| Welcome to Alex's DBZ RPG 5 Forum. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| The Regime pt. 1; Personal Roleplay | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Dec 13 2017, 04:22 AM (209 Views) | |
| Fasha | Dec 13 2017, 04:22 AM Post #1 |
|
Fasha
|
The snow drifted through the cool night air to settle on the frosty ground. Her breath came out in mist as she huddled beneath the tree. There was no sound in the forest but the rasping of her breath. Nothing living remained among the trees, anything that could run, had. They had fled when the first animal cries were heard from the valley below. The woman clutched her knees to her chest, the frost moving through her body and into her chest like a predator for warm blood. Her mind raced with thoughts of warmth and of home. It was safe there. Why did I leave? A twig snapped. She launched to her feet, pushing her body through the deep mounds of snow. Every step she sunk deep into the snow and had dig her bare hands into the ice to free herself. Her breath came harder now, her exhaustion forgotten. A soft growl broke through the night, stopping her still. In chorus more beasts added their voices, and in the darkness piercing white eyes shone. They moved across the snow as if they floated, their paws making no sound as they darted about with the agility of cats. A circle of eyes surrounded her, and the growling grew louder, until it was deafening. She fell to her knees, her hands clasped together. “Please! Please take me home! Take me back, I want to go back!” A sharp pain rippled through her as something sunk its knife-like teeth in her calf. She tried to pull away, but the beast yanked her back. She lay stunned as the wolf shook its head, tearing the flesh from her calf. Its brothers joined in, each taking a turn to feed as she whimpered and tried to crawl away. The pain was agony, but it was torture when the pain went away and replaced by a numb tugging sensation as the animals tore into her dead legs. “Stop! Stop! I want to go home! Please I want to go home.” She squeezed her eyes shut, willing this to be a dream. She pictured her Mother sitting at home in the darkness, thinking of her daughter. She pictured the room she had lay in, thinking of escape as her Step-Father used her like an animal. Like these animals. They left her in the snow, a pool of red staining the ground around her. She lay on her back looking up into the clear starry night. Every star was like a studded diamond, shining through a darkness so infinite it could be death. WCC 427/427 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 13 2017, 04:32 AM Post #2 |
|
Fasha
|
The snow fell from the sky like tiny, shining stars. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind some thick clouds. Fasha stood in the growing white, her coat tucked tightly about her as she looked out over the City of Slaves. It was quiet now, just as she had wanted and hoped. She had been gone for some time, taken away from what the one thing that had ever given her hope. The warrior remembered flying away from that train, full of the celebrating people. They were celebrating because they had been liberated and were heading home. After that day she often had dreams of them. Sometimes they were nice dreams; of family reunions and happy children. Other times she dreamed about those people, back in Ortrok, stripped of their dignity. On those nights she woke in a cold sweat, wishing to fly back to them and help them. Why did I leave? I had to, there was no other choice. I had to. But they needed me. Everybody needs me! The sight of desolation made her shoulders drop as the burden of guilt slid away. At the very least the men and woman weren’t back here. But where are they? She flew down to the train station, hovering over the empty tracks. The woman closed her eyes and tried to feel them, but it was so faint. Fasha began flying along beside the tracks, keeping low and away from the cold clouds. She kept herself wrapped up tight as the wind and snow sped past her. She had to squint to avoid the ice getting in her eyes. Eventually she just closed her eyes and looked down to the ground, trying to fly by the faint feeling alone. Fasha was in a barren place, where the only thing around for miles and miles was ice. She knew from past experience that she would eventually come out to a large country called Grym. It was still cold there, but it was habitable enough for people to live. She had heard some stories about it. They practiced the slave trade too, but it was an enslavement of every man and woman under the regime. Every person worked, and they all received the same amount of money, which was essentially nothing. A billion-people lived under the thumb of the government, and yet they did their work and never complained. For generations they had lived and worked, existing for the purpose of their countries’ economic propagation. As a result of this lifestyle and lack of basic human rights; the people themselves had turned cruel. They worked every day for somebody else, for something else. So, every second of their free time was spent on themselves. The people hated foreigners. They saw them as privileged and spoilt. Occasionally tourists had tried to visit the country which was known for its beautiful tall mountain peaks. There had been many stories of unprovoked attacks on these visitors, and so their tourism had dwindled down only to the very brave. When Fasha had passed through last time on her way to Ortrok the train had not stopped. It took three days to cross the expansive country, but it had not stopped once. She prayed now that the same had happened to her former slaves, and they had past right through to the coast. There they might be able to find their own way home, to the islands where they called home. The Saiyan could see the landscape changing beneath her. Gradually the barren white became speckled with wiry tundra, and eventually tall thin trees. The forest was sparse and ominous. It clung to the rolling hills like hairs on a man’s back. The trees had no leaves, their spikey arms reaching up as if in anguish to the sky, pleading for the sun. In between the trees shaggy beasts prowled, their eyes luminescent in the dark. The beasts stalked through the forest, their paws making no sound as they circled their prey. Their sharp long noses tipped to the air, smelling warm flesh. Their pointed ears listening out for the thudding of a frightened heart. It was then that Fasha saw the train, lying on its side, bent and twisted around itself. In front of the train was a large moose, or what was left of it. The Conductor’s carriage was crushed and lying on its side beside a pool of red and scraps of hairy flesh. The rest of the locomotive appeared intact, but it was obvious from the impact with the moose that it had derailed. The train had stopped instantly and so the carriages had nowhere to go but to launch in the air. Hundreds of men and woman lay dead inside the train windows. Their faces frozen in the instant of horror just before they had died. Champagne bottles were strewn inside and out of the carriages, remnants of a brief moment of happiness before it was taken from them. Acid guilt bubbled in the woman’s stomach and she vomited, her shame spreading out over the pure white snow. Anger filled her body like a hot fire, and then the cold, wet feeling of fear as she saw that many of the carriages were empty. They are out here somewhere. Word Count 878/1308 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 15 2017, 01:09 AM Post #3 |
|
Fasha
|
Fasha found her, lying in the snow, her eyes staring calmly up into the cloudy grey sky. From her neck up, he was a beautiful winter princess. Her dark skin had paled to the colour of almonds and her lips to a deep blue like the ocean around her home island. Her shoulders and collar bones were thin and light and her long dark hair was draped over them like long thin fingers. Her arms and legs had been torn off, and ended in ragged bloody stumps. Her bowels hung half-eaten outside of her body. Her liver and kidneys were gone and her spleen was strewn in pieces in the snow. The warm blood that had once flowed through her delicate blue veins soaked the earth beneath her, deep down into the ground. The tree roots would be rubbing their hands together greedily, hungering for the nutrients. The Saiyan wanted to turn away, but she wouldn’t let herself. I did this to her. She stood there, taking in every detail, registering it in her memory so that she would never forget. When she was old and grey she would bring this image back into her mind and remember what she had done. I should never have left. The woman touched her hand to the dead girl’s face, feeling the hard flesh beneath her fingers. She felt warmth filling her body and flowing out through her fingers. Heating up into trickles of flame which spread over the dark-skinned girl, enveloping her whole body. The flames grew higher and stronger and the former slave’s body drifted away into the wind as grey dust. Fasha left, taking off in the same wind that had spread her friend across the earth. She flew low and close to the ground, keeping her eyes out for any tracks. It took her many hours before she found some sign of her friends. The snow was lower here and seemed to follow a path. She couldn’t see any footprints, because the it had snowed heavily and they would have been covered up. The warrior couldn’t tell how long it had been since they came this way, but it must have been a large group to have made this big of a track. Their path wound through the rolling hills and sparse forests, sometimes stopping dead and then reappearing a few kilometres away. Every now and then Fasha would find a piece of the group underneath a tree. Sometimes it would be a finger, maybe a foot. Every now and then she would find a person with the same look as her friend, staring up into the sky. Every body and everything she found she burned and scattered the ashes into the wind, hoping they could find a peace in the next life that they could never find in this one. Eventually she realized that the path was taking them south, and the forest was starting to clear. Sparsely dotted among the valleys were small homesteads backing onto to rugged land with small wooly beasts. They dotted the landscape, invisible among the paper white snow. The homes became more frequent, and the surrounding forest smaller. In the distance a thick black cloud of smoke was growing along the horizon. If Fasha squinted she could see a speckle of buildings underneath the smog. She was here, in Grym. 558/1867 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 17 2017, 07:01 PM Post #4 |
|
Fasha
|
Fiona Fiona’s hands worked the cloth, pushing it down into the soapy water again and again. The thick oil stains coating the material stubbornly stuck to it like it was now part of it. Her hands were wrinkled and worn, puckered from hours in the cold water. Her back and neck ached from looking down at the bowl, and her bare feet were numb from standing on the cold stone floor. Her home was a concrete block, much like a thousand other concrete blocks spread throughout the city. They had one square window set into their own room, it was open as glass was expensive. In the colder months, when only darkness befall their city they would board up that window and sit without light, huddled together in the frost. The concrete walls were so cold they felt like they might be ice themselves, and so her family had to huddle in the centre of the already small room. They clutched each other for warmth and fell asleep to the rhythmic shuddering of each other’s bodies. Fiona had a family of eight. Including herself and her husband Jack. He was away a lot, working long hours at a factory where his job was to strip rubber from scrap metal. When he did come home he was tired, and forlorn. His children were cold, his house was cold, the food his wife made was cold. Everything was cold, and slowly that cold crept inside of him and spread through into his warm heart. He walked through the door, his face, clothes and arms covered in the thick oil which was the symbol of his life. Jack glanced at his wife, crouched in front of the tub of cold water and then back at his kids, huddled in the middle of the room playing with some sticks. Without a word he walked forward to his own patch of floor, wrapped himself in a thin, holey blanket and lay down, his long legs curled up to his broad chest. It was hours until night time, but his mind was already somewhere else. Fiona hoped it was somewhere happy. WCC 354/2221 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 18 2017, 02:16 AM Post #5 |
|
Fasha
|
-----Samson It had been three weeks since their blue-eyed princess had left them. One minute she was riding the train, and the next she was gone. Bleary eyed they had all awoken following their celebrations to find her missing. It wasn’t long after that they were thrown from their feet. The train had lifted off the ground and contorted about, throwing his friends from the train and smashing others into the walls. The ones who had survived were badly wounded, including Samson himself. His arm had been shattered in two places along his radius and ulna, torqued back on itself. It was grotesque, and he had screamed when he had seen the sheen of white bone sticking out of his skin. One of his friends, Ritton, who had once been a village healer and inspected the wound. “I’ll have to fix this brother,” the healer told him, matter of fact. Samson nodded and his friend pulled on the end of his arm. It was a sharp movement and the pain rose in him so high that he had to scream out. But as soon as it was done the pain abated, and he felt better for it. Between the two of them they worked their way around the train, trying to treat some but mostly putting people out of their misery. One man had his spine broken, and begged to be carried out to a Doctor. Samson knelt on his throat with the same clinical motion as a surgeon might have sewing up a wound. The disabled man died quickly and Samson moved on. After many hours of working the two had gathered together a thousand of the many thousand more who had died on the train. Looking on at his people he felt a sense of disgust growing inside of him. Where the hell did she go!? He swore. She frees us from hell and then sends us on to a new one! The train had been stocked with food when they had left, all prepared for the weeks they would be traveling to the coast. The night before they had eaten a lot of food and drank a lot of champagne. Their merriment of freedom had fuelled them into the same lust and gluttony they had despised in their masters, and because of it they had eaten a lot of their rations. The train wreck had done the rest, plastering anything edible against the walls of the train and smashing vegetables into pulp. They scrounged through the wreckage and found some dried goods like rice, pasta, flour and spices. It was meagre considering how many mouths they still had to feed. At the front of the train lay a huge cow. It had died instantly but it barely seemed untouched compared to the mangled corpse of the train it had destroyed. The slaves worked to butcher the meat and store it in sacks with salt. They distributed what meagre provisions they could find as fairly as they could amongst the people, who were very grateful for the offerings. Ritton led a team of very unfortunate individuals whose job it was to strip the dead bodies of their clothes, so that the slaves might remain warm on their inevitable march to the coast. It was silent work; and fitting only for the already damned men with glazed eyes and coal hearts. The clothes that they grabbed were of good quality. Before they had left Ortrok they had ransacked the barrack’s and the dead bodies of the guards to get nice woollen cloaks, gloves, waterproof pants, beanies, scarves and hiking boots. Their blue-eyed princess in her wisdom had burned many of the men alive, and with them their nice clothes. Despite this they still were able to give people one or two items to themselves. Some people got a beanie and gloves, some people got pants, and very lucky people got coats. This distribution did not go as well as the food. People were far less amiable to leave this up to chance, and ironically a few of the slaves demanded that a certain hierarchy be followed. There were many hierarchies suggested, such as gender, age, strength, experience and usefulness to the cause. Samson stalwartly refused this, and demanded it be selected at random. A blind folded man would select an item, for somebody else to give to an individual at the first of the line. It would have been faster for the slaves to grab the clothes they wanted, and in this human evolution would have been in action. The strongest would survive and the weak would die. By the time this was all done the sun just barely peeked over the snowy hills and the light was fading. They all moved into a couple of carriages that were not too damaged and hunkered down, keeping out of the cold and watching from the gaps of their woollen clothes as the sun disappeared. The darkness crept through the valleys and the trees, slowly eating the light as it went and driving the sound of birds from the forest. Silence fell over the little valley as the men and woman slept. The moon occasionally revealed itself between a set of dark clouds, its crescent smile making the white snowy ground and treetops glow with light. Flakes of snow drifted silently down in the still night air to settle on the ground. It was a beautiful sight, one which to the cold slaves of Ortrok chilled them to the core. Somewhere in the distance a beast howled to the moon as they caught their first scent of warm human flesh. WC 1063/3284 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 18 2017, 02:53 AM Post #6 |
|
Fasha
|
----Fiona---- He awoke and rose without a word, his thin lanky body untangling himself from the thin cloth that was his blanket. His eyes were hooded and shadowed with lack of sleep. She tried to catch his gaze, inclining her head towards his. He just turned away, his face a blank stone. “Jack?” She said meekly. No reply. He turned away and pulled on his boots, fumbling for them in the dark. “Jack?” She said again. “Are you okay?” She reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He jerked away, startling her. He launched out the door without looking back. She collapsed in the corner of her concrete home, her head in her hands and warm tears streaming through the gaps in her fingers. Her body shook with the effort of the sobs and her kids lay unperturbed, their bodies motionless and tangled amongst each other, asleep in the only peace they would ever know. Fiona’s mind flashed back to the first time she had met Jack, when they were both young and sprang about the village like little birds. His smile had mesmerized her the first time she had seen him. His eyes curled up when he looked at her, as if he was smiling all over his body at once. She remembered the first time he had hugged her, when he had come back from a hunting trip. The delight when she saw him forced her legs into a run, and she wrapped herself in his long arms and smelled the scent of the forest on his chest. The first time they had kissed they had sat on a thick blanket, on a stoney shore by the river. The sun had beat down on them on one of those rare days and the water was clear and inviting. He had reached over with gentle fingers and lightly guided her cheek towards him. That kiss had filled her with electricity, which she could still feel tingling in her body for weeks afterwards. Now she felt nothing but the cold, aching numb of her life. Her heart was a barren wasteland where no love had ventured for some time, and all she could feel was hate. She didn’t even know who to hate, but it was the only feeling she had, so she held on to it tight. WCC 392 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 19 2017, 01:49 AM Post #7 |
|
Fasha
|
----Samson---- They left the train at the break of day, none of them having slept the night before. They lay awake in the night, shivering and shaking and listening to the howls of the beasts prowling the darkness. Every time they roared it sounded a little bit closer, and soon it sounded as if they were all around them. If somebody was daring enough to break out of their warm capsule of intertwined bodies and wool, they might have seen several pairs of glowing eyes regarding them through the window. The snow was thick all around them, and without snow shoes they had to trudge through the waist deep white, pushing it away from them with un-gloved hands. Their pace was slow, made even slower by the injured men and woman straggling at the back. The dark part of Samson which had been born in the bowels of Ortrok whispered in his ear. They are going to kill us all. The voice said. He closed his eyes and shook his head. No, I would rather die. Ritton walked with him at the front of the line, shoulder to shoulder. “I’m scared,” Ritton confided. When somebody who you see as strong and unflappable amidst their weakness to you, sometimes it can make you feel better about yourself, but in times like this it is a lead weight on your morale. “It will be okay,” Samson consoled him. The very emotional effort of this lie made the weight heavier, and it tugged on his shoulders and neck, causing him to stoop forward even more. “But we have no food, and it is cold out here. I heard wolves all night, what are we going to do tonight!” Samson gritted his teeth together as the anxiety began to fill him. He kept silent, worried that his voice might betray how scared he was too. They were an inch away from total panic, and Samson had to hold this together. “They are going to hunt us down one by one,” Ritton said, exasperated. “And how long are we going to be walking for ae? We don’t even know where we are!” The Leader brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his scalp, hoping that Ritton would take a hint. “We’re all going to die out here!” The healer exclaimed, too loudly. Samson smacked him in the face with one large fist, causing his friend to topple to the ground. His dominance and rage filled him with a false strength, and a new hope. “We are going to be fine,” he calmly told Ritton who lay astonished on the ground. “Now get up and let’s talk rationally.” The day’s walk was long and arduous. Every man and woman were cold to the bone, despite the physical effort. The trudged through what seemed like an endless valley, with nothing ahead but trees and white snow. Rising up to each hill crest Samson prayed they would see something that would give them some hope, but they saw nothing. As the sun started to slip down on the horizon he realized they would have to sleep out here among the snow. Samson came from a warm place, with golden sandy beaches and beautiful sapphire oceans. He had no experience in a place like this. Fortunately, there were several slaves who had lived at Ortrok long enough to know a couple of things about surviving in cold places. They showed everybody how they could dig into a hill, making a small tunnel and then eventually widening it and angling it upwards. They would widen the cave out wider so that they could sleep a number of people in it. They would also create a vent in the top of the cave so that the humidity of their breath didn’t cause the walls to melt. It was warm in these caves, despite the cold ice that they had to lay on. It also gave the people a sense of security from the wolves, even though the only thing separating them from the outside world was a wall of frozen water. The slaves took to their task with enthusiasm, and soon the hill was littered with little tunnels and hundreds of caves. That night they slept comfortably, crammed warmly into each of their caves. The sounds of the night were dulled by the thick walls of ice around them, and the howls of the wolves fell on deaf ears. The warmth and silence gave Samson hope, and he slept right through to the dawn of the next day. Samson awoke to screams and the bright light of the rising sun. He burst from his cave, his boots already laced and already fully dressed. A small group off growing slaves were gathered around the entrance to a cave a hundred metres away. Samson sprinted over, his sore and stiff legs complaining as he bounded through the snow. As he approached he noticed that the entrance to the cave was thick with red. The leader crawled into the cave, his hands crunching through the bloody ice. The smell made him turn his head in disgust, and he could feel bile forcing its way up into his throat. He peered up into the cave and saw only red. Ritton was already there, crouching at the mouth of the snow cave. In front of him was remnants of the men and woman that had slept there. Their skeletons were left, with hanging bits of chewy connective tissue and cartilage. All of the flesh had been devoured from their bodies and the cave stunk off rot and unwashed animal. The bile forced its way past Samson’s throat and exploded out onto the cave floor in a pile of acrid yellow vomit. Ritton glanced back at him, his head turning slowly and calmly. His eyes were hollow, and seemed to look right through his friend. “It will be okay will it?” The healer said, ice on the tip of his tongue. WC 996 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 19 2017, 03:29 PM Post #8 |
|
Fasha
|
-Fiona- Her cotton slippers scraped along the cold tarmac. Huge buildings towered over her on either side, looking down on her. She walked in the shadow of the buildings, her head down and her shawl wrapped tightly around her. In her arm she clutched a wicker basket, half full of food. Inside was a flour, a bundle of carrots and a kilogram of horsemeat. It was the result of savings which had been accumulating for some time. She had wanted to buy new shoes, but it was Christmas and all she wanted now was to see a smile on her families’ face. She stalked along the street, her eyes darting back and forth. The hungry glare of the less fortunate followed her as she walked, and she could almost feel the tension as she walked by a thousand open apartments. In each of those apartments was a family just like hers. Built on the back of a working man, enslaved to their own poverty and slowly dying of it. Her pace quickened as she spotted a couple of cloaked men appear behind her, far at the end of the street. She could hear their large boots thudding against the pavement as they walked confidently towards her. She started walking faster, awkwardly trying to make a fast pace without looking as if she was running. She heard the boots clack faster, coming behind her. The woman broke into a run, clutching her basket as tight as she could about herself as she ran. Fiona ran as hard as she could, her thin legs struggling to maintain the effort. She glanced behind her and saw that the men had started to run too, their long legs covering the distance effortlessly. The woman could see their eyes now, cold and dark. It was the look that everybody shared in the city, it was the look that only the hungry could understand. She felt a large hang twist itself through her hair and throw her backwards to the ground. Fiona should have put out her hands to break her fall, but instead she clutched to the basket and let her body and head smack into the concrete. Strong arms tried to wrench the basket free from her grasp, but she held on. Something heavy smashed into her face, forcing the back of her head into the ground. Fiona awoke to the dwindling light and the sound of footsteps all around. She sat up, her head throbbing and her eyes bleary. What the heck happened? The memories flooded back to her, and tears soon after. She sobbed, the desperate hope of a happy family, sat around a Christmas meal lost. She rocked back and forth on that cold ground, wishing and hoping that somebody would pick her up, hold her in their arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright. This was life, and nobody would come. It was dark by the time she returned home. Jack shot up when he saw her walk in, anger glaring in his eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” He demanded. She couldn’t answer, she could only cry and throw herself into his arms. The weight of the truth was too much for her tongue. He pushed her away, his hands strong and rough. “Have you been out with another man?” He snapped, looking at her beaten face. “What?” She said, taken aback. “No I was-“ “Don’t you fucken lie to me you stupid whore!” He slapped her hard across the face, fire burning in his eyes. The blow shook her, and the pain burned on her cheek. She looked in shock at the man she had married. Something shook inside of him as he saw the look of disgust on her face. He pushed past her and stormed out the door. Fiona turned to her children, who lay frightened and huddled in the corner of the room. She went over to them, kneeling in front of them and stroking each of their faces in turn. “Oh poor sweeties everything is going to be okay,” she lied. WCC 682 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 19 2017, 04:06 PM Post #9 |
|
Fasha
|
-----Samson----- Samson’s dark eyes regarded the sprawling mass of concrete before him. A dark cloud hung over the city, and the clank of machinery boomed from within. Fire spewed from great big furnaces and smoke billowed from a thousand factories. The apartments were stacked like blocks of lego, concrete behemoths devoid of any personality or character. The slave turned back to his bedraggled followers. They did not meet his gaze, their heads down as they trudged through the knee deep snow. Many of their limbs were black and rotten. At first as they had started to fall Samson had organized to have them carried. But as the men and woman carrying the fallen comrades began to fall too, he gave up on the idea. Tens of thousands of them had left on the train from Ortrok, and a thousand had left from the broken carcass of the train. Now only a few hundred remained. The valley was full of the corpses of his friends, all of them dying with a last false hope that their lives might be different, and they might be allowed to return home. Ritton was among them. He had never been the same after that day at the cave, he would never meet Samson’s eye. Whenever Samson tried to look for him, he would move his gaze away and walk off. Often, he found him talking amongst a group of men who Samson didn’t know very well. Every time the leader tried to approach they warned him off with challenging stares. One-day Samson was called by his men, to come to the cave where they kept the dwindling meat from their butchered cow. There was a brawl breaking out between the guards and a group of men, lead by his friend Ritton. Samson stepped in, swinging with his large dark fists and knocking the brutes to the ground. More of his own followers joined in and soon they had the gang of men subdued. Ritton spat when the leader knelt in front of him. “You’ve killed us,” he accused. His face contorted into a cruel sneer. “No,” Samson shook his head, fighting back the anger rising in his chest. “The cold is killing us, and the wolves.” “Who brought us to the cold!” Ritton raged. “You were the one who convinced us to fight back and leave that place. At least we had food there!” The words struck Samson with the heavy truth. He had chosen to follow the blue-eyed princess, he had bet everything on her and he had lost. The corners of his mouth dragged down, and hot tears flowed through the valleys of hardship that lined his dark-skinned face. “I am sorry brother,” he wept. “Please forgive me.” The release of emotion washed over his friend and wiped the anger from his face. He too began to weep, and so did everybody around them. They held each other and let all of their frustrations, hurts and insecurities flow out from their face. The strong men sobbed, and the sight of this sudden weakness made everybody feel ill at ease. When they had finished Samson looked in his friend’s eyes, sadness heavy on his heart. “I cannot let somebody try to steal what little food we have left.” The look in Ritton’s eye was one of forlorn acceptance. The anger inside of him had died and he was left with the residue of guilt. Ritton and his men had been lined up and knelt with their heads over a rock each. Samson chose strong men to wield long, heavy branches and stand over a man each. The leader stole over Ritton, the dense wood in his palm. In unison they brought the pieces of wood up, and slammed them into the men’s head with a sickening crunch, killing them instantly. It had been a week since that had happened, and still nobody among his followers could look Samson in the eye. When he did catch their gaze, all he saw was fear. Now he stood, staring out at a grey smog of hope. A sense of unease crept up Samson’s back like spiders legs as he looked out at the sprawling concrete jungle. His mind couldn’t help back to Ortrok, and the men he had found there. Men or wolves? WC 717 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 19 2017, 04:06 PM Post #10 |
|
Fasha
|
------Rykel------ Rykel stood at attention, his uniform clinging stiffly to his long form. His hat was tipped so that the dark brim covered his bright green eyes. His uniform bore the markings of a General in the Regimental army of Grym, and it was further adorned with multiple medals and sashes from his days on the front line. On his hip he wore a fully automatic, submachine guy. Small enough to be fired from one hand and equipped with enough bullets to kill a dozen men instantly. On his other hip he wore a sabre, the hilt gold and shaped into that of a dragon’s head. His uniform was onyx black, as were his shoes, his gloves and his hair. Rykel stood in front of a short, plump man with rosey cheeks and perfect teeth. His large white belly protruded from the flowing golden silks he wore about himself and his crown sat tipped on his balding an bulbous head. His bare feet were swollen, red and deformed from gout, much like his hands. A golden cup could always be seen at his side, filled with a generous ratio of a potent spirit and grape juice. His eyes gleamed brightly beneath his furrowed brow and his nose poked out like a spear from his round face. He was the Grand Emperor Supreme, and he obliged others to call him as such. His name was Schizen and he was born onto the throne that he now sat, and he very rarely got off. “General Rykel,” he spoke through a gleaming, white smile. “What news do you have for me today?” The soldier snapped his heels together and lifted his hand to his head in a smart salute. “Wolves are moving further and further south, Grand Emperor Supreme, sir.” The plump man waved his hand absently, “So?” “With all due respect sir it is a harsh winter coming on us, and we need to protect our farmers,” Rykel replied meekly. A sigh flew from the Emperor with such a gust. “Fine, deal with it,” He consented. “But make sure they know they owe me an extra taxation for this protection.” “Yes sir,” Rykel replied. “The people are restless. There has been some attacks.” “I hope they were punished?” “Yes sir, of course sir,” the soldier reported. “They are growing more and more agitated. They are going crazy with cold and hunger. Perhaps it would be more successful to give them some food from our stocks to appease them? Maybe we could distribute some firewo-“ “NO!” The jovial plump man transformed into a spitting, snarling demon. “That is for the consumers!” “Yes sir, of course sir,” Rykel agreed hastily. “There’s one final thing.” “What?” The Emperor said, no in a toxic mood. “There’s a few hundred men and woman marching towards the city. They look hungry and desperate,” Rykel warned. “Shall I send some soldiers to intercept them?” “No,” Schizen laughed. “Our people are restless, so let them express their feelings.” WC 499/6449 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 20 2017, 07:55 PM Post #11 |
|
Fasha
|
----Fiona----- The darkness of the room reflected what was in her heart. The grey, blank eyes of her children reflected back at her the world and all the hope there ever was. Hunger gripped her belly in its tight fist, rhythmically twisting it and squeezing it. It was her body’s way of telling her that she needed food, and it was trying to make her desperate. Her children were skeletons, with sunken eyes and dry, wrinkled flesh. They only moved to relieve themselves in the toilet in the corner. They never asked for toys or played any games. They just sat there, too weak to move. Jack still hadn’t returned. It had been two days and he hadn’t come back. They had run out of money now and hadn’t eaten anything. Worry dragged at Fiona’s conscious like a rat burrowing into her chest. The hours crept by, as if the day was longer than it had to be. Her mind flitted in and out of the present, speeding through thoughts like a rollercoaster. How am I going to feed these kids? Where is he? What will I do? Where did he go? It is cold. I am so hungry. What can I do for work? Why did he do this to us? She buried her face in her hands, no tears came. She had cried all night and she couldn’t cry any more. There were no more tears left inside of her, and she had to do something. She launched to her feet, her children barely looking up as she raced about the small home. She gathered up her purse, putting a few amenities inside it. First, she put in some water, the one thing she had in abundance. Then she put in an extra warm cardigan. She also put in a long slender knife. It was cheap metal, but she kept it sharp, something to do when she had enough energy to pass the time. The mother had only ever used it to chop vegetables, but something inside of her told her she would be needing it. Fiona stooped down towards her children, gave each of them a hug and a kiss. “I love all of you, very much. I am going to go and try find us some food.” The woman left quickly, before sadness overcame her again and ran down the stairs, suddenly fuelled by some new energy. She walked for some distance to a part of town where there was a collection of damp and dark pubs for factory workers to spend their hard-earned money. It was the kind of place where you could spend a day’s wages and leave drunk, full and sexually satiated. A much more preferable combination to many of the men than feeding and clothing their seven children. Scattered about the street were various other establishments which catered to woman plying their trade. Those were considered ‘upmarket’ for the area. For the men with less cash to blow there were other woman, waiting at the mouths of dark alleys with seductive eyes. Fiona had always been a pretty woman. Back in her village they had described her as a spring angel, with her white dress and dandelions in her auburn hair. She was known to turn heads as she walked by, and as she grew older she grew fuller at the breasts and waist. The woman couldn’t go anywhere unless she wore a unflattering coat, otherwise she would be ogled, cat-called and hit on constantly. Now standing at the mouth of a dark alley she took off her coat, revealing her bare skin to the cool night air. She wore a fitting black woollen sweater which was two sizes too small for her. She had also bunched up her skirt and wore a pair of black tights, with holes peppered throughout. Fiona did not own any make up, and had never had a proper haircut, but it didn’t matter because nobody else did either. She stood, beside a dumpster which smelt of vomit, trying to catch the eye of staggering men as they swayed on by. Two men emerged from a bar, only a couple of blocks away. They started waddling in her direction, yelling and pushing each other. Fiona stepped out, hoping to catch their attention. As they drew closer one of them noticed her and suddenly straightened up, nudging his friend to do the same. The mother could make them out more clearly now. They were tall and thin, with rough stubble coating their jaws and oil staining their skin and coating their greasy black hair. They were still in their work uniforms, and they smelled like they hadn’t washed in weeks. The pungent smell almost made Fiona turn away, “You boys looking for something?” She tried to contort her face into seductively. “Yah,” one of them said. “What you got?” He stepped forward and roughly grabbed her breast. It hurt but she kept her eyes wide and wanting. “Whatever you want for twenty.” “Twenty!” He guffawed. “I could get a woman in there much better lookin’ than you for ten!” “Ten.” “One,” an arrogant smile rose up on his face.” “Five,” she cooed. “I’ll make it worth your while.” “Alright fine,” he said pushing her roughly into the alley with his friend in tow. Her heart fluttered. What am I doing? They started ripping at her clothes. This isn’t who I am! Her sweater was torn from her body and discarded in a dark stagnant puddle. “No, stop! I’ve changed my mind!” “Shut up!” He clubbed her over her head with his large fist and span her round, her face pushed up against the wall. Fiona floundered in her purse for the knife she had there but the other man saw it and grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her, crueling torqueing on her shoulders. “NO!” She screamed. “NO!” Somebody gripped her hair, pulled back her head and slammed her teeth into the concrete wall. Her screams muffled as blood filled her mouth. They left her there, with no clothes on, no money and blood pooling around her broken face. She just lay there, wishing that she could die. Hoping that they would just come back and finish her off. The cold wet ground soaked into her body, spreading into her bones until she began to shiver. If I just stay here, then I’ll die. I know I will. She let the cool feeling spread over her, welcoming its ghostly touch. She closed her eyes, imagining that she was walking through a meadow, close to her village. That the warm summer air was gently tugging at her hair, with the scent of pollen drifting by and the sound of the creek bubbling away. A voice chimed from somewhere. What about the children? She sat up with a start. It was dark now, and all the bars had shut down. If her children could feel anything anymore they would be wondering where she had gone. Fiona hurriedly threw on her damp clothes, gingerly pushing her sweater over her bruised and bloody face. She ran home, her heart thumping in her chest. The woman just hoped that no man would be tempted on her, with her face looking like this and her clothes and body smelling of rot and vomit. The mother made it home, walking through the door into her cold, concrete room. Her kids looked up at her, just the slightest touch of concern registering on their sunken, grey eyes. She ran to them, bundled them in her arms and kissing them. “I love you all, so much,” she kissed them again and again. They weakly lifted their arms and hugged her back, and the warmth of that gesture flooded her, and the pain of her body was gone, and the horror that she had suffered was swept away in a tidal wave of emotion. “We love you too, Mummy,” they said, smiling. “What happened to your face?” “Nothing dear, nothing. I just tried to get us some food is all, don’t worry I’ll try again tomorrow.” 1349/7796 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 21 2017, 05:14 PM Post #12 |
|
Fasha
|
------Samson----- The walls of the great concrete behemoth loomed up over Samson and his followers like a huge stone titan standing over him. A crippling sense of fear rippled through his body like a spasm. He felt a force pushing him towards the city, the force of hopelessness behind and a glimmer of hope ahead. Please god, I hope these people can help. The gates were open, yet nobody passed through. It was as if their presence was known, and yet nobody was here to greet them. Inside the city the streets were desolate, the dark open windows of the concrete apartments revealed no life. It was as if they were walking through a forgotten city, where only ghosts were left. It was sheltered from the wind in here, but the bitter cold hung in the air, chilling Samson and his followers to the bone. “Hello?” He called out, his voice cracking with the effort. “Is anybody out there?” Impenetrable silence answered him. They walked on, through a maze of concrete quadrants. Every street appeared the same as the last. Flat paved tarmac with large potholes in the road, no foot paths and large apartment buildings rising on either side. It was a city that could cram in millions of people, yet it was as desolate as a desert plain. “Can anybody help us?” Samson called out again, hope wilting and dying inside of him like a flower in winter. He heard a noise to his right, and he jumped back. A skeleton stared out at him from the window, its eyes sunken in and lifeless, its skin pale and tight. It regarded him cooly, its thin wispy hair so stiff it looked like it might snap in the breeze. “Who are you?” It rasped. “We need help,” Samson stammered. “We’ve been lost for weeks, wolves have eaten many of our people and we haven’t had any food for many days. Please we need shelter.” A dusty cackle erupted from the skeleton’s dry and cracked lips, “You want us to help you?” Its eyes now shone with a new found life. “My children have had one meal this week, I haven’t had anything.” The skeleton licked its lips but is dry tongue caught on its crusted skin. “My baby died last month. A thousand other babies die every month. And you want us to help you?” The skeleton spat. The commotion the lady was causing and started to wake the town and similar skeletal heads popped out of concrete windows. Some woman, some men and some children. They all looked eerily similar, all malnourished and all with that glint in their eye. They started calling down from the windows, “You want us to help you!?” “Fuck off outta here!” “What food ‘ave we got then?” “Why don’t you help us!?” “Fucken’ mongrels!” “Scavengers!” “You work for them don’t you!” “Fuck the Regime!” Objects began flying from the windows, knives, pots, pans, chamber pots full of excrement. They rained down on the lost slaves, injuring some and splattering others in filth. Samson turned to run, pushing his followers back the way they came into the maze. They moved, turning left and right. “Every street looks the same!” He screamed. Behind him he could hear the noise of the townsfolk growing louder. He looked back to see that people had started pouring out of their houses and running down the street after them. |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 21 2017, 05:54 PM Post #13 |
|
Fasha
|
-----Fiona----- “You fucking scavengers!” The commotion woke Fiona with a start. The throbbing in her head returned in a flash and she instinctively reached up to touch her face to find it coated red with blood. Her teeth were gone and her face was swollen and misshapen. She was glad that she didn’t have a mirror to look in because it would have horrified her. The mother and wife was sure that if her husband walked back through the door now he would just walk out again. And that would be before he found out she had tried to prostitute herself last night. The feeling of shame sat in her stomach like a pool of stagnant water. She had vomited after it had happened, but the feeling remained. She had washed herself with a flannel, but still she felt dirty. The only thing that made her feel better was the sight of her huddled children before her. Fiona looked out of the window as the noise rose on the street below. She saw the faces of her neighbours, that she hadn’t seen in years. Their faces were full of anger and hate, and it was directed at a large group of dark skinned individuals below. Her neighbours were yelling profound obscenities, cursing the people below for being freeloaders and asking for help. The strangers below looked desperate. Many of them were injured, and they too looked like they were suffering. The mother in her wanted to call out to them, to bring them into her home, cook them a hot meal and give them somewhere warm to lie. Another part of her looked at her children, lying motionless in the cold dark and wished that they could too have a hot meal. Her neighbours had started to pour out onto the streets now, pans and knives in their hands. A few carried small revolvers, which fired with small flashes of fireworks. The strangers running were coming closer to her building, they were going to die. But so were her kids. WC 341/8709 |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| Fasha | Dec 21 2017, 06:56 PM Post #14 |
|
Fasha
|
-----Fasha---- She closed her eyes, and instantly she could hear the birds of the forest, the rustling of dry leaves in the wind. She could feel the cool snow, melting beneath her bottom and the smell of wet wood all around her. Her senses were alive at the top of the hill as she tried to block out the past and the future and focus on everything around her. The Saiyan could feel things too. She could feel the presence of the birds, and the wolves sleeping in their hollows many miles from here. If the woman concentrated hard enough she could feel the bugs and the worms in the ground and the leaves. She could feel the trees, and the life they brought to the world. Fasha pushed past all of these things in her mind, like walking through thick brush and she tried to find her friends. Her eyes snapped open. She could feel them, they were alive! She rose into the air, straightening her legs and back as she searched the snowy countryside for them. Their signal was weak, which meant they were either far from here or they were suffering terribly. She suspected the latter after so long in the wilderness. The warrior began to fly towards the signal, occasionally stopping and closing her eyes as she homed in on the direction. After awhile it became clear that she was heading towards the a great cloud of smog above a concrete jungle. It was Kostur Grad, the Skeleton City and the Capital of Grym. Oh my god. The slaves had headed towards the only refuge they could find. They would have been better off with the wolves and the cold than venturing in there. She sped off, flying through the air with blinding speed. She covered the distance to the city in a matter of minutes, driven by the hope that she could still feel her friend’s life. She flew above the concrete walls of the city, noting the lack of guards atop the parapets. She could feel a large mass of people and also hear a commotion further into the stone maze. She flew down closer to see a large mob of white skinned people, chasing a much smaller mob of hobbling dark-skinned people. Oh shit. She thought as she rocketed down. She heard gunshots and flashes from the chasing mob, and she flew faster. She collided with the ground, crushing the stone around her in a great crater and causing everybody to stop in their tracks. When the dust cleared the people of Kostur Grad saw a small girl with a pale face and eyes of glacial ice. Her red lips were twisted in a snarl and her fists were clenched tightly, causing her sinewy muscles to stand out like iron bars. To her right was a woman, wielding a long slender knife. Her face was beaten and broken and shocked. In her other hand was the hair of a dark-skinned lady she had caught, and who she was about to slide her knife along the throat over. The pale-skinned girl walked over, her eyes set on the woman. The knife shone and slashed out at her but Fasha caught her hand, twisting it and causing the woman to shriek. She snapped her hand out and caught the woman by the throat and lifted her into the air. Her cool, glacial eyes regarded the woman in detail. She was haggard, thin and her face was caked with dried blood. Her mouth was toothless, with jagged remnants of her old teeth and the bleeding sunken holes where the other ones had recently been smashed out. Her eyes were full of fear at the sight of this pale-skinned stranger with amazing strength. Fasha’s fingers closed around her neck like steel, slowly contracting and crushing the cartilaginous rings of her windpipe. She drew the woman closer, feeling her anger growing and flowing out through her arm and into her fingers. The heat began to spread and flames began to flicker at her fingertips, singing the woman’s neck and causing her to thrash and scream. “Ple-“ She croaked. “Ugh, hel-“ “WHAT!?” Fasha snapped, loosening her group. “Please I have kids, I just wanted to feed me kids.” “With what?” The woman glanced nervously over at the slaves, standing awkwardly triumphant with their leader returned. The thought of it sickened her. “You were going to eat them?” Fasha spat out the bile rising in her throat. “You deserve to die.” Her grip tightened and the heat returned. The woman screamed again and again. “I was desperate!” She choked. “Please! Please! Please!” The desperate shrill pleadings only made Fasha angrier, and the grip tighter. She could feel the life slowly draining out of the woman, who was suspended in the air, choked off oxygen and burning from the inside. A large hand softly touched Fasha’s shoulder. She reacted, spinning around to confront whoever it was to find herself face to face with Samson. He had changed. His face was hollow and sunken. His skin sucked up on prominent cheek bones and the onyx hue he had once had was faded. He looked almost white when he had looked like night. His skin had dried and wrinkled, stretching out into deep lines of worry as if he had aged twenty years since she had left. She dropped the woman on the ground, who scampered off. “I am so sorry she said, her stern expression breaking down in front of him.” “It’s okay,” he said. His voice was hoarse but still had that same deep barotone. He looked at her and she saw the same deep brown eyes that had lit up when he was freed. “You are here now, everything will be okay.” His smile widened, breaking through the lines of worry like a massive earthquake, revealing his large white teeth and pink gums. Fasha threw herself into his arms to his astonishment, burying her head in his large frame and crying. The cold-blooded, invincible killer was transformed, back into the little girl she had left behind in Vegeta. Surprised Samson pulled her tighter and held her as she wept, still fully aware of the armed people of the city standing there only metres from them. “It’s okay,” he cooed. Now feeling like he was reassuring her rather than the other way around. She pulled herself from his arms, wiping her face and leaving red streaks where the tears had stung. Fasha turned from him to the people standing there in a large mob, her eyes hard again. Her voice was suddenly cool and calm, her personality flipping like a switch. “These people were once enslaved to Ortrok, and now they are my people and under my protection.” She let this statement sit as she examined their expressions. She didn’t see anger, only fear and desperation. “I can help you too, if you find us somewhere to hide. I can find you food, that isn’t human flesh. I can give you safety. I can give you warmth. I can free your children from the endless cycle of tyranny under your regime. Help me, and I will help you.” One by one, the men and woman before her lay down their weapons following each other’s lead as a symbol. In the distance, soldiers were climbing into trucks, already mobilizing to the area after hearing the gunshots. 1235/9944 COMPLETE |
![]() The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017 Liberation The Regime pt. 1 Wiki | |
![]() |
|
| 0 users reading this topic | |
| « Previous Topic · Earth · Next Topic » |
| Theme: ADBZRPG5 | Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
4:15 AM Jul 11
|
Back to Alex's DBZ RPG | Back to Main Forum








4:15 AM Jul 11