Trouble Seems to Follow Chapter 5
Tuesday, June 24th, 2014 10:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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mindcrackloveAN: Sorry for the lack of updates everyone! I've just been kinda busy with real life. Heads up on this next chapter for gore, Im usually against spoilers but I don't want anyone being disturbed by what happens.
The mighty King Davion stumbled into his bedchamber, clutching the bandage on his right shoulder. He was being followed close behind by his personal servant, the squire called Dinnerbone. “Sir, the bandage needs to be changed again. In fact, the wound might need to be stitched. Sir, please don’t try to undress, you’ll disturb the wound.” He reached out to stop Vechs, who had attempted to remove his shirt to change into his sleeping garments. “Sir, please, let me change the bandage.”
Vechs fell onto his bed, wincing and groaning from the pain in his shoulder. “Just fix it, Dinnerbunny, it hurts!” he wailed, using an old childhood nickname. The king, now having lost all of his dignity in that room, rolled over like a puppy begging to be petted, save for the fact he was actually in quite a lot of pain from the arrow wound in his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have tried to take out the arrow in the battlefield.” Dinnerbone scolded, sitting down next to his friend and master. After removing the offending shirt for Vechs, Dinnerbone carefully began to unwind the bandage, trying to keep from causing Vechs any more pain. Even so, pained gasps and grunts filled the room. “Sorry, sir.” Whether the words were necessary or not was irrelevant, they were coming out anyway. The look on Vechs’s face made them feel necessary. “We’re going to need to stitch it up, it’s deeper than we thought.” Dinnerbone muttered, standing up and walking across the room for the first aid kit in the vanity. Noticing that the sun was going down, he lit a candle sitting in front of the mirror, taking it with him back to Vechs’s side. Dinnerbone removed a spool of thread and a needle from the small box. Taking the candle in one hand, he ran the needle through the flame to clean it. This wasn’t his first experience with wounds, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “This is going to sting a bit, but it will be over soon, my liege.” He warned Vechs, gently pushing off the green goggles in case of headaches. Threading the needle, Dinnerbone pushed the tip through the flesh close to the edge of the wound. Vechs was breathing through his teeth, trying as hard as he could not to cry out. Dinnerbone frowned, having sewn up about half of the wound. It was closing up nicely, likely to leave a fairly large scar, but it wouldn’t become infected or cause the king anymore pain. But Vechs’s huffing from the needle broadcasted his current pain, which must have been great, for Vechs was a very humble king who bore great pains for his kingdom regularly. Dinnerbone tied off the thread, cutting it with his own teeth. He opened a bottle of whisky, balling up some of the nearby sheet and requesting that Vechs bite down on it, as this was going to sting a lot. Once the rolled sheet was firmly placed between royal teeth, Dinnerbone poured a portion of the whisky onto the stitches. Vechs bit down on the sheet, screaming muffled by the impromptu gag. Dinnerbone rested his hand on Vechs’s bare chest, waiting for the king’s breathing to calm down before carefully wrapping a fresh bandage over the stitching. “We’re finished, sir.”
Vechs was panting, having spit the sheet out, striving to catch his breath. “I swear to the Light, bun-bun, you’d be a great surgeon.”
“I couldn’t be a surgeon Vechs, sir.” Dinnerbone chuckled, looking away out of embarrassment, “I’m too busy being your squire.”
“Is that getting in your way?”
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Silence filled the room, the flickering candle casting moving shadows on the walls. “I should leave you to sleep, sir. You’ve had a long day, and it’s the least you deserve after your efforts on the battlefield.” Dinnerbone rose, packing the first aid equipment back into the box and placing it on the wardrobe.
“Good night, Dinnerbunny.” Vechs propped himself up on his right elbow, smiling at his squire.
“Good night, Vetchus.” Dinnerbone smirked back, using the other’s childhood nickname, and blowing out the candle as he left.
Vechs collapsed back onto his pillow, already in much less pain, but absolutely exhausted. He began to fall asleep, vision blurring as he shut his eyes. Everything of the waking world began to fade into oblivion; even the squeaking of Fwapa’derp became inaudible.
Vechs found himself standing in a white room, floating in the air. He began to fall, but the speed of descent made it pleasant. Vechs spread his arms, now fully aware that he was dreaming, attempting to fly.
The first sign he had that something was wrong should have been that he couldn’t.
The room faded to darkness, grey-flecked black stones suddenly surrounding Vechs. He felt like he couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, the walls felt as though they were closing in on him. He punched at the walls, genuine fear driving his fists. ‘Wake up,’ he was telling himself, ‘it’s only a dream, wake up!’ But he couldn’t. It was as if his eyes were glued shut. Eventually, he did punch through the wall, knuckles bleeding. Could you even bleed in a dream? Vechs didn’t know anymore. Tearing at the stone, he carved out a hole large enough to climb through, happy to be free of his prison. Stumbling, coughing, fearing for his life, and wondering if this wasn’t really a dream after all, Vechs had just discovered he had found his way into a world of flaming brimstone and molten rock. Swarming everywhere were undead swine the size of full-grown men, clad in leather pants and wielding golden swords, and charred skeletons several feet taller than the walking porcine carrying crude swords of stone. Within moments he was being attacked, the pigs pulling at his skin- had he been wearing clothes? He wasn’t anymore if he was before- burning him and tearing off his flesh. Every wound grew new and fresh after each assault, only to be destroyed again by the pigs. The flesh replaced was that of his attackers, rotten flesh of swine. The fire singed his bones, staining them black. He was doused in molten rock, feeling himself become part of the stone encasing him before his assaulters tore him free of it.
One pig was larger than the rest. More rotten, as well, having half of his face missing, revealing the skull beneath. But it wasn’t that that made Vechs’s skin crawl. Taking the place of the pig’s - man’s? – eye was a single pulsing red light. The pig-man, as that was all Vechs could think of calling the creature, approached, leaning in closely to Vechs’s face. “This is what awaits you.” the pig-man spoke, taking the smoldering tip of a torch and holding it dangerously close to Vechs’s face. “This is what you’re going to become.” The glowing torch hovered millimeters above Vechs’s eye.
“Embrace it.” The pain of his burning eyeball was all-consuming, distracting him from his burning, rotting flesh and bones. He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn’t open. He struggled in the arms of his captors, yet they only grew tighter around his limbs. Strangely, they began to feel like cotton. The feeling of his sweat down his back was a relief from his burning flesh. His eyes burst open. The last thing Vechs saw before blacking out was the ceiling of his bedchamber.
The mighty King Davion stumbled into his bedchamber, clutching the bandage on his right shoulder. He was being followed close behind by his personal servant, the squire called Dinnerbone. “Sir, the bandage needs to be changed again. In fact, the wound might need to be stitched. Sir, please don’t try to undress, you’ll disturb the wound.” He reached out to stop Vechs, who had attempted to remove his shirt to change into his sleeping garments. “Sir, please, let me change the bandage.”
Vechs fell onto his bed, wincing and groaning from the pain in his shoulder. “Just fix it, Dinnerbunny, it hurts!” he wailed, using an old childhood nickname. The king, now having lost all of his dignity in that room, rolled over like a puppy begging to be petted, save for the fact he was actually in quite a lot of pain from the arrow wound in his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have tried to take out the arrow in the battlefield.” Dinnerbone scolded, sitting down next to his friend and master. After removing the offending shirt for Vechs, Dinnerbone carefully began to unwind the bandage, trying to keep from causing Vechs any more pain. Even so, pained gasps and grunts filled the room. “Sorry, sir.” Whether the words were necessary or not was irrelevant, they were coming out anyway. The look on Vechs’s face made them feel necessary. “We’re going to need to stitch it up, it’s deeper than we thought.” Dinnerbone muttered, standing up and walking across the room for the first aid kit in the vanity. Noticing that the sun was going down, he lit a candle sitting in front of the mirror, taking it with him back to Vechs’s side. Dinnerbone removed a spool of thread and a needle from the small box. Taking the candle in one hand, he ran the needle through the flame to clean it. This wasn’t his first experience with wounds, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “This is going to sting a bit, but it will be over soon, my liege.” He warned Vechs, gently pushing off the green goggles in case of headaches. Threading the needle, Dinnerbone pushed the tip through the flesh close to the edge of the wound. Vechs was breathing through his teeth, trying as hard as he could not to cry out. Dinnerbone frowned, having sewn up about half of the wound. It was closing up nicely, likely to leave a fairly large scar, but it wouldn’t become infected or cause the king anymore pain. But Vechs’s huffing from the needle broadcasted his current pain, which must have been great, for Vechs was a very humble king who bore great pains for his kingdom regularly. Dinnerbone tied off the thread, cutting it with his own teeth. He opened a bottle of whisky, balling up some of the nearby sheet and requesting that Vechs bite down on it, as this was going to sting a lot. Once the rolled sheet was firmly placed between royal teeth, Dinnerbone poured a portion of the whisky onto the stitches. Vechs bit down on the sheet, screaming muffled by the impromptu gag. Dinnerbone rested his hand on Vechs’s bare chest, waiting for the king’s breathing to calm down before carefully wrapping a fresh bandage over the stitching. “We’re finished, sir.”
Vechs was panting, having spit the sheet out, striving to catch his breath. “I swear to the Light, bun-bun, you’d be a great surgeon.”
“I couldn’t be a surgeon Vechs, sir.” Dinnerbone chuckled, looking away out of embarrassment, “I’m too busy being your squire.”
“Is that getting in your way?”
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Silence filled the room, the flickering candle casting moving shadows on the walls. “I should leave you to sleep, sir. You’ve had a long day, and it’s the least you deserve after your efforts on the battlefield.” Dinnerbone rose, packing the first aid equipment back into the box and placing it on the wardrobe.
“Good night, Dinnerbunny.” Vechs propped himself up on his right elbow, smiling at his squire.
“Good night, Vetchus.” Dinnerbone smirked back, using the other’s childhood nickname, and blowing out the candle as he left.
Vechs collapsed back onto his pillow, already in much less pain, but absolutely exhausted. He began to fall asleep, vision blurring as he shut his eyes. Everything of the waking world began to fade into oblivion; even the squeaking of Fwapa’derp became inaudible.
Vechs found himself standing in a white room, floating in the air. He began to fall, but the speed of descent made it pleasant. Vechs spread his arms, now fully aware that he was dreaming, attempting to fly.
The first sign he had that something was wrong should have been that he couldn’t.
The room faded to darkness, grey-flecked black stones suddenly surrounding Vechs. He felt like he couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, the walls felt as though they were closing in on him. He punched at the walls, genuine fear driving his fists. ‘Wake up,’ he was telling himself, ‘it’s only a dream, wake up!’ But he couldn’t. It was as if his eyes were glued shut. Eventually, he did punch through the wall, knuckles bleeding. Could you even bleed in a dream? Vechs didn’t know anymore. Tearing at the stone, he carved out a hole large enough to climb through, happy to be free of his prison. Stumbling, coughing, fearing for his life, and wondering if this wasn’t really a dream after all, Vechs had just discovered he had found his way into a world of flaming brimstone and molten rock. Swarming everywhere were undead swine the size of full-grown men, clad in leather pants and wielding golden swords, and charred skeletons several feet taller than the walking porcine carrying crude swords of stone. Within moments he was being attacked, the pigs pulling at his skin- had he been wearing clothes? He wasn’t anymore if he was before- burning him and tearing off his flesh. Every wound grew new and fresh after each assault, only to be destroyed again by the pigs. The flesh replaced was that of his attackers, rotten flesh of swine. The fire singed his bones, staining them black. He was doused in molten rock, feeling himself become part of the stone encasing him before his assaulters tore him free of it.
One pig was larger than the rest. More rotten, as well, having half of his face missing, revealing the skull beneath. But it wasn’t that that made Vechs’s skin crawl. Taking the place of the pig’s - man’s? – eye was a single pulsing red light. The pig-man, as that was all Vechs could think of calling the creature, approached, leaning in closely to Vechs’s face. “This is what awaits you.” the pig-man spoke, taking the smoldering tip of a torch and holding it dangerously close to Vechs’s face. “This is what you’re going to become.” The glowing torch hovered millimeters above Vechs’s eye.
“Embrace it.” The pain of his burning eyeball was all-consuming, distracting him from his burning, rotting flesh and bones. He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn’t open. He struggled in the arms of his captors, yet they only grew tighter around his limbs. Strangely, they began to feel like cotton. The feeling of his sweat down his back was a relief from his burning flesh. His eyes burst open. The last thing Vechs saw before blacking out was the ceiling of his bedchamber.
Hey sleet
Date: Wednesday, June 25th, 2014 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 25th, 2014 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 25th, 2014 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 03:39 am (UTC)And the goal of Super Hosile maps is to kill the player in as many ways as possible while still having fun. Zisteau takes SH to a whole new level by blantedly avoiding the traps and doing them as methodically as possible, which drives Vechs insane.
So yes, I could definitely see them trying to kill each other.
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 04:06 am (UTC)also, me and sleet had/are having a thing on the skype chat, could give you so info/ bring you up to date
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 26th, 2014 05:49 pm (UTC)