The Twisted Earth (Post-apocalyptic Role play) (Started - Closed)

[Dectomax]

As Marcus came too, he noticed Blake entering a deranged and rage filled state. Attempting to stand up, Marcus clutched his side, as pain spread over his chest again. He grunted slightly and slumped back into the seat.

Ford was oblivious to the commotion in the back, Driving forwards at an even speed. The Vehicle bouncing and rocking as it navigated the uneven terrain, hitting ditches here and there. Eventually the outline of Willows appeared on the horizon and in the distance, further south, the faint outline of Crux could be seen. The ruined outer ring of buildings barley visible.

 

[tobi the good boy]

Blood-flecked eyes darted back and forth inside the hollow sockets of Mortis' skull. He was drawing in the situation, analysing every detail of his preys sudden decent into unbridled rage with the meticulous scrutiny of a scientist. He was trying to decipher what had exactly brought upon this outburst, he deduced must have had something to do with the mangled man he had 'rescued' because the fool was now clutched firmly in the zealots white knuckled grasp, his faced contorted with the wrinkles of pain with each breath a foul wheezing gasp for air.

Sudden outbursts of rage... reason, hypothesis, fear induced? No. Doesn't fit state of mind, body behaviour lacking in outwards indications. Insanity? Psychological profile; aggressive, not impaired. Chemical influx? Imbalance? YES adrenal gland defect? Tumour possibly?

Mortis' racing mind was interrupted but for a second when he witnessed, with great amusement, the man with the strange manner of speaking attempting to tame the wild beast of Blake by physical means. Mortis' persistent smile inched ever so slightly closer to the corner of his visage as he witnessed the man, Irish, cast aback by after suffering a powerful blow to the centre of his face. Mortis in the split second decided that this brief interruption would be likely the only chance he would get to subdue his prey. His pale claws delved deep into his Black leather doctors bag, those hands guided by the familiarity of years of use. When his grip closed he raised his hand from the private medical cache, in his grasp; the syringe he had used on Marcus earlier. The vial of the implement still contained roughly over half-ways worth of sedative, not enough to take down a beast like Delrath but surely enough for a man of Blake's stature.

Mortis' body moved with unnatural swiftness, crossing the gap between him and his prey almost instantaneously. Held tight in the coil of his bony fingers was the chemical weapon Mortis planned to use to subdue the beast and reclaim his prize, the wounded fool. As Blake was recovering from his rather brutal attack on the accented man, Mortis managed to slip in underneath him, the perfect vantage point to inject his serum. With a single thrust Mortis lodged the needle into the zealots throat and pressed firmly upon the valve sending the sedative directly into his bloodstream.

"Nighty night" Mortis chirped. a stale pause began to waft through the air and Blake slowly returned to his standing position, Mortis assumed that the the concoction was merely taking effect and his body was slowing. He was quite wrong. Mortis locked eyes with the beast for but a second, It was all he needed to conclude his calculations were incorrect. A mighty roar echoed throughout the claustrophobic metallic chamber of the Foundation vehicle.
"RAGDOOOOOOOOOLL!"

Mortis' smile lessened ever so slightly as a clamp of flesh and bone closed around his wrist. Blake, with the strength of a monster, wrought his arm back; tearing the spindly appendage from the mad doctor's socket. Mortis staggered upright only to be interrupted by a powerful punch to the solar plexus, sending him backwards and relinquishing the air from his lungs.

"Ouch..."

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Ashe had been pushed aside to the metal door, hitting her shoulder. It sent a shock down her arm but the sound of Irish's nose being stomped in sent a shiver down her spine. Desperately, Ashe reached for her magnum. She had remembered there being one round left. Ashe aimed the gun at Blake but the turbulence of the ride and Mortis' attack made it difficult to make the shot would connect. Even with that, shooting Blake would be an error far-reaching than what Ashe could think of.

Blake's expertise would be too important to pass up but this sudden outburst jump-started alternative thoughts concerning whether or not it was worth it. Ashe rotated the gun so that the grip would be the blunt end. As soon as Mortis was tossed aside for the ragdoll that he truly was Ashe lunged forth.

She closed the distance fairly quickly. She cocked her arm to the side and swung at his head. The blow connected but did little to affect the beast. At the most the attack made him flinch, blink even. Blake brought his opposite arm to bear, delivering a blow to her cheek. Ashe fell back but soon Blake followed through. A hand wrapped itself around her throat squeezing ever so tightly.

"Hrgh...." Ashe tried to fight back, kicking and punching but it did little to do anything. Darkness crept along her vision, consuming it with each attempt at breathing.

 

[StormShaun]

Shaun obliviously noticed the commotion going on and saw the bludgeoning everyone was getting from Blake, What a great leader Shaun thought as he suddenly got up and started to try and make Blake drop Ashe from the choke that had captured her throat, but no dice.

Shaun looked at Blake with annoyed eyes, he didn't like to see the bigger people bully the smaller people, but he sees that this isn't bullying at all. Shaun got up and wondered what to do, he didn't want to waste his rocket and kill everyone, and he didn't want to kill Blake either, Shaun sighed at the only choice that he could do, Shaun went up to Blake and tried to punch him as hard as his fist would let him, and the hit connected, Successes Shaun thought once more.

The next moment Shaun saw was not the one he wanted to see, it seems that Blake's attention had moved to Shaun instead of Ashe, but he was still being choked, "Crap..." Shaun muttered as he watched the angry eyes of Blake shift focus and his cold white hand wrapped around Shaun's jaw and lifted him into the air and head butted Shaun straight in the forehead which sent Shaun to the hummer's metal floor, groaning and wondering what the hell just happened.

 

[Dectomax]

Hearing the commotion in the back of the Jeep, Ford stopped the vehicle and turned to see the scene of chaos unfold. He watched as Blake swung punches and floored one of the smaller men. Ford looked back to the steering wheel and then back at Blake. With a sudden leap and yell, he plunged into the back of the vehicle, disappearing in a flurry of arms and yelps. With an almost comical effect, his leap knocked the mad man off balance and plunged him to the floor. "STOP. HITTING. THINGS. AND. LET. ME. DRIVE!" Ford yelled, each pause followed by a punch.

Panting, Ford looked down and all emotion sank from his face. The insane man had been felled. Still breathing, but unconscious. Ford laughed, manically, more from fear and nerves than anything. Turning to the rest of the group that was now stooped around him staring blankly at this small, frenzied man, he shrugged. "How am I 'sposed to drive, when y'all tryin' to kill each other?"

 

[tobi the good boy]

The bony clutches of Mortis's remaining arm was clamped tightly against the stump of open flesh that lie beneath the dirtied white layers of his coat and jacket. His breaths, heavy, as he forced himself to draw great gulps of air, Blake's blow had come as a surprise to the maniacal doctor, by his calculations; the dosage of sedative left in the syringe would surely had been enough to put down his prey.

Wrong? ... Diluted, possibly... no! NOT POSSIBLE! Calculation never wrong! factors, controls, variables. WRONG!

Mortis's body was pressed hard against the cold chassis of the foundation vehicle's inner workings. Noticeable twitches shot up the raggedy doctors spine as he remained fastened unnaturally in place. His body was hunched, his face entirely masked by the mess of black and white strands, silent whispers just out of earshot mumbled incessantly.

By the time Mortis had uncoiled himself he was greeted with the image of Ashe, their poorly disguised fem fatale, clawing violently in desperation as the iron grip of Blake closed in around her trachea.
' hypocrite '
The fool was positioned at the beasts feet, clutching his forehead in a physically traumatic daze, his groans becoming something of an annoyance. Smeared across the spindly madman's guise was the all too familiar scar-gilded smirk that Mortis wore so, unsettlingly, well.

With his remaining appendage he reached into the breast pocket on his adjacent side and from it's recesses he retrieved one of his many shimmering silver scalpels. As Mortis began to make and advance the very foundations of surrounding the doctor were thrown into chaos. He was launched violently forward into the cold cold steel wall of the commandeered Humvee. While in mid flight he caught a glimpse of the man they had come to call 'Ford' bolt from the cockpit, his face red and flustered, and launched himself into his prey. His small frame lying atop the zealots toppled body, flinging wildly like a drunken chimpanzee before becoming to an exhausted halt.

A stagnancy filled the small motorized cage, Ashe breathed heavily and the fool began to rise his grasp still firmly planted to his forehead. As the uncomfortably emptiness was reaching a high it was broken by the tiny figure resting aloft the felled body of Blake.

"How am I 'sposed to drive, when y'all tryin' to kill each other?"

Mortis made him way from where he had landed, lifting himself from the corner of the machine. As he did he managed to slip the blade back into his breast pocket without the rest of his companions noticing. He began to advance on the tiny ebony man before him. Mortis reached down, retrieved his misplaced limb and hoisting it under his shoulder.

"With great skill and alacrity."

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish was momentarily dazed and had only caught glimpses of the others' futile attempts in subduing Blake. Within that momentary daze, he had a very brief moment of shock when the gangly man had his arm roughly removed. He witnessed the young lad, whom Irish suspected wasn't, get strangled, then witnessed Shaun lifted by the jaw and headbutted. Irish had never seen a man so filled with rage and power; even that of a considerably unforgiving father of an alluring barmaid seemed insignificant in comparison to this level of fury.

Irish struggled to sit himself up, his breathing was shallow and rapid as the expansion of his lungs grew painful. He leaned against the back of the driver's seat just as soon as the humvee had come to a sudden halt. What happened next came as a great suprise in many respects; the most prominent being the manner in which the driver, who had launched himself from his seat, had subdued the enraged man. Irish could only sit and watch, a brow cocked in surprise and mild confusion, as Ford's small frame had charged and flailed at Blake.

Feckin' Jaysus, 'tis as if madness is contagious... thought Irish, as Ford knocked Blake to the ground, beating him into unconsciousness. Good thing, Blake most likely woulda ripped the poor bugger in 'alf.

It took a great deal of effort, but Irish managed to hoist himself up, using the frame of the humvee for support. He held firm in place, bracing himself, knowing full-well that what he was about to do would be considerably painful. Using his thumb and forefinger, he pinched and pulled on the bridge of his nose, realigning the cartilage to the best of his abilities. Tears began welling up in the corners of his eyes as he winced and gasped sharply. "Gah!" Irish exclaimed loudly, following up with various profanities in the form of mutters and grumbles.

After that episode, from what seemed like an ongoing series which surely could be categorized as an epoch of excruciating pain, Irish had begun reorienting himself with his surroundings. His breathing was becoming more steady and controlled, and he slowly made his way towards Blake's limp figure. He paused for a moment and peered at the rest of the group, then let his gaze settle on Ford. "I take it ye 'aven't been in many scraps afore. Anywho, I'm just glad tha's all done and o'er wit'."

Irish bent down and tucked his hands under Blake's shoulders and carefully dragged him to his seat. He hoisted the unconscious man into the seat, propped him upright, and secured him with the seatbelt. "There ye go, bud. Can't 'ave ye jouncin' 'round, no sir-ee." Irish then moved for his seat, but before setting himself down he turned towards the more-or-less conscious passengers, "Now, can anyone o' ye tell me just what the feck tha' was all about?"

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Ashe watched in awe as Ford knocked Blake out in spectacular fashion. She felt her twisted throat in an effort to get a feel for what remained or what was still there. Blake's iron grip made her cough out with each attempt at speaking words. It wasn't until a few intervals of coughing and the Irishman's response that Ashe could finally speak.

"The Hell if I know?! I thought you were his best friend..." Ashe said but then her eyes widened. Her voice, no longer forced, had been heard in its true form. Whatever happened, Blake had made it almost impossible for her to lower her voice. Now instead it was slightly higher and more feminine.

"Fuck..." Ashe breathed out.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Seeing the look of utter shock on the young lass's face from the sudden revelation she let slip through her thin veil made Irish burst out in laughter. He let out a few good bellows before clutching his side and went into a fit of coughs. Shortly he regained composure and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Whew...oh jaypers tha' 'urt..." he let out few chuckles before continuing, "I apologize, but ye'll 'ave to excuse me, just seein' tha' look was...goodness, tha' was summat else. A' any rate, I am a friend, aye...though I've only known him through me business. Never seen 'im like tha' afore."

 

[StormShaun]

Shaun gradually went out of his daze and saw the welcome site of an unconscious Blake with the driver known as 'Ford' on top of him, Shaun looked towards Ford and gave him a thumbs up with a energetic smile.

Ashe then revealed herself to the conscious passengers if the hummer, Shaun didn't really care that she was a woman or a man, but the only thing he likes to know is that she is good at firing a gun.

"...So, should we get going?" Shaun broke the silence shortly after Irish spoke out.

 

[tobi the good boy]

Hung beneath Mortis' shoulder, clamped hard against his bony ribcage was the 'gangly', limp remains of Mortis' disembodied appendage. It's stark white surface etched deep with the ghastly trackworks running up and down intertwining into a sadistic collage of the flesh. Carved into his cheeks was the madman's signature smirk, a mask for the inner machinations that festered in the recess's of his twisted mind.

While the rest of his companions were squabbling over the sudden outburst of his prey, an ordeal he had promptly decided to decipher at a later point in time, Mortis had begun the the familiar procedure of "reattachment". An impulse resonated through his body, the seal cauterising the maw of his shoulder began to liquefy into a thick, crimson sludge that slowly began flowing freely into the hunk of meat that was his arm. A few minute had passed and an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the metal cabin, by this point a weak seal of 'Sanguine' was coating the damaged flesh, keeping the appendage fastened like a jigsaw puzzles locked in place.

With his procedure completed he swiftly retrieved his Black leather bag of medical wonders. He stepped over the unconscious remains of the zealot known as, 'Blake' and moved towards the gasping husk that was the man he had saved earlier. Mortis' eyes darted back and forth, a juxtaposition of his persistent grin, scanning the foreigner for further damage. It was bad.

The lengths Mortis had gone to in retrieving this man from death clutches were completely unravelled the moment his prey had assaulted the stranger. His stitches were torn, his internal bleeding profuse, his collar bone even appeared to have been snapped on his impact with the cold steel base of the vehicle. Mortis reached into his bag and withdrew a glass vial with a cork in the lid of it. Inside was a black fluid with what looked like 'pulp' inside of it.

"I'm terrible sorry, But we're all out of sedatives" He cued cheerily, It was of course; a lie. He still retained at least 3 full vials however, Mortis had been curious in testing out a substance he had retrieved earlier in the Dome. A thin needle pierced the cork, submerged itself in the ichor and drank. By the time Mortis had removed the syringe, only half of the black substance remained.

"So I'm going to improvise ... Isn't this going to be fun!" Mortis chimed as he sank the steel proboscis into the man's throat and released the dark elixir into the man's artery. Mortis stared into the man's eyes as the body began to go limp. The gangly doctor's skeletal hand reached behind his patients neck and pinched the skin between his fine cut nails. A shot of pain raced across the man's limp features, impossible to notice for an untrained eye.

The doctor leaned in closer and whispered into the frozen figures ear."Interesting... The spiders venom paralyses, but doesn't numb. No matter, I just need you to remains still." Mortis giggled to himself and began the operation. The method was very similar to before, patch up work. However, as Mortis was working on a cluster of severed veins behind the blind man's intestines a sense of nihilism ran up Mortis' arm. Before he could react a tear in his wrist he had opened when cast aback by Blake came loose and his hand was no longer attached to his wrist. Like some macabre domino effect, the man's hopes for survival swiftly sunk. The scalpel in his 'free' hand had accidentally sliced through the stomach upon it's release, this lead onto the vile repercussions of his collective,and rather extensive, digestive track emptying itself onto the already blood-soaked floor. Mortis breathed a sigh of exasperation as he retrieved his grasp from the dying man's open torso. Mortis stared into those bulging eyes and listened to the symphony of gargled wails through that drooling slack jawed mouth. During their locked gaze, Mortis' smile broadened and his eye's came alight with the same euphoria of a small child opening a long awaited Christmas present.

I suppose you win this time.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish looked to Shaun, nodding in silent acknowledgement before turning to Ford and speaking up. "The lad's right, we gotta go. Take us some place outta sight, so's we can get somethin' to cover or remove any markin's. Then we can get to some bloody feckin' civilization; I could use a damned drink..."

 

[Dectomax]

Ford watched in terror as the gut of the wounded man emptied onto the metallic floor of the Humvee he attempted to speak, but nothing more than a mumble came out. Looking to Irish, Ford nodded and climbed back into the Drivers seat, bringing the engine back to life with a roar and the vehicle slowly trundled forwards.

Marcus looked at Mortis and then at the corpse and the mess that now lay at his feet. Lowering the side window, he hunched over and vomited. "We gotta get this shit outta the vehicle..." He said, slightly muffled as his hand covered his lower face.

Looking at Blake, he asked the rest of the group: "What we gunna do 'bout him?"

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

"Tie him up. What if he comes out of his sleep as angry as before? Do any of you want to risk that?" Ashe said to the group. She leaned out the window and spit out some of her vomit that had risen when the man's innards had painted the floor of the Humvee. The smell was atrocious.

"As for the guy over here, cremation? I really don't want to be smelling that for the whole trip. No offense Mortis."

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish turned to see what the hubbub in the back of the humvee was all about and regretted the decision almost instantly. He saw the gangly man down next to the hysterical, injured man whose innards were, quite obviously, innards no more. Irish's stomach wrenched, and something would've likely risen had he eaten anything in the past couple days. The fact thought that his hunger was brought forth by such a disgusting sight only tightened his stomach even more. He clutched his gut and almost retched, then looked with great disdain and the gangly man.

"The feck is wrong wit' ye? 'Ave ye no decency? Ye can't just go cuttin' people up like tha', spillin' their guts all o'er the place. Who the feck was tha' any'ow? Jaysus, this is just...feckin' Jaysus..." Irish was feeling a strong mixture of emotions; frustration with the 'doctor's handywork, concern for the life of the man he just cut open, anger for the potential impact the smell and blood would have on the value of the humvee, and utter confusion as to what the gangly had been thinking when he did what he had.

Irish took a deep breath and regained composure, looking sternly at the gangly man. "I really don't give a feck about what you intend on accomplishing there, but do it fast 'cause it's gonna make a quick departure soon as we stop. Then we need to do somethin' about yer mess, we can't be ridin' around in a car tha' smells like the bloody bowels of a freshly opened man."

 

[tobi the good boy]

The inferno of agony and bane that burned ever so brightly in his prize's bulging eyes extinguished gradually in the mere moments following the rather untimely and gruesome 'accident'. The Doctors blood-flecked gaze remained steadfast and unwavering as the stranger before him descended into the great unknown. Blood and bile began to drench the madman's knees as whatever fluids the man still held dear emptied onto the cold sterile floor, the foul stench of death and decay wafting through the chamber like a great plague.

In the midst of his slaughter came the picture perfect image of a fable learnt long ago, rushing through the biological archive of his mind like a raging torrent. The visage of flowing raven black, draped atop stark white frames of calcium; the ominous looming crescent of glistening steel and intricate grains of sand permanently in the stasis of slender-waisted, forged glass. The tale of 'Death', not the state; but the anthropomorphic creature. As a youngling, the guise was but a farce; the sum total of man's fear of the unknown amalgamated into one. But the more Mortis came to face death, me more he became acquainted. The ideal of combating such a beautiful monstrosity on terms of physical prowess and mental genius became an experience he had come to enjoy, to embrace! The delusion of mocking the very end of man had become his driving force.

Mortis trance was brought to an abrupt end by the accented and flustered beckoning that resonated in his wake
"The feck is wrong wit' ye?..."
Mortis delved into the faded red cross emblazoned bag, ignoring Irish's frantic calls and withdrew a small steel cylinder, the length of his finger with the width of a pencil. On it's side was a clear glass window that highlighted the crimson that flowed freely into it's tiny chamber as the doctor jammed it into the aorta of the disembowelled corpse at his feet. When the vial was sated the thin sliver of steel that pierced his prize slid autonomously into cylinder, sealing itself and the precious sample within.

"My finger slipped."

Mortis cocked his head and locked optics with his new companion. An innocent smile gracing his features, angelic even; his tone akin to child's rehearsed apology. The signs of disgust were richly ingrained into the addressing man's mien who appeared close to reliving his own stomach's contents.

"You can use most of the sterilising agents I have left to tidy up this little mess but would you kindly leave me just enough to clean my equipment?" Mortis lifted himself out of the dead-man's ichor and placed one of his bony claws on their drivers shoulder.

"Get us to somewhere quiet in Crux, off of the merchant district. Darker the better" Mortis waved his other patchwork paw towards Ashe who was still attempting to regain normal breathing.

"Could you tie little oul' Blake up; we cant have him pulling another tantrum now can we ... pretty please?" His voice was childish but not mocking, unsettling for his scarecrow image.

Mortis was now raised at full mast, his eye's locked on the fool still positioned on the base of the Foundation vehicle, smile brimming once more. His finger thumbing the vial of the strangers blood hidden in his pocket as he spoke. "When we get to Crux, we need to have a little chat ... Angel."

 

[Dectomax]

Ford placed one hand over his mouth as he began to drive towards Crux, the vehicle bumping as he swapped to the cracked asphalt from the uneven desert ground. The Sun was high in the sky now, it was a clear afternoon with no clouds in sight. "Y'all know where you wanna go? 'Cause I know where this 'ere Fargo's place is?" Ford called over his shoulder.

In the distance, the outline of Crux was growing larger. A few destroyed buildings where beginning to litter the roadside and breaking the skyline, the Ziggurat could be seen in the distance, several miles into Crux.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Ashe nodded and picked up some bungee chords that have been left by the foundation. She tied them into an elastic rope that should be capable of not being broken, at least not easily. Ashe took the hunter's legs and wrapped the first rope at his ankles, then she made another and tied it at Blake's wrists. She tied them as tight as they could go and moved Blake aside.

As she was making sure that Blake's restraints were sufficient she noticed Marcus. He was and still is kind of the leader of the group despite his condition at the moment.

"Hanging in there Marcus?"

 

[StormShaun]

Shaun had recovered from the hit from Blake and witnessed the horrific event unfold in-front of his eyes, his face froze at the sudden death of the man that they saved and almost died while doing it.

The only thing he could of think of is if he could of stopped Blake or Mortis from unleashing the events that lead the stranger to his death, this made Shaun pissed off at the two mad men. Fuck, why would they do this! Shaun thought and then looked at Mortis, put back his fake smile on and replied, "That would be great, we do it over a drink, I think I need one after this...hehe" Shaun lightly chuckled as he started to look out of the window.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish scoffed at the gangly man's excuse. Oh, his finger slipped. Well tha's just feckin' dandy, ain't it? I'm smellin' the lower intestines of a man I never even met, the humvee's a feckin' mess, and we gotta clean it up. But wait, it's all okay, 'cause it were a just a wee mistake 'e says. This day just keeps gettin' better. Frustration was building up, and Irish struggled to keep levelheaded. He grabbed his pack, tossed it up front and sat in the front passenger seat and just stared out of the window, leaving himself to his own thoughts.