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True Searing

Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2022 7:36 pm
by Alistair
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80th of Ash, Year 122

"Fuck..." the raven-haired man cursed. "Fuck... fuck... FUCK!"

He went quiet. His eyes shut.

The man's body fell limp.

"Next," said the one who initiated him; a large, bald, burly man with two swords strapped to his back, standing over the writhing body before him. A few more twitches, and he would cease to be.

The next man in line's hands were shaking. His eyes darted back-and-forth, rapidly, and he shook his head, running his shaky palms over his face and holding back a scream. The burly man's hand gripped his hair, pulling his head up so that their eyes could make contact. The Bloodbreaker, donning their red, black and deep-brown Badlander gear, smirked in the face of his fear. "Y-you... said it was a fifty-percent chance. The three before me are all dead. H-how's that a fucking fifty percent chance?!"

He let go of him, the trembling man nearly falling onto his back as he did. "Not this one," the man muttered, and from behind a bullet blew into his skull, red spraying out as the wide, circular shell shattered through his occipital bone and burst open his cerebrum. The woman beside him seemed completely undeterred.

"Should've acknowledged that so many failures meant we were due for a success," the initiator said. He nodded towards one of his companions -- a fellow gang member -- and signaled for them to switch. "I'm due for a rest. Don't want to Overstep. You get the next three, then we'll get Janet for the last." They exchanged nods, and the lanky, gun-wielding foot soldier took his place. His lower eye twitched, his arms covered in sites surely met by needles in the past hours. Crim. That was his name -- the men at the front were mocking him as Alistair had arrived.

This was a quick route into joining the gang. Be Branded, survive the initiation, and your dedication is proven. You're given your accommodations immediately, and in a week, a bike to ride off into the desert with. A Chariot. Alistair couldn't believe he was doing this, but he didn't really have a choice. The last mark went really badly -- he'd gone way in over his head. Now, he needed protection. Becoming a Bloodbreaker, roaming through the desert, that would give him enough time to disappear. When things were right, he could kill the people patrolling with him, take their Wurmblood and ride off.

"Okay, little lady, you ready?" Crim asked, cracking a wide, perturbing grin. The woman merely stared, her features completely empty. She had a half-shaven head, with red braids on her right side, freckles and a somewhat masculine, angular face. She had a tattoo running across the left side of her face, from her jaw beyond her eye and brow, a teal-colored line. She was built, with scars on her arms, and a Mark of Control on the back of her hand. Chime. Alistair could tell.

"Get it over with," she spat, gritting her teeth. "I'm ready to be a Breaker. I've been ready. This will be nothing."

Crim gripped her face, holding her jaw open so that his palm was roughly aligned with her open mouth. His grip tightened, and the woman tensed, seemingly agitated -- Alistair could see her death glare through the gaps of his fingers, and for a single moment she redirected it to him, as if to inform him that she was so much stronger -- better. That she would survive. Ether pushed from his palm into her mouth, flowing into her pharynx and causing her to squirm. She grunted as she was shocked, yelling out in a pained fury. Her squirming stopped as the voltage shifted into a cold burn, pouring through her thoracic cavity into her bowels, causing her to cough out into a fit of laughter, until the pain grew worse. And worse. And worse.

And worse.

She closed her eyes, breathing in-and-out through her nose; she began to mumble something from her wet, drooling lips, swollen from the initial energy that coursed through them. It was like a chant, a prayer. She continued, and continued, and continued. And the man let go.

"She'll live," he said, nodding his head frantically and grinning. She fell onto her side, hand extending out, coughing and sputtering as tears poured down her cheeks. Alistair could see a faint blue light even through her clothing -- it was inside of her, molding her, remaking her. It was forming the Axis, and with a bright gleam of that same blue light, he could tell that it had formed. Three failures, but one success. She lived. And he was next.

Re: True Searing

Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2022 7:59 pm
by Alistair
Image

When the hand clamped down on his face and poured what felt like molten gold into his throat, the man realized he had not been prepared. Nothing, of course, would have prepared him for the pain that followed. Everything lit up in his sight -- he could see nothing but a bright, beaming blue, his irises flickering with color until the ether moved lower, passing through his esophagus into the core of his form. What began as almost strikes of lightning resonating from within changed to that of a painful burn -- a fire he could not shy away from, and one that would not burn out his nerves and spare him the agony. It continued, and it grew, and it became graver and more harrowing. He shook, rocking his body back and forth, sobbing.

And then he started to talk. Talking was what he was good at -- it had always been a distraction. He'd always talked his way through everything, and even though he still felt hot ether clinging to the edges of his throat, he was certain he could work up the words.

"W-w-would y...ou... like t-to hear... a sssstoryyy....?" Alistair asked, his lips approximating the closest thing he could manage to a grin. Crim, the initiator, blinked, and one of the other Bloodbreakers began to laugh.

"This one's a fucking character," she said, shaking her head. "What's your story, mate?"

"It's... ooooh... fuckkk," he lowered his face, shaking his head rapidly as his chest throbbed with searing agony. "It's... ab-about... the t-time... I f-fucked... your mother," he managed to get out, causing the woman to laugh. "...And th-the rest... is... history. C-consider that... y-your backstory."

"I like him," she said, with a nod of agreement from the otherwise silent man beside her. "Looks like he's going to live, Crim. Ferdinand will probably want him in the same trainee group as that girl, ginger-tits. You think they'll deploy Malacai as their chief?"

The rest of the words became distant murmurs, as he continued to slowly rock back and forth, sinking into himself. The man's mouth was open, blood pouring out, his entire face soaked with sweat and tears. He convulsed, and everything blacked out. Maybe it was the end.

It wasn't.

"Knew you had it in you. Could see the outline of your balls through your trousers," the woman said, physically spitting blood into what looked like a chamber-pot beside her bed. Alistair began to rise from his own bunk, across the room from hers, lifting his head and rubbing his throbbing temples as he came to. Everything was blurry, and wobbly, and strange, and there was still a great deal of pain.

"Fuck... has it been a whole day, Miss?"

"I'm Miss-no-one. Don't fucking call me that," she snarled. "But yeah, it's the morning of 81. You lived -- you're Branded, now, like me. Hats fuckin' off to you. What's your name?"

"...Alistair... Reid. A-and... you?"

"Helga," she replied. "Just kidding -- fuck you. It's Mary. Mary Dunne, of Vestria. You Griscian? Your accent's awful similar to those cunts lining their pockets in Tilema."

The man shrugged, falling back into bed. "Not really -- not anymore," Alistair answered. "Got exiled a few years ago. I'm not really anything, anymore... not Griscian, not Khadan, not Daravain. Not really a Badlander, at least not in spirit. This is an opportunity, a job. You know? Why even be anything -- tie yourself down like that?"

She chuckled, running a hand through her braids to wring them out; she'd doused them earlier to wash out all of the sweat. "True as shit, that. I'm not really Norunn. I'm blood, I'm bone, I'm a will and an impulse. My impulse is to become a legend in the Badlands, to throw Jorain right out of his fucking chair. Be a bitch so bad the Griscians start getting concerned. Looks like you'll be on my unit, so, you're going to have to try not to get crushed. Nothing personal -- I've gotta make myself look good."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure," the man merely replied, diplomatically. "Or we could help each other look good, Dunne. We're the only two who survived, aren't we? Out of seven? That makes us special."

"Huh, that it does," she agreed, lifting her shoulders. "Well... get some rest for the moment; I don't want to hear any more fucking mewling from you tonight. You recover today, and we discuss some arrangement tomorrow. Got it?"

"Got it," he quietly answered back, and closed his eyes, drifting not into sleep, but flashing blue visions of the Axis that now shaped itself around his soul.

Re: True Searing

Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2022 1:25 pm
by Salen
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Alistair

Lores
Brand: Weapon Magic
Brand: The Mark of Brand
Brand: The Initiation
Brand: Ether Manipulation
Brand: The Axis
Brand: Crystallizes The Soul

Loot: N/A
Injuries: +2 Mageblight from Initiation (Painful shit btw...) As of 80th of Ash.

Points: 5 (Can all be used in Magic)

Comments:
Alistair is crazy for joining the Bloodbreakers and yet it seems like it is the lesser of evils for survival. Great thread, let me know if you have any questions or concerns.