Keep Kitson alive.
Keep Kogan's mom alive.
Be miserable about the lack of food...at least the water is safe.
Shoot that Forsaken when no one is around. Filthy Forsaken.
Hug the %$#@ outta Kogan once I'm out. I miss him.
Don't cry in public.
Cry anyway.
Emra:
Keep Thun'tuk safe...even if he's been sleeping it all off. At least one of us can sleep.
Figure out these strange dreams...a giant white mountain...wide, green grass...a strange chanting.
Figure out what these whispers are...they're driving me crazy... I'm scared. Father, where are you?
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
Got possessed. The dreams are even worse.
Panic.
'Them':
Irritate as many people as possible.
Keep vassal safe. They're wary about harming their healer. Use this against them.
Gloat over the Troll more. We told them. We told them all.
A Goblin, bound by the belts of his fellow captives, sits back against the pillar, facing the wall of the cave. The sun shines bright outside the cave, but locked up inside, he has begun to experience night terrors, even in his wake. One might think that Geoni is safe from the worries that have haunted him before he was thrown into the cave, but they linger within his dreams. After days of starvation, kidney stone pains, and withdrawal from Felweed, he felt himself falling out of personal control, and when he knew that he needed to be restrained in order to keep himself under control, he asked his closest friends to go through with an earlier promise. When the spells of mania began to take their hold over him, he asked them to tie him up before another occurs. Yet, he escaped the jacket that tied his arms in place, and attempted to kill both of his friends, though not strong enough to do so. The spells come and go, his sanity trapped within his subconscious, his conscience the only thing able to pull him out of these bouts. In his horror, he would return to a state of awareness, only to find himself slamming Wuvvums into the ground. Overcome with stress and shock, his vision became fuzzy and he fell into a state of lethargy. This lethargy, which he falls back into when he's not in a state of night terror and mania, is what keeps him bound. He sees nothing beyond the fog and shadows, and feels a presence watching him, laughing. This, however, is not an illusion or hallucination. He is not dreaming.
He holds his hands before himself, as if in prayer, gazing into the fog and asking it, "Which is the nightmare and which is reality?"
07-04-2013, 08:32 AM (This post was last modified: 07-04-2013, 08:34 AM by Rowgen.)
I never got around to posting anything for Linevi, but here we go!
Music and To-Do List enclosed in the spoilers.
Spoiler:
Linevi Duskfeather
"Is this my punishment?"
She sat. That was all she ever did in the cave. She sat. Not as if she had much choice in the matter. She sat. She wanted to stand, to move, to pace around, to walk, to run, to escape, to get out of this cave . . . And she sat, because sitting was all she could do. No matter how much she could've wanted to, she couldn't stand, or move, or pace around, or walk, or run, or escape, or get out of this cave. She sat. She imagined her rear would've gone numb from all this sitting long ago, if it hadn't been for the fact that it . . . Had, in a way. She felt nothing. If she closed her eyes, she could've fooled herself into thinking she had no legs at all. She sat. It was driving her mad by now. She hated the feeling of living in a cage. She hated being caged; in the darkness, in the cave, on the island, by the pillar, in her own body. She sat. She hated sitting. If it weren't for the pillar, her stone pillow, she would've been crushed under the weight of her own body. She sat. She hated sitting. She hated the pillar, but it was relief. Relief from the pain. If she moved too much, the pain was unbearable. She had never before wanted to move as much as she did now. She wanted a way off of her rock prison. She wanted a way out of her stone cage. She felt an urge to walk, if even just to walk about the cave, if only just to pace around the island, if only just to take a single step. Her body was aching for movement, and yet she sat.
Starve.
Starve.
Starve some more.
Rationalize visual and auditory hallucinations due to starvation.
Have -extremely- vivid dreams.
Miss Endling.
Starve.
Find the Warpstalker Voragh killed and see if i can -stuff it in my face-.
A young orc lies not against a stone wall or stalagmite, but flat on his back. He stares at the ceiling wondering if he's ever going to see snow again. He is reminded how fresh the waters of Alterac Valley were. The water here only tasted like copper. Irogh found himself no longer able to stomach the foul waters. Perhaps if he had waited a little bit longer he wouldn't have been lost in the familiar throngs of stomach cramps. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a small smooth stone he gathered from the river. He looked at it as if it was food, and then set it down on his chest. He tried to swallow in preparation to eat but even that simple action was insufferable.
His attention remained on the river-rock upon his dirty leather jerkin. A haze of white began to catch his attention. It swirled above the small stone and a humanoid started to come into focus. The five-inch apparition looked like a dark brown Mag'har. So vivid to starving orc's eyesight was his blue and white armor. The Frostwolf tabard shone brighter than all the rest of the ghostly visage. A question formed but before it was even asked the spirit spoke. His voice was as smooth as velvet and seemed to soothe the orc closer to slumber. "Horig Rockfist. Son of Gorik Granitetoe." He hefts up a glimmering warmaul by one hand and continues to proclaim his proud heritage. "Wielder of the mighty Ice Breaker!" The tiny orc overturns the warhammer and lets it drop to the rock upon which he stood with a matching crash from the impact. His tone changes to that in which he started, and reverently concludes with "Shaman, of those who've gone before." The miniature figure points a tiny judgmental finger at lethargic orc. "What have you been doing pup?" Irogh raises a brow in response as the spirit raises the finger to point out to the crowd of people. "Does anyone even know you're here? Does anyone care? Do you care, Irogh son of Irkog Beardslicer? I think not. He would be ashamed the way you let that Dwarf walk all ov-"
Irogh reaches up to grab the stone and whip it off into the water with an irritated huff.
The true test of his choice lies forward. — The story of the Silithian.
07-04-2013, 11:57 AM (This post was last modified: 07-04-2013, 12:05 PM by Loxmardin.)
Today in KidnappedOOC:
21:47:12 [Emmit]: Turns out this is a reality tv show.
21:47:18 [Emmit]: There are cameras everywhere.
21:53:45 [Kagrune]: I figured it out.
21:53:52 [Kagrune]: We're in the Hotel California.
21:53:56 [Amalys]: xD
21:54:06 [Irogh]: I didn't check in, though.
21:54:15 [Myron]: That doesn't tell me anything.
21:54:42 [Irogh]: Tsk. Younglings. All of ya.
21:55:36 [Surthak]: There's plenty of room at the Hotel California.
21:56:02 [Amalys]: Such a lovely place.
21:56:16 [Surthak]: Such a lovely face.
21:56:50 [Irogh]: Someone go post that in the thread.
21:57:03 [Myron]: On it.
There's potential for some major development in the event tomorrow. People are encouraged to be on their Kidnapped characters towards the afternoon/evening (if only to RP with eachother!) and I'll see about DMing this all when I get online!
03:00:44 [Myron]: HNNNNGH.
03:00:47 [Myron]: NOW HE WON'T SLEEP.
03:01:16 [Avira]: SHE'LL MAKE SURE HE FALLS ASLEEP.
03:01:35 [Myron]: ... TUCK HIM IN, SING HIM LULLABIES AND PET HIS HEAD?
03:01:55 [Avira]: YES. SHE STILL HAS ELSAMINA'S SKIRT...SO THERE'S A BLANKET.
03:02:00 [Myron]: ... CREEPY!
03:02:28 [Avira]: TOTALLY NOT CREEPY AT ALL. *Tilts head awkwardly*
Sitting against the piller of the island, the woman known as 'Josie' stared at the wall. There was no emotion beyond terror. There was no response from her. While she hardly had any wound, she acted as though she were already dead.
It sure was a strange predicament he'd gotten himself into. Again, could be added. Just his luck, to be pulled into situations like these and it scared him how much his emotions had dulled in the face of this crisis. Crouching down behind the upper level's rock, squeezed between the half-boulder and the pillar, he wrapped his arms tightly around himself and peered carefully around it on occasion. Down below, people were still gathered around the spring and on the island where the wounded were being tended to. He still didn't want to go back down there, but he'd caught himself forcing his steps down there a good few times to catch up with the other captives. It was the least he could do to remind them (and himself) about his presence and keep himself from retreating too much into himself.
... It was a nasty place to be, right now. The spectre had left a turmoil in its wake; one he wasn't yet prepared to deal with. Myron was familiar with possessions by now, moreso perhaps than most would ever be. Not because he wanted to be, but because he was suspectible to them. He had to be, or he would never have had these experiences. Rubbing his chin gently, he tore his attention away from the crowd down by the spring, resuming his previous staring into the dark grey rock in front of him.
Nothing was more important than keeping your head square between your shoulders, right now. Myron had started struggling with this. His throat had been dry since a while back and no amount of water seemed to help this. His fingers had started trembling and the only way he hid this was to grip tightly onto his sleeves or close his hands to fists. Deprivation was starting to set in and he knew that all too well. At the very least, it wasn't felweed or anything similarly severe. He couldn't wait to get back to his cigars and his wine collection.
... He was lonely.
Gron:
Spoiler:
He wheezed. Had he been able to feel it, he was sure that his body cried out in pain right now. Despite that, he kept moving, knowingly pushing the limits of his body. He hadn't seen te shadow of his son in days, but sometimes he thought he could hear the boy's whimpers even through the tireless yelps and yaps of the Gnolls that surrounded him on all sides. He'd gotten used to them by now and knew how to shut them out of his ears, and the occasional shove or punch didn't seem to phase him much at all anymore. He just kept on moving, carrying on his business and putting his one healthy hand to good work to keep himself occupied. Today he'd been forbidden from walking down into the cave, though he'd never been given a real reason why. Knowing Greeneye, he could only assume it was an extension of his previous punishment. ... Gron wasn't one to argue. Not in the state he was in right now, at least.
That was all he could think about, his son. He'd zeroed in on him for his own sake, more than anything. He needed a focal point; something to reach for in order to keep himself moving. The boy needed him now more than ever, he told himself. In truth, he didn't know if the boy was here or even alive. Perhaps they were just pulling his leg and the boy had been dead this whole time. He wouldn't put that past Greeneye; nasty creature, that was. Too clever for his own good.
Nevertheless, he trudged on. If his son was still alive, maybe his droning on would ensure his continued safety. Just... maybe. He wasn't willing to risk anything else at this point. ... Even if that meant neglecting certain others.
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