the skin of its belly splitting open. Viscera, blackened and putrefying, spill over his shoes. Raimut wrinkles his nose and takes a step back. The goat shudders and rocks. The stubs of its hooves scrabble for purchase on the floor. As Anzu stands rooted to the ground in shock, the goat hauls itself toward him, jaw chewing.

Anzu shrieks and throws his scalpel at it. The blade nicks its sole eye, bursting it. Vitreous humour sprays everywhere but the goat is unimpeded. Anzu reaches for the heaviest thing nearby - an amputation knife, curved like a farmer's sickle. He brandishes the knife at the goat, preparing to throw it, too. Raimut chuckles.

"What do you think that's going to do?" he says.

Anzu keens in terror. The goat crawls on, its intestines dragging on the floor, leaving a slug's trail of bile. The skin and muscle slough off its side. One of its back legs gently parts ways with its pelvis. The goat stretches its neck, jaw chomping, tongue reaching for Anzu's boot.

"loving bind it or something!" Siris yells, her voice hoarse. "Before it rides you!"

Anzu kicks the goat, sending it skidding across the floor, under the table. He drops to his knees and pushes his thumb against the tip of the amputation knife. The pain shakes him, empties his mind. Teeth grit, he smears a sloppy rune of binding on the floor with his blood. It comes out crooked, but the goat gives one last twitch and falls still. Anzu sticks his injured thumb into his mouth, shaking from adrenaline. The vessel is ruined, he thinks, blankly. There goes the paper.

Raimut grunts and shoves him aside. He picks up what's left of the goat and deposits it onto the table.

"How much," he says, "do you think the Academy will pay for a bound low spirit?"

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SadisTech
Jun 26, 2013

Clem.


Prompt: The Miasma and the Leprosy
Flash: Arithmetical Incontinence
Words: 790

Svarngrim the Reaver

In the foul depths of winter, when darkness ruled daylight, and sea-spray ice-coated the Thane-hold's great door, the mist came a-creeping. Thick-stinking and silver, it coiled through the village, and animals fled to avoid its cold touch.

Svarngrim the Reaver, many kills to his glory, stood proud-shouldered, gaunt in his dire-bear furs, and stared up the mountain. Mist rolled down upon him. He knew it uncanny. Though fear did not touch him, disquiet rose within.

Three nights fell the fog, and the youngest, the oldest, had the the taint of the mist graven into their skin. A fever, a weakness, and silver-scaled peeling. Nails sloughed from their fingers and blood wept from their gums.

Svarngrims-son Jutan had counted twelve summers. Strong-limbed and handsome, now shuddering sick. He called for his father: "The mountain cries to me. It whispers of knowledge that men should not know.

"Your shield on the wall? The handspans across it would encircle its rim an accounting of three; and then one part of ten, and four of one hundred, and one of one thousand and the numbers go on; they go on forever and keep getting smaller and they burn in my mind like the mountain at dawn."

And Svarngrims-son Jutan tore his face with his fingers, and the tearing of soft-silver skin only stopped when his father released him. There was almost no blood. The boy's strong-limbed body was hollowed and husk-like; and so Svarngrim's soul.

The mist-stricken villagers writhed and spoke numbers; they screamed of the angles of doors and of stars. They counted the reeds in the roof and the matting, and numbers flowed from them like piss at a straw-death. Their bodies decayed as their minds caught aflame.

And always the pull to the mountain within them.

Donned Svarngrim his doom-armour, blackened and bristling. Donned he his great cape of dire-bear fur. Donned he his corpse-paint, sign of a dead man, a warrior lost to the warm halls of life. He took up his shield with the sigil of Wotan, and took up his great-axe, reaper of men.

To the mountain came Svarngrim, skin growing silver beneath the stark corpse-paint smeared on his face. Climbed he the slopes where the foul mist came rolling, leaping the chasms with uncaring ease.

The numbers plucked at him, frothing and hissing. Found they no purchase on icy resolve. Waves of equations came tumbling and crashing, only to break upon his steadfast shores.

Svarngrim the Reaver came climbing the mountain, only death in his heart, only death in his mind.

'Neath the peak of the mountain a cave stood in waiting. The plague-mist came trickling in gouts from its mouth. A fish-belly glow shone within the dank tunnel; Svarngrim readied his weapons and bellowed his rage.

The challenge was answered in crystalline echo. The source of the mist stood revealed in the cave. A larval-white body, pulsating and throbbing, and jetting forth spray in a manner most vile. Around it, attendants of spidery glass-stuff, ticking and clicking and stroking its bulk.

From the ringing of echoes an eldritch voice sounded: "Mighty Svarngrim, we pray that you hold your axe fast; we offer you wonders and give you forever. Do not act in haste until you understand."

Then the Reaver reeled back at the highest of horrors; voice of Svarngrims-son Jutan came forth from the mound. Spoke the pulsating worm: "They have caught me within.

"Their web of cold numbers entangles my spirit. A world built of figures and smoke and no more. And they tell me that I shall live in here forever.

"LAY THEM WASTE, FATHER. SEE THEM ALL BURN."


And Svarngrim leapt forward and the great-axe was singing, and the Reaver was chanting a song of his death, his voice hoarse and rumbling as he cried of destruction, and the spider-things shattered before his great wrath. Their razor-legs cut him and pierced him; but bloodless was Svarngrim, and hollow his flesh.

"Why cleave to this world?" chimed the great pulsing creature. "We bring you forever in order and grace, yet you choose death and ignorance, darkness and squalor. The strongest man, Svarngrim, in this pitiful world -

"But the biggest maggot in a vast rotting carcass. We would set you free and enlighten your mind."


Upon it spat Svarngrim. Raised he his great-axe, holding it high. His death, creeping into the edge of his vision; one perfect blow lying coiled in his heart.

"Order and grace are creations of weakness. Free? I am free by my own force of will. Your knowledge is worthless. The darkness will have you, fight it or no; embrace it and own it and welcome your end."

Howled down the great-axe. Screaming, the creature. Laughing fell Svarngrim into the night.

  • Locked thread