Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

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Tchernobog
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Tue Apr 15, 2014 05:59 pm

N0t_mINe wrote:Tcherno, once you go public, you gotta go all the way man.

Not quite sure what you mean there N0t_mINe. New to you content will continue to come out every Sunday; it is just that it is not actually all that new to me yet. This has all and all been a good thing as calving season has been a real roller coaster this year, and has been monopolizing my Sundays.

Unless you are just being somewhat flippant N0t_mINe, which I usually sense you are. :P
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby N0t_mINe » Wed Apr 16, 2014 07:00 am

Tchernobog wrote:
N0t_mINe wrote:Tcherno, once you go public, you gotta go all the way man.

Not quite sure what you mean there N0t_mINe. New to you content will continue to come out every Sunday; it is just that it is not actually all that new to me yet. This has all and all been a good thing as calving season has been a real roller coaster this year, and has been monopolizing my Sundays.

Unless you are just being somewhat flippant N0t_mINe, which I usually sense you are. :P


If flippant includes ironic in the definition, then no. While my love for short story reading is sporadic, when I'm in the mood I can do so almost manically. This was obviously meant as a longer work on your part but by releasing them in episodes, you've triggered my need for written material. I thought you were writing them as you could over the past weeks and when you said that this has been around a while it caused me to worry: perhaps there wouldn't be anything else? Or we're getting close to an unfinished ending of some sort.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Wed Apr 16, 2014 06:53 pm

I am sticking to this until it is done, don't worry.

When I first started this in 2008 I had intended to release it in parts much like I am doing now, but became sidetracked with other projects and was left with some bare sections that have needed quite a bit of work to get them to my modern more exacting standards.

I am quite confident that I can still keep up the pace even when writing completely new content.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Apr 21, 2014 06:01 am

Part Seven: Strangers in the Night

"Strangers in the night, two lonely people. We were strangers in the night, up to the moment, when we said our first hello." Caleb was sitting with his back limp against the cell door, sedately singing the lyrics to himself in an almost sleep-like stupor. "Ever since that night we've been together. Lovers at first sight, in love forever. It turned out so right, for strangers in the night." Caleb shifted slightly to one side, still cognizant of the need for more blood flow to reach the right side of his back. "It has never turned out right for me, but anyway..." he muttered to himself quietly, beginning to feel irritable again. His fellow cell mate meanwhile simply rocked himself slowly from side to side near the opposing wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, still too cold and too scared to go to sleep. It would be morning soon anyway, so there really did seem to be very little point.

Suddenly the sound of a large metal bolt being removed from its lock permeated the cell, producing a loud echo that bounced around the room. A small slot opened up near the top of the door, allowing a hand to reach inside the cell. A thin chicken drumstick fell with a noticeable plop onto the brim of Caleb's hat. Caleb immediately reached out and grabbed the offending object, studying it intently for several moments. Then the same hand reappeared and dropped another piece of what the Cabal obviously thought passed for nourishment onto the brim of Caleb's hat; the man still seemed blissfully ignorant as to the old gunslinger's present position. Before the man was able to pull his hand away again however, Caleb had subsequently shot his own hand out and grabbed the other person's arm firmly within his grasp. With a sickening popping sound, followed by the sound of ripped flesh, he pulled something long and clothed through the slot.

"Here, take this" Caleb said, nonchalantly tossing the arm to his cell mate. "Now you can gnaw on something a little more substantial." The arm landed with a fleshy squishy plop on the ground only a few centimetres away from his poor disturbed cell mate. In the meantime, the sounds of words in Cultist and rather obscene English were being screamed by a man in the hall outside. He had evidently not taken too well to the loss of one of his limbs. Caleb could not say that he could blame him, but still wished that the man could have at least handled himself with a little more decorum than this. After all, some of the folks down here were still trying to sleep, or at least they were. He sighed, briefly pondered taking a bite out of the chicken, and then leaned back against the cell door again.

"The sun'll come out tomorrow. Tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar, that tomorrow there'll be sun!" Caleb's voice rose a few octaves louder as he got a little bit more into his performance. "Just thinkin' about tomorrow, clears away the cobwebs, and the sorrow 'til there's none!"

"Why do you do that?" a voice asked, almost in a whisper, from the other end of the cell.

"Do what?" Caleb replied, distracted.

"You know... all that singing and stuff."

"I do this 'stuff', my dear boy, because it gives me something to do when there is nothing else left that can be done" Caleb stated simply.

"What would you do if you literally did have nothing to do?" his cell mate inquired, still more than a little dubious of his present company. Caleb's lips turned upwards into a cold odd smile.

"Well, for you, that hardly bears thinking about, does it?" he observed lightly, he himself already taking a strange sort of shining to the unusual young man in his midst. All of the sudden the sounds of hurried footsteps and multiple arguing voices burst their way into the room, as several men began to congregate in front of the door outside. "Now, what's all this in aid of then?" Caleb asked, pushing himself back onto his feet. Suddenly the cell door burst open and five Cultists rushed forwards, lunging at him with a net as if he were some kind of vicious uncontrollable animal. Caleb initially tried to fight the assemblage off, but soon realized that even he would not get very far against so many, and so finally allowed himself to go limp, letting the Cultists tie the net around his body and bind his hands.

"Come on now, we got him. Pull him out of 'ere and close the damn door!" one of the Cultist's called out to one of the few remaining Cabal minions that were still standing in the hallway outside. Caleb felt his feet rise several centimetres above the ground as he was hauled unceremoniously out of the bleak cell and into the glowing torchlight that roughly illuminated the dungeon's long gloomy halls. "Have you got that door closed yet?" the Cultist yelled out again, trying his best to take his eyes off Caleb's menacing stare.

"I think we broke the lock when we rushed the door open" someone replied meekly.

"Never mind, let's just get the Betrayer up to the main chamber already."

"What about the boy?" one of them asked, gesturing inside the cell.

"I don't know, just bring him with you then, okay?" the other Cultist responded irritably, growing increasingly annoyed by the growing incompetence of his fellows. With that order, the two free Cultists that were not presently holding Caleb stormed in and dragged Caleb's cell mate out by his outstretched arms. Caleb then felt his body rise again as his captors hauled him out of the dungeons, up a long spiral staircase, and then into the seemingly very well lit room above. Various gruesome and Gothic artworks littered the walls, while corpses could be seen nailed or hung by chains on nearby pillars. On the floor was a large red circle, and in the centre of this was a large stone chair, acting like a throne. Sitting on top of this chair, dressed in a red ceremonial robe, was another Elder of the Cabal, who was now beaming at Caleb happily.

"Welcome!" the Elder greeted warmly. "Welcome to your death!"
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Apr 28, 2014 06:14 am

Part Eight: Lost Monastery

"My what?" Caleb asked, half bemused, half p*** off.

"It is a little bit melodramatic isn't it" the Elder admitted, still smiling incessantly. "But I do so love being honest, and I can assure you that it is the truth. You are going to die."

"If you wanted me dead, why did you go through all the work of dragging me here? Why did you not simply kill me while I was down?" Caleb replied coolly, his arms fighting with their binds more out of unconscious spite than due to any firm plan of action.

"Now, that wouldn't have been very fair now would it?" the Elder cooed mockingly. "Besides, I so wanted to see this done personally. Sometimes certain fancies do need to be addressed after all." Having now grown weary of threats, the Elder instead moved to address the rest of his men. "Take off the net, but leave him bound. I want to see his arms flaying towards the end." As the net was removed, Caleb saw something strange move from on top of the Elder's lap. Upon seeing that his prisoner had now finally realized the true extent of his fate, the Elder's smile increased from a beam to an all out grin. "I believe you have met these things before, haven't you?"

"Met them? I was around when they were created! I saw them on that dark day in the underground labs when you people built them! I know more about the Cabal than you ever will!" Caleb was getting a little sick of being second guessed by men that were less than half his own true age.

"You must learn to control that temper of yours Betrayer" the Elder lectured, shaking one of his fat fingers at Caleb as if he were a naughty child. "Your statement is flawed by definition, as someone with true knowledge would never betray the Cabal. Someone with true knowledge does not kill the almighty Tchernobog. It really is that simple."

"I did not betray them..." Caleb growled. "You have no conception of just how long I was in that grave Elder. How long I was left to rot in the dirt with only the rats for company, rats whose only interest in myself was as an easily accessible snack. I was the one that was betrayed, and nothing that you can say is going to change that. The time has come for me to shut you up for good."

"That would be rather difficult with you being bound and all" the Elder retorted confidently. "What could you possibly do to me like this Betrayer?"

"But see, I am no longer bound!" Caleb proclaimed triumphantly, throwing his hands in the air. A resounding silence spread through the room as the smile on the Elder's face move from a grin to a grimace. Lying limply on the ground behind Caleb was his binds, still burning from the fire that the old gunslinger had started in order to set himself free.

"You idiots forgot to remove his lighter!" the Elder cried out, as the thing that was previously prancing around on his lap finally leaped into action. Caleb reached for the disembodied hand too late, as it still managed to successfully hit its target and start to clasp the old gunfighter's throat between its dexterous little fingers. Caleb's own appendages went to work, trying to pry the hand off, but met with only limited success. Then through the lightheaded cloud that was now enveloping Caleb came an idea. He freed one of his arms from its current futile employment and instead reached for the silver metallic box that had served him so well just moments before. He brought his arm back up to his neck, and flicked the lighter back alight.

The Hell Hand, as these things are known, was more startled than pained by its recent experience, but still relented its grip and allowed itself to fall back down to the ground. Caleb quickly grabbed a torch from a nearby perch in the wall and swung it towards the somewhat dazed and unsuspecting Hell Hand. Still coated in a solution of formaldehyde from the embalming process, its palm landed straight in the middle of the flames and immediately caught fire, promptly burning into a black dark crisp on the cold stone floor. First principles having now been attended to, Caleb took a quick glance about the room. The area had gone quiet during his contest with the Hell Hand, but now things were beginning to move again. Caleb saw that the two Cultists who had previously been holding him hostage were now desperately trying to reload the drums on their Thompson Machine guns, hoping that they would be able the put an end to this before it was too late.

"Don't worry!" Caleb called out, brandishing his torch like a sword. "There is pain enough for everyone!" Just as one of the Cultists was finally able to shoot, Caleb ran forward and flung his torch straight at his enemy's robed face. He screamed in agony as his also surprisingly flammable clothes burst alight, while his compatriot responded by opening a little fire of his own. Caleb swerved behind a nearby pillar as the Cultist ran forth and started firing again and again. Caleb lunged from pillar to pillar as his opponent's steady stream of bullets hit the wall barely a few steps behind their intended target. Suddenly the gun fire stopped with a hollow click. Out of ammo.

"This should be fun..." Caleb jeered as he ran forward, scooped up the Tommy gun from the already fallen Cultist, and disarmed his rearming enemy with a swift kick of his boot. He then placed the same boot hard on the Cultist's chest and forced him to the floor. The Cultist looked up helplessly as Caleb aimed the Tommy gun right between his opponent's eyes. Caleb smiled a hideous sadistic smile as he placed his forefinger on the trigger. The Cultist had nowhere to run now.

"Stop!" someone cried out from somewhere behind him. Caleb turned to see his former cell mate peering at him from behind one of the pillars, staring at the bloody scene with a look of unrestrained horror. "He's unarmed, it's not right!" he called out again, his voice shaky and now intimidated by Caleb's cold level stare. Caleb turned slowly back to his captive, who was now begging, pleading for his life. Caleb then considered the poor wretch that was now before him, and straightened.

"It's time you died!" Caleb declared just before he pulled the trigger, emptying a full drum of bullets into the Cultist's chest, who writhed on the floor spasmodically. All that was left when the deed was done was a few pieces of cloth and whole lot of blood. Behind the pillar, Caleb's cell mate winced and almost wished he was still in captivity. "This ain't no time for morals, sonny" Caleb commented dryly, chucking the now useless Tommy gun to the floor. The other Cultists who had been involved in bringing him up from the dungeons seemed to have disappeared. He walked back to the Elder's chair, and wondered what his next move should be. Then he heard the sound of frantic footsteps running up a spiral stair case nearby.

"I have you now" Caleb stated malevolently, grabbing another torch from a nearby wall socket. Gradually the footsteps got louder and louder as he got closer and closer, with him managing to ascend the stairs at fair rate of speed. Caleb could soon see moonlight coming down from the top of the spiral, which meant that these stairs must lead to the roof. The Elder had no place to run and no place to hide. "Where is my scroll?" Caleb barked, seeing the Elder pitifully hiding behind a stone gargoyle that helped decorate the ornate roof of what Caleb now took to be a former Monastery.

"I... I don't know where it is..." the Elder stammered, by now having lost all of his past zeal.

"The truth Elder, where... is... my... scroll?" Caleb growled, saying each word as if it was its own sentence.

"I don't know, I swear!" the Elder protested again. "The gargoyles took it, headed off towards the mountains! That is the truth, I can not tell you anymore!" The Elder shivered, but it was not from the cold. Caleb walked up slowly but purposefully towards the cowering man. Caleb's cell mate, who had ran after him up the stairs, had by now reached the top of the spire and was looking over at the situation grimly. Caleb walked up so close to the Elder that his face was directly above his. He looked down at him, his eyes burning their way into his very soul.

"That wont do Elder." With those words, Caleb delivered a sharp kick to the Elder's solar plexus, sending him reeling breathlessly backwards off the side of the roof. Although his hands were merely a few centimetres away from the ledge, he was too disorientated to grab hold, and fell cleanly to the ground with an audible thump. After that, all was quiet on the roof for several moments. The moon was shining, the wind was blowing, and the owls were hooting. All was calm. Caleb turned, moved past his former cell mate, and walked quietly down the stairway. His mission here was done.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon May 05, 2014 05:43 am

Part Nine: Butchery Loves Company

Caleb walked slowly down the long spiral staircase that led up to the roof, each of his steps echoing throughout the large stone halls of the monastery. At least, that is what Caleb thought it was. He never had a good chance to get acquainted with his surroundings until now. The Cabal liked using old religions buildings and temples as it showed off their power, while at the same time diminishing the effect their presence would have on the local population. Once some place was taken over by the Cabal, it could never turn back. The same rule applied to people as well. You either served or died; once you were in you could never get out. Caleb so far was the only exception.

He paused, hearing a different set of footsteps echoing from behind him. He looked around but could see nothing but the torches on the wall that could be used as a weapon, and if he took one of those it could only make matters worse by further darkening his surroundings. Caleb balled his hands into fists as whatever it was that was following him approached down the stairs. Thankfully for Caleb it was only the pale thin form of his former cell mate. Caleb had not realized that the boy had followed him up to the top of the spire, so preoccupied was he with finishing his own work. Caleb turned around and continued walking down the staircase until he finally reached the ground level. He then heard more footsteps and span around just in time to see his former cell mate continue his long grim march down the stairs. Was he following him?

Caleb once again ignored the boy and headed for one of the many hallways that met up at the main chamber of the building where the Elder's throne now sat vacant. After much careful searching he finally found a room marked "Storage" and walked inside. Once in the room, Caleb found many weapons, tomes, and treasures, but at that moment there was only one true thing that he desired in his heart. He began digging through the boxes and crates, finally finding that which he sought in a discarded pile in the corner of the room. He summarily ripped open the crate and brought one of its small glass contents to his more than willing mouth. "Ah, hair of the dog that bit ya!" he observed gleefully, placing the liquor bottle into one of his interior trench coat pockets.

After a little more searching he eventually discovered his knife, shotgun, several rounds of ammunition, and a flare pistol. Having now completed his purpose, Caleb turned for the door. He then discovered that the door was now closed and his former cell mate was standing in the room with him. Now Caleb was sure that the boy was following him. "You want something kid?" he inquired, placing a few shells into his shotgun's barrel. "Or do you just stalk people for fun?"

"I don't know, I don't have any place to go..." he replied, his eyes fixed on the shotgun that Caleb was holding.

"Not my problem" Caleb declared, casually shoving him out of his way before purposefully striding towards the door. He placed his hands on the knob and twisted it only to discover that it now refused to move. "Ah, it's stuck" Caleb muttered angrily to himself.

"It's not stuck, it has a pad lock here see?" The boy was following him again.

"And how do you propose we unlock it then, you have a skeleton key handy?" Caleb scolded, his sharp temper coming to bear. The boy moved forward, fiddled with the lock for a few moments, and with a satisfying "click" it opened.

"I heard some of the people here talk about it once" he explained simply. "They wanted to have it replaced." Caleb glared down at his apparent stalker, but decided against doing anything to him for the moment. He then walked out the now open door, and to his annoyance, discovered that the boy also followed him outside. Caleb continued to ignore him, until finally his patience ran out.

"Are you feeling lucky?" he growled, grasping his sawed-off tightly in his hands, his cold malevolent eyes burning into the face of his follower. The boy stared back wearily, but still surprisingly unafraid. Caleb's eyes narrowed. "There ain't no mercy where you're going" Caleb muttered as he aimed the weapon at the boy's chest. He continued to stare back unafraid.

"Go on then..." the boy encouraged quietly. "It is not like I have any reason to stop you. Everyone I know is dead, taken by that cult. I am not afraid to be next." Caleb's finger hovered on the trigger, eagerly awaiting the order to release the fatal shot. For some reason however Caleb's mind could not give the order to fire. Something just did not feel right. This boy honestly had no fear of death. Everyone else Caleb had killed had on some level; even the Cultists he slaughtered in the hundreds did not want to die simply because it meant they could no longer serve their dark master. This boy was different. He honestly did not care. He would never admit it, but something about it reminded Caleb too much of himself. He lowered the shotgun.

"What's your name kid?" Caleb asked, holstering the weapon.

"John... at least I think it was John" he replied quietly.

"Can you shoot, Johnny?" Caleb inquired, beginning to walk down the path.

"No" he answered. Caleb had expected that.

"You better learn" he said, tossing the boy the flare pistol. "If you don't, you are going to have a very short trip." Johnny cradled the weapon in his hands awkwardly, looking it over carefully. Before he knew what happened Caleb was already several strides ahead of him.

"Wait for me!" Johnny cried out. Caleb stopped dead in his tracks and turned around slowly.

"If you ever ask that again..." he glowered, "I will kill you."
Last edited by Tchernobog on Mon May 05, 2014 04:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby N0t_mINe » Mon May 05, 2014 02:04 pm

Ahhhhhhhhhhh...

*stops shaking*


Getting good!
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby dosgamer000 » Wed May 07, 2014 10:56 am

N0t_mINe wrote:Ahhhhhhhhhhh...

*stops shaking*


Getting good!


Ditto.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon May 12, 2014 03:09 am

Part Ten: Welcome To Your Life

Two figures walked alone together in the moonlight, their features obscured by the veil of relinquishing night. All that showed was the outline of the bodies themselves, the long black shadows that followed them, and the ever present red glowing eyes of one of the figures. All that could be heard as they passed by was the light sound of their footsteps and the howl of the wind blowing through the limbs of nearby trees. A lone wolf then howled far in the distance, and several owls began hooting among themselves. All in all, a fairly typical evening in the life of Caleb. Not so much for his companion however.

"Where are we?" he asked, finally bringing up the courage to speak again. He himself still had very little idea of why he was following the man, and even less of an idea of what the future would have in store for him. Still, he knew of nowhere else to go, and this man seemed to be the only one standing up to the cult. In among all of the anger, violence, and hate their was a certain charisma that Johnny found himself to be strangely drawn to, a sort of asserted self-confidence that made any apologies for the man's terrible acts not only seem unnecessary but utterly foolish.

"No idea" Caleb grunted in response, keeping a steady pace forward. Johnny tried his best to keep up, but he was weak from being locked up for so long and kept finding himself lagging behind. Caleb did not care in the least, and Johnny did not really expect him to. He was just a tag along, and Caleb really had no place for tag alongs. Johnny looked down at the flare pistol he was still gripping tightly in his right hand. He would try and prove himself soon enough. Much to Johnny's relief Caleb suddenly halted, the path they were taking now leading out of the forest and off into open ground. Caleb peered ahead, noticing the silhouette of large buildings in the early morning skyline.

Caleb simply shrugged and continued to walk forwards again. Johnny once more tried to keep up with the old gunslinger, still wondering where they were going to end up. At least they were not in the middle of nowhere now, although upon taking another look at his companion again Johnny began to wonder if it might have been better for some if they were. Caleb certainly did not seem to be all that inviting, and Johnny himself was still wearing only the rags that were once the clothes that he was captured in. He was going to have to change that at some point. Before long the city limits became clearly apparent, the path now widening and becoming lined with deliberately planted trees. Beside these were several gravestones, with elaborate engravings and sculpting. Clearly this was where the well off people were buried.

Johnny was dismayed to see that from one of the graves a long arm had somehow managed to pop itself out to wave at them. He shuddered and realized that he was already falling behind again, so he promptly redoubled his efforts and focused on the path. Then he thought he saw a movement come from the grave, and quickly turned back to stare at the arm. It stayed stiff as a twig. Maybe he had just imagined it? His thoughts were then disturbed by the sound of moving metal, as Caleb opened up the city's entrance gates and strolled inside. Johnny ran up behind him, staring around the open street. Several people could be seen walking down the sidewalks, entering buildings, and even still drinking at the bar nearby. Luckily for them, Caleb's attention was directed elsewhere. A brown robed figure was staring back at them from across the street.

"We have been spotted" Caleb muttered, checking to make sure his shotgun was loaded. Johnny tried to do the same with his weapon, but knew next to nothing about how it worked. The two ran towards the Opera House that the Cultist had spotted them from. It was actually quite clever of the Cabal to inhabit such a place, as they could appear in full ritualistic clothing and no one would know if they were eccentrics or just in costume. It certainly helped make sure they did not draw attention to themselves. As they approached the entrance, the man behind the entrance booth gestured for them to come and pay for admittance. Caleb simply ignored him, opening the main doors and running inside, Johnny following quickly behind.

"I am going to alert security!" the main said angrily, turning to exit the booth.

"It's okay" a robed man said calmly, also approaching the booth. "I'll handle it." The angered man was dubious but nevertheless shrugged and let the robed man go about his business. He was obviously with the establishment after all; why else would he be in that ridiculous get up? The Cultist strode calmly into the Opera House and proceeded to walk up the stairs to the upper level. He then walked into one of the balcony ledges near the stage, where a man in ornamental red robes sat watching the events on the stage unfold.

"The Phantasm of the Opera is one of my more favourite musicals" the Elder commented contentedly, fully aware of the fact that culture was probably the last thing on his underling's mind.

"Sir, the betrayer is here" the Cultist informed him quietly.

"As we expected, go and inform the others" the Elder replied, making no attempt to hide his own voice. "And try and make this as precise as possible. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves by disturbing these fine peoples’ evenings."

"Yes Elder" the Cultist acknowledged before leaving the room. The Elder then returned his attention back to viewing the opera that was still being preformed on the stage before him. Because of this, he did not notice the two figures walking towards him. Neither did he notice the weapons that they carried in their ready hands. It was not until he felt the feeling of cold metal on his neck that he realized that the two men were even there. He was eventually going to wish he had never made that mistake.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon May 19, 2014 05:08 am

Part Eleven: They Are Here

"Greetings... Elder" Caleb said scornfully, pushing his shotgun further against the Elder's neck.

"What do you hope to accomplish here Betrayer?" the Elder inquired. "This building is patrolled and heavily monitored. There are legions of my men ready to come and deal with you at a moments notice. Can't you see that you can accomplish nothing here?"

"Save it for somebody who cares..." Caleb replied coolly. "Where are you taking my scroll?"

"You have no reason to expect me to tell you!" the Elder snapped, still unaware of just how untenable his current position was.

"The information or your life Elder, I am happy with it either way" Caleb continued, his fingers waiting expectantly on his weapon's trigger.

"It will accomplish nothing. The Cult of Tchernobog shall prevail, and we shall take our rightful place by his side once again."

"Hollow words from a hollow person" Caleb responded irritably. "Do you realize what I had to do to reach the rank of Elder? Do you realize how much time and service I spent serving my dark master before I reached your position?"

"You are the Betrayer, you have done no service" the Elder interrupted petulantly.

"Look at you sitting there in your fancy red robe..." Caleb continued unperturbed. "All you had to do was survive long enough for the Cabal to be desperate enough to make you an Elder. You never served the dark god as anything but a lieutenant, and now you lecture me about being the rightful heir of Tchernobog. It's an insult. Now tell me, where is my scroll?"

"You do not deserve the answer" the Elder replied again.

"No, you do not deserve to live!" Caleb declared, pulling the trigger and sending two shells into the back of the Elder's head at point-blank range. He collapsed on the floor, his upper body having now become nothing more than a bloody pulp. "That should teach you some respect" Caleb growled, staring down at the corpse.

"Behind you!" Johnny exclaimed suddenly, pointing to the stairs nearby. Several heavily armed Cultists were rushing forwards up the steps towards them. Caleb quickly reloaded his shotgun and ran off to intercept them, leaving Johnny standing next to the dead man. More and more robed men were now rushing up the stairway, taking the place of those that were also currently being slain by Caleb's repeated blows. Johnny fiddled with his weapon clumsily, trying to figure out how to fire. On the stage the Opera continued as normal. No one could hear the bloodshed through the music. Caleb quickly realized that not even he could repulse this many people in one go. He would need to find some way to get an advantage over them.

He shot a quick glance behind him and found a door marked "Dressing Room", and started backing towards it. He had by now run out of readily accessible shells for his shotgun and instead had started firing chamber after chamber of Tommy Gun rounds at the advancing hoard, having picked up the weapon from one his formerly felled foes. Caleb heard the sound of a door opening behind him, but before he could turn to respond a robed man lunged at him from the dressing room that Caleb had previously been hoping to use as an egress. A ball of flame embedded itself into the assailants chest, emanating from the flare pistol that was currently being held in Johnny's outstretched hand. He watched in horror as the man's robes lit up like lights on a Christmas tree.

"IT BURNS, OH MY GOD, IT BURNS!" the Cultist screeched, running down the stairs in agony, his arms flailing about in the air in what seemed almost to be a mock mime of flight. The other Cultists turned back and starting running away from the burning man who was now unwittingly heading straight towards them, falling down the stairs as he went. The music from the Opera being performed on the stage continued unabated.

"This way" Caleb called out suddenly, all the commotion finally reminding him that he did actually have more than one dog in this fight. Johnny was still staring down at the flare pistol, his hands shaking. He had never killed anyone before. Caleb quickly grabbed Johnny by the arm and led him through into the dressing room, fully aware of the fact that the Cabal would never leave them alone for that long. Caleb's eyes scanned the room before finally resting on a large chair in the corner, which he quickly grabbed and used it to brace the door shut. Johnny felt his legs give way and he dropped to the floor. With the door braced, Caleb turned to face him. "First kill?" he asked, something almost akin to concern in his voice. Johnny nodded solemnly.

"Don't worry, it gets easier" Caleb replied casually, causing Johnny to let out an apprehensive cold shiver. A large banging noise could be heard coming from outside, as the hoard of Cultists tried their best to batter the door down. Caleb helped Johnny to his feet, and led him to the room's secondary exit which led out behind the stage. Behind them they could hear the sound of splintering wood as the Cultists succeeding in breaking the door down, as well as a thump as they threw the large chair aside. "It had better get easier..." Caleb added, reloading his shotgun with a spare box of shells he found in one of his hard to reach back pockets. He would be in need of more firepower yet.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Tue May 20, 2014 06:50 pm

Just finished going over next weeks instalment. The next two are particularly good if I say so myself, and after that it will be entirely new writing. :guns:
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon May 26, 2014 06:07 am

Part Twelve: Old Opera House

The two men walked at a steady pace as they moved down the flight of stairs that led to the stage below. Behind them the sound of dozens of footsteps could be heard running, marching, reloading, all intent on avenging their fellows that now lay either dead or dying in another very similar staircase just a short stroll away. So many robed men were now either burning or bleeding respectively. Ahead was the sound of music, the sound of actors singing, the sounds of an opera. Before long the two worlds would collide in a bloody marriage of song and bloodshed. Caleb stopped suddenly, cocking an ear to the performance on the nearby stage.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came..." Caleb sang, beginning to mime the words being preformed on the upcoming stage. Johnny followed still shaken, slowly beginning to rationalize the context of his actions and get over his initial experience. "That voice which calls to me and speaks my name..." Caleb continued, reaching the bottom of the stage and stretching out a hand to the door which would then lead to the area behind the stage. He twisted the door knob and walked inside. The only thing separating him, the audience, and actors now was a length of red cloth. "And do I dream again?" Caleb persisted, checking again to see if his sawed off was still loaded. The footsteps proceeding down the steps were becoming louder. The Cultists were catching up with them. They could no longer run anymore.

Caleb spotted various wooden boxes arranged in the centre of the room and hurriedly hid himself behind them, Johnny following suite. "For now I find the Phantasm of the Opera is there..." Caleb proceeded to sing, the men coming closer. "Inside my mind!" Five robbed men entered through the stairway, firing their weapons erratically in Caleb's direction. Caleb took steady aim and fired repeatedly, taking down four of them with only two shots. "Sing once again with me our strange duet..." Caleb's voice boomed. "My power over you grows stronger yet." More and more cultists flowed into the room, each being slaughtered while bringing another one in tow. But still some did survive long enough to successfully hurl their abuse, firing back as best they could, undying fanaticism empowering their cause. They were using overwhelming manpower to overcome inexperience, and although Caleb would never like to admit it, they could very well succeed.

"And though you turn from me to glance behind..." Caleb continued, still firing, still killing. Johnny sat behind the boxes, shots whizzing over his head, trying his best to summon up the courage to bring out his gun and fight again. "The Phantasm of the Opera is there..." Caleb called out, lobbing a stick of dynamite over towards his enemy. He had been saving this surprise ever since he had inadvertently stumbled upon a case of it in the Monastery's storage room. "Inside your mind!" One of the brighter of the robed men quickly ran forth and somehow managed to extinguish the charge. Johnny took in a long deep breath before popping up from behind his cover, firing a large flare towards the dynamite which promptly ignited again upon contact.

All hell broke loose. The explosion was deafening, creating a large crater which led beneath the stage. Sparks from the explosion set the curtain on fire, revealing the chaos to the unsuspecting public which up to then had remained largely ignorant of the carnage that was now unfolding before them. The Cultists scattered, forcing Caleb to seize the opportunity to run towards the rapidly emptying stage. "Those who have seen your face draw back in fear..." Caleb sang again, now purely on his own without the aid of his more experienced accompaniment. "I am the mask you wear!" Johnny ran beside him, his flare pistol ready to fire again. The screaming crowd grew even more frantic as they approached, running and stomping over each other like a herd of wild antelope.

People were trampled, thrown off balconies, pushed into walls, thrown over chairs, as hundreds of desperate people ran out of the room in order to escape the ever growing carnage. By this point the Cultists had reordered themselves and were intent on pursuing Caleb once more. Caleb leaped off the stage and into the array of seating that just a short while ago provided for the viewing audience's pleasure. Caleb swerved and ducked around the chairs, dodging and rolling around them to hide from the Cabal's bullets. "It's me they hear..." Caleb vocalized quietly, before popping out from behind one of the chairs with his guns blazing. "My spirit and your voice in one combined!" he screamed, his voice carrying throughout the building. "The Phantasm of the Opera is there, inside your mind!"

The Cultists were more than prepared for Caleb's latest barrage. Only a few moments after he began firing he had to duck yet again, only this time to avoid an even bigger threat. A blazing burst of napalm cut through the row of chairs, missing Caleb by mere centimetres. Before long another burst was sent hurdling through the auditorium, setting several of the chairs on fire, sticking to them like a burst of red hot jam. Caleb started running as fast as he possibly could to towards an open door that he somehow had managed to spy to his right. "He's there, the Phantasm of the Opera!" he called out yet again, mostly to focus more than anything else. "Beware the Phantasm of the Opera."

Johnny had become lost soon after Caleb had jumped into the maze of chairs, and was currently trying his best to find his way out. This was a complicated matter, mostly because he now also had to play dodge ball with searing bursts of jellied gasoline. Somehow he did manage to find his way again by Caleb's side, using luck more than anything else. "In all your fantasies, you always knew that man and mystery were both in you" Caleb added, trying his best to outmanoeuvre around another burst. It exploded on contact with a nearby wall with such force as to bowl Caleb and Johnny over. They started to roll towards the open door.

"And in this labyrinth where night is blind, the Phantasm of the Opera is there..." Caleb began to finish, rolling inside the doorway. "Inside your mind!" Another burst of napalm hit the spot where Caleb and Johnny had been tumbling just mere seconds before, causing the doorway to collapse and trapping the dynamic duo in the lower levels of the theatre. The Cultists stopped firing. In the hall below, Johnny and Caleb breathed deeply. They had survived this round, but no one knew how their luck would turn the next time, with them now trapped all alone in the dark.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby dosgamer000 » Sat May 31, 2014 10:21 pm

@Tcherobog:

Caleb singing opera while killing hordes of Cabal is somehow totally believable. Combat for Caleb is so second nature that he probably will get bored in trying to be "efficent." Johnny is like a totally normal human in comparison to Caleb, I'd be freaking out as well in his situation. Good and enjoyable writing Tchernobog, it is nice to see you having fun with your stories. :)
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Jun 02, 2014 03:53 am

Part Thirteen: Faith Is The Key

Silence seemed like the best anaesthetic, at least to Johnny. He knew very well that the current peace he was experiencing would not last. Over the past few hours he had been put through the exertions of a lifetime, especially considering he had already spent so much of his life trapped in a small holding cell. His body had subsequently atrophied, the effects of malnutrition and lack of exercise taking their toll on his strength. The only thing that had kept him going was fear. Fear of the robed men who had made his life hell, fear of the creatures they spawned, or at least associated with, and the fear that came to him whenever he wondered what these men might really be up to when it came to all of their nefarious plans for the world.

Now he could finally make a stand against them, all because of the strange man who had for some reason allowed Johnny to throw in his lot with him. He really did not know what to make of the man. All Johnny really knew was that Caleb was the only person who was not afraid of these men, the only one who could fight them, and the only person it seemed who could protect him. Caleb somehow seemed to know something about these men, and they certainly seemed to know a whole lot about him. The robed men themselves even feared him, that was certain, but they also hated him. Not like how they hated normal people; they had a unique, fierce, determined anger for this man. They called him the Betrayer. What did all that mean?

Johnny turned to look over at the "Betrayer", who was now leaning against the passage wall, his eyes glowing threateningly in the dark, staring blankly at their muddled surroundings. His mind was wandering, so Johnny thought at least...

Caleb stood uncomfortably on the steps of the great temple. If it were not for Ophelia standing next to him he probably would have bolted the moment he saw the procession of robbed figures huddled around the the great cult Elder. Not that Caleb was a coward, he had faced more duels than any other man this side of the continent, but this was different. Caleb had never gotten himself involved with anything this "big" before; he was only just beginning to realize the power that the Cult of Tchernobog played in the world. This power terrified him, it shook him to the core of his being, and yet it was also alluring. The tantalizing possibility that he could even experience just a taste of this power for himself was almost overwhelming. It was that as well as Ophelia's continued insistence that had finally brought him here on this cold and desolate night.

"Faith is the key!" the Elder cried out in an accent Caleb would soon learn to know well. "Faith will show you the way!" Caleb squinted to get a better look at the man. He was dressed in unusual ritualistic robes, quite a bit more distinguished than what the rest were wearing. A man of some importance then. His tanned bald head glistened in the moonlight as his eyes glowed in a way only those dedicated to the service of the dreaming god could. "But faith must be proven" he elaborated, his intelligent eyes scanning the crowd assembled before him. "Who here will demonstrate their devotion to the dreaming god tonight?" The Elder took out a ritualistic knife and waved it in front of the crowd. "Who here will draw their own blood in devotion?"

"Go on..." Ophelia whispered into Caleb's ear. "Now is the time." Caleb took a deep breath and started to push his way through the crowd. The Elder turned to stare in his and Ophelia's direction, a smile appearing on his lips.

"You have a lot of gall to come here again" the Elder commented, the piercing eyes of the procession turning not on Caleb but on Ophelia. She stared back at them unperturbed.

"And why should I, oh Ishmael, not come and pay my respects to the god who we all must serve?" She had stated the question unfalteringly in her determined English accent. The crowd whispered hurriedly among themselves. The stating of the actual name of an Elder was a heretical act, especially for someone in Ophelia's position. Ishmael, however, just smiled it off.

"Such brave words for someone married to a traitor and a heretic" he replied, his voice keeping its calm East Indian tone.

"That coward lead to the death of my first-born child and betrayed those who he swore to serve" Ophelia responded petulantly. "In my eyes I have had no husband." Ishmael looked her over, his ever probing eye scanning whether or not she meant what she said. Words are not enough when you are in the service of Tchernobog. Loyalty comes first among all else, and few who lapse from this loyalty ever live to experience beyond their own transgressions. It was for this that Ishmael was celebrated for by his masters, his unique ability to understand the inner thoughts and workings of everything and everyone around him. He could tell when someone's dedication was wavering. In this case, he was convinced that it was not.

"So it shall be" he proclaimed, his voice now decisive. He then turned his attention to Caleb, who had by now managed to work his way to the front of the crowd. "But who is this that you bring to be judged in the presence of the great temple?" Ishmael gave him a thorough look over, his mind already determining his character before he even had a chance to speak.

"One who comes to join the service of the dreaming god" Caleb answered, just as Ophelia had instructed him. Caleb sometimes wondered why he always seemed to go along with whatever Ophelia said. She was manipulative by nature, Caleb knew, seemingly able to turn anyone to her side no matter what the cost, and yet Caleb still felt that there was more to his own willingness to listen to her than just simply that. Ever since he had first laid eyes on her that fateful day when he had stumbled upon her destroyed homestead, he had been fixated on her. As she recovered he seemed to become more under her spell. He was falling in love with her.

Ishmael decided to probe his new acquaintance further. "And what would you do if he would not receive you? What if he sent us against you, hmm?" Caleb's eyes narrowed.

"Then I would show you all just what lead can do to a man" he replied with more bravado than even he thought he had in him. The sound of hushed voices drifted through the crowd once more, many now eager to shed the insolent mortal's blood. Ishmael kept his calm and thoughtful demeanour, seeing Caleb's response for exactly what it was. He was not trying to intimidate anyone, he was just trying to show that he was not scared of them. He was not overwhelmed by them. He was saying ever so subtly that he could handle being a Cultist, and Ishmael was enlightened enough to see the gesture for what it really was. The Cabal was in need of such individuals who were strong enough to do more than simply obey, people who could also lead and dominate. Assuming he could prove his loyalty to the cult, this man could indeed be useful.

"Such tenacity..." Ishmael commented, pacing around Caleb. "It can be dangerous when left to it's own devices, and yet I feel there could be a place for you in dark one's army. If you can use this will of yours in loyal service to our master you could go far." Ishmael paused, staring Caleb directly in the eyes. It would be the last time they would not not glow back at him. "Obey our lord and reap riches unimaginable. Betray our lord and feel the cold hands of death." Ishmael then handed the sacrificial blade to Caleb, who quickly grabbed it and placed the sharp end against the fingers on his left hand. "Will you obey him?" Ishmael inquired finally.

"I shall obey..." Caleb answered, slowly slicing open his own flesh. Only after his own blood had started to drip onto the ground did he stop, handing the knife back to Ishmael. Caleb hid the pain, his face staying as hard as stone. He did allow himself a quick glance at Ophelia, who was watching the process with great interest. Was she hoping that offering a convert would restore her standing in the cult? Or was she also interested in Caleb himself? Was she falling in love with him too?

"Do you think you are ready to serve the dreaming god?" Ishmael asked, disturbing Caleb's thoughts, wiping the blade clean with the cuff of his robe. Caleb nodded quickly. Ishmael looked back at him seriously. "Are you? Hmm... no. You are nowhere near ready yet..."

Caleb's memories were disturbed by the sound of shrieking from somewhere down the passageway. He got up instantly, taking out his trusty sawed-off. Johnny looked up at him, a fearful expression on his face. "More Cabal?" he asked. Caleb shook his head.

"Not this time" Caleb replied, heading deeper into the darkness.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby N0t_mINe » Thu Jun 05, 2014 05:07 am

A superbly placed flash-back, could have worked as a dream sequence too. Well played man, well played.

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