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Because it hurts; Open
Topic Started: Wed Jan 14, 2009 1:28 am (428 Views)
Pollo
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It had been a violent death.

For most of his life, Pollo had been a good boy. The first son of a semi-wealthy merchant family he had grown up knowing that he would likely one day be responsible for an extended family clan much like his father was now. Responsibility had been drilled into him during his studies, his outings, his playtime and even his sleep. His father was harsh, distant but not unnecessarily cruel. His mother had always been a somewhat vague presence, somehow absorbed by his father's shadow- but still supremely gentle.

They were dead now, of course. Even now, he could hear them calling from the great beyond. He should have joined them- should be joining them.

It had been a violent death. Somehow (his memories were fuzzy) but he knew he had been six- it was his birthday today. They had been... what... on a picnic? That didn't sound right, but he wasn't sure why they would all be outside at once for any other reason. There was an ambush. Brutal. A tripwire. The horses had squealed, crashed- broken their legs. He had heard them snap. Whinny in terror. From inside the carriage he had shrieked.

The bandits had come in... and then... and then...

He couldn't remember. But they were to blame, he knew it. He would get them. Kill them.

From inside the wreckage a translucent, pale, child-shaped ghost rose and slowly drifted out onto the forest floor.
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Deus vult
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A snort echoed out, swallowed up by the dark trees in this stretch of woods. The sickly sweet, and alluring, smell of rot was virtually everywhere in this place. Typically found amongst bundles of web with dark stains inside it. Unfortunately a harsh acidic like smell tainted the delectable flavors, though his body could easily handle disease, poison was a different story. That and tangling with man-eating spiders wasn't high on his list.

Zalf however, had picked up on something that smelled clean, mostly. Someone had had an accident or other, but the vintage wasn't as progressed as he would like. The curling jab from his stomach accepted that beggars did not have the pleasure of being choosers.

The wreckage was mostly fresh, no less than a couple days old. The blood had dried awhile ago, but the heavy scent of salt and copper was here, mostly from the horses. The animals were both dead, with the potential passengers aligned together in a fashion that confirmed it wasn't just an accident.

The items of any worth had to be gone, with garments and useless knick knacks strewn about uncaringly. Those didn't concern him, he wasn't a common thief after all! granted, he did steal things time to time to get by, but he was most interested in stealing things nobody else wanted. Except necromancers and other unsavory sorts though.

Edging up a bit cautiously he sniffed hesitantly, making certain the other smells were faded enough to mean their owners had left the area. Just like he wanted to avoid confrontations with spiders, fighting was something he left to others.

Having satisfied his caution, he prodded the carriage to make sure he hadn't missed anything, if some money happened to have been missed he'd happily make certain it wouldn't go to waste on the dead. Luck was not with him however, and no such gains were made. Turning about from the wreckage towards the final scene of the family's life, his reptilian eyes blinked a bit in confusion.

A child was floating away. He hadn't been on the look out for ethereal children and more than likely missed it while hunkered over something. He wasn't certain what it was. Could be an undead of sort, could be something else. Best to let it pass and hope it wouldn't notice him and would leave his meal be.
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Pollo
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He could not move very far away from where he had died.

Bad enough were the shards of his memory, telling him that it was all right to kill, all right to see things painted red and crimson and DEAD but there were other things too that were mucking around in his his soul, things that weren't there before: cackling, insane laughter, joyous screaming, high-pitched insanity and they wouldn't go away. Worse, he couldn't move, hecouldn'tmove just watch as the rot set in, as nature's vultures came and putrefied what had once been his.

"Let me go," he whined-

begged

-not knowing to whom it was he destined his words or if they meant anything at all. Let me go, lemmego, letmegoletmego- LETMEGO

After a while he started hearing voices. They left when he didn't respond.

(So young? Such a pity. And with his family waiting- couldn't we perhaps make a small exception? He couldn't have possibly chosen such a fate for himself- surely it was the spiritual inequities that were forced upon him-

THERE ARE NO EXCEPTIONS. NO MISTAKES. HE HAS MADE HIS CHOICE.)

Giggles burst to the surface- uncalled for and unnoticed. Something, a hand holding his and keeping the worst of the demons at bay, had let go.

And then something - no, heeheeheeHAHAHAHA someone - came. Hazy, dark outlines colored his vision. It was something large and dirty. And free. It reminded Pollo of vultures, vaguely. Or a giant bear. Mama bear! Heeee.

A new best friend! He could free Pollo. Freehim. FREEHIM. Yes. Freedom. That was what he could do. Help. Help him escape. Help Pollo kill. Help. Help. Help.

"Hello,

and as the laughter in his head redoubled his voice became lighter and lighter and all was well

-my name is Pollo."
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